A Knight's Duty | knight!harry x princess!reader
A/N: I don't know how to write short smutty blurbs anymore, you guys. I swear I always try, but then I want some background or I feel like I need to add plot where there doesn't need to be any 😭 This was not meant to be this long. But here we are! (I also worked some more on mean king this weekend, hoping to get the next chapter out soon!)
Summary: Princess Y/n is a bit of a brat, but her knight doesn't mind much. Based on this prompt: insatiable princess fucking herself dumb on her bed moaning his name x desperate knight listening to her get off but isn’t allowed to watch
Word Count: 6.7k
Warning: Sexual content (masturbation, auditory voyeurism, erotic sexual denial, tease and denial)
The thing about Princess Y/n, Harry had long ago decided, was that she was a brat. Spoiled, pushy, entitled, shameless, and she never got into trouble for anything she did, mostly because he never told anyone about the things she did when no one else was around. As annoying as she could be, he’d never betray her trust. And as the knight who stood guard over her, he knew far more than he should. Probably more than anyone else knew.
By day, he followed her around, keeping a respectful distance while also being close enough that he could protect her from anyone who got too near or intended to harm her. But by night, things always got a little… tense. She saw to it that they were.
The knight was sworn to uphold his duty as her protector and guard, and so he did it without complaint. Day in and day out, he put up with her obnoxious attitude and ever-shifting moods. Some might say that Harry even liked it, despite the constant look of contempt on his face.
There were several reasons why Harry liked being Princess Y/n’s on-duty guard. The first was that when the king called the calvary together for battle, the princess had insisted to her father that only Harry could watch over her properly, that she trusted no one else and because she always got what she wanted, the king allowed Harry to continue his station at the castle as the princess’s full-time guardian and protector. Being Y/n’s watcher was far better work than going into battle and getting one’s head chopped off, he thought. The second reason he liked being around the princess was that, as rude as she could be, she was entertaining. He enjoyed the unnecessary drama she caused, though he couldn’t tell you why he did. The third and most important reason was something he’d never tell anyone. It was because he was in love with her. And that third reason probably explained the second reason, but Harry didn’t try to think too deeply about that.
They were in the square that day. The princess had wanted to go shopping, and so Harry went with her, as was his duty. He stood about three feet back as he watched Y/n speak with some nobleman who he thought was standing a little too close for his liking. He shifted, hand on his belt, and narrowed his eyes at the man in his finely tailored getup. Y/n laughed and then casually looked over her shoulder, meeting Harry’s gaze and grinned. He knew the look. She was about to cause trouble again.
When she looked back at the man, she slid her arm into his, and they began to walk toward the fountain together. Harry swallowed and kept his usual distance, though now his attention and his focus were heightened. He would only allow this man to get as close as he was for just a little longer before he stepped in to intervene. And the princess knew that.
The moment they reached the fountain, Harry understood she had chosen the spot on purpose. Because the square was busy enough to make a scene risky, open enough that he could not very well drag her away without causing one himself, and close enough that he had an unobstructed view of the nobleman hovering at her side like a buzzing fly. The square around them was full of life and people milling about. And right in front of him, Princess Y/n was setting a trap, and only Harry was privy to what she was doing.
She paused at the fountain’s edge and pulled a coin from the little silk purse hanging at her wrist. The nobleman leaned closer, smiling as though he’d been granted some great intimacy. Harry’s posture drew tight as he watched.
Y/n turned the coin over between two fingers, glanced at the water, then bent slightly at the waist to toss it in, pressing her palm against the stone. It was hardly enough of a movement to warrant concern. Hardly enough for anyone to think she might fall. But she knew what she was doing, and the man next to her played right into her plan.
The nobleman shifted, his hands landed at her hips in a mockery of helpfulness, fingers spreading over the curve of her waist as though he had any right in the world.
And Harry, without much thought, moved before the coin had finished breaking the water. “Step away from her.”
His voice cut cleanly through the noise of the square, causing a few passersby to turn into spectators, slowing their steps to watch the performance.
The nobleman startled and removed his hands, though not quickly enough to satisfy Harry. Y/n straightened and turned, looking between them with a bright expression, waiting for the fire she started to be put out by her knight. Once again.
The man recovered himself with a forced smile. “The princess has asked me to accompany her.”
Harry stopped just in front of him, close enough now that the nobleman had to tip his chin up a fraction to maintain eye contact.
“I am the one accompanying her,” Harry said evenly. “And she did not ask you to place your hands on her.”
A flush rose in the man’s face. “I meant no offense, Sir Harry.”
“And yet you offend.”
The nobleman blinked, glancing at Y/n. “I was only… assisting.”
Harry flashed a look at Y/n. She was watching with open amusement, one gloved hand still laid flat over the fountain’s stone lip, as if this were all some private entertainment arranged solely for her. Which, he supposed, it was as this was her doing.
He looked back at the man. “You may leave now. She doesn't require your assistance.”
The nobleman puffed himself up then, offended now that there were more sets of eyes drifting their way, bits of attention catching on the edge of the confrontation. “You overstep yourself, knight.”
Harry stepped closer, then, only half a pace, but it was enough. Enough for the nobleman to acknowledge the warning in his posture. Enough for him to notice Harry’s hand settling on the hilt of his sheathed sword.
“I guard her,” Harry said quietly, dangerously. “And I have reason to believe your intentions are not honorable. This is your last warning.”
The man looked at Harry’s hand, then at his face, searching perhaps for bluff, for hesitation, for some sign this might still be argued into a victory he could save face with. But there was no victory for the nobleman here. Even the princesses’s expression told him that much.
The look on his face soured. He gave Y/n a stiff bow that she did not bother returning with any sincerity, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the gathering crowd of onlookers.
Harry watched until the nobleman was fully swallowed by the movement of the square before he let his hand fall from his sword. Beside him, Y/n hummed in satisfaction and slid her arm through his as if nothing at all had happened. As if he had not spent the last minute imagining several deeply inappropriate ways he could use his sword on that nobleman.
“Oh, Harry,” she said, laughter tucked warm inside her voice, “there you go again, scaring off men needlessly.”
He kept his gaze on the square, posture straight, expression fixed into cool indifference, something he had spent years perfecting around her. “It was not needless.”
Her fingers tightened more snugly around his arm. “You looked ready to kill him.”
“He put his hands on you.”
“That is hardly a crime.”
“It was uninvited.”
That made her smile widen. He didn't need to look at her to know it was there.
She tipped her head, looking up at him. “And here I thought my guard was simply meant to be doing his duty.”
“I was.”
“Mm.” She let the sound linger. “Your duty does not include scaring away every man who speaks to me.”
Harry swallowed, not answering this time, eyes still shifting over the faces of the people in the square. That, more than any defense he could have made, seemed to amuse her.
They began to walk again at an unhurried pace, his stride even with hers. The people who’d been watching went back to their business as Y/n leaned into him just slightly, not enough for anyone else to notice, but just enough that he had no chance of not feeling the warmth of her against his arm.
“Unless,” she said lightly, “I am meant to think you were jealous.”
His face stayed composed. “I am not jealous, Princess.”
She laughed softly, but there was an undercurrent of wickedness lying just beneath. “Liar.”
Harry exhaled through his nose and kept scanning the square, though every instinct he possessed was fixed on the woman at his side. And she knew it just as well as he did. They’d been at this for long enough to know what they were doing.
After a moment, she sighed with exaggerated disappointment. “Well. Whether it was jealousy or simply your usual impossible temperament, I cannot let it go unanswered.”
At that, his shoulders went subtly rigid, and he inhaled a heavier breath, already knowing what she meant.
Her thumb brushed over the sleeve at his forearm, a tiny hidden stroke no one else would notice. “You know what happens now.”
His throat bobbed as he forced a swallow. “Princess,” he said carefully, a warning that never once worked on her.
She only leaned closer, her mouth near enough that he caught the scent of her perfume. “You have been very possessive today, Sir Harry,” she murmured. “And since you insist on behaving so badly, I suppose you shall have to be punished tonight.”
He tensed his jaw, glancing down at her briefly and already imagining the scene in his head, knowing what was coming.
She drew back just enough to look up and meet his eyes. Her expression was full of false innocence and glittering mischief. “Tonight, you’ll stand guard inside my room, facing the door until I tell you otherwise.”
Harry’s cold features remained steady, but inside him, something hot and terrible turned over. They’d done this before. In fact, it had turned into a somewhat frequent punishment, if it could be called that. More like a tease. A forbidden fruit dangled just behind him, not allowed to look at it, or taste, or touch. He would only be allowed to listen and yearn while he stood with his cock hard and throbbing.
Y/n smiled and patted his arm, delighted with herself, and guided him farther into the square as though she had not just ruined him with a single sentence. And Harry, who would have followed her into hell itself if she asked, walked beside her in silence and began, already, imagining what sort of cruelty his princess would conjure up this time.
Harry stood near the center of the princesses’s room as she moved farther in without a word. She drifted through her room leisurely, as though this were any other night and not one carefully arranged to test the limits of his self-command.
Her chambers were as excessive as the princess herself. The ceilings soared overhead, tall windows framed the darkening sky, their long curtains stirred by a soft draft, beeswax candles burned in silver stands, mixing their warm sweetness with her perfume and the powdery lavender tucked into the linens by her maids. At the far end of the room stood her vast, canopied bed. Silk and feathers and secrets… Harry had imagined himself in it before, but he’d never allow himself to break his oath. He knew better than to risk it.
He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and watched her cross to the mirror. She took her time removing her gloves, peeling each finger free with excessive care before laying them on the dressing table. Then came the outer layer of her gown, the decorative sash first, then the jeweled pins at her shoulders. She hadn’t said a single word yet, nor had she looked at him. That was part of the game too. She knew he was watching. Knew his eyes would track every movement but he’d look away the moment she told him to.
Only after she had shrugged the heavier layer from her shoulders did she glance at him through the mirror. Harry’s expression was just as stoic as always, and Y/n smiled.
The lighter fabric beneath clung more closely when she moved, tracing the line of her back and waist before falling loose again. Almost indecent. Almost sheer, but not quite. Just enough to let him know she was thinking very carefully about what she was doing to him.
He hated how willingly he let her tease him this way, but still, he indulged in the sight of her while he had the chance. Because soon he’d be left with the view of the heavy oak doors and the sound of her doing things very unbecoming of a princess.
She crossed to the armoire, the huge carved thing nearly as tall as the posters on her bed, and drew it open. Inside hung silks and velvet and lace in creams and jewel tones, garments fit for a spoiled rich princess. She slid her fingers along them as though considering her choices, though Harry knew it was all just a show.
From one shelf she grabbed a thin folded fabric, then draped it over her arm, and from another she selected something smaller, which disappeared into her hand before he could make out what it was.
She closed the armoire and moved to the low chest of drawers beside it, the one tucked half out of sight near the bed. Harry swallowed as he watched her smile to herself and pull the top drawer open slowly. He knew better than to let his mind linger on what she kept there. He already knew in part that it was filled with things she kept secret. She looked back at him over her shoulder with a smirk that had no business appearing so innocent on her face as she reached inside.
She drew out two small objects and turned them over in her hands, as though they were no more scandalous than a comb or a ribbon. But if anyone had seen what Harry was, they’d be scandalized. They’d avert their eyes in shock that the princess had possession of such sordid things.
“You’re staring,” she said.
“I am observing my surroundings, Princess.”
A soft laugh escaped her. “Of course you are. Obedient. Observant. Possessive…” She turned and looked at him, eyes sharp. “Maybe one day you’ll be brave enough to act on it. To forgo your orders and your oath and give in.”
Harry kept his mouth pressed together as he stood there, heart pounding. If he broke his command, his oath, he’d regret it, but he’d certainly enjoy it while it lasted. His fear was that he’d lose his post with her if he ever gave in to his desires. If he ever gave in to her.
She set one item on the bed and kept the other in hand as she pressed her knee into the soft blankets of her bed. The mattress dipped as the gauze curtains shifted around her. He watched as she climbed in, palms and knees pressed delicately into the down, her eyes on his with the slope of her throat exposed, the bare skin newly revealed where her earlier layers no longer concealed her as thoroughly.
Harry held himself still. Even if she was trying to tempt him, trying to get him to slip up, he would not.
“You were very bold today,” she said, running one fingertip over the bedcover beside her. “Putting your hand on your sword in the middle of the square. All that just for me?”
“He put his hands on you.”
“And you frightened him away for it.”
He blinked, looking at the item in her hand. “That was the intention.”
Her mouth curved. “Jealous, then.”
“No.” The lie came too quickly. They both knew it was lie.
Y/n sat back and smiled. “You do make this easy.”
Harry kept his hands locked behind his back. The picture of focus and rigidity. A man with the strength to resist his desires.
Her eyes flicked over his face, reading everything he would never say aloud. “That is enough.” She smiled playfully. “Take your place, Sir Harry. Face the doors.”
And because she had asked it of him, because she was his princess and his ruin, he obeyed, turning away to remove his gaze from her.
The doors stood tall and immovable before him with elegantly carved panels. A simple thing of wood and iron. Something he could fix his attention on, something that did not move, did not breathe, did not tempt.
Behind him, though, she began, and he took a breath, readying himself for the torture that was to come. He heard her sigh, then heard the whisper of silk sliding behind him, her last layers coming off, leaving her bare. He was already imagining the sweetest and prettiest thing spread out on her silk bed, only feet away, watching his back with a sly grin on her face.
Harry drew in another slow breath through his nose, held it, then released it carefully. An attempt to calm his racing heart and delay the inevitable rise of heat to his groin.
The bed shifted beneath her weight with a low creak, then a breath pushed from her mouth. The sound was soft at first, as if she were settling into the moment, tasting it, readying herself for what she was about to do.
“Comfortable?” she asked sweetly.
“Yes, Princess.”
She hummed. “You don’t sound comfortable.”
“That is irrelevant.”
A breathy laugh drifted across the room. “Mm. Always so proper. So outwardly detached… Yet I wonder what goes on in that head of yours.”
There was another shift of fabric and Harry fixed his gaze harder on the door. To the iron handle. The grain of the wood. A small imperfection near the lower panel where time had worn the polish.
“It would be very easy, you know,” she said after a moment, voice quieter now, closer to something intimate. “To turn around.”
His jaw set. “I will not.”
“No?” There was a gentle lilt in her tone, coaxing. “Not even a little peek?”
“No.”
Behind him, she shifted again. The bed creaked softly in response, followed by a quiet, almost thoughtful exhale.
“I know… But I do wonder,” she mused, “how long it would take.”
Harry closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, forcing his focus back to the door. “For what, Princess?”
“For you to forget your duty.”
“I will not forget. You have told me to face the door, and that is what I shall do.”
Her voice softened, threading something warmer through the teasing. “You’ve thought about it. Disobeying. Taking a look. Touching…”
Harry inhaled through his nose, chest rising and falling a little harder just as she made a small noise. Pleasure and need, barely a sound, but a breath in, then easing out again.
“You could,” she continued. “No one would know. The door is closed. The other guards are posted outside and they can’t hear. If I told you to turn and watch, would you?”
Harry swallowed. He didn’t know how he survived her teasing, in truth. She drove him mad.
“If you commanded it, then I would do as I was told.”
“Mmm…” she moaned. “But I want to see you break your orders.”
“My duty is not conditional.”
“But,” she said, a hint of laughter slipping through, “you wish you could.”
“I only wish to do as you tell me.”
“Liar. I know you wish you could see this.”
She shifted behind him again. Movement and fabric. A quiet rhythm beginning and then a soft gasp. Harry’s breath grew heavier, and he fixed his eyes on the polish of the wood, steadying himself.
“You are cruel to me, Princess,” he said, voice low.
“Am I?” she replied, pleased.
Another breath left her, slipping free, a little shaky. He realized while she was performing, there was lust in the sound. Whatever she was doing, it felt good for her.
Harry’s fingers curled slightly against his palms, skin heating under his regimental garb.
“You’re listening very closely,” she said lightly.
“I am standing guard.”
“Of course you are.” Her breath shuttered. “Keep listening. Want you to hear it all.”
The rhythm behind him shifted again, just enough to break whatever fragile composure he had managed to reconstruct.
“Harry…” she moaned his name.
He shut his eyes and swallowed. “Yes, Princess.”
She answered with another soft inhale, then his name was breathed into the air again. Her tone was warmer, less playful now. He knew it was only a matter of time before she lost control of the sounds she made at all. Before she was moaning his name like he was the one there in her bed, fucking her and not the phallus-shaped wand she liked to use on herself.
The sounds she made began to settle low in his chest, warmth spreading fast to his stomach and then crawling lower, taking hold of his cock. Never had he been reduced to a panting, leaking mess without being touched before. Only with her. His spoiled princess.
“If you could see this,” she whispered. “Just once, you wouldn’t be able to resist again.”
“No.” His voice came out rougher now.
She made a soft sound. “You are too good, knight. Too obedient.”
The bed creaked again, a little louder this time, followed by a breath that broke unevenly before smoothing out to a soft hiss.
“One day you will lose this fight. It will be so sweet to see you give in.”
Harry exhaled slowly, forcing the tension back into something he could barely contain. He stood facing the door, every muscle locked in place, every sense betraying him, every thought circling the same impossible desire, but still, he obeyed.
The next sound she made wasn’t soft at all. It slipped out of her like something she couldn’t hold any longer, a breath breaking into a needy, open-mouthed moan that echoed off the high ceilings. The shift in tone alone was enough to make Harry’s spine go rigid, his shoulders pulling tighter as if he could physically brace himself against it.
There was no mistaking it now. He could hear that she was fully lost in it. Completely taken by lust and pleasure.
The bed creaked again, more insistently this time, the rhythm no longer tentative. He could practically imagine her hand moving, wrapped around the wand, fucking herself as she stared at his back. Then it was wet, the softest claps of sound came from her bed as she thrust the thing into herself in smooth strokes. Or maybe she was humping it over her pillow, bouncing her little cunt on the wand, legs spread as she lifted and lowered. Both images were equally enticing.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw as the unmistakable slick sound reached him, timed with her panting breaths. His mind betrayed him, painting the picture he was forbidden to see… his princess spread open on her silk sheets, fingers glistening, that damned wand tucked deep inside of her.
“Harry…” she breathed again, and this time his name dragged, stretched thin with want. “Can you hear me? Hear the way I get so wet for you.”
“Princess…” He warned, not wanting to play into it too much but still hopelessly wishing he could see it with his own eyes.
“Harry… my big knight… Tell me you hear me.”
“Yes,” he said, though the word felt tight in his throat. He blinked hard as his cock swelled against his trousers.
“Good.” A shaky inhale. “Then listen to it properly.”
Of course he was listening properly. He wouldn’t have been able to ignore any of it even if he tried. Not when it was her behind him, naked, hot, wet, with his name on her tongue.
“I’ve got my fingers on myself—oh! On my clit…” she moaned. “But if it were your fingers...” A soft, breathy laugh followed, almost embarrassed at how easily the words came now. “I know you’d take your time… You’d take such good care of me.”
His hand twitched behind his back, and he huffed through his nose. If he were ever permitted to touch her that way, he would take care of her. He’d explore every part and have her coming over and over again before he even allowed himself the pleasure to come. He’d force orgasm after orgasm from her just so he could see it and hear her begging for mercy, but just as she never seemed to let up with him, he wouldn’t let up either. He’d have her bawling and exhausted by the time he was done with her.
“Your hands are so big,” she went on, almost thoughtfully, though her breathing kept catching. “I’d get your palm all wet... I keep thinking about how you’d fill me too… how you’d stretch me properly. Just your fingers…”
Harry shut his eyes hard again, a quiet, controlled inhale doing nothing to cool the throbbing of his heavy cock. He’d already imagined his hand wet with her many times. He’d see to it that she made a mess… He scolded himself for humoring those thoughts, even if hidden only in his head.
“I would not—”
“You would,” she cut in softly, almost lazily, though her voice trembled. “You just won’t admit it.”
The wet sounds grew louder. Faster.
“And this—” she continued, breath rising, “this little wand…” A faint hum of pleasure vibrated through her words. “It barely does it for me.”
He swallowed. He could imagine her fully. See every crevice, every bend, the soft skin on her hips, the way her belly would quiver the closer she got. Her pretty breasts… He’d never seen her naked, but he knew she would be pretty. He knew she’d bring him to his knees if he ever saw her like that.
“Oh…” she panted, almost sweetly. “It’s hitting deep—” Her voice broke into an unrestrained gasp. “Oh my god, Harry…” A small mewl fell from her as the slushy sound of her cunt wrapped around the wand reached his ears once again. “But you would stuff me so full, wouldn’t you, knight? You’d show me what it really felt like to be with a man…”
His composure cracked just slightly as his head dipped forward a fraction, breath deepening. But this was the way. Sometimes she did it fast, other times she took so much time getting herself off he’d get dizzy from need. He was on the verge right then. Goosebumps scattering over his skin as he checked his urge to pull his cock out and pump himself.
Behind him, the pace picked up. The bed answered with a louder creak, the canopy swaying faintly as it shifted with her movements. Her breathing turned uneven, little gasps breaking through with increasing frequency, each one sharper than the last.
“Oh, yessss…” she said, broken. “My pussy is so wet... For you.”
He clutched his hands tight, resisting his urges, refusing to break.
“Please,” she pressed, voice slipping into something almost delirious. “Oh, my god… It feels so good.”
Harry shifted his weight, subtle but necessary, his stance tightening as the pressure became impossible to ignore. His arms moved from behind his back without thought, settling in front of him, one hand pressing briefly against the front of his trousers before stilling again like he’d burned himself.
Behind him, she laughed softly when she saw it.
“There it is,” she breathed. “You want it. How big has your cock grown?”
“I am maintaining my post,” he said, though his voice had lost its edge of control.
“As you always do,” she whispered, but there was no bite in it anymore. Only heat.
The rhythm on the bed turned frantic, the princess losing all of her composure. Her sounds spilled freely now… moans, gasps, broken little cries of his name threaded through it all. The slick, insistent noise of her movements filled the space between them, wrapping around him, dragging him deeper into something he could no longer pretend he wasn’t part of.
“Harry—” she gasped, louder now, desperate. “Mmm…”
His eyes snapped shut again as he palmed at his cock before clasping his hands into fists and forcing them back to his side.
“I’d let you do anything if you broke your duty,” she rambled on. “You could have me however you like.” Her voice broke into a sharp cry. “Whichever hole you wanted. All of them. Oh… stuff me and fuck me so good I never need this wand again.”
His breath stuttered as his dick twitched. He could feel himself leaking at his tip. His body stiff as a board as the princess fucked herself with a thing that he knew wasn’t giving her the kind of pleasure he could.
“Oh! Ffff… Mmm… M’gonna come… Please…”
The bed knocked lightly against the wall, and she cried out—loud, uncontrolled, her voice echoing.
“Please—please break it—fuck me raw and come inside of me… let me feel it…”
He groaned. She still hadn’t given the proper command for him to do any different, so he wouldn’t. Even if she was begging him to break his duty, he would need her words to say it plainly before he did anything but stare at the door.
“I won’t.”
But now his hand moved back into place over his crotch, pressed harder, grip tightening through the fabric, betraying him completely as he rubbed over himself. His neck strained to keep facing the door, and he let out a quiet, broken gasp of his own.
She was too far gone to care. Her words dissolved into cracked sounds, breath rising and falling frantically as she chased something just out of reach for him to see. The rhythm stammered, then surged, faster, sloppier, the slick sounds turning almost frantic. And the moans coming from her were obscene. Like tiny whimpered noises, hot breaths, soft hisses, whiny panting gasps.
“Harry… Oh, Harry—Yesss! Mmm!”
Then he heard her shatter. A sharp, choked cry tore from her as the bed creaked loudly beneath her, the movement abrupt and uncoordinated as pleasure overtook her completely. He let out a moan just as he heard the canopy rustling, the mattress shifting hard under her as she rode it out, breath coming in ragged, gasping pulls.
He pressed his free palm to the door, head dropped as he worked his thickened cock over his pants the best he could. He wouldn’t come like this, but it gave him relief, nonetheless. It would have to do until he could take a break and finally have his own release.
Harry stood frozen, every muscle locked, except for the hand still pressed tight and smoothing at the front of his trousers. He was so hard he could feel the swollen ridges of his head and down the length of his shaft, even over the fabric. His head bowed just slightly as he fought for control that felt like it was slipping through his fingers.
When her breaths slowed and the slick sounds evaporated as she came down, he bit into his lip and straightened himself back out, hands shaky as he pulled them behind his back, even though his dick was leaking and pulsing with need.
She moaned and then laughed. He heard fabric sliding, heard her breaths, and then her feet hitting the ground. He swallowed, wishing he could just look, but he would not. Not until she told him. Not until she commanded it.
Then he felt her hand on the back of his arm as she came in next to him. “Oh, you poor thing. That must hurt.”
He swallowed, keeping his eyes on the door in front of him. When he didn’t respond, she chuckled and slid in front of him, leaning her back against the door. He still didn’t look, but he could tell she’d put on her robe.
“Stand at ease, Sir Harry. That is your command now. You may look if you wish. You’ve kept your duty well.”
He flitted his eyes down over her. The thin silk robe barely covered much, nor did it hide the swell of her breasts and the peak of her nipples under it. Y/n smiled as soon as she saw where his gaze caught, then lifted a hand and cupped his cheek gently, her palm warm against skin that already felt too hot, too tight, too alive. Her thumb stroked along the sharp line of his cheekbone.
“You are all flushed,” she said, amused and almost sweet. “Warm.” Her mouth quirked up. “I think that was punishment enough, don’t you?”
Harry nodded. It was the safest thing he could do. His throat had gone dry, and he did not trust his own voice not to betray him if he tried to answer properly. Even now, with her robe on and the game apparently done—for now—he could feel his restraint like something physical under his skin, pulled so taut it hurt.
Her eyes glittered when she saw him choose silence over speech.
“Yes,” she said softly, as though confirming something to herself. “That’s what I thought.”
She kept her hand at his face a moment longer, looking him over with that infuriating, intimate attention of hers, as if she enjoyed seeing all the places where discipline failed to conceal what she had done to him. Harry met her gaze because he could do that much, because now she had allowed it, because she stood directly in front of him and he had no command to disobey in looking. But meeting her eyes was scarcely easier than staring at the door had been.
There was too much triumph in her expression. Too much certainty that she knew exactly what lived in him at that moment.
Then she tilted her head and said in a brighter, lighter tone, “One day, I’ll see you losing your control. You cannot keep denying yourself forever, good knight.”
A rough sound left him before he could smooth it away, almost a grunt, almost a laugh. He blinked and managed to speak, “I will never disobey the princess’s command.”
Y/n clicked her tongue at him. “Always the same answer,” she said. “Duty, duty, duty.” Her fingers slipped from his cheek and began a slow path downward, gliding over the front of his garb, tracing the embroidered edge near his collar, then down the center of his chest with no hurry at all. “You hide behind it all so well.”
He could feel her hand through the fabric. The drag of her palm, the press of her fingertips, the warmth of her skin carried through linen and leather and all the useless layers meant for modesty and protection and rank. None of them did a damn thing. Not against her. Even if he appeared unbothered.
She stopped with her hand splayed over his heart, then she hummed, pleased, because of course she felt it. The pounding. The wild, humiliating force of it that he simply could not control. He had faced battle lines with a steadier pulse than this. He had stood bloodied and half-blind in rain and mud with calmer breath than he had now, with her in her silk robe against the door, her hand over his chest, smiling like she had discovered some private little miracle beneath his ribs.
“My,” she said. “The way your heart is pounding...”
He clenched his jaw, eyes dropping to her palm and then sliding back up to look at her face.
She leaned in a touch more, pressing her palm more firmly over his heart as if to test whether it could beat any harder. “It’s almost as though you care,” she said.
“I do care, princess. You know I do.”
Her expression softened, the mischief still there, the delight still there, but touched now by something quieter. Something sweeter now. Then she smiled again and slid her hand from his chest down to the belt at his waist, not enough to be considered a mercy, but enough to make him inhale sharply and set every muscle in his body on edge.
“This is why I keep you,” she said softly.
Harry stared down at her. She was infuriating and beautiful, and he didn’t know which was truly worse. She scraped the nails of two fingers lightly against the center of his belt, then let her hand fall away before his control could splinter further.
“Be grateful,” she said, stepping around him at last. “I am in a merciful mood tonight.”
Harry turned his head to follow her with his eyes. She crossed back toward the bed, thin silk flowing around her legs, one hand gathering the robe closer though she knew perfectly well it hid very little. She glanced over her shoulder and found him still watching.
“Go on,” she said. “Brood. Glower. Stand there and convince yourself this is all beneath your dignity.”
A tiny smile tugged, unwilling, at the corner of his mouth, and she saw it. Her brows lifted.
“There,” she said, delighted. “Proof that you enjoy it. Aside from that big hard-on you’re suffering with.” She glanced down at his crotch.
He gave a slow exhale through his nose. “I apologize, Princess. It is improper, but I am not able to control it when you—”
“When I… what?” she laughed, turning away again. “When I get off and moan your name while you listen? Yes, I know. But it would be awfully disappointing if you didn’t get hard. If you truly didn’t care. That would hurt my feelings.”
This was a game to her, and to him too in many ways. A contest made of duty and temptation, command and obedience, honed every time she smiled at another man just to see Harry intervene, every time she ordered him to stand facing a door while she ruined him by inches from the other side of his discipline. A private war fought in the space between what she commanded and what he ached to do.
One day, one of them would lose.
Either Harry would finally break, turn at the wrong moment, reach for her without permission, let want outrun honor and drag duty down with it… Or she would tire of winning by rule, summon him to her bedside with that same spoiled little smile, and command him not to look away again.
Y/n settled herself against the pillows and reached for a book from the table beside her, as though she had not just spent the evening torturing him for sport. “Come. Read to me.”
He inclined his head and moved toward her. It was not typical for a royal knight to read books as part of his guard duty, but for Harry, nothing about his post with Y/n was typical. But that was part of what made it so fun.
Secretly, he loved reading to her. Liked the way she’d cuddle into her pillow and blink her pretty eyes up at him and smile as he spoke the words on the page in his deep, slow drone. Loved watching her eyelids grow heavy and the way her breath would even out before she fell asleep.
He settled into the cushioned chair next to her bed, and she rolled to her side to face him as he reached for the book. He opened it, flipping to the page where they’d left off from the night before, and cleared his throat.
“Chapter Seven,” he said, as Y/n’s lashes lowered and her smile turned small and satisfied against the pillow, her eyes on him as he began to read.
And even if he’d been left with an unquenchable thirst for the young woman lying in her bed next to where he sat, he felt more than fulfilled just to be there with her at all. To be at her beck and call, to read books to her at night, to listen while she pleased herself in hopes of making him break. He would take whatever closeness and whatever cruelty she gave him and ask for nothing more.
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