Have I ever mentioned I'm into knights? Yeah I'm into knights.
The chivalry, the dedication, the repression.
I place a wreath of flowers around your neck after you've won a joust and the nearly undetectable trace of my finger against your skin sends bolts of lightning through you. The image of your ruddy cheeks and sweat dampened hair as you kneel below me is burned into my mind for weeks.
You stand, posted outside my door for hours, an important yet cushy position, a reward for your recent successes in the field and your loyalty to my family. Through the door you can hear me touching myself, exploring my body, both of us secretly wishing it were your hands instead. And when I return to my room the following night, we lock eyes in a moment as brief as it is forbidden, and we both know you heard. For that quick second, you see a glimpse of my smile at this knowledge. You hear my moans knowing they're for your ears that night.
After my engagement dinner, where my promised hand is announced to all, I pull you aside. You smell the wine on my breath. How I managed to sneak away at a dinner held in my honour to find you patrolling the gardens, you don't know. But you do know that desperate look in my eye. You know what I intend when I tell you in a hushed voice that I have no interest in saving myself for a husband I've never met. My delicate finger traces along the gaps in your armour, unable to touch flesh but even the whisper of such intimate contact sends shivers down your spine. Our lips meet, hesitantly, tenderly, then hungrily. I've made my intentions with you clear, and who would you be to deny the wishes of your lady? We fall together onto the grass, hidden by rose hedges and luck. My pleasure is your only goal and yours, despite yourself, brings me a taste of power and self-satisfaction I won't soon forget.
You're put on my escort team to bring me to my wedding in that distant kingdom. Our encounters since the gardens have been infrequent but each burn with more hunger than the last. Tonight is the final eve of our journey, and once I am exchanged into the capable hands of my future husband's kingdom, we will never again cross paths. Your desperation for one final goodbye brings you to my tent. You hesitate, but enter and are met with a quickly stifled gasp. In only my dressing gown, I fall into your arms. You kiss the top of my head, my forehead, my cheeks, and my hands before cupping my jaw and bringing our lips together. You feel me press against you desperately, and my hands explore what little flesh I can expose. We work to strip you down as quickly and quietly as possible, knowing the risk of discovery could mean death for us both. It doesn't matter; we're intoxicated by each other. Your calloused hands meet my soft skin. My fingernails dig into your shoulders as I silence myself with a hand clasped over my mouth as your tongue traces between my thighs. You savor your last chance at a taste of your princess, never willing to let one of my orgasms be my last. The world outside fades away, both of us so eager to forget it. The time we spend together slips away. When we've exhausted ourselves, sweaty and panting in each other's arms, I fix you with the same desperate look as I had that first night, and I whisper to you, take me away from here. Let us take our lives in our hands together.
Your loyalty lies with my father, but your heart is in my hands, and who are you to deny your love?
