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My Moon, My man || 18+

Synopsis: The First Princess of Phileon was a rather heavy title to bear. Especially when you wanted to become Queen. In a world where you were starved of power, your knight was the only one who supported your bloody endeavours. But was it his fealty that did it, or was it his heart?

Pairing: Knight!Nicholas × Princess!reader, includes members of &Team and Haruto of Treasure

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, wet dream (m), masturbation (f), p in v, unprotected sex (not for you), cumming inside, fingering, BIG DIH NICHO EYYY (i have a thing ok), hair-pulling, virginity loss, dom!nicho, sub!fem!reader, themes of war and bloodshed (descriptions of gore towards the end), reader is EXTREMELY power hungry, me portraying Haruto as a piece of shit I promise I love him irl he's my baby, YEARNINGGGGGG, dramatic ahh verses

A/N: MONA &TEAM DEBUT YALLLLLL this fic is my child and i love her. Big shoutout to my baby Kayz @wichujunseo for listening to me scream about knight weno and then proceed to not write about him. Tagging @frenchkisstheabyss because nicho is her man. I'm very happy to FINALLY be joining &teamblr y'all are so cool here please adopt me. As always, enjoy my darlings!

Word Count: 15k (im so sorry but poetic verse gang, smut itself was 3k)

SERIES MASTERLIST

“How many days has it been since you’ve eaten properly?”

You didn’t bother lifting your head from the giant encyclopedia to see who stood before you. You’d have recognised that voice from a mile away, the same low tone that had always scolded you with soft words.

“Enough to not die.” You responded, tracing over a lengthy paragraph, “This is the last one, I promise.” You looked up to flash him a winsome smile, only for it to falter as you met his soft gaze.

Truly, the most dangerous knight in all the kingdom was soft as chocolate pudding for the princess he pledged his fealty to.

Nicholas Wang.

What had you done to deserve Nicholas Wang?

“Don’t look at me like that,” You mumbled, ducking behind your book. He sighed and stepped closer, the scent of paper clinging to him from hauling half the archives of the library to your desk. He was dressed casually today, a white shirt and black trousers. The golden hilt of his sword caught the chandelier’s light, matching his hair.

“Your Highness,” Nicholas said, a chiding tone to his voice, “you’ve been here since dawn. It's nearly dusk now.” He closed the encyclopedia and slid it away, “Nothing good will come from torturing yourself.”

“I’m not–” You stopped short at the sight of his furrowed brow. Maybe you were taking this way too seriously.

But how could you not? At long last, your father had promised to let you take part in Court if you could memorise the entire genealogy, history and culture of the four key kingdoms which bordered yours, all in a month.

From Nicholas’ point of view, this was no difficult task for you. If you were the same princess he had seen engaged in debate at banquets with nobles, kings and queens twice your age and experience, then you could have accomplished this with ease. A royal daughter was meant only for marriage and as an advisory to her kingly husband, and you were brought up on wars, territorial conquests, treaties and the usual. You were brought up to be the one sitting on the throne.

“Hot chocolate?” Nicholas asked, “I’ll ask Marcille to make you some if you have supper. And no.” He raised a brow as you opened your mouth, “Cheese and crackers do not count as a meal.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms with a faint pout dancing on your lips. Adorable, Nicholas thought.

“Well,” You sighed dramatically, “I cannot disobey the great knight Nicholas can I?” Your lips morphed into a cheeky smile, "Strongest in all the realm, youngest blood to ever grace the ranks of Phileon, the lone wolf of—”

“Alright alright.” Nicholas crooned, ears red as ever, “Shall we, Your Highness?” He extended a hand forward.

“Since when do you call me ‘Your Highness’?” You chuckled, taking his hand and standing up. His palms were rougher than yours, scarred all over, as was expected of any good knight who had been through the terrors of war, no matter how young he was. You always told him his scars looked like lightning bolts, something that made blood rush to his cheeks.

“Since I realised I am your personal knight and not your friend?” His words sounded hurtful, but you knew he only jested. Nicholas was the greatest friend you had that was your age, and you always believed your friendship transcended the knight-princess relationship.

“Ha ha.” You deadpanned. Draping your shawl over your shoulders, you cast a look at the towering bookshelves of the grand library, sick of it now that you had spent a month camped in its corners.

“I don’t think I’ll be coming back here ever again.” You walked out of the library, with Nicholas trailing behind you, “The very smell makes me want to throw up.”

“I believe that’s the hunger speaking.” Nicholas commented, walking painfully slow to keep his position behind you.

That’s where he’d always remain, a fleeting thought came again. Behind you. Not beside you, not your equal, not worthy enough for you. If only, Nicholas often thought, if only lady luck had favoured him, he would have been up in that dais of princes all competing for your hand, competing for the throne. He didn’t give a damn about the throne. All he wanted was you.

“Nichoooo.” You stopped in front of him in the empty hallway to the dining room, “Earth to Nicho.” You snapped your fingers in his face, “What’s gotten you in a spiral all of a sudden?”

Nicholas stared at you, your features illuminated by the soft light of the candle. The moon was as good as full tonight, its sheen filtering through the grand windows and making you look angelic.

Perhaps in another universe, he could have crawled into your arms and wrapped himself in the warmth like ivy, catching your laughter in the air and bottling it for himself. Perhaps in another universe, he was yours and you were his, ordinary people doing ordinary things. But in this one, he was your war torn knight, and you were his liege to serve and to protect.

“It’s nothing. Just dreaming about my bed again.” You rolled your eyes and punched his arm playfully.

“You got me all worried, you idiot.” You laughed, leaning against the wall, “May I ask you something?” He nodded gently, leaning next to you, “Do you–” You took a breath, “do you think I’d make a good ruler?” There was silence, and you laughed crudely at yourself, “Forget I asked, it’s a stupid quest–”

“I think–” Nicholas’ voice was as tranquil as the air, “–you would make a great ruler.” You turned your head to face him, those familiar eyes of perpetual calm, never once had you ever seen them falter.

“You know I would never jest with you.” He said, faded scars on his cheek glimmering in the light, “Her Royal Majesty, the Queen of Phileon.” He placed his hand on his chest and bowed deep, much to your surprise. You stayed silent. What could you even say?

Queen of Phileon, how melodic those words sounded to your ears.

How often had you gazed at the ruby crested throne in the main hall, with absolute adoration in your eyes? The throne meant power, and you were starved of power. You weren’t about to give it up to your dimwit of a younger brother, on the mere fact that he was a son and you were not.

“Sometimes,” You put your hand on his shoulder, making him stand back upright, “I think you’d make a fine accomplice to usurp the throne with.” Your hand slid down to brush his sword hilt, "First Knight of the Realm, Nicholas….” You looked up at him, “Has a nice ring to it doesn't it?” You retracted your hand as soon as you met his gaze, “I’d give you the title if I ever became Queen.”

Though he knew you were kidding, Nicholas didn't really mind encouraging the idea of overthrowing your younger brother, the crown prince.

He still remembered the day you asked the King for permission to participate in Court proceedings. The King’s cold laugh, his brief remark on women not befitting politics, the look of defeat on your face—Nicholas would have ran his blade through the highest man in the land for you right there and then.

And then the King had asked him for his opinion. “What say you, Nicholas?” The King leaned back in his throne, “Shall we let our princess meddle in the affairs of men?”

‘Let her meddle.’ Nicholas remembered thinking, ‘Let her meddle and you will have an empire far greater than any other to have existed in history.’

And so the challenge had been set—one month and a thousand rituals to memorise, all because of Nicholas’ sweet words landing perfectly in the King’s ears. Which is how he had ended up here, looking into the eyes that always steadied the ground beneath his feet.

“So you’ll play favourites when you are Queen.” He said, closing his eyes in faux disappointment, “How un-diplomatic of you, Your Highness.”

“Oh come now.” You scoffed, walking towards the dining hall, “As if you would like to lead armies and attain great glory.” He laughed, “They didn’t call you the lone wolf for nothing.”

“A pitiful moniker, is it not sister?”

Nicholas’ smile disappeared as fast as lighting at the sight of the man leaning against the doorframe of the dining room, all cocky tongue and no mind to prove it (at least in Nicholas’ high opinion). How such a man shared blood with you, he could never understand.

“Wow.” His voice was lazy and prosaic like a cat’s, “Haven’t seen me all month and not so much as a hello? Some step-sister you are.”

“Haruto.” You nodded, forcing a polite smile, “I trust your expedition to Eldanith was successful.”

“Oh it was more than successful.” Haruto scoffed, “They were practically begging to trade with us by the time I was done with them.”

Yes, with the plans I designed, you asshole. You forced your thoughts down, “As expected of our crown prince.”

“You flatter me.” Haruto smiled, “And Nicholas!” A smirk adorned Haruto’s youthful face, “How have you been, our lone wolf?”

My lone wolf, you thought, not ours. You shook it off though, it wasn't like Nicholas belonged to you or anything.

“Fine, Your Highness.” Nicholas held not a hint of emotion in his voice.

“Don’t be so cold now, old boy.” Haruto laughed, “We are friends, are we not?”

“I do not know, Your Highness.” Nicholas responded, “To me, you are merely the brother of the liege I serve.” He bowed his head in feigned servility.

“Is that so?” Your brother grimaced, his eyes flicking to you, “My my sister, you’ve acquired a golden guard dog for yourself.” He pushed himself off the doorframe and stood up straight, as if to intimidate you with his towering frame, “How lucky you are.”

“It is all due to the graciousness of His Majesty, the King.” You said, “Now you must excuse me brother, I am famish–”

“Your test for a seat in Court is tomorrow, is it not?” Haruto bent down to your eye level, a particularly irritating thing he used to do before his belittling began, “I wish you good luck and if ever you need any counselling—” He stood back straight, “—I am always available.” He had held out the red flag like a matador, “Good night, dearest sister.”

You were not one to be easily baited into a storm of fury, but by God did your brother come close. Nothing would have pleased you more than to unsheath a dagger and let it dance across his neck. You wanted his power. You wanted his blood.

“My lady?” Nicholas said gently, as you stared off in the direction Haruto had headed off in, “Are you alright?”

Silence followed for a minute before a shaky sigh broke it. “I have to be, don’t I?” Your laugh came hollow, “I swear, one day–” Your voice dropped to a whisper lest the walls listen in, “–I will tear that bastard’s heart out from his chest.”

You turned to him, and Nicholas would have burned the world down for you at that moment. His hand moved as if it had a mind of its own, to brush away the stray tear on your cheek. For the world, you had to be the regal first princess, as constant and unmoving as the Northern Star. He was the one that you could soften your defenses around, lower the drawbridge and let the legions in.

“You will.” Nicholas squeezed your hand, “One day, you will do all that and more.” His warm smile made your chest feel lighter, “For now, how about hot chocolate?”

You smiled, wiping your face, your ears turning hot from the sudden emotional outbreak. Nicholas’ hand was warm around yours, yet you tugged it away as if it were red hot. Nicholas withdrew as well.

He was your knight, as you were his liege.

Nothing more, nothing less.

_______________________

Nicholas caressed your cheek with his slender, scarred fingers, his thighs rubbing against yours as he laid you back on the bed. You sunk back into the mattress, his body over yours, a hand cupping your cheek while the other rested on your waist, stroking the skin there, exposed from your ridden up robe.

He paused for a second, nose brushing yours, breathless, looking down at your smile—a smile that was so beautiful that it rendered him speechless.

“Nichooo,” Your whines were music to his ears as his gaze trailed slowly down, across your face, neck, collarbone, further and further until he was taking all of you in. He began to stroke the underside of your breast with his thumb, watching the way your body tensed under his feather-like touch.

“Nicho—need you so bad.” You groaned, hands palming his biceps, “My knight.” Nicholas felt your hand palm his length, your thumb lazily dragged on the tip of his cock, “Is this making you feel good?" You asked him, your voice seductive as a siren’s as you leaned in and pressed your lips against his.

Nicholas kept a hand on your hip, using it as leverage as he slowly entered into you. He maintained a desperate pace, revelling in the way your walls hugged his cock so perfectly.

“Nicho Nicho Nicho!” You gasped, arching into him, the air caught in his throat as his tongue found your nipple, “Love you so much Nicho, God I love you..”

“Princess I–”

Moonlight filtered in through the window, bathing everything in a soft filter as Nicholas sat up in his bed, chest moving up and down as he tried to calm his heart. Throwing his blanket off his body, his face burned as he saw the damp patch on his nightpants. A heavy sigh escaped from his lips as he got up and walked over to the washbasin.

Nicholas splashed his face with water a tad too aggressively, slapping himself awake. It must have been around 2 in the morning. He could hear owls singing their mysterious songs outside and the chirping of crickets. He stared at himself in the mirror, and then closed his eyes.

What the fuck had he dreamt about?

Locks of luscious hair sprawled against a pillow, thighs that he wanted round his neck, a face that brought him down to his knees as if to pray. You.

He shook his head, and breathed slowly, looking at himself in the mirror again.

“Idiot.” He scolded himself, “Absolute fucking idiot.” He dragged himself back to bed, collapsing into the mattress. Throwing an arm over his head, Nicholas sunk into his sheets, staring into the distance, hesitant to go back to sleep. Would he see you again? You in all your glory, resting on his bed like a deer asking to be hunted, he felt like a wolf on the loose.

“Ahh princess.” He chuckled, “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

The moonlight bathed his room in soft filters.

Nicholas dreamt of chocolate covered lips and an angel he could never have.

_____________________

Lone wolf, one of the many monikers Nicholas had earned before he began serving as your personal knight. Rumor claimed he had started fighting in Phileon’s army at fourteen, a scandalously young age. Nicholas neither confirmed nor denied the stories, preferring to leave you disappointed, pouting every time you pressed him for the truth. Fiction or not, he rose through the ranks quickly, gaining recognition for his solitary fighting style and rebellious nature.

You remembered the day your father introduced you to him, deciding at last that the First Princess of Phileon deserved more than the scraps left behind once her brother had finished with them. It was the eve of your seventeenth birthday and 17 year old Nicholas stood before you, all scars and clumsy courtesies. It had been almost six years now, you were 23 and he was still there by your side—for every single tea party, banquet and debate.

Nicholas had fought his battles with his sword and shield, but it was in the blinding light of the palace’s ballroom that he found a different kind of warrior.

He saw that warrior now as you walked the grand corridors, head held high. Your weapons were everything you had forced into your mind over the past month, and you hoped they would be enough for the war ahead.

“Your Highness.” Nicholas whispered behind you, as you both stood in front of the Great Hall’s doors, “You can do this.”

You glanced back at him with a small smile, before sucking in a breath and nodding at the soldiers to open the doors. You placed your hands over your dress and rolled back your shoulders. This was your future, you were going to grab it by its neck and take it for yourself.

“Her Royal Highness, the First Princess of Phileon!” The court herald’s voice boomed, as he bowed to you. You could hear Nicholas’ armour clank as he stopped at the foot of the door, leaving you alone to walk into the battlefield.

The grand hall stretched before you like a river of stone and gold, sunlight spilled through towering stained-glass windows, painting the marble floor. Each step you took echoed too loud, your heart was threatening to burst from its cage with how hard it was beating.

Ministers sat in rigid rows along the path. You recognized them all—some open and familiar, others closed and cold. The latter were loyal to your brother, no doubt scandalized by the very idea of allowing you to walk into this hall.

You kept your gaze forward; at the dais sat your father, draped in gold, a ruby-crested crown upon his head—the crown you coveted. Beside him lounged your brother, posture infuriatingly careless. To his right sat his mother, your father’s favored concubine, crowned by the son she bore him. He was no mourner at your mother’s funeral with her at his side.

“Your Majesty.” You reached the foot of the throne and bowed deep, "I greet the Sun of Phileon and thank him for the kindness he has bestowed upon me.”

“My daughter,” he said, eyes narrowing just a fraction, “I had hoped time might teach you restraint, yet here you stand." He gestured to the smaller throne beside him, your late mother’s seat. “Tell me—do you truly believe your intention alone can make you worthy of this throne?

Before you could speak, a minister to your left scoffed, “Your Majesty,” His lips curled, “perhaps we ask too much. After all, sentiment and softness are virtues of women, not of governance.” You turned your head slowly toward him, all you could see at that moment was red.

“Come now, Minister Halvern,” An earthly calmness laced your voice, “how often do men confuse cruelty with strength?” You smiled, “You sit there as head of defense, armored in titles and age, yet you fear the thought of a mere woman standing here?”

Nicholas swallowed a laugh at the Minister’s flushed face. Haruto watched on, not one quip came from him; you knew he was waiting for the moment you would slip.

“Do you claim sentimentality to be a kingly virtue then, daughter?” Your father’s laughter was a lion’s roar, “Then we shall fight the next war with tea cloths and puddings.”

“If emotion were weakness, Father, this kingdom would have fallen long ago.” You kept your gaze to your father’s, refusing to flinch away, “Or shall we all pretend that it was reason and logic alone that held these walls upright? Reason that never bled and never grieved to the point of invention?” Your nerves hummed beneath your skin, as the court held its breath to listen.

“Is it not compassion that gives policies their purpose? Does this court not debate everyday to protect the warmth of the people that make this kingdom thrive? If compassion is truly a woman’s flaw,” You glanced at the turnip coloured minister, “then His Majesty must apologise for having used it to bring glory to our kingdom.”

You returned your gaze to your father, who seemed to be studying you intently. He exhaled softly, the sound almost a laugh, though there was no mockery in it. He leaned back against the throne, fingers steepled, regarding you with a curious expression.

“Well said.” He proclaimed, “You’ve made your case quite clearly.” He rose, just slightly, resting his weight forward. “So we proceed as agreed gentlemen.” He swept his gaze over the ministers, “Go ahead and test the princess. Censure her in your wisdom and may your judgement be unclouded.”

You felt a quiet swell of pride settle within you, pulse thrumming from the exchange. Your eyes drifted almost unconsciously to the throne.

You could see yourself upon it, crown upon your head and you would hold it high no matter how heavy it was. Power was all you saw and it was all you lusted after.

Your vision shifted to the side, Haruto’s posture was rigid, the praise in the hall had not been meant for him, and he felt its absence keenly. You noticed the tightness of his jaw, the way his fingers curled and uncurled at his side. Internally, you were punching the air in victory.

From where he stood, Nicholas felt his heart betray him, no longer the steady, disciplined thing forged by years of war, but something restless and aching. It pressed hard against his ribs as he watched you, as though it sought you out instinctively, answering a call it had learned long ago and never forgotten. How he wished to shout it out, that it was his princess up there, adorned in radiance and wisdom.

Nicholas watched as you laughed politely, answering each and every question thrown to you as if it were normal conversation. You could have pressed the blade of a dagger to his chest and Nicholas wouldn't have minded; he would bring himself closer, lest you were feeling cold.

Love, honor, pain—were they not kin to a knight? Nicholas had pledged his fealty, never knowing love would be the vow denied to him.

___________________________

“Oh how I’ve missed you.” You exclaimed as you collapsed face-front onto your soft mattress, “My beloved partner.”

“You do realise you are insane?” Nicholas shut the door after him, clearing his throat theatrically, “Have you consummated the wedding yet?” He barely managed to dodge the pillow that flew at his face.

"At least my bed gives me some comfort.” You scrunched your nose at him before squishing your face between your pillows. Nicholas leaned against your bedroom wall, crossing his arms, his gaze drifting over you.

Locks of luscious hair sprawled against a pillow, thighs that he wanted round his–

“Sir Nicholas, I am talking to you!” The pillow hit him in the face this time, “Did something happen?” You sat up against the headboard, “You kept staring into space earlier too.” Your knight shook his head gently, diverting his eyes to the ground, “I’ve known you for six years now Nicho, tell me what happened.”

“Just–” He began, you're what happened princess, “—didnt get much sleep last night, my lady.”

You studied him for a moment, and the excuse rang hollow. You tilted your head, unconvinced, but you did not press him any further. Instead you tapped the place next to you on the bed, “Lay down for a while.”

Nicholas was someone who had been in more near-death events than anyone could ever imagine. However this would be what finally wiped him out.

“I would like to stay un-executed thank you very much my lady.”

“Oh sit down.” You repeated, firmer this time, “It’s not like you’re my husband or anything.”

Yep, this would be his swan song.

He hesitated for a moment, before pushing himself off the wall and crawling into bed, his movements slower than a turtle. It creaked a little too loudly as he sat, careful to keep his hands folded, his posture respectful, as though still on duty. You snorted.

“You look like a frightened deer.” You laid down next to him on your side, running your gaze over his figure. The room seemed to soften around the silence that fell, the distant hush of the palace, the muted glow of the lamps and the faint sounds of the kingdom's evening.

Nicholas eventually gave in to the comfort of the soft mattress, laying his head down on the pillow. You two often shared this familiar quiet after long days and finished duties. It was the silence of companionship, of knowing one did not have to perform or explain.

For your knight, it was a rare mercy. His shoulders eased, his breathing slowing as the calm wrapped around him, easing the strain he carried so often without complaint. What Nicholas would give to stay like this forever, in your presence, a knight and his princess laying on a bed under the same moonlight all the knights and princesses before them had admired.

“Nicho?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about the future?”

“Not really.” Nicholas stared at the ceiling, “Do you?”

“Only recently.” You said in a morose tone, “My friends from the East–” A breathy chuckle escapes you, “—their mothers keep going on about marriage and they keep sending me letters about it.” You sighed, “Say, when I get married, would you still be allowed to be my personal knight? Or is that something my future husband is supposed to do?”

Nicholas was quiet for a moment, the question settling between you like a stone dropped into still water. He shifted slightly, eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

“I suppose that would depend,” he said carefully, “On what kind of husband he is. And what kind of court he keeps.”

He finally turned his head to look at you, expression gentle, almost shy. “If the question is whether I would want to remain by your side,” he continued, “the answer doesn’t change with the prospect of marriage. My fealty lies with you, my lady, no matter storm, ocean or desert,,” he chuckled, “or vows.” The candlelight softened the sharp lines of his face, catching along his cheekbone and the bridge of his nose.

“If,” Nicholas started again, “if you get married…..then I imagine things would change. But only if you wish them to.” He glanced away again as if to give you room to breathe, “But you’d make your own rules anyway, wouldn't you, princess?”

There was warmth in his eyes as he finally met your gaze, the way his mouth curved when he smiled made something deep in your chest flutter. Your knight looked so beautiful like this, soft as chocolate pudding.

“If indeed.” you echoed, tasting the word. After a beat, you let out a soft laugh. “I don’t know why everyone speaks of it as though it’s inevitable.” You looked away first, faintly flustered, unaware that you had already set his heart racing all over again.

“Did you see the throne today Nicholas?” Your gaze drifted upward, and Nicholas saw that familiar gleam in your eyes, “It caught the light so perfectly from where I was standing...”

“One day, Your Majesty,” His voice came like the rumble of the earth, “you will sit on that throne, and bathe in all its glory.” You found his eyes beautiful in a way that felt almost ache-like.

“You will stand with me, won't you?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself, “No matter how much blood must be shed?”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, softly, “As I said,” He turned to rest on his side, “my fealty lies with you.” He pressed a hand to his sword, “This blade will obey your command without a second thought.” He leaned forward, as if telling you something forbidden, “Only yours.”

Your gaze lingered longer than you intended, tracing his details. The small scar at the corner of his lip, thin and easy to miss unless you’re close; now it caught the light faintly when his mouth curved, giving his expression an edge that contrasted with the patience in his eyes.

Your attention shifted briefly to his arms: the way the sleeves were pulled just enough to hint at the muscle beneath. And then back to those eyes. They had always been the same, black as kohl, the sky as a canvas for lightning.

You had been younger then, smaller, overwhelmed by a space that expected too much too quickly. He had stood before you in bashed armor, standing straighter than expected of his years and those same dark eyes lifted to meet yours. Time had changed many things but his eyes remained untouched, always looking at you in a way that made your chest feel heavy.

“It’s late.” Nicholas commented, looking at the grand clock, “You should rest, my lady.”

You followed his gaze, then looked back at him. “Will you stay a little while?” You asked, almost absentmindedly. “Just until I fall asleep.” He nodded at once, settling back onto the bed.

“You remember your 20th birthday?” You said, “The night was so cold, and we ate ice cream like it was the most appropriate thing to do.” You smiled, “You were a sufficient fireplace for me.” You stretched your arms out, “Come on.”

Color rose faintly to Nicholas’ cheeks. For a moment, he looked as though he might protest—duty, propriety, a dozen unspoken rules flickering behind his eyes. Then he sighed and put on a defeated smile, already settling under the sheets.

You turned onto your side instinctively, facing him, and he adjusted so the space between you closed naturally. His arm slid around your body, resting across your upper back, just firm enough. You tucked yourself closer, your forehead near his collarbone, one hand resting lightly against his chest against the fabric of his tunic.

“You know, normal knights don't do this right?”

“I know.” You hummed, feeling sleep dance into your bones, “But you're my knight, so it's alright."

His body heat seeped through the layers between you, steady and comforting; your legs brushed his, then settled, fitting easily as though this was not new at all. He shifted again, just enough to support you better, his other hand resting at your side to keep you from slipping away as you slept.

Nicholas could feel how warm you were, how your weight settled against him, the rise and fall of your breathing slowed, syncing gradually with his own. The room felt warmer too, as if all the world was contained right here, under the silken sheets.

His grip tightened just slightly, a protective instinct, before settling again. The heat between you lingered, even and constant, until the tension in your body faded and sleep took hold.

He was your war torn knight, and you were his liege to serve and to protect. But at the moment, you were two ordinary people, doing an ordinary thing, on an ordinary night.

___________________________

A month later

The soft rays of the dawn filtered through the curtains. You could hear the hurried footsteps of the servants outside, rushing around to get everything ready before the sun took its throne in the sky. You turned onto your back and sighed, shutting your eyes.

An image of a certain golden haired knight came into your mind. An….alluring golden haired knight. Your hands drifted to your legs, caressing your inner thighs, the slit in your night gown giving you easy access.

It was a scandalous thing for a princess to be doing—pleasuring herself. A woman’s pleasure was only meant for her husband after all. Husband be fucked, you thought, as your finger pads grazed over your clit, making your hips jerk up.

You had spent so many days locked up in the library again, working on the territorial re-arrangement plans your father had given to you as an assignment. Territorial re-arrangements, bullshit, they were practically war plans. All that frustration had settled deep into your body, and this was the only way you knew how to release it.

Your skin ran hot as a not so distant memory from two weeks ago came into your mind.

Nicholas’ lips press into a thin line; his gaze is unrelenting, sharp enough to cut through the cool facade you’re trying so hard to maintain, as you rake your eyes up and down his shirtless body. You never thought you’d see your knight like this—after all, what kind of person is still undressed by 10 in the morning?

Your sopping cunt clutched at your fingers, wet and needy, all that tension bleeding out of you as your mind kept giving you images of him. You bucked your hips up into your hand, as your fingers slid through the folds.

“Can I help you, my lady?” He smirks, the words hang between you, sharp and saccharine. Your gaze travelled from his broad shoulders to his chest, scarred skin and firm muscle. Your hands practically itched to reach out and touch those carved abs.

“Nicho….” A soft whimper tumbles from your lips, and you bite down hard on your bottom lip, the rest of the sound dying in your throat. Your hips stuttered as your free hand dug into the sheets to ground yourself.

“N-No.” You managed to say, “You’re late.” Nicholas pulls his tunic over his body, broad shoulders filling out the fabric, arms thick with muscle shaped by years of training. The fabric pulls slightly when he moves, outlining the solid curve of his upper arms and the defined lines along his forearms. Something swells within your chest.

You rubbed slowly over your cunt, fingers dragging through your slick, pressing just enough. You throw your head back onto the cushions as your thumb drags over your clit. Your mind drifted to him, imagining your fingers to be his—large, broad palms with thick fingers, the kind that could leave any woman breathless, veins roping across the backs of them, like prominent rivers. Scars alike as well—some faded, some still pink, some curved—you knew each and every single one.

“Forgive me, my lady.” Nicholas drawls out in his morning voice, deep and rich, “Now would you let me get dressed properly?”

Your mouth fell open in a silent cry, your thighs trembling around your hand. Your fingers curled just right, dragging against that spot that made your eyes roll back.

“Or would you prefer watching, my lady?”

"Nicho—Nicholas oh fuck…“ You gasped, voice breaking, eyes rolling back and cunt clenching tight around your fingers as the knot in your stomach broke at the thought of him stuffing his fingers into you. You could feel your pussy pulsing through your orgasm, fingers moving fast, trying desperately to cling onto that fading image in your mind

For a moment, you lay still, staring at the ceiling, your heart beating a little faster than usual. His presence lingered in your mind, the sound of his voice saying ‘my lady’ so gently. You exhaled and pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to gather yourself, as sun rays bathed your room in light.

He is your knight, you reminded yourself, nothing more, nothing less.

You sat up slowly, shaking away whatever you had done five minutes ago, and reaching for your robe. Your lady-in-waiting would be here soon, you had a meeting with your father that day to discuss your plans.

The curve of his bicep, that look in his eyes.

The rays of the sun bathed your room in light.

A golden haired knight corrupted your thoughts.

______________________________

The tension in the room was sharp enough to be cut with a knife; its four walls threatened to shrink and suffocate you, as you stared fixedly at the ground, your hands politely folded in your lap. Across the long table from you sat your father, kingly eyes sifting through inked parchment. He glanced up every now and then, as if to mock you for your use of words.

You felt the gazes of the ministers on you, waiting for the King to declare that a woman’s plans could never overcome their own. The war they were planning had been in the works for six months now—what could a princess who’d known about it for a month say?

The silence stretched, broken only by the soft scrape of parchment as your father set the documents aside. He studied you for a long moment. The war against the kingdom of Sakuryn was not going to be easy—their ruler, Asakura Jo, was rumoured to be a skilled warrior.

“These plans…” He said slowly, tapping the table once with his finger, “You put emphasis on supply lines?” His gaze lifted to meet yours. You nodded.

“The neighbouring villages should be more than happy to provide resources for a subsidized cost.” You answered, “Thus enabling us to go through with more ambushes.” A murmur rippled through the room before your father silenced it with a raised hand.

“Good.” He hummed, “I will not dismiss six months of counsel,” your father continued, “but neither will I ignore these plans.” He leaned back in his chair, “You took inspiration from the Great Battle of Thymeron?” You nodded again and the king smiled, “You have done well. These proposals will be presented to our allies tomorrow evening, at the ball.” His eyes remained on you as he finished, a glint of something unreadable passing through them.

Your fingers curled tighter in your lap from the effort it took to keep your smile measured and proper. Inside, your thoughts were racing ahead of you, already at tomorrow night, already standing beneath chandeliers and champagne and kings.

“Did you see that?” You practically shouted, spinning on your heel, hands flying as if the moment might escape you otherwise. “Did you see their faces? I swear, Minister Halvern looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. I’m going to scream.”

Nicholas chuckled, walking calmly behind your frolicking figure, hands clasped behind his back. “Probably best you don’t do that,” he said, "Wouldn't want the kingdom to know their princess has finally tasted victory.”

You shot him a grin over your shoulder, “Oh trust me, my victory will come tomorrow.” You slowed then, stepping from the garden path onto the grass.

You wandered past the gardens of the vast palace grounds till you reached the old oak on the little hill—your safe place. You dropped into the grass beneath its shade, skirt fanning out, your tension slipping out from your bones.

Nicholas followed you, lowering himself beside you. He laid back, hands folded over his chest. Above you, the leaves shifted softly, sunlight breaking through in slow, uneven patterns; the earth was cool beneath your back. Nicholas turned his head just enough to glance at you, the corner of his mouth lifting as if your joy were something he could feel through the ground itself.

“So…” You broke the silence first.

“So?”

“Tomorrow’s ball.” You giggled, shifting to lay down on the grass, “Please don’t glare at all the nobles I dance with again.” Nicholas grinned and laid down next to you on his side, “It's unparliamentary Nicho!”

“Unparliamentary?” He laughed with all his chest, resting his head on his arm, his laughter eventually dying down at the sight of your pout, “Alright, princess. I’ll keep it down.”

“I just need tomorrow to be perfect.” You sighed, staring up at the canopy, “This one chance,” Your eyes were bright and uncontained, “and the throne may be mine.”

“The throne will be yours, my lady.” Nicholas reached a hand out to brush a stray hair behind your ear, and the world held its breath, “I know you’ll do wonders tomorrow.”

“Thank you Nicho.” You smiled, your knight looked beatific in fragmented sunlight, “I really couldn't have done this without you, you know.” You threw an arm over his chest, and snuggled in, “Thank you for keeping me alive all these days.” Nicholas’ hold was warm as warmth could be, his arm resting at your waist and sending butterflies through your stomach, as you both melted into the earth.

“My pleasure, princess.” He murmured, closing his eyes as the zephyr blew gently, bringing you both a sense of comfort that you could only feel with each other. The sound of Nicholas’ heart beat grounded you; you adjusted slightly, cheek settling more comfortably against him, the fabric of his shirt warm beneath your fingers. Nicholas drew his arm a fraction closer.

As the breeze stirred away, you let your eyes drift shut. Nicholas stayed awake longer than you did, listening to your slow breathing, feeling the way your weight relaxed against him.

Yet again, you were two ordinary people, in an ordinary world, doing ordinary things.

_____________________________

“Another year huh?” The tall man dressed in burgundy took a long sip from his glass of champagne, “And you still haven't found a husband.”

“Another year and I still haven't managed to kill you.” You hissed at him.

“Unfortunately that would be considered treason,” Yudai smiled at you cheekily, “and you would be hung, drawn and quartered.”

“I’m surprised though.” You smirked, “Not even a year of ballroom dancing and you’re already the favourite of the five kingdoms.” You clinked your glass with his, “I’m proud of you.”

Yudai laughed, the sound bright and unguarded as he tipped his glass toward you. “High praise from the woman who convinced me to take the job.”

“As I should.” you replied sweetly, taking a sip. “You would have burnt out if you took the throne.”

“Good thing I gave it to Euijoo then huh?” He chuckled, glancing past you at the dais where the young king was awkwardly laughing with a bunch of noblewomen, “He looks like he’s negotiating peace treaties just to escape."

You followed his gaze and laughed. “He’ll survive.”

“As we all have to yeah?” Yudai sighed, downing the last drops of champagne, “In this dangerous world?”

The grand ballroom glittered in full splendor—giant chandeliers blazing overhead, their crystal arms scattering light across the silk-draped walls. Magnificent dresses swept across the floor as royal guests danced away to the orchestra. The court had outdone itself this time, even the most dour nobles seemed momentarily softened by the music.

Yudai leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Speaking of danger, have you noticed your knight?”

“What about him?”

“Well,” Yudai chuckled, eyes glinting, “every time someone speaks to you for longer than a breath, Nicholas looks like he’s calculating where to hide the body.” He took a sip, “Your knight is still as terrifying as the day I first met him.”

Before there was peace, Yudai’s kingdom Iriandel had been at war with yours for nearly six years. Yudai, being the eldest prince of his kingdom, had encountered your knight’s blade in battle far too many times to forget. Perhaps one of the few reasons he decided to abdicate his throne to someone who actually wanted it, in order to pursue his heart’s desires.

“He’s just diligent.” You hummed.

“Of course,” Yudai said solemnly. “Terrifyingly diligent.” He lifted his glass, “To another year of survival for both of us. And to Sir Nicholas, guardian of the realm,” He chuckled, “and apparently, of your personal space.”

You clinked your glass to his, laughter warm in your chest as the music carried on around you. Your gaze drifted up to Nicholas, who was standing calmly in the corner of the room.

He stood apart from the crowd in his ceremonial uniform, the kingdom’s colors complimenting his features strikingly: black polished to a near glow, green trimmed along his shoulders and a red sash. The cut of the coat sharpened his frame and the metal accents caught the chandelier light each time he moved. He looked a bit like the heroes the poets sang of—composed, handsome, yours.

You glanced down then, at the fall of your own dress, black silk washed with green embroidery, with a low cut neck. And then a ludicrous thought came into your mind.

Matching.

Heat crept up your neck and you turned your head quickly, pretending great interest in the swirl of dancers, hoping no one—especially him—had noticed. It was foolish, you told yourself. They were the kingdom’s colors. Of course you would both be wearing them.

When you risked another look, Nicholas caught your eye for the briefest moment and your heart gave an unnecessary, traitorous little jump. The curve of his bicep, that look in his eyes. You downed your champagne.

“And here comes the cavalry.” Yudai raised his glass to his king, dressed in burgundy leather with a rather dramatic golden sash, “How fare the peace treaties, Euijoo?”

“I think I’ve broken the hearts of married mothers.” Euijoo twirled a crystal glass in his hand, lazy smile playing at his lips, “Is this what you go through everyday?” He dipped his head to you.

“Trust me it's worse.” You sighed, “Should I even ask what happened at the treaty meeting? You’ve been avoiding Haruto all evening.”

“Don’t even ask.” Euijoo groaned, rolling his shoulders back, “Your brother was about to destroy everything we’ve built over months in a matter of ten minutes. Yuma was on the verge of throwing his sword across the room.”

“Step brother.” Yudai corrected, "Seriously Your Highness, how is he even related to you?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.” You laughed wearily, “Were my plans alright, Euijoo?” You addressed him casually, “I hoped the open trade routes would free up space for the merchants.”

“If not for you, my kingdom would still think yours negotiates exclusively through threats.” Euijoo set his glass down, “On that note, may I steal you for a dance, my lady?”

“Careful,” You said, tilting your head, “my knight might take issue with that.” Euijoo’s gaze flicked—not subtly at all—to where Nicholas stood across the hall, whose eyes were already fixed in your direction like he’d sensed the disturbance in the air.

“Ah yes, Nicholas.” He took a sip and lowered his voice. “I had wondered if approaching you would get me stabbed, poisoned or simply stared into an early grave.” Yudai barked a laugh. Nicholas wasn’t frowning, but there was a focus to him, sharp enough to be felt from across the room.

“I think he’s deciding where to hide the body.” Yudai added helpfully.

You smiled into your champagne. “He wouldn’t kill you.” You said to Euijoo.

Euijoo raised a brow. “Probably wouldn’t kill me.” He offered his hand with a grin, “Before your knight follows through on his thoughts, shall we?”

Before any of you could move, the booming sound of trumpets cut through the hum of conversation. The music stilled as laughter faded into murmurs and glasses paused mid-air. At the far end of the hall, the musicians lowered their bows as the herald stepped forward.

“Next time then.” Euijoo released your hand at once, “Maybe when Nicholas is locked in his room.”

Yudai straightened beside you, his teasing expression softening. “Looks like this is your moment.” Of course, you had spoiled the surprise for him, unable to keep your little victory to yourself anymore. The weight of the hall’s attention turned to your father mounting the dais.

“Citizens of Phileon, noble guests, ladies and gentlemen,” Your father was always one for show, “Today is a day of celebration. A day of light. A day to drink to!” A roar ripped through the crowd as everybody raised their glasses. Get on with it already, you thought, impatient for your spotlight moment.

But the Fates had woven a different destiny for you.

_________________

“My lady.” Nicholas tapped against the closet door, “Please come out.”

He was met with a soft sniffle, and a barely audible ‘no’. He sighed and sat down on the floor in front of the grand wooden closet. He was still in his black suit, but he had ripped his red sash off, the moment he ran behind you from the ballroom.

“I’ll wait here until you do then.” He said simply. “I have nowhere better to be anyway.”

On the other side of the door, you curled in on yourself, knees drawn close, arms wrapped tight around yourself. The closet still smelled of old wood and dried flowers, something faintly familiar that made your chest ache. This had been your hiding place once, yours and your mother’s. Somewhere small, somewhere warm, somewhere where the world couldn't reach you.

“He didn't even look at me.” You whispered, voice trembling. “He didn’t even spare me a fucking glance.” The moment replayed itself behind your eyes—the trumpets and the fanfare and your father’s smooth voice twisting the truth into something unrecognizable.

Your plans, your weeks of work, dropped like a stag’s antlers into Haruto’s hands. Your jaw clenched as you recalled the thunderous applause that followed your brother as he stepped proudly onto the dais, accepting charge of the royal army.

A heavy silence pressed in, broken occasionally by the faint hitch of your breathing. Nicholas toyed with his sword. Your face—how all the light had drained from it before you turned and walked away, despite Yudai and Euijoo’s efforts to keep you there in all diplomatic (and friendly) politeness.

“I’m nothing to them, am I?” Your voice sounded small, “They just took it from me like I was nothing, like I wasn't even there.”

“You’re not nothin–”

“Oh admit it.” A bitter laugh slipped out of you, “If I really was not nothing, then why was it so easy? Why did they believe him? Why did they look at me like I was just standing in the way?” Your voice wavered. “I am nothing but a fool.”

Nicholas’ jaw tightened. He leaned his head back against the bedframe, eyes closing.

“No.”

“Nicho–”

“No.” He repeated, “My lady,” Nicholas’ hand lifted and rested flat against the door, “You are capable, you are intelligent and worth far more than anybody standing in that ballroom." His voice dropped, roughened, “You know full well your brother did not deserve any of that praise.”

A shaky laugh broke from you, sharp and wet. “Do I?” Your breath hitched, “I trusted the king.” you murmured. “Everybody knows trust is only meant for jibbering fools.”

“Do you not trust me then?” Nicholas smiled softly, even though he knew you wouldn't see it. He was met with a shaky breath.

“I know you want to beat yourself up about it, but trust me, you won't be any more courageous if you do.” He added, softer still, “You were robbed and it is as simple as that. My lady, do you really believe His Majesty Euijoo wanted Haruto up there? Or His Highness Yuma? Or Yudai?” You pressed your forehead into your knees, shoulders shaking as you listened,

“That isn’t how worth works, my lady.” He said. “The only thing they counted on was the nobility not believing in a Queen and we both know how stupid that is.” His voice roughened. “You don’t have to be strong right now, princess, you know that right?”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your dress. “I feel so stupid,” You murmured. “for believing.”

“Then we’ll be stupid together.” He replied in a jolt. “Because I’ve believed in you from the start and I still do.”

“I’m tired Nicho.” You said at last. “I’m so goddamn tired of trying to be enough.”

“You are enough.” Nicholas answered as if it were the most obvious fact in the world, “And nobody in the world gets to make you feel like you aren't." His hand pressed more firmly against the wood, as if anchoring himself there, “Her Royal Majesty, the Queen of Phileon?”

The closet door opened at last. You stepped out as though leaving a shrine, eyes red, lashes wet and shoulders drawn inward. Nicholas rose immediately, offering his scarred hands, palms open and unarmed. You placed yours there without looking, trusting him to hold what the night had broken.

He led you to the bed slowly and sat beside you on the edge, close enough that the warmth of him reached you. For a while, neither of you spoke, silence thick with all that had been lost and gained that evening. Outside, the moon hung in all her radiance.

You stared at the patterned rug, you had only now noticed how fine its details were, woven from golden and red threads. If one were to bleed out on the floor of your bedroom, it would have looked beautiful.

“They’ll march in a month.” You said at last, voice distant. “When the war is declared officially.” You looked at him, feeling your sight blur with tears again, “Will you have to go too?”

Nicholas inclined his head and breathed. Then he nodded slowly. “They will need your lone wolf won't they?” He laughed crudely, “Phileon cannot win a war without her princess.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips and it struck Nicholas then how small you looked at that moment, completely worn out. The crownlight gowns and ballroom fire had fallen away, leaving only the girl who sat beneath oak trees, slept in libraries and refused to budge till her work was complete, with the cheekiest smile on her face.

Nicholas watched the way your fingers twisted together, how your spine held stubbornly straight even while your heart caved inward. You had always worn your dignity as your armour, even when it suffocated you.

“Phileon’s princess huh?” You wiped your tears away and Nicholas caught a brief glimpse of that familiar flame, “I want it back Nicho.” You breathed deeply and looked him straight in the eye, “I want it all back.”

Nicholas felt something old and violent stir beneath his ribs. He had known your face since it was softer with youth, before the weight of the world sharpened it. Tonight, grief had made you gentle, made your eyes vast and dark, as though they carried the whole kingdom’s sorrow.

Nicholas rose and then sank to one knee before you, fist on his chest as you watched on, dazed. “Nicholas wha—”

“Please, my lady,” He said, “let me speak.”

The oil lamps caught his face gently, softening the scars that traced his cheek and jaw. Dark strands of hair fell forward in a way that made him look younger—closer to the boy who had stood before you years ago in dented armor.

You had seen him in every state a man could probably be seen—bloodied, exhausted, victorious, unguarded. Yet now, kneeling at the edge of the bed, he looked almost unbearably noble.

“I was sworn to this kingdom once years ago.” He began, “To Phileon, her lands and her people.” His gaze was unwavering, “To protecting the crown till death do us part.”

“Tonight my lady, I swear myself to you.” He continued, “Only to you.” He smiled softly, “The heavens may punish me all they want for it, but my fealty will forever lie with you and only you.” You reached for him then without realizing it, fingers brushing against his sleeve. He paused as he took his sword out and presented it before you, its sharp edge gleaming in the light.

“I swear this sword to your name, my lady.” His fingers pressed into the sword, “My breath to your defense, my life to your future, no matter what it may be. And if blood must be spilled for you to grab that future—” A faint glimmer came to his eyes, “—then I will bring you Haruto’s head, or I will fall before him.”

“Nicho don’t.” You whispered, voice breaking. “Don’t swear that.”

“Then let me swear this instead.” His voice softened. He put the sword down and took your hands, pressing them to his chest.

“That I will never leave you behind in this world, even if the Gods themselves command me to.”

Your tears spilled freely now as you leaned into him, forehead against his shoulder, and for the first time that night, allowed yourself to be held. Nicholas’ arms closed around you with careful strength, as if you were something precious.

You stayed like that for a while, knight and princess in an ordinary world full of not so ordinary things.

Fireworks bloomed beyond the palace walls then, sudden and bright, painting the night in violent color. You lifted your head from Nicholas’ shoulder at the first crack, and laughed.

“Are they always this loud?” The fireworks caught along the planes of his face, the familiar scar at his lip flashing pale.

“They are.” He said, “They’ll be even louder at your coronation, my lady.”

“Heard from every corner of the kingdom I suppose.” You hiccuped, smiling tiredly at him. Nicholas tilted his head curiously, rubbing circles onto your waist, still kneeling on the floor.

“What’s that pretty head of yours thinking about?” He asked.

“Nothing much.” You hummed, your eyes wavering over his lips for a second, “Strategy?”

It was no longer an ordinary world—yours and Nicholas’ and for a moment, you thought about how it probably never was. Probably never will be. What sort of a princess thinks about her knight before she goes to sleep? And what sort of a knight does the same?

But it would be a lie to say that your knight didn't make this insane world seem a bit more normal.

A bit more full of moonlight.

___________________

The plan began as all plans do. Ink, letters, bribed soldiers at the borders and your messenger hawk. Who would ever suspect a princess sending letters to her friends after all? All they did was talk about lace and ribbons anyway.

You sat at your desk long after midnight, sleeves rolled, hair loosely tied back, the map of the realm spread before you.

Euijoo was the first to accept your hand in secret alliance, writing a long letter to you about how he’d rather give up tangerines than have Haruto on the throne after the war blew over. Yuma, of the neighbouring island kingdom was quick to accept too, even going so far as to send you a floral arrangement, which your father thankfully mistook for a marriage proposal.

By day, you met with nobles, many of whom had seen you grow up on treaties and war plans, many of whom indulged the idea of a woman on the throne. You let them complain about empty treasuries, restless towns, sons they could not afford to lose and you threw in your card at the end.

By night, you wrote. Letters left your chambers under false seals, carried by trusted hands to courts beyond your borders to rulers who had watched Phileon from afar and wondered how long it could endure a king who ruled like a relic and a crown prince worth nothing.

But of course, you were not going to stop there.

The enemy of an enemy was a friend after all.

Asakura Jo’s reply came faster than you expected. His handwriting was freakishly neat (Nicholas suspected witchcraft), as he accepted your offer for mineral trading rights in exchange for support once the king’s blood was on your hands. There was something quite attractive in the way he did not even question your stance as a mere First princess (Nicholas definitely suspected witchcraft) and it was an end to a war neither of you wanted. A war of old lions and foolish cubs neither of you had any interest in.

“Is his handwriting really that attractive to you?” Across the room, Nicholas leaned against the stone pillar, arms crossed, watching you smile at the letter in your hand, “I knew your standards were low, but not that low.”

“Jo just offered to come over for my future coronation.” You sighed dreamily, “He’d make a fine husband, wouldn't he?”

“You’ve seen one painting of the man.” Nicholas jut his bottom lip out just a tad, your knight was like a jealous kitten.

“And one painting is all I need to know he’s the perfect man—” You chuckled, “—to support me in my endeavours.”

“Oh?” Nicholas sat down across from you, “And what about me?” You paused, a cheeky smile tugging at your lips as you folded Jo’s letter and set it aside.

“What about you?” You echoed, finally looking up at him.

The candlelight caught along the sharp lines of his face, the familiar scar at his lip. My lone wolf, you thought.

“I seem to recall,” He began in a childish tone, “that I have supported every one of your endeavours thus far. Including the ones that could get us both beheaded.”

“Indeed you have good sir.” You laughed softly, “And your queen shall reward you for it generously.” His brow lifted, almost imperceptibly.

“I will not ask for much, oh merciful queen.” He said, “I only want three mansions and an apple orchard.”

“I suppose that can be arranged.” You laughed, meeting his eyes. Silence took over for a moment before you sighed. “We are really doing this tomorrow huh?”

Something shifted in his expression then, something like acceptance settling into place. He exhaled through his nose, and looked away for half a second.

“You will have the throne tomorrow my lady.” He beamed, “It feels like only yesterday we were both 17.” He chuckled, “Young, dumb and stupid.” He rose to his feet, “And now look at us, planning a conquest.” He bowed his head, “I am proud to serve you, my lady.”

Outside, the palace slept, unaware that its foundations were being redrawn by a woman with ink-stained fingers and a knight who would follow her into hell without question.

“Thank you Nicho.” You said, eyes lingering on his arms before you broke away, “Go get some sleep now, we have a big day tomorrow.”

Nicholas straightened, hand drifting, without thought, to the hilt of his sword, as he bowed and swiftly left the room. He smiled to himself. You'd be up there on the throne tomorrow.

And he was going to bring you the crown prince’s head.

___________________

When you were a young girl, your mother would tell you the tale of a hunter, whose target was kings. She’d tell you about the way the hunter would always paralyse the kings first, slipping in foxglove in their tobacco. And then the hunter would slowly run their dagger through the chest, ripping out the heart to consume it, the coronary muscles, the aorta, the soul that was caged within.

“So,” You said softly, “this is how it all ends, father.” The king sat slumped against the back of the throne, crown still upon his head, fingers locked uselessly around the armrests, “With your daughter on the throne and Phileon under her brow.” His eyes were furious, trapped in a body that had turned traitor to him. The poison had done its work quietly, as you intended, “Are you proud, father?”

Rage twisted his face, words spilling out in broken, venomous fragments about your ingratitude, your audacity and your place. Even now, even like this, he still clung to his pathetic beliefs.

“I hated being your daughter.” You continued, voice calm, “I was raised on your wars, your ledgers and your laws and never once did you see me as somebody fit for the throne.” Your gaze flicked to the crown. “Are you really surprised I've done this?” You took a step closer, then another.

“Let us call it fate for now, Your Majesty.” The dagger felt light in your hand, “Fate, that has decided my place on this throne.”

You climbed the steps slowly, deliberately, until you stood before him—before the man who had dismissed you, belittled you, and handed your future to others as if it were his to give away.

“For what it’s worth,” You added, “I will be a better ruler than you ever were.”

A hunter of kings, your mother had told you—one who feasted upon their greedy souls. She never told you how good it would feel.

You took your place upon the throne—your throne—fingers curling around the carved armrests as if to anchor yourself to the moment. The weight of it pressed into your spine, as you looked down at your bloody hands and the corpse of the king at your feet.

“Her Royal Majesty, Queen of Phileon.” You whispered to yourself.

The kingdom was yours.

The great doors of the throne room burst open, thunderous echo rolling through the hall as your soldiers flooded in, banners lifted high, steel catching the light perfectly. Amongst them stood men of the other kingdoms as well, you could see Euijoo, Yudai and Yuma in their generals’ attire, leading the faction of nobles.

Euijoo shot you a quick grin before going back to his solemn expression. Somewhere in the back, you could see a tall, hooded figure as well. Over the months, you had found out Asakura Jo wasn't one for flair, clearly evident as he inclined his head to you, and leaned back against a pillar, crossing his arms and admiring the grand hall.

“My lady.” Euijoo stood at the foot of the dais, “You’ve done it.” He smiled gently and bowed his head, turning back to the crowd once, “All hail the First Princess!” A roar erupted through the hall, swords ringing against shields, excited voices crying out for their beloved princess. Euijoo climbed the steps to you, as you rose off the throne to take his hand.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” You said, “I look forward to the friendship between our kingdoms.” You glanced at the nobles standing by the side, giving them a polite smile before turning back to the king, “And what of the battle?”

“The battle?” He inclined his head. “It was brief.” He turned slightly, “Your brother’s legions were large, but poorly held together. Once the first line broke, the rest followed.” He held a twinkle in his eyes, “Many laid down their arms the moment your banners were raised.”

“Haruto?” You asked.

Euijoo laughed. “Fled like a wounded dog. Took a sword and fled for the hills.”

The hall still rang with celebration, but the noise felt distant now, as though you stood at the center of a quiet eye while the storm roared around you. You hesitated, then asked the question that had been pressing against your ribs since the doors first opened.

“And Nicholas?”

Euijoo’s expression shifted—subtle, almost amused.

“Ahh, your knight.” He glanced toward the doors, then back to you. “He said there was business he needed to finish. Said it concerned his honour.” A faint smile curved his mouth. “But we all know who his honour is, don't we?”

Haruto’s head. You shook off the thought.

“We best get to the crowni–”

That was when the doors opened again, the sound cutting clean through the air. All eyes were fixed on the knight, crossing the length of the hall.

Nicholas.

Your Nicholas.

His armor was darkened with the marks of battle, the hall narrowing around him, the space between you shrinking with every step. He held something tightly in one hand, the other holding a blood stained sword. Gasps rang through the hall, as it became evidently clear what he had just done.

I will bring you Haruto’s head, or I will fall before him.

That faithful night came back in your mind as you stood alone on the dais, meeting your knight’s gaze. There was something in those eyes again, like a war of fealty and love.

Nicholas dropped to one knee in front of the dais, holding out his hand and dropping his trophy—a grotesque expression plastered on the severed head.

“Phileon is yours.” His voice rang through the hall, “Phileon is yours, my lady.”

Your chest tightened as you slowly descended the steps until you stood before him, close enough to see the devotion etched into every line of his face.

“Give me your sword, Sir Nicholas.” You said.

For a moment, the hall fell away as your gaze met his. There was only him in this world now, your war torn knight, your lone wolf, your Nicholas.

Nicholas placed the bloodied sword in your outstretched hands, movements reverent, as though each step had been rehearsed in his bones long before this day arrived. The hall was silent now, even the banners seemed to still.

You reached for the hilt, the metal cold beneath your fingers, as you traced your thumb over his carved name on the edge. You raised the sword, then rested the flat of the blade against his shoulder.

“You have stood with me all these years.” You said, voice carrying to every corner of the hall. “Even in times when both of us would have been beheaded.” Nicholas chuckled under his breath. The murmurs around you swelled, kings and soldiers watching closely.

“I thank you for that with all my life.” You said, “Today, I—in the name of Phileon—name you First Knight of the Realm.” You rested the sword on his left shoulder, “Thank you, for pledging your fealty to me.”

A sharp intake of breath passed through the hall. Nicholas looked up then, eyes bright. His jaw tightened as though he feared his eyes might fail him. You lowered the sword and offered him your hand, pulling him up to stand.

“Not so much of a lone wolf now, are you, my knight?” You whispered, squeezing his hand, worship written into the way his fingers closed around yours. Ordinary world be damned, you thought, he was certainly no ordinary man.

Yuma approached the dais then, alone, carrying a velvet cushion upon which rested the crown of Phileon—ruby-crested, gold catching fire in the torchlight. Nicholas let go of your hand and moved away swiftly, as Euijoo and Jo stepped forward, their symbols gleaming in the light. Euijoo took the crown in his hands.

This was it, huh?

“Your Royal Highness, the First Princess of Phileon.” He began, “By the law of war and first decree, you are fit to claim the throne of the kingdom of Phileon.” He extended the crown forward, “Do you accept?”

You breathed out and looked at the crowd—kings, soldiers, allies and your knight. You turned back to Euijoo.

“I, the First Princess of Phileon,” A smile broke through, “accept the throne.”

“Then, by accord of the alliance of kingdoms, and by law,” Euijoo raised the crown, “I hereby crown you Queen of Phileon.”

The crown pressed warm at your temples, the ruby crest catching the firelight until it seemed to glow from within, as though it had been waiting for you to claim it.

“All hail Her Majesty, the Queen of Phileon!” Euijoo declared, as he bowed. The hall followed suit, bowing down before you.

An unsteady breath left you. This—this—was what every late night, every month in the library and every step had amounted to. For a moment, the hall was suspended between heartbeats.

“Well?” Yudai called out, lifting a hand toward the waiting servants. “Pop open the wine bottles before someone starts crying!”

Laughter rippled through the crowd, relief and joy spilling over at once. The hall bloomed into sound, cheers, applause, the ringing of steel against shields in celebration. You let yourself smile fully now. Your gaze moved through the faces—kings, nobles and soldiers.

And then, your eyes found him.

“They call you lone wolf, do they not?” Your eyes raked over the knight on one knee before you, “And you are to protect me?”

“Yes my lady.” He said simply, not raising his head.

“I am no one of importance.” You laughed, “I am sorry that this kingdom’s best warrior is stuck with me.” You sighed, “Please…raise your head, good knight.”

He did, and you met his gaze. He was probably itching to get out there again. But here he was, stuck guarding a princess no one cared abou—

“I don't think I am stuck, my lady.” He said sheepishly, “And I do not think you are unimportant.” A faint red appeared on his cheeks.

“Well, you’ll learn soon enough.” You chuckled, getting to your feet. He awkwardly shuffled up as well, keeping his gaze to the floor. “Your name is Nicholas, is it not?” He nodded, “I’ll warn you, I am always stuck in the library. This job might get boring.”

“I prefer boring.” He hummed, finally catching your gaze again. You sent him a gentle smile, which he returned.

He was now your war torn knight, and you were his princess.

Warmth bloomed in your chest as you locked eyes with him. It had been six years now since you two exchanged awkward courtesies. And there he was, those same beautiful eyes still gazing at you as if you had hung up the moon.

You would have given him the entire universe if he asked.

_________________

“So..”

“So?”

“So.”

The word lingered uselessly between you, dissolving into the quiet as you sat side by side on the edge of the bed, close enough that your sleeves brushed one another.

It was almost midnight by the time the celebrations and official duties were over and it was safe to say you were dead. The prospect of getting to talk to your knight after it all, late at night like two children sharing secrets, was the only thing that powered you through it.

“We always somehow end up back here.” Nicholas said, sighing, “At the edge of this bed I mean.”

“Is that a good thing?” You asked, becoming aware of everything at once. The steady rise and fall of Nicholas’ chest, the way his muscles pressed against his white shirt, a new scar on his cheek. You could feel his attention too, he wasn’t staring, but every time you glanced sideways, you caught him already looking at your hands, your mouth, your neck.

You cleared your throat, smiling just to break the spell. “I think,” You said lightly, “I’d like to hold your sword again.” You laughed, “Day one of being a ruler and the power is already getting to my head.”

“As it should, princess.” Nicholas smiled, already unbuckling his sword from his side, “You deserve it.” He held it out to you hilt-first, and didn't stop there.

He rose from the bed with a soft groan and sank to one knee before you, looking up to shoot you a mischievous grin before sinking his head back down. “Go on my lady, knight me again.” He hummed. Oh the trouble he would have been in if you could have heard his thoughts during the coronation earlier. The way your arms curved, the way you called him your knight. Nicholas was a gone man.

But this time, you leaned forward and placed the tip of the blade gently under his chin, lifting your wrist to lift his face up. His neck curved beautifully as you did, his eyes full of something you couldn't quite decipher. The room felt warmer.

“Oh no.” You purred. “How very clumsy I am.” You tilted the blade up further, making him show you his whole neck. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily; but you could easily see the smirk tugging at his lips.

There was something frustratingly attractive about this, about him. The very fact that he could pick you up and snap your spine in half, and yet here he was, kneeling in front of you, letting you play with his neck with his sword—it made heat rush between your thighs.

“How very clumsy you are.” Nicholas crooned, grabbing hold of the middle of the blade, “You cannot hold it like that if you want to kill somebody, my lady.”

“How do I hold it then?” You asked, crossing one leg over the other, “Teach me.” Your action caused your night gown to slip, revealing the entirety of your right leg. Nicholas’ brain haywired.

He sighed, holding the blade with two hands now as he inched forward on his knees, till the blade was the only thing separating you both.

“Isnt that….how do you say it again?” He ran his tongue over his lips, "Unparliamentary?" He chuckled, tossing the sword away and resting his hands on either side of you on the bed, caging you in, “For a knight to teach his princess?”

“Careful.” You hummed, “I am your queen now.” Your eyes darted from his eyes to his wet lips.

“You’ll always be my princess though.” Nicholas’ hands wandered to your waist, “Won’t you, princess?”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. This close, you could see the faint scar near his lip, the way his eyes hooded and the way his composure was on the verge of breaking.

Silence fell between you both for a moment, neither of you breaking away from the heavy eye contact. His hands mapped your clothed waist, slender fingertips tracing circles on the silk. You bit your lip, eyes tracing over his muscles.

Was this the love the poets spoke of?

“Nicholas…”

“My lady?”

“Kiss me.” You wrapped your arms round his neck, pulling him even closer, “Please kiss me.”

If there existed a God in this world, you’d have to apologise to them. For nothing felt more holy, than the feeling of Nicholas’ soft lips on yours.

He cupped your face gently with one hand, thumb brushing against your cheek and he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss.

Nicholas poured his heart and soul into the embrace, worshipping your mouth with a fervor that set your entire body aflame. His lips moved against yours with a skillful precision, as your arms roamed all over his arms, feeling his firm biceps.

“You like them princess?” Nicholas broke away for a second, smirking, “You’re not very slick when you stare you know?”

And then he was aalll over you again, deepening the kiss this time, you felt yourself becoming lost in the sensation, your world narrowing to the point of contact between your lips.

Nicholas's tongue danced with yours in a sensual tango, his passion igniting a fire within you that consumed you entirely. You clung to him as if he was your lifeline, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer till your chest pressed against his, desperate to feel every inch of his body.

“Fuck me..” Nicholas moaned into the kiss, “You’re so beautiful, princess.”

With a sudden surge of strength, Nicholas lifted you effortlessly, placing you down gently on the centre on the bed. He cradled you in his arms, his eyes locked on yours as he gazed down at you with a mixture of reverence and desire.

Your mind, on the other hand, raced with memories of…..scandalous knowledge. You had often poured over study tomes, deciphering the cryptic illustrations and the mysteries of love and desire. But physical experience always trumped literary knowledge right?

“Nicho…..”

“Yes princess?” He said, “Tell me what you want.”

“Can you…..I mean, can we….” Your words faded into the tortuous air of awkwardness as heat rushed to your neck. How hard was it to say ‘can we have sex’?

“Can I what, my lady?” Nicholas smirked. Of course, he knew what you were asking about. But some wild beast in him needed to hear you say it out loud.

“You know what I mean.” You mumbled sheepishly, turning your head to the side to look away, not knowing the curve of your neck only made the pressure between his legs increase.

“I do.” He hummed, “But I’m afraid a knight cannot do anything without proper orders, my lady."

Oh this man, you thought, I love this man. You had thought of this moment for so long, yet now that it was here, you found yourself tongue-tied and hesitant.

"Nicholas," You murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I–I want you to make love to me."

The words hung heavy in the air, you could feel the heat of Nicholas's gaze, his eyes smoldering with a fire that matched the intensity of your own arousal.

"As you wish, my princess," He replied, his voice low.

With a gentle yet firm touch, Nicholas traced his fingers along the curve of your neck. He leaned in, pressing his lips to the sensitive flesh, and was rewarded with a soft gasp from his beloved. As Nicholas continued his exploration, his hands roamed over your body, caressing every inch of you with reverence and desire.

You found yourself losing yourself in the sensation, your body responding eagerly to Nicholas's skilled ministrations. As he slipped his hand beneath the fabric of your gown, you arched into his touch, craving more of the delicious torment he was inflicting upon you.

"Nichooo," You whined, voice heavy with need. "Please....."

In response, Nicholas merely smiled, a glint in his eye. "Patience, my love," He whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to savor every moment of this."

His tongue slipped against yours as he pulled you in for another passionate kiss, his right hand hovering near your inner thigh. Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, urging him on. A low moan vibrated from his throat into the kiss, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“May I?” He murmured against your lips. You hummed a note of consent, and his hands worked quickly to pull your night gown off. Your hands too drifted up to unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt, exposing his scarred chest to you. My my, was your knight beautiful.

You shivered in anticipation, as you were left naked on the bed. Nicholas paused for a moment, to drink in the sight before him. His princess, laid out like a feast for his consumption, your body quivering with desire for him alone. His dick strained painfully against his pants. Patience Nicholas, he thought to himself, it’s her first time.

"You’re so perfect," He breathed, his eyes roaming hungrily over you, "Perfect..."

Nicholas groaned softly at the sight of your wet cunt, already sopped with your arousal, his touch feather-light as he parted your folds with his thick finger, feeling the slick heat of you. You gasped, your hips bucking instinctively, and he added a second finger, stretching you with careful thrusts, his thumb circling your clit in firm, rhythmic motions.

“Oh Nicho….” You moaned, “Nicho–feels so good, oh!”

"Fuck…..so beautiful, so needy for me." His voice was thick with affection.

Slowly, Nicholas pressed one finger deep inside, your walls clenching around the intrusion as he curled it gently, stroking that sensitive spot deep within. He watched your face, his free hand caressing your thigh, ensuring every movement brought you pleasure. The wetness coated his fingers as Nicholas pumped them deeper, building the tension in your core, his loving gaze never leaving yours.

“Nicho!” You cried out, as his finger brushed past a particular spot, “Nicho right there—oh fuckkkk…”

Nicholas groaned, his own dick twitching at how your pretty pussy squeezed his finger—he's dying to bury himself in you, to feel you break around him. He was so turned on by the way his perfect princess was falling apart for him, falling apart merely for his fingers.

He added a third finger, thrusting deeper, scissoring to open you up. Your clit pulsed under his thumb as he rubbed it hard, making your hips jerk. You felt the heat coiling low in your belly, waves of pleasure making you wetter, your breath coming fast.

He watched you, eyes dark with lust and care, his free hand squeezing your thigh as he fingered your cunt faster, wanting to make you cum before he took you fully.

“Nicho—I’m close…..” You groaned, arching into his touch. You started to grind your hips against his digits, feeling a peculiar knot tighten inside you. You’ve had orgasms before, but there was no way your pathetic little fingers could ever feel as good as Nicholas’s thick, thick fingers.

“Relax, princess.” Nicholas whispered, as you held onto his shoulders for support, “Let go for me—that’s a good girl.”

Your hips rocked harder now, as if they had a mind of their own, chasing that delicious pressure the heat building fast and reckless within you.

“Nicholas!” You moaned his name as your thighs trembled, head falling forward. Your body unravelled, every nerve focused on the friction, that aching pressure curling tight as tight could be.

With a sob of pure ecstasy, you came undone, your body shaking with the force of your release. Nicholas held you close, his touch gentling as he guided you through the aftershocks.

"Good girl," He whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "You’re doing so well, princess."

As you floated in a haze of post-orgasmic bliss, Nicholas' hands continued to caress your skin, his touch now soft and soothing. He trailed his fingers along your spine, eliciting a contented sigh from you.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked you, “Was I too rough with you?” You shook your head a frantic no which made him chuckle, “Not rough enough?”

You bit your lip, eyes darting downwards to where Nicholas' length strained against his pants. You had only ever seen a man’s……thing in particularly explicit paintings before and the sight of your knight’s thick, hard cock sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through your veins.

You trailed your left hand down to his crotch, slowly rubbing it up and down. Nicholas shut his eyes and sighed. Was this really his innocent princess?

"Off." You whispered, voice as steady as it was earlier that day. "Want to see you, Nicho please."

Nicholas's eyes darkened with desire at your request. "Whatever my princess wants." He replied, his voice a low growl.

With a fluid motion, he sat up, tearing his shirt off to reveal his chiseled physique, his muscles rippling beneath his skin as he moved. His pants came off in one motion too and you audibly gasped.

How on earth was all that supposed to fit inside you?

“It’s so big…” You said, slapping a hand over your mouth when you realised what you just blurted out. Nicholas chuckled, gently removing your hand from your mouth and cupping his cheek with it.

“Don’t worry, my love.” He crooned, “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

You gulped, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and apprehension, as he leaned in to press a tender kiss to your lips. You reached down again, fingers grazing his pre-cum soaked head.

“Thaaat’s it.” He encouraged you, his hand covering yours, guiding you to stroke him once, twice, the slickness from his tip coating your palm. A soft whimper escaped him, but he pulled your hands away gently, positioning himself between your slick legs.

“You sure princess?” He asked one last time, his senses catching fire as you shyly nodded.

The leaking tip of his cock nudged your entrance, and you were already arching your back and crying out. The heat of him there sent a shiver through you, your throbbing pussy clenching around nothing. Nicholas leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue sweeping in possessively as he lined up.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart.” He whispered against your mouth, one hand bracing beside your head, the other gripping your hip to hold you steady.

Slowly, so agonizingly slowly, he pushed forward. The broad head breached you, stretching your tight walls inch by exquisite inch. It burned—a sharp, splitting pain as your pussy yielded to his girth, forcing you open wider than you've ever been. You gasped into his kiss, nails digging into his shoulders, body tensing as the intrusion bordered on too much.

“Nicho–ohhh god oh god!” A moan ripped from your chest, “feel so full, Nicho…” You whimpered pathetically.

“Fuck, you're so—hah—tight.” He hissed through gritted teeth, pausing with just the tip inside, letting you adjust.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, his muscles straining with restraint. But there was a glint in his eyes, a cocky edge as he watched your face contort—brows furrowed, lips parted in a silent cry. How it amused him so much, watching you struggle to take his length.

“Taking my cock like a good girl, aren't you? My princess, struggling so prettily on it.” His words stung with arrogance, but the way he stroked your cheek softened it, thumb tracing your jaw as he inched even deeper. The pain flared again, your inner muscles clamping down, trying to push him out.

“Nicho…it hurts.” You breathed.

Tears pricked your eyes, the fullness overwhelming, like he was carving a space inside you that wasn't there before. But you refused to pull away—your hips tilted up slightly, inviting more despite the ache.

“Shh my love.” Nicholas kissed away the stray tear, “Just a little more yeah? You’re doing so good for me.” He rocked forward another inch, the veined shaft draaagging against your sensitive walls, sending sparks of mingled pain and pleasure shooting through you. Your clit throbbed with each tiny thrust, the friction building a confusing heat.

“God, just loook at that.” He chuckled, glancing down where your bodies joined, his thick length disappearing into your pink, stretched folds, “So pretty all of me.” The sight made him harder, but he reined it in, peppering your neck with soft kisses, murmuring praises. “So brave, taking all of me like this.”

You bit your lips, as he pressed on, slower still, until with a final, careful push, he bottomed out. His balls rested heavy against you, his pubic bone grinding against your clit, and you're utterly full, stuffed to the brim.

“Oh fuck me.” Nicholas groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, both of you breathing hard.

“Nicho—m-move please please pleasee..” You whined, wanting to feel something, anything other than this feeling of absolute fullness.

After a long moment, he started to move—gentle at first, pulling out just a fraction before sliding back in, the motion smooth and controlled. Each shallow thrust eased the pain further, your pussy growing accustomed, the drag of his thickness igniting nerves you didn't know existed

Pleasure bloomed low in your belly, warm and insistent as you moaned his name, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. His hands roamed your body, thumbs circling your nipples as he rocked into you steadily.

“Fuck you’re gonna kill me, princess.” He groaned, watching your face, drinking in every gasp and flutter of your lashes, “Squeezin me so good–oh oh!”

But the gentleness wasn’t enough; the coil in your core tightened, demanding more. You whined, high and needy, fingers clawing at his back.

“Nicho…….faster, please. I need you to fuck me harder.” Your voice broke on the plea, submissive and raw, body arching up to meet his. He paused mid-thrust, eyes locking on yours, a spark of hunger flashing.

‘Don’t want to hurt you my love.” But you shook your head, desperation flooding you.

“Please Nicho?” You fluttered your lashes, “want to feel all of you in me.”

And that was it.

A growl rumbled from his chest, and he shifted, hooking your legs over his elbows to open you wider. He pulled out almost to the tip, then slammed back in—harder, deeper, the force jolting you up the bed.

You cried out, the sudden fullness bordering on pain again, but it's laced with ecstasy, your pussy clenching greedily around him. He set a punishing pace now, hips snapping forward, cock pistoning in and out with wet, obscene sounds.

“You like that princess?” He panted, sweat dripping from his brow onto your skin, his control shattering as he fucks you to bits, “My dirty girl likes feeling me inside her pretty pussy?”

The bed creaked under the onslaught, silk sheets bunching as you writhed beneath him. Pleasure crashed over you in waves—his thick dick stretching you relentlessly, rubbing that spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

Nicholas leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue fucking in time with his hips, all love and passion poured into the act.

“My princess.” He murmured between thrusts, voice strained, “I love so—oh god—love you so much.” His hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing firm circles that made you scream into his mouth. The dual assault—his relentless pounding and the pressure on your nub—pushed you toward the edge, your walls fluttering wildly around him.

“Nicho Nicho Nicho!” You all but screamed his name like a sinful prayer, “Oh Nicho—love you love you love you!”

You shattered with a wail, pussy spasming in violent contractions that milked his shaft. Ecstasy ripped through you, body convulsing, nails raking red lines down his back. He didn’t stop, fucking you through it, drawing out every tremor until you were whimpering from the intensity.

“That’s my girl.” He praised, cocky grin flashing even as his own release built. His thrusts grew erratic, chasing his peak with single-minded focus.

With a worshipping moan, he buried himself to the hilt one last time, cock swelling as he came. Hot spurts flooded your pussy, painting your walls white, the sensation of his seed filling you whole. He grinded against you, prolonging it, groaning your name like a hymn.

“Take it all, my love.” You felt every pulse, the warmth spreading deep, a profound intimacy in the way he claimed you completely, “My beautiful princess.”

Nicholas lingered inside you for a moment, his cock softening gradually within your tender, cum-filled pussy, the warmth of his release still seeping into your walls. He shifted his weight carefully and began to pull out very gently, his thick shaft dragging along your sensitive folds one last time.

A soft whimper escaped your lips at the emptiness that followed, his cum trickling out slowly, warm and sticky, coating your inner thighs.

“Easy, princess.” He said, voice laced with tenderness, “I’ve got you.”

He rolled onto your side, bed dipping under his weight, reaching for you immediately, strong arms encircling your waist, drawing you into his chest. You nestled against him without hesitation, your head tucking under his chin, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding you as your own pulse slowed.

The room fell quiet, save for the crackle of the dying fire in the hearth and your synchronized breaths. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows over the rumpled bed, illuminating the flush on your cheeks and the satisfied curve of his lips.

“So…”

“Hmm?”

“That was..” You sucked in a breath, “Wow.”

Nicholas chuckled gently, tracing circles on your hip, “You’ve just been fucked and that’s the first thing you say?”

“Careful, my knight.” You giggled, “I am still your queen you know.”

“Of course, my liege.” He hummed.

You tilted your head up, lips brushing the underside of his jaw. He tightened his hold, his hand pausing in its tracing to cup your hip more firmly, pulling you impossibly closer.

“I love you.” You said, “I love you, Nicholas.”

“And I love you.” Nicholas replied, gazing into your eyes, “More than anything in this world, princess.” He claimed your lips in a slow, languid kiss—something deep and loving, just as the poets described it.

The world wrapped around you like a soft blanket, as sleep drifted into you both, sending you off to the land of hopeful dreams. Nicholas mumbled something incoherent, perhaps another declaration of love, before dozing off, a knight finally at rest.

And it all came back to this again

An ordinary world, with ordinary people.

A knight and his princess.

Two stars glowing in the moonlit sky.

Fin.

divider by @strangergraphics-archive