#princeposting

[noblekitty]

I just want to have a handsome knight to carefully and delicately grasp his face. To cradle and treat like he is fragile after he endured the strifes and violence seen in war. I want to bring him serenity and coo his name softly in the safety of my quarters.

[weepinginlace]

if you were my beloved knight, how much convincing would it take to get you to warm me up in bed? ♡ how long would it take for you to relent and let me unburden you, slowly removing every piece of your armour until only your tunic remains ♡ vulnerable, naked enough for me to lay my head on your chest and listen to your hastened, flustered heartbeat ♡

[royally-loved]

I don’t say it loud enough sometimes

FAT KNIGHTS ARE HOTTEST. BIG MEN. BIG TRANS MEN…

Muscle needs padding, let me rest my head on your stomach. Let me grab your sides and feel the way my fingers sink in. Or, until I realize the appearance of softness is just a facade for the sheer force underneath.

[robobrat]

i wonder how my precious knight would react if he were to awaken in our bed to the sight of me wearing his tunic? the fabric reaching down to mid-thigh, spilling over one shoulder, loose and flowing and undeniably his? would he pin me down to the bed, mark up every bit of exposed skin he can get his mouth on?

[princely4ever]

Hello dear knight in shining armour. Your prince doest require 1 pastry. If you do not deliver by sunrise, i will have your head on a pike. Sincerely, prince with big brown eyes.

[borrowed-blade]

Magic-user prince who figures out how to enchant their knight's armour to actually be able to feel sensation, like a tortoise's shell.

Casting the spell and the knight doesn't immediately notice anything because it's not like they're touching anything most of the time, just standing guard.  Sure, they "feel" when they grasp the hilt of their sword, but they always feel that, sort of a phantom sensation.

Prince testing to see if the spell worked by laying a hand on the knight's cuirass, a familiar gesture that would raise no eyebrows to an onlooker, but the prince doesn't miss the startled hiss from inside their knight's helmet, the stiffening of the figure, the shiver when he lets his fingers trace down the plate before falling to his side. 

Prince smirking at the confirmation that the spell worked, leaning in and murmuring a tease that doubles as a question, making sure that the knight is okay with this.  Knight nodding and breathlessly confirming consent, though warning the prince that such an enchantment might make it difficult for them to do their duty.  A knight's armour is meant to protect the sensitive creature underneath, after all.

Prince surreptitiously taking their knight's hand, stroking a thumb over the back of their gauntlet, feeling their knight still as all their attention zeroes in on that one point of contact, and assuring them that they have no cause to fret.  After all, their only duty today is to accompany their prince at the banquet that night, where there will be countless other guards to keep away any real danger.  All the knight has to do is stand there, look vaguely menacing, and feel.

Prince teasing their knight mercilessly throughout the banquet, touching them far more than is strictly necessary, enough to merit suspicion from any observant onlooker, and the knight would be embarrassed even without the sensations humming through them.  Knight hissing to their prince in a close moment that this is irresponsible, that the knight needs to at least be able to focus, and the prince is making it all but impossible.  Prince dragging their fingertips down the inside of their knight's arm from elbow to wrist, replying that if the knight can't stay focused in the face of such distraction, then perhaps they aren't a very good knight after all.

Knight gritting their teeth and silently resolving to prove their prince wrong, painfully stoic and sturdy for the rest of the evening, no matter what the prince does, no matter how hot their cheeks burn behind their visor.

[toybox-prince]

Adopt don't shop!!

i know battleworn knights get a bad rep as they often come with trauma and can be unpredictable or sometimes (very rarely) dangerous if you aren't careful. but if you take the time to be kind and meet them where they are they become the best vassals, experienced in combat and fiercely protective. I've never had a more loyal and affectionate knight than my knight I adopted from the kingdom's battalion.

[fruityprinceling]

On the Eve of Battle

[Inspired by this exchange]

The Prince gazed at himself in the mirror as his servant secured the straps of his gambeson, face carefully neutral. The servant turned, reaching for the maile that lay ready beside —

"Wait."

The servant paused, "My Lord?"

"I wish to pray for victory. Leave me to my solitude. I shall summon you when I am ready to resume."

"Of course, your Highness."

The servant dipped a quick bow before exiting the tent, the heavy canvas parting and allowing the cacophonous sounds of the camp's preparations to penetrate within. The fabric fell back into place and, once more, all was muffled. Wrapped in this temporary cocoon, the Prince released a sigh and allowed himself to sit on the edge of his cot, head in his hands.

His shoulders slumped and he blew out a long slow breath. He ran trembling fingers along his scalp, before gazing upward at the canopy above him, wishing he could gaze upon the serenity of the stars instead.

It was mere hours 'till dawn and then… war.

It would not be the first time the Prince led his men against opposing forces, but the prospect never seemed to get easier. Beyond consulting with his generals and tacticians to ensure they were prepared and could hopefully spare the lives of as many in their number as possible, the Prince had another task: to show no fear. His purpose, above all else, was to project an air of such complete and controlled confidence that it would inspire his men on to victory and convince them that it was worthy and just to fight in service of The Crown. There could be no cracks, no stutters or stumbles. He must stare unflinchingly into the face of Death and lead these men forward, many of them to their doom.

He thought back to the days of his youth, to the sparring lessons he and his brother — now, the King — had been forced to take, and how often they would try to weasel out of practice with one of myriad excuses. How the Captain of their father's guard would furrow his brow and frown before launching into another lecture about the importance of discipline and how these lessons were to ensure the safety of the kingdom by making sure that the future heirs knew the business end of a sword from the scabbard.

But there had only ever been one Heir in truth, and he now sat upon the throne in the Capital with his Queen and his own heirs. Sometimes the Prince considered that he should be grateful to still draw breath at all; certainly he'd heard of the redundant brothers of other kings meeting with sudden and unfortunate accidents after their elder's ascension or finding themselves executed for conspiracy against the Crown.

It was difficult to feel terribly grateful though when he'd spent the better part of his nephew's lives on the battlefield. It felt as though rather than directly eliminate the competition to the young Crown Prince's seat, the Council of Ministers would just as soon allow their enemies to solve the problem for them. And yet… the Prince still lived. Though it had been a close thing on a number of occasions, the Prince somehow managed to claw his way through to a new dawn again and again.

He was careful not to inspire too much loyalty with the men, to allow himself to be seen as some manner of hero to rival the throne. Likewise, he carefully avoided becoming too familiar with the nobles in the scant times he returned to Court, lest it be said that he was attempting to win supporters in an imagined play for power. No, he instead had spent these past years teetering on the knife's edge: delicately balancing every moment, every interaction, every expression. He was diligent and thorough in his reports. He took no lovers amongst the women of the camp, or towns the army marched through, or any lovers at all in truth.

He did not carouse with his men, taking most meals in the privacy of his quarters or during tactical discussions with the generals. He was precise and calculated in his meting out of praise, careful to never appear to favor any one of his soldiers over the others, while still rewarding those who performed their duties admirably and encouraging overall morale. He must always be separate, always apart. He must allow no space for suspicion or doubt to take root.

Only in these quiet stolen moments could he ease the white knuckled grip he had on his meticulously constructed mask. Only here, alone, could he be himself. Not The Prince, but merely a man, frightened and weary before the break of a dawn which could be his last.