Outside your window, the fires burning in the city have now begun to creep steadily towards the castle walls, accompanied by the sounds of pitched battle. The clash of steel has begun to be drowned out by screams, as more of your guards fall to the attackers and more attackers split away from the diminishing resistance in search of prey and plunder.
You whirl away from the window in panic as your chamber door crashes open, almost torn off its hinges, wood splintering against the stone wall. The sight of your knight in the doorway makes you relax, if only the smallest sliver, for you notice it holds its sword naked at its side. The steel shines in the firelight, less than you're used seeing to in melees and tourneys, for most of the blade is coated in blood, dripping off it in thick dark trails. It lopes into your room, leaving a trail of droplets and smeared boot prints, blood staining the luxurious rugs on your chamber floor. A strange energy seems to crackle off it, surrounding it in a corona of hazy unease, making you shift a step back and shiver. That appears to have been a mistake from the way its lip slightly curls into a sneer before dropping back into its practiced mask of steely neutrality.
"Is something the matter, your grace?"
You fight to keep the quiver from your voice when you answer. "No, sir, you simply startled me." But something is clearly wrong. It's in your chambers for one, not rallying your lesser guards for the final defense of your chamber; and secondly, even more obviously, not only is blood dripping from its blade, it's caked into the creases of its gloves and smeared up from the soles of its boots, clinging to them like mud. "H-have, have invaders breached the keep?"
It looks down at its naked blade and bloody boots, raising its eyebrows. "Ah. I did run into some trouble, but nothing I could not handle."
You catch a glimpse through your open door, down the hall where two sentries should be standing, but instead see only an arm reaching around and blood pooling at the other side. Catching your gaze, your knight kicks the door, hard enough that the latch slams shut and takes a step toward you.
"Your grace, I have watched you for years, of course as part of my duties, but over time of my own desire. During the day I track your movements with my eyes and at night I follow you in my dreams. You have snared my heart, your grace. I am yours." As it speaks it flushes, color rising in its cheeks and eyes darkening with obsession and lust.
Stunned into silence, you can only gape open mouthed at it. It is not unattractive in its way, sharp and lean and wolfish in the way it lopes in your shadow with predator's eyes, always scanning for knives in the dark. But the thought has never crossed your mind, for matters of station, for simple attraction, for the full lack of awareness of the option. But any chance of romance is unthinkable now, not with a city in flames and attackers at your door and blood on its hands. "Sir knight, now is hardly the time for this-"
"Now is the perfect time, your grace!" It cuts you off, closing the distance between you and grabbing your arms, dropping its sword as it does. The blood is cold by now and tacky against the hard metal of its gauntlets, sticking them further to your skin. "With the castle distracted by the attack, we can escape and begin our life together."
It grips your chin with cold steel fingers, hard enough to bruise but it doesn't seem to notice, and forces you to stare into its eyes. The predator has gone rabid and all you see in those eyes is hunger and the haze of delusion. "As long as my heart beats within my chest, I will never leave your side."
It leans forward to kiss you gently on the lips and then the metal fingers are in your hair and you gasp at the pain as they tangle in it. Your knight takes that as an invitation to deepen your kiss and its tongue is in your mouth and its fingers are pulling free of your hair along with a few strands, trailing down to your hips, and it smells like blood and sweat and metal and it looks so big this close up that all your world shrinks to the expanse of armor in front of you, as immovable as a castle wall. Its fingers dig into your hips, pulling you against it, crushing you against the cold hard steel. Breaking the kiss, it stares at you with dark eyes, lost so deep in its fantasies that all thoughts of escape have fled. "Yes, your grace, I suppose we have time."
Before you can protest, its mouth is back on yours and it bites at your lips as it guides you towards your bed. The back of your knees hit and you fall backwards onto the mattress, your knight looming above and caging you in with its arms. You see its gauntlets resting on either side of your head and the thought springs unbidden to your mind, it will stain and the thought is so absurd, a hysterical giggle slips from your lips.
Your knight smiles down at you, eyes burning with fearful intensity, and runs a hand along your face. "I can hardly believe it either, your grace." It leans down to kiss you again and its mouth on yours and its armored weight on top of you seems like it will suffocate you, crushing you under the weight of its desire. Just as your lungs begin to burn, it pulls off you enough to tear at your gown, fabric ripping in its haste to get at you. More of the predator is coming out, its kisses growing more full of teeth, until it bites at your neck and chest, drawing strangled whines of pain that doesn't just hurt. A hand goes below its belt, fumbling at its codpiece, and then there's cold steel in between your thighs and scraping at your stomach as it forces itself inside you with a strangled groan and a whispered curse.
This is all wrong. It should be a prince, a gallant and brave and true prince, a shining angel, not this common knight with blood on its hands and boots. It should be the soft press of your lovers skin against yours, not this cold steel that pinches and bruises and rubs you raw. It shouldn't hurt this much, surely it shouldn't hurt this much. As the full weight of pain and horror comes crashing into you, you scream and begin sobbing helplessly as your knight thrusts into you again. It kisses your cheeks and whispers in your ear before it begins moving again, "Do not worry, your grace, no one will hear us over the battle."
As it begins to fall into a rhythm, hard thrusts jolting your against its armor, it starts crying too. Great sobs of joy to match your wails of despair, face twisted in frenzied devotion, as in between thrusts it praises your beauty, your grace, it laments the lonely nights spent dreaming outside your door, it whispers promises of endless love and happiness for the rest of your days, building to a fever pitch until it buries itself inside you one last time and sobs out a final gasped pledge to you. You can only lie there as it quickly bundles you up in a rich velvet cloak from your wardrobe and lifts you like it's carrying you across the bridal threshold, making its way out through the secret passages and tunnels of the castle, a knight rescuing its princess at last.