little lover

one day, you go into the kitchens late at night to stir a stew, only to be surprised by a hulking figure. You scream, hurrying to grab a pot or pan to defend yourself, only for the figure to jump back itself. it doesnt make a noise, doesnt apologize or yell. it -no, him, you realize, as the man's face comes into focus- is a scruffy haired man, neckline high, cheeks gaunt. He's none of the other knights you know, so you realize its the silent one almost instantly.

"I'm sorry, ser," you squeak. "I did not mean to scare you. I thought you were-"

you let that thought fizzle out. his brows furrow deep, as if he's bewildered by the idea of you scaring him. he's hunched near the stock pot, a heel of bread in hand.

"Are you hungry?" you ask. the man stares at you, lip curled in confusion until he realizes your waiting for an answer. with a stiff nod, he answers you and you rush to grab him some of the cured meats for tomorrow.

"Here." You shove it into his hands. "That stew ain't ready yet. Them potatoes are hard enough you'll break your jaw."

he pounds a fist to his chest before eating, eyes flickering to you every couple of bites.

"Is it good?"

He nods again.

"The girls say that you're either fae kissed or witch cursed," you say before you can stop yourself. "Which it be?"

He looks up at you again. The scar on his throat is clearly visible: both of you know which rumor is fact. But he takes his pointer, middle and thumb to his other palm, standing them there like a little woodland faery.

Nights have become routine. You feed him bowls if whatever is good in the kitchen, he listens to you ramble about the day. He never seems to care that you bother him so-- in fact, he's engaged.

The knight cups a hand over his eye like he's searching the distance. Where?

"Married! Can you believe it?" you sigh. "The butcher came and threw her over his shoulder. Didn't even ask! She's already with babe. I don't think men should do anything to a woman without askin! Like we're piggies at market, I tell you. Worst part is that the butcher is sending up the shit cuts now. Prince nearly tanned my hide over a pig tail! No lasses left to impress, no good meat!"

The knight points towards you.

"Me?"

He does it firmer.

"Only reason men come see me is to get extra rations." You shove him playfully. "Not that I hate the company or anything. 'sides, I like the tail. Fries up real nice. Sisters and I used to fight over it. I'll save you one."

The knight palms his nose, pushing it up and flat, then rubs his stomach.

"You like snout?" you say. "You're more backwoods than I am!

A fervent nod, a walk of the finger, amd a tap on the forehead. Of course I Am. Faeries, remember?

"Yes, you lived in those awful fae in the deep dark woods, eating hog snout."

He puckers a fist and points to the folds near his thumbs.

"What?"

All of his fingers tap his mouth, then form the fist again. He ate....

"And pork anus?" you gasp. "Ser!"

His laugh is scratchy, nearly silent, but it bounces in his chest. it might just be air, but you can feel it moving, dancing-

"Better to eat pork butt than pork pussy, I guess."

Your knight nearly shoves you, waving his arms with a horrified look. The tips of his ears are pink with embarrassment. Don't say that!

"You can joke about butthole, but I can't say pussy?"

He twists a hand in the air, fingers all splayed.

"What is that? Sun? Flower?" you sigh when he nods. "It ain't a flower! You don't put your dick in flowers, you put it in pussies and cunts-"

them, locked in a cell of their own making, watching what they cannot have. those cold, steely walls that otherwise commanded dignity and respect encapsulating their heated breaths, pretending that they’re yours.

I'm having fun playing this game.