This blog is for Princess/Prince, Knight, Royal and general medival RP
Might get a bit gothic horror/dark medival sometimes
✴︎ Please call me Princess, Lady Tired or The Tired Princess
✦ 28 ✦ She/Her ✦ Switch (ish?) ✦ straight
✴︎ Looking for hot knights to take into my service so feel free to apply
✦ Horny & sexual Asks are very very welcome but please check the kinks below!
✴︎ English is not my first language so please be patient with me
✦Tags:
#tiredprincess lore -> lore I will make up
#knight kink -> nsfw/horny posts
#tiredprincess vibes -> pretty pictures & inspo
✴︎Kinks:
✦ being worshipped ✦ clothed/armoured sex ✦ face-sitting/getting eaten out ✦ light exhibitionism ✦ 2 or more partners ✦ bruising/marking ✦ light pain ✦ light choking ✦ size kink (I want to feel cute and small)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Messer Etienne, the senior knight stood on the periphery of the proceedings and took in the scene. Bright costumes and garish masks. It reminded him of nothing so much as the carnevale in the Veneto, where it was said the Fair Folk of the Lagoon came forth to dance.
This had more of a hint of madness to it, in keeping with this odd bastion.
He’d considered wearing the same austere black as he’d done for the feast, but reconsidered at the last moment, opting for a scandalously short, snow-white houppeland with hanging sleeves, beaded to look as if they’d been spattered with blood. His hose were of crimson Florentine wool, tightly tailored, revealing the tightly muscled legs below, a second skin. His low boots were died to match.
On his head, as at the feast, he wore a bicocket hat with a sculpted and feathered swan rising from the crown. Unlike Monday’s, this one’s wings were tipped in blood red feathers, the chest speckled with matching beads. A bloody swan, the beads dripping down to cover his emerald eyes.
Upon his hands, fine red leather gloves, at his waist, a scarlet belt.
He wondered what he’d find tonight. The feast had ended in an unexpectedly pleasant fashion and he craved more. More of her, more of another. More.
He recognized at least half the people in the room now. Or he would, if not for the masks. That wasn’t done. Not in Venezia, not here.
"Sir Etienne..." greets the princess who seems to have almost materialized out of thin air next to the knight.
She is wearing an almost identical dress to the one she wore for the feast but with inverted colors. The fabric is heavy and almost blindingly white with the black accents matching the princesses hair. The chainmaile mask is hiding her whole face but it matches the silver corset and the other silver jewelery that is decorating the princess.
He turns at the sound of her voice, and for a moment, forgets himself, drinking her in with his eyes like a dying man. It is only a momentary lapse, but it's a look she's already seen.
"Your Highness," he drops to one knee, ready to take a hand if offered. "I know your fondness for swans and thought the red would compliment you . I hope I was correct.
I had not seen you for the past few days and hoped you had not tired of Bloodhaven already."
He takes her hand, the long nails, adorned with silver, the pale skin and odd coldness, lowers his head, and brushes it lightly with his lips.
His mind whirls. She is truly a vision, every inch the pen to his cob. He pushes his memories down, knowing what lies within this confection of fabric and silver. He keeps his knee and gazes upward, a look of honest devotion on his face.
"One must make the necessary social appearances, I understand. If the atmosphere becomes too close this evening and you tire of your obligations, you need only say the word and I'll be happy to find you a quieter diversion. After all, you will soon be heading home, and we can't have you ill on the road.
I am, in truth, a poor dancer. But if you wish to do so, I am at your service.
Or," he grinned conspiratorially, "we can simply take in the proceedings until you bore of them."
She can still feel the warmth of the knights lips on her hand when she speaks up again.
"We shall dance. At least for a short time. Rise." she motions for him to stand up.
The princess isn´t a well versed dancer as well but the music is still slow enough for her to manage. All kinds of odd pairings are occupying the dance floor and the princess enjoys seeing all the guests having such a good time.
"How did you spend your days while I was resting, Sir Etienne?" she asks while approaching the dance floor.
"I was unhorsed by a young knight errant in the tournament. Gallant lad rode brilliantly and stole my crest," he grinned at the thought.
A shadow then crossed his face. "And then I learned some truly awful news, that my lord of Rimini is gone. A brief illness. He sent word with two orphans I look after with instructions that Italia is no longer safe for me. And, God be good, a considerable amount of coin on deposit with his bankers. But, honestly, Your Highness, I've spent my days feeling cast adrift. He wished me to enjoy myself, and I have tried. But I do not know where life will lead me now."
He pause, then led her the rest of the way to the floor as the previous dance end. He took his place across from her, and waited for the dance-master to cry, "Dancers, are we met?"
The music started and he mentally began to count the steps.
"These are indeed horrible news. I will order my maids to pray for your lords soul tonight." she tries her best to sound empathetic while curtseying as the dance requires.
"Our courts physician once said to me `with every loss and hardship, we are growing more into the person the gods intend for us to be´. I hope it brings you some condolance."
Her steps are a bit unsure in the beginning but years of practice are coming back to her as they dance together.
The dance is a pavane, simple enough, and he counts his blessings. their hands brush on the reverance, and as he turns, he not only feels but sees the daggers stared his way by the younger knights. He can practically hear them, "Whatever does that old peacock think he's doing?"
Let them jape.
"Your physician is indeed wise. I fear I am, perhaps, too grown, but I have not come this far without being open to new things. Perhaps my road will lead to your court some day and I can provide a spot of color."
The dance ends.
"Another? Or refreshment?" He leaned in conspiratorially, "I'm fairly certain there's a cohort of young bravos plotting my murder as we speak." He offered his arm, "If you would pray grant me your protection," he grinned, "I would be ever so grateful."
She smiles at the knight before her, even though it is hidden by her mask. Her gaze wanders to the young knights that have their eyes fixed on her and Sir Etienne.
-plain and uninteresting- she judges them quietly.
"My court is always open for you, Sir Etienne. But beware. The silver castle is a rather dark and eerie place. A lot of brave knights came and fled, without ever looking back." She explains in a serious tone.
More people have entered the hall and the music is getting louder and faster.
He looks her in the eyes, matter of factly, "I have been to many dark and eerie places, Your Highness. If I knew you were within said keep, I'd daresay, I would not flee."
But I am all for quieter quarters. He looked up. "There seem to be alcoves, up on the floor above looking down and curtained off. Would those be quiet enough, do you suppose? Or should we seek our solitude elsewhere?
Messer Etienne, the senior knight stood on the periphery of the proceedings and took in the scene. Bright costumes and garish masks. It reminded him of nothing so much as the carnevale in the Veneto, where it was said the Fair Folk of the Lagoon came forth to dance.
This had more of a hint of madness to it, in keeping with this odd bastion.
He’d considered wearing the same austere black as he’d done for the feast, but reconsidered at the last moment, opting for a scandalously short, snow-white houppeland with hanging sleeves, beaded to look as if they’d been spattered with blood. His hose were of crimson Florentine wool, tightly tailored, revealing the tightly muscled legs below, a second skin. His low boots were died to match.
On his head, as at the feast, he wore a bicocket hat with a sculpted and feathered swan rising from the crown. Unlike Monday’s, this one’s wings were tipped in blood red feathers, the chest speckled with matching beads. A bloody swan, the beads dripping down to cover his emerald eyes.
Upon his hands, fine red leather gloves, at his waist, a scarlet belt.
He wondered what he’d find tonight. The feast had ended in an unexpectedly pleasant fashion and he craved more. More of her, more of another. More.
He recognized at least half the people in the room now. Or he would, if not for the masks. That wasn’t done. Not in Venezia, not here.
"Sir Etienne..." greets the princess who seems to have almost materialized out of thin air next to the knight.
She is wearing an almost identical dress to the one she wore for the feast but with inverted colors. The fabric is heavy and almost blindingly white with the black accents matching the princesses hair. The chainmaile mask is hiding her whole face but it matches the silver corset and the other silver jewelery that is decorating the princess.
He turns at the sound of her voice, and for a moment, forgets himself, drinking her in with his eyes like a dying man. It is only a momentary lapse, but it's a look she's already seen.
"Your Highness," he drops to one knee, ready to take a hand if offered. "I know your fondness for swans and thought the red would compliment you . I hope I was correct.
I had not seen you for the past few days and hoped you had not tired of Bloodhaven already."
He takes her hand, the long nails, adorned with silver, the pale skin and odd coldness, lowers his head, and brushes it lightly with his lips.
His mind whirls. She is truly a vision, every inch the pen to his cob. He pushes his memories down, knowing what lies within this confection of fabric and silver. He keeps his knee and gazes upward, a look of honest devotion on his face.
"One must make the necessary social appearances, I understand. If the atmosphere becomes too close this evening and you tire of your obligations, you need only say the word and I'll be happy to find you a quieter diversion. After all, you will soon be heading home, and we can't have you ill on the road.
I am, in truth, a poor dancer. But if you wish to do so, I am at your service.
Or," he grinned conspiratorially, "we can simply take in the proceedings until you bore of them."
She can still feel the warmth of the knights lips on her hand when she speaks up again.
"We shall dance. At least for a short time. Rise." she motions for him to stand up.
The princess isn´t a well versed dancer as well but the music is still slow enough for her to manage. All kinds of odd pairings are occupying the dance floor and the princess enjoys seeing all the guests having such a good time.
"How did you spend your days while I was resting, Sir Etienne?" she asks while approaching the dance floor.
"I was unhorsed by a young knight errant in the tournament. Gallant lad rode brilliantly and stole my crest," he grinned at the thought.
A shadow then crossed his face. "And then I learned some truly awful news, that my lord of Rimini is gone. A brief illness. He sent word with two orphans I look after with instructions that Italia is no longer safe for me. And, God be good, a considerable amount of coin on deposit with his bankers. But, honestly, Your Highness, I've spent my days feeling cast adrift. He wished me to enjoy myself, and I have tried. But I do not know where life will lead me now."
He pause, then led her the rest of the way to the floor as the previous dance end. He took his place across from her, and waited for the dance-master to cry, "Dancers, are we met?"
The music started and he mentally began to count the steps.
"These are indeed horrible news. I will order my maids to pray for your lords soul tonight." she tries her best to sound empathetic while curtseying as the dance requires.
"Our courts physician once said to me `with every loss and hardship, we are growing more into the person the gods intend for us to be´. I hope it brings you some condolance."
Her steps are a bit unsure in the beginning but years of practice are coming back to her as they dance together.
The dance is a pavane, simple enough, and he counts his blessings. their hands brush on the reverance, and as he turns, he not only feels but sees the daggers stared his way by the younger knights. He can practically hear them, "Whatever does that old peacock think he's doing?"
Let them jape.
"Your physician is indeed wise. I fear I am, perhaps, too grown, but I have not come this far without being open to new things. Perhaps my road will lead to your court some day and I can provide a spot of color."
The dance ends.
"Another? Or refreshment?" He leaned in conspiratorially, "I'm fairly certain there's a cohort of young bravos plotting my murder as we speak." He offered his arm, "If you would pray grant me your protection," he grinned, "I would be ever so grateful."
She smiles at the knight before her, even though it is hidden by her mask. Her gaze wanders to the young knights that have their eyes fixed on her and Sir Etienne.
-plain and uninteresting- she judges them quietly.
"My court is always open for you, Sir Etienne. But beware. The silver castle is a rather dark and eerie place. A lot of brave knights came and fled, without ever looking back." She explains in a serious tone.
More people have entered the hall and the music is getting louder and faster.
Messer Etienne, the senior knight stood on the periphery of the proceedings and took in the scene. Bright costumes and garish masks. It reminded him of nothing so much as the carnevale in the Veneto, where it was said the Fair Folk of the Lagoon came forth to dance.
This had more of a hint of madness to it, in keeping with this odd bastion.
He’d considered wearing the same austere black as he’d done for the feast, but reconsidered at the last moment, opting for a scandalously short, snow-white houppeland with hanging sleeves, beaded to look as if they’d been spattered with blood. His hose were of crimson Florentine wool, tightly tailored, revealing the tightly muscled legs below, a second skin. His low boots were died to match.
On his head, as at the feast, he wore a bicocket hat with a sculpted and feathered swan rising from the crown. Unlike Monday’s, this one’s wings were tipped in blood red feathers, the chest speckled with matching beads. A bloody swan, the beads dripping down to cover his emerald eyes.
Upon his hands, fine red leather gloves, at his waist, a scarlet belt.
He wondered what he’d find tonight. The feast had ended in an unexpectedly pleasant fashion and he craved more. More of her, more of another. More.
He recognized at least half the people in the room now. Or he would, if not for the masks. That wasn’t done. Not in Venezia, not here.
"Sir Etienne..." greets the princess who seems to have almost materialized out of thin air next to the knight.
She is wearing an almost identical dress to the one she wore for the feast but with inverted colors. The fabric is heavy and almost blindingly white with the black accents matching the princesses hair. The chainmaile mask is hiding her whole face but it matches the silver corset and the other silver jewelery that is decorating the princess.
He turns at the sound of her voice, and for a moment, forgets himself, drinking her in with his eyes like a dying man. It is only a momentary lapse, but it's a look she's already seen.
"Your Highness," he drops to one knee, ready to take a hand if offered. "I know your fondness for swans and thought the red would compliment you . I hope I was correct.
I had not seen you for the past few days and hoped you had not tired of Bloodhaven already."
He takes her hand, the long nails, adorned with silver, the pale skin and odd coldness, lowers his head, and brushes it lightly with his lips.
His mind whirls. She is truly a vision, every inch the pen to his cob. He pushes his memories down, knowing what lies within this confection of fabric and silver. He keeps his knee and gazes upward, a look of honest devotion on his face.
"One must make the necessary social appearances, I understand. If the atmosphere becomes too close this evening and you tire of your obligations, you need only say the word and I'll be happy to find you a quieter diversion. After all, you will soon be heading home, and we can't have you ill on the road.
I am, in truth, a poor dancer. But if you wish to do so, I am at your service.
Or," he grinned conspiratorially, "we can simply take in the proceedings until you bore of them."
She can still feel the warmth of the knights lips on her hand when she speaks up again.
"We shall dance. At least for a short time. Rise." she motions for him to stand up.
The princess isn´t a well versed dancer as well but the music is still slow enough for her to manage. All kinds of odd pairings are occupying the dance floor and the princess enjoys seeing all the guests having such a good time.
"How did you spend your days while I was resting, Sir Etienne?" she asks while approaching the dance floor.
"I was unhorsed by a young knight errant in the tournament. Gallant lad rode brilliantly and stole my crest," he grinned at the thought.
A shadow then crossed his face. "And then I learned some truly awful news, that my lord of Rimini is gone. A brief illness. He sent word with two orphans I look after with instructions that Italia is no longer safe for me. And, God be good, a considerable amount of coin on deposit with his bankers. But, honestly, Your Highness, I've spent my days feeling cast adrift. He wished me to enjoy myself, and I have tried. But I do not know where life will lead me now."
He pause, then led her the rest of the way to the floor as the previous dance end. He took his place across from her, and waited for the dance-master to cry, "Dancers, are we met?"
The music started and he mentally began to count the steps.
"These are indeed horrible news. I will order my maids to pray for your lords soul tonight." she tries her best to sound empathetic while curtseying as the dance requires.
"Our courts physician once said to me `with every loss and hardship, we are growing more into the person the gods intend for us to be´. I hope it brings you some condolance."
Her steps are a bit unsure in the beginning but years of practice are coming back to her as they dance together.
Messer Etienne, the senior knight stood on the periphery of the proceedings and took in the scene. Bright costumes and garish masks. It reminded him of nothing so much as the carnevale in the Veneto, where it was said the Fair Folk of the Lagoon came forth to dance.
This had more of a hint of madness to it, in keeping with this odd bastion.
He’d considered wearing the same austere black as he’d done for the feast, but reconsidered at the last moment, opting for a scandalously short, snow-white houppeland with hanging sleeves, beaded to look as if they’d been spattered with blood. His hose were of crimson Florentine wool, tightly tailored, revealing the tightly muscled legs below, a second skin. His low boots were died to match.
On his head, as at the feast, he wore a bicocket hat with a sculpted and feathered swan rising from the crown. Unlike Monday’s, this one’s wings were tipped in blood red feathers, the chest speckled with matching beads. A bloody swan, the beads dripping down to cover his emerald eyes.
Upon his hands, fine red leather gloves, at his waist, a scarlet belt.
He wondered what he’d find tonight. The feast had ended in an unexpectedly pleasant fashion and he craved more. More of her, more of another. More.
He recognized at least half the people in the room now. Or he would, if not for the masks. That wasn’t done. Not in Venezia, not here.
"Sir Etienne..." greets the princess who seems to have almost materialized out of thin air next to the knight.
She is wearing an almost identical dress to the one she wore for the feast but with inverted colors. The fabric is heavy and almost blindingly white with the black accents matching the princesses hair. The chainmaile mask is hiding her whole face but it matches the silver corset and the other silver jewelery that is decorating the princess.
He turns at the sound of her voice, and for a moment, forgets himself, drinking her in with his eyes like a dying man. It is only a momentary lapse, but it's a look she's already seen.
"Your Highness," he drops to one knee, ready to take a hand if offered. "I know your fondness for swans and thought the red would compliment you . I hope I was correct.
I had not seen you for the past few days and hoped you had not tired of Bloodhaven already."
He takes her hand, the long nails, adorned with silver, the pale skin and odd coldness, lowers his head, and brushes it lightly with his lips.
His mind whirls. She is truly a vision, every inch the pen to his cob. He pushes his memories down, knowing what lies within this confection of fabric and silver. He keeps his knee and gazes upward, a look of honest devotion on his face.
"One must make the necessary social appearances, I understand. If the atmosphere becomes too close this evening and you tire of your obligations, you need only say the word and I'll be happy to find you a quieter diversion. After all, you will soon be heading home, and we can't have you ill on the road.
I am, in truth, a poor dancer. But if you wish to do so, I am at your service.
Or," he grinned conspiratorially, "we can simply take in the proceedings until you bore of them."
She can still feel the warmth of the knights lips on her hand when she speaks up again.
"We shall dance. At least for a short time. Rise." she motions for him to stand up.
The princess isn´t a well versed dancer as well but the music is still slow enough for her to manage. All kinds of odd pairings are occupying the dance floor and the princess enjoys seeing all the guests having such a good time.
"How did you spend your days while I was resting, Sir Etienne?" she asks while approaching the dance floor.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
thinking about my dear, sweet, stressed-out princess... i can't bear to see that furrow between her brows, can't bear to see the corners of her mouth turning downward. my sweet girl, she deserves the world. i can tell she's over the conversation already, and that there's surely a headache building behind her eyes...
the moment we're out of the reception hall, i'm closer to her than i ought to be, one hand just brushing at the small of her back. it makes her shiver, and she looks up at me so needily i fear she'll loose her footing there in the hall. not that i'd mind, of course i'd sweep her off her feet, but i know she'd be so embarrassed.
i walk her back to her rooms, and i know just what she needs already.
"i'll be there in a minute, dove, just need to lose some clothes," i murmur, tipping her chin up and giving her a chaste kiss to tide her over. "go kneel by the chair, sweet girl, i'll be right there." she pouts, but she goes obediently, sinking to her knees beside the armchair.
i undress as quickly as i can, though with the half-armor and all the mail and padding it still takes a while. i feel terrible for making her wait, of course, but there's nothing to be done for it. eventually, though, i make my way to her, beckoning her up.
"your turn, dove," i murmur, reaching out to her. "turn around, there you are. i'll just get these laces..."
i untie her dress with deft fingers, and help her step out of it. she's already getting floaty, the poor girl, so i draw her in for a hug, my hand low on her back. i can feel the warmth of her skin through the thin silk of her shift, and i kiss her neck slowly, gently, pulling her back to the present for just a moment.
"don't drift off on me just yet, hm?" i murmur, smiling softly at her, ducking my head to meet her eyes. "oh, poor girl, i know. it was so loud in there, wasn't it? it's alright. it's just us now, come on."
i sit down in the armchair, and draw her down on top of me, straddling my waist. it's a tight fit—the chair isn't large—but it's just right for us, snug and warm. my hand slips down, rubbing over the rise of her lower stomach gently, and she whimpers. i can't help but laugh softly, leaning forward slightly to steal a kiss, endeared by her neediness. "okay, alright, dove, i know. i know. i won't tease. i'm sorry."
true to my word, i ruck up her shift around her hips, and slip my hand between her legs, immediately rubbing soft circles over her pussy and clit. she's wet enough that it makes a quiet, sticky sound when i rub over her slit, and my cock twitches at the feeling of her slick coating my fingers. she rocks against my hand, already whining.
"lark," she moans. "lark, please, please, want you in me..."
"shh, shh..." i murmur, placating. "i know, i know. i don't want to hurt you, dove, i just need to stretch you out a little bit first. it's been a while since we've done this, hm? unless you've been seeing someone else, of course..." she pouts at that, and i laugh, leaning in again to kiss her neck until she relaxes. "i know you wouldn't. there's nobody else who could treat you like this, is there? you'd think of me the whole time if you were with someone else, anyways, i bet."
i slip a finger inside her sopping cunt, and it practically sucks my finger in. i hum contentedly at the feeling. she exhales shakily, a quiet moan escaping her. "you're so fuzzy already, my sweet girl..."
"so warm, dove," i purr. "so wet and warm... you must be aching." i slip her a second finger, stretching her open softly, curling and probing. she rocks against my hips, panting, a whining, squirming thing. i draw my fingers out, and she practically cries with need. i'm quick to hush her, kissing her deeply as i urge her into rising up onto her knees. i take myself in my hand, nearly hissing at the sensitivity of my cock, and stroke a few times until i'm fully hard; it doesn't take much. the sight of her, dripping onto my lap, her pupils blown, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, panting... well. it would drive any man mad.
i look her solidly in the eyes as she sinks down on my cock, my blood roaring in my ears at the shifts in her expression. her eyelids flutter, and her mouth drops open as she stretches around me. the sweetest noise escapes her as she settles fully in my lap, a sweet, high keening sound. i hold her close to me, grinding up into her a few times before settling, guiding her head to the crook of my neck.
"there you are, there you are," i say, my voice a little strained. "good girl. just relax, now, i have you. just relax. clench around my cock, rock your hips, whatever you need. we can stay here as long as it takes for you to calm down."
Messer Etienne, the senior knight stood on the periphery of the proceedings and took in the scene. Bright costumes and garish masks. It reminded him of nothing so much as the carnevale in the Veneto, where it was said the Fair Folk of the Lagoon came forth to dance.
This had more of a hint of madness to it, in keeping with this odd bastion.
He’d considered wearing the same austere black as he’d done for the feast, but reconsidered at the last moment, opting for a scandalously short, snow-white houppeland with hanging sleeves, beaded to look as if they’d been spattered with blood. His hose were of crimson Florentine wool, tightly tailored, revealing the tightly muscled legs below, a second skin. His low boots were died to match.
On his head, as at the feast, he wore a bicocket hat with a sculpted and feathered swan rising from the crown. Unlike Monday’s, this one’s wings were tipped in blood red feathers, the chest speckled with matching beads. A bloody swan, the beads dripping down to cover his emerald eyes.
Upon his hands, fine red leather gloves, at his waist, a scarlet belt.
He wondered what he’d find tonight. The feast had ended in an unexpectedly pleasant fashion and he craved more. More of her, more of another. More.
He recognized at least half the people in the room now. Or he would, if not for the masks. That wasn’t done. Not in Venezia, not here.
"Sir Etienne..." greets the princess who seems to have almost materialized out of thin air next to the knight.
She is wearing an almost identical dress to the one she wore for the feast but with inverted colors. The fabric is heavy and almost blindingly white with the black accents matching the princesses hair. The chainmaile mask is hiding her whole face but it matches the silver corset and the other silver jewelery that is decorating the princess.
He turns at the sound of her voice, and for a moment, forgets himself, drinking her in with his eyes like a dying man. It is only a momentary lapse, but it's a look she's already seen.
"Your Highness," he drops to one knee, ready to take a hand if offered. "I know your fondness for swans and thought the red would compliment you . I hope I was correct.
I had not seen you for the past few days and hoped you had not tired of Bloodhaven already."
Messer Etienne, the senior knight stood on the periphery of the proceedings and took in the scene. Bright costumes and garish masks. It reminded him of nothing so much as the carnevale in the Veneto, where it was said the Fair Folk of the Lagoon came forth to dance.
This had more of a hint of madness to it, in keeping with this odd bastion.
He’d considered wearing the same austere black as he’d done for the feast, but reconsidered at the last moment, opting for a scandalously short, snow-white houppeland with hanging sleeves, beaded to look as if they’d been spattered with blood. His hose were of crimson Florentine wool, tightly tailored, revealing the tightly muscled legs below, a second skin. His low boots were died to match.
On his head, as at the feast, he wore a bicocket hat with a sculpted and feathered swan rising from the crown. Unlike Monday’s, this one’s wings were tipped in blood red feathers, the chest speckled with matching beads. A bloody swan, the beads dripping down to cover his emerald eyes.
Upon his hands, fine red leather gloves, at his waist, a scarlet belt.
He wondered what he’d find tonight. The feast had ended in an unexpectedly pleasant fashion and he craved more. More of her, more of another. More.
He recognized at least half the people in the room now. Or he would, if not for the masks. That wasn’t done. Not in Venezia, not here.
"Sir Etienne..." greets the princess who seems to have almost materialized out of thin air next to the knight.
She is wearing an almost identical dress to the one she wore for the feast but with inverted colors. The fabric is heavy and almost blindingly white with the black accents matching the princesses hair. The chainmaile mask is hiding her whole face but it matches the silver corset and the other silver jewelery that is decorating the princess.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
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The Senior Knight gathered himself. This was not Ser Etienne’s strong suit. The tourney ground? Yes. Bloody battle? Most certainly. Fancy dress and fine dining? Well, he enjoyed both well enough, in theory. But this place put him on edge. I felt more like a fae court from the romances, the attendees an odd mixture of strange folk, beautiful women, and knights he did not know. His being here was odd enough on its own,
“I bid you accept the invitation. Ride in the tilt. Attend the parties. Observe. Deliver my letter to the Baron if you can, but only to his hand. Try to enjoy yourself,” the Lord Malatesta told him.
And so here he was. Thus far, things were pleasant enough, finding a friend from the past and spending some pleasant hours. But Ser Silence was occupied with their charge tonight, and the older gentleman came to the feast unaccompanied. The better to observe, he supposed.”
The outfit. Yes, the hat is a swan. It’s based on an historical example.
It takes Etienne a moment to realize the beautiful woman in white and black is beckoning to him. Whatever his discomfort at the event, his etiquette doesn’t fail him. He crosses the floor and, uncertain of her station chooses the most courteous option and kneels before her, head bowed.
He hazarded to glance up. If he wore a swan, then she seemed one in human form. Small, but with an outsized presence to her. Unbidden thoughts of fae queens from the romances came to mind.
“Indeed — Your Highness, I believe? I am a stranger to this court and have no companion. I would be honored to spend some time with you. I shall endeavor to be entertaining. What is your pleasure?”
He remains kneeling.
In fact he seems likely to remain that way all night unless bidden otherwise.
"Oh I apologize I must have forgotten my manners."
She curtsies but not very low.
"I am the princess of castle silver, daughter of Queen Mariel the Merciful. But most call me the tired princess."
-handsome- she thinks. Exactly what she needs, a handsome knight kneeling for her. While she enjoys the sight she also knows it is inappropriate to keep him on his knees.
"Rise, sir. Let us head to todays festivities." she commands.
A thrill runs down his spine at her tone and he hopes his face doesn't betray him. He rises, face turned down, but now to behold her countenance looking up. He looks into her eyes, not with defiance or challenge, but understanding.
-what is a knight if not a chained dog?- he thinks.
"Ah, in my native tongue, La Princesse d'Ennui. I am at your service, and if I may be so bold, perhaps earn your confidence in time to learn what tires you so."
Her cold gaze wanders over the knight before she begins walking down one of the dimly lit hallways of the castle, motioning for Sir Etienne to follow her.
"I have heard the castle gardens are wonderful and I would like to see them. Maybe we will even encounter some swans there."
She looks at the knights wonderful hat again and smiles mischievously.
He returned her smile, the first time he'd seen her expression change, and offered his arm.
-That smile...Gods be good, a man would kill for it...and she knows it.-
He feels the slightest pressure of her hand on his wrist, a long nail on the skin of his hand.
"Let's be off then. Consider me your humble servant this evening, devoted to your entertainment. If we find no swans in the garden, I'm sure it's because none dare compete with us"
-Rather sure of yourself, aren't you old man? Ah, but fortune favors the bold.-
“I would never presume to carry the favour of a princess,” answering her jibe with deference.
“Given the knights in your guard, I assumed one of them serves as your champion. I simply hoped to run a course, to test his mettle.”
He leans in conspiratorially, “In truth, Your Highness, I have no expectations of victory on the morrow. While my horse is strong and my seat steady, I ride not for the accolades, but for the love. The joy of the moment, the breaking of the lances, the unspoken trust I must place in my opponent and he and me that we go forth to prove our valour, holding the other’s life in the balance.
I talk too much. Simply put, I am there for chivalry and to give the younger knights something to aspire to.
He bent and untied a garter from his lean, well-muscled leg. It was white, embroidered in red, “The honor of being a target.”
These are my watch-words, Your Grace. I strive to honor them in all things.
Part of a knight’s duty is to know both his place and his use,” he said with reverence, tucking the garter in his belt.
“But come now, you wanted tales of glory and valour, not some old man’s notions of chivalry. Shall we walk further or avail ourselves of yon gazebo. It seems a quiet place.”
To call it a mere pond is a disservice. It is truly magnificent, even in the fading light of sundown. The water ripples with gold, a bridge connects the grounds to an island in the center with a structure that looks like the columned buildings of the ancients.
Three swans sedately float on the surface. An adult pair and their offspring? he wonders.
He looks down at the princess. It was appropriate to gaze in wonder at royal ladies, and she truly is wondrous. Like none he's ever seen. She's said nothing since resuming their walk, her eyes inscrutable, her face neutral.
They stop at the water's edge. It is quiet except for the sounds of captured nature. Others must be too busy with the ball to bother. It's peaceful, and yet he knows she is not at peace. He dares put his other hand over hers, pressing it slightly to his arm.
"Your Highness, we've found the swans. Would you like to view them from the island?"
"I would like that very much." She looks up at him for a second, glad she found some company in the knight who treats her so chivalrously.
They set foot on the island and it feels truly magical to her. Her own castle gardens are beautiful in their own way but she doesn't have a small lake with an island in it at home.
Her nails scratch over one of the ancient columns before she walks closer to the edge of the water. With wide eyes she follows the movement of the swans gliding over the waters surface.
"Magnificent creatures don't you agree, Sir Etienne?"
He hazards a look into those wide eyes, seeking the reflected wonder in them. He sees the darkness within her, alongside the light. His breath catches at the sight.
"They are," he assents, "the second, third, and fourth most magnificent thing I've seen since my arrival. And if not for the touch of your hand, I would doubt you were real, Your Highness."
Her gaze finds the knights and a smile plays around her lips as she steps closer to him.
"You are lucky that I enjoy flattery very much."
She raises her hand to lay it flat on his chest and even through his clothes he can feel the coldness of her skin. It is quiet for a few seconds before the moment is broken when the sound of bells starts to ring out in the distance.
“Not yet. Not this eve. Our host is most likely announcing the first course.”
He feels her hand. Cold, unusually so, for this time of year. The palm is small, delicate, her nails long like a gyrfalcon’s, black and sharply pointed. Unbidden came the question of how they would feel raking his flesh. How they could tear his heart right out. Would her hand still be cold, with his lifeblood pouring down.
-Steady. There’s hope and then there’s folly-
He holds her gaze, smiles at the way her face lights up.
“Mere honey’d words that fall from courtiers lips,
That offer not devotion but pretense,
Are worthless, ‘tis the deed that far outstrips,
The sweetest verbiage wrapped in eloquence.”
I am no idle flatterer, Your Highness. I speak plainly. I say you are a marvel. In this setting, among these columns, you are no more out of place than a goddess from the past, a Hekate, a Lillith, or the like, fit for worship in this temple.
Say what you will of me. I am but a knight, and an old one at that. I am a killer of men, a burner of castles, a soldier to be commanded…
But I am also sworn to speak truly. To flatter is to deceive, to lie. When I say you are the most exquisite sight I’ve beheld in many years, it is without deceit.”
"You must excuse me. I get....confused.... sometimes. These days here at Bloodhaven are like a blur to me."
She listens intently to the older knights words. Like poetry, each word is carefully chosen.
-"killer of men".....- the words echo in her mind.
"I wish I could answer you with equally poetic words but alas I am not much of a poet. Allow me to thank you for speaking truthfully and honestly, this way, my good knight."
Her hands reach out once more, cradling his face with a feather light touch before bending over a bit to place a chaste kiss on the swan that decorates the knights head.
“You need speak no such words yourself when you inspire them so from others. You are poetry, light and dark. A swan may, a snow queen, the cusp of night and day.”
He holds her gaze, hoping her hands will linger on his face for just a moment longer.
“Should you seek any deed to match my pretty words, I am yours to command.
"Then I command you to rise and to escort me to my chambers. I wish to lay down. The sun is setting already."
One of her thumbs slowly caress the knights cheek as she speaks with her usual cold tone.
As they step off the island, back into the garden, she holds on to the knights arm once more. Quietly she speaks up once more.
"I doubt that I will tire of you quickly, Sir Etienne. And depending on how good you will perform your duties in my chambers, when I will invite you in after you escorted me, I might tire of you even slower."
A barely visible blush decorates the princess' cheeks as she turns her face away from the knight.
The Senior Knight gathered himself. This was not Ser Etienne’s strong suit. The tourney ground? Yes. Bloody battle? Most certainly. Fancy dress and fine dining? Well, he enjoyed both well enough, in theory. But this place put him on edge. I felt more like a fae court from the romances, the attendees an odd mixture of strange folk, beautiful women, and knights he did not know. His being here was odd enough on its own,
“I bid you accept the invitation. Ride in the tilt. Attend the parties. Observe. Deliver my letter to the Baron if you can, but only to his hand. Try to enjoy yourself,” the Lord Malatesta told him.
And so here he was. Thus far, things were pleasant enough, finding a friend from the past and spending some pleasant hours. But Ser Silence was occupied with their charge tonight, and the older gentleman came to the feast unaccompanied. The better to observe, he supposed.”
The outfit. Yes, the hat is a swan. It’s based on an historical example.
It takes Etienne a moment to realize the beautiful woman in white and black is beckoning to him. Whatever his discomfort at the event, his etiquette doesn’t fail him. He crosses the floor and, uncertain of her station chooses the most courteous option and kneels before her, head bowed.
He hazarded to glance up. If he wore a swan, then she seemed one in human form. Small, but with an outsized presence to her. Unbidden thoughts of fae queens from the romances came to mind.
“Indeed — Your Highness, I believe? I am a stranger to this court and have no companion. I would be honored to spend some time with you. I shall endeavor to be entertaining. What is your pleasure?”
He remains kneeling.
In fact he seems likely to remain that way all night unless bidden otherwise.
"Oh I apologize I must have forgotten my manners."
She curtsies but not very low.
"I am the princess of castle silver, daughter of Queen Mariel the Merciful. But most call me the tired princess."
-handsome- she thinks. Exactly what she needs, a handsome knight kneeling for her. While she enjoys the sight she also knows it is inappropriate to keep him on his knees.
"Rise, sir. Let us head to todays festivities." she commands.
A thrill runs down his spine at her tone and he hopes his face doesn't betray him. He rises, face turned down, but now to behold her countenance looking up. He looks into her eyes, not with defiance or challenge, but understanding.
-what is a knight if not a chained dog?- he thinks.
"Ah, in my native tongue, La Princesse d'Ennui. I am at your service, and if I may be so bold, perhaps earn your confidence in time to learn what tires you so."
Her cold gaze wanders over the knight before she begins walking down one of the dimly lit hallways of the castle, motioning for Sir Etienne to follow her.
"I have heard the castle gardens are wonderful and I would like to see them. Maybe we will even encounter some swans there."
She looks at the knights wonderful hat again and smiles mischievously.
He returned her smile, the first time he'd seen her expression change, and offered his arm.
-That smile...Gods be good, a man would kill for it...and she knows it.-
He feels the slightest pressure of her hand on his wrist, a long nail on the skin of his hand.
"Let's be off then. Consider me your humble servant this evening, devoted to your entertainment. If we find no swans in the garden, I'm sure it's because none dare compete with us"
-Rather sure of yourself, aren't you old man? Ah, but fortune favors the bold.-
“I would never presume to carry the favour of a princess,” answering her jibe with deference.
“Given the knights in your guard, I assumed one of them serves as your champion. I simply hoped to run a course, to test his mettle.”
He leans in conspiratorially, “In truth, Your Highness, I have no expectations of victory on the morrow. While my horse is strong and my seat steady, I ride not for the accolades, but for the love. The joy of the moment, the breaking of the lances, the unspoken trust I must place in my opponent and he and me that we go forth to prove our valour, holding the other’s life in the balance.
I talk too much. Simply put, I am there for chivalry and to give the younger knights something to aspire to.
He bent and untied a garter from his lean, well-muscled leg. It was white, embroidered in red, “The honor of being a target.”
These are my watch-words, Your Grace. I strive to honor them in all things.
Part of a knight’s duty is to know both his place and his use,” he said with reverence, tucking the garter in his belt.
“But come now, you wanted tales of glory and valour, not some old man’s notions of chivalry. Shall we walk further or avail ourselves of yon gazebo. It seems a quiet place.”
To call it a mere pond is a disservice. It is truly magnificent, even in the fading light of sundown. The water ripples with gold, a bridge connects the grounds to an island in the center with a structure that looks like the columned buildings of the ancients.
Three swans sedately float on the surface. An adult pair and their offspring? he wonders.
He looks down at the princess. It was appropriate to gaze in wonder at royal ladies, and she truly is wondrous. Like none he's ever seen. She's said nothing since resuming their walk, her eyes inscrutable, her face neutral.
They stop at the water's edge. It is quiet except for the sounds of captured nature. Others must be too busy with the ball to bother. It's peaceful, and yet he knows she is not at peace. He dares put his other hand over hers, pressing it slightly to his arm.
"Your Highness, we've found the swans. Would you like to view them from the island?"
"I would like that very much." She looks up at him for a second, glad she found some company in the knight who treats her so chivalrously.
They set foot on the island and it feels truly magical to her. Her own castle gardens are beautiful in their own way but she doesn't have a small lake with an island in it at home.
Her nails scratch over one of the ancient columns before she walks closer to the edge of the water. With wide eyes she follows the movement of the swans gliding over the waters surface.
"Magnificent creatures don't you agree, Sir Etienne?"
He hazards a look into those wide eyes, seeking the reflected wonder in them. He sees the darkness within her, alongside the light. His breath catches at the sight.
"They are," he assents, "the second, third, and fourth most magnificent thing I've seen since my arrival. And if not for the touch of your hand, I would doubt you were real, Your Highness."
Her gaze finds the knights and a smile plays around her lips as she steps closer to him.
"You are lucky that I enjoy flattery very much."
She raises her hand to lay it flat on his chest and even through his clothes he can feel the coldness of her skin. It is quiet for a few seconds before the moment is broken when the sound of bells starts to ring out in the distance.
“Not yet. Not this eve. Our host is most likely announcing the first course.”
He feels her hand. Cold, unusually so, for this time of year. The palm is small, delicate, her nails long like a gyrfalcon’s, black and sharply pointed. Unbidden came the question of how they would feel raking his flesh. How they could tear his heart right out. Would her hand still be cold, with his lifeblood pouring down.
-Steady. There’s hope and then there’s folly-
He holds her gaze, smiles at the way her face lights up.
“Mere honey’d words that fall from courtiers lips,
That offer not devotion but pretense,
Are worthless, ‘tis the deed that far outstrips,
The sweetest verbiage wrapped in eloquence.”
I am no idle flatterer, Your Highness. I speak plainly. I say you are a marvel. In this setting, among these columns, you are no more out of place than a goddess from the past, a Hekate, a Lillith, or the like, fit for worship in this temple.
Say what you will of me. I am but a knight, and an old one at that. I am a killer of men, a burner of castles, a soldier to be commanded…
But I am also sworn to speak truly. To flatter is to deceive, to lie. When I say you are the most exquisite sight I’ve beheld in many years, it is without deceit.”
"You must excuse me. I get....confused.... sometimes. These days here at Bloodhaven are like a blur to me."
She listens intently to the older knights words. Like poetry, each word is carefully chosen.
-"killer of men".....- the words echo in her mind.
"I wish I could answer you with equally poetic words but alas I am not much of a poet. Allow me to thank you for speaking truthfully and honestly, this way, my good knight."
Her hands reach out once more, cradling his face with a feather light touch before bending over a bit to place a chaste kiss on the swan that decorates the knights head.
Princess in her chambers fucking into her pillow, muffling moans into the sheets, relentless grinding bc she got to see a glimpse of her knights face and my god, it's like they're so unaware of how handsome they are w their bloodstained cheeks n chapped lips.
....Knight who's guarding the door trying really hard to ignore the sounds, chanting oath over and over and over until they can't take it anymore. Leaning back against the wall just right, thighs tensed just hard enough, breath held just long enough so when they hear their princess cum their hips snap against their armor n cum with her.
Princess who can be heard quietly giggling afterwards because she knows n will absolutely use it to her advantage now.
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The Senior Knight gathered himself. This was not Ser Etienne’s strong suit. The tourney ground? Yes. Bloody battle? Most certainly. Fancy dress and fine dining? Well, he enjoyed both well enough, in theory. But this place put him on edge. I felt more like a fae court from the romances, the attendees an odd mixture of strange folk, beautiful women, and knights he did not know. His being here was odd enough on its own,
“I bid you accept the invitation. Ride in the tilt. Attend the parties. Observe. Deliver my letter to the Baron if you can, but only to his hand. Try to enjoy yourself,” the Lord Malatesta told him.
And so here he was. Thus far, things were pleasant enough, finding a friend from the past and spending some pleasant hours. But Ser Silence was occupied with their charge tonight, and the older gentleman came to the feast unaccompanied. The better to observe, he supposed.”
The outfit. Yes, the hat is a swan. It’s based on an historical example.
It takes Etienne a moment to realize the beautiful woman in white and black is beckoning to him. Whatever his discomfort at the event, his etiquette doesn’t fail him. He crosses the floor and, uncertain of her station chooses the most courteous option and kneels before her, head bowed.
He hazarded to glance up. If he wore a swan, then she seemed one in human form. Small, but with an outsized presence to her. Unbidden thoughts of fae queens from the romances came to mind.
“Indeed — Your Highness, I believe? I am a stranger to this court and have no companion. I would be honored to spend some time with you. I shall endeavor to be entertaining. What is your pleasure?”
He remains kneeling.
In fact he seems likely to remain that way all night unless bidden otherwise.
"Oh I apologize I must have forgotten my manners."
She curtsies but not very low.
"I am the princess of castle silver, daughter of Queen Mariel the Merciful. But most call me the tired princess."
-handsome- she thinks. Exactly what she needs, a handsome knight kneeling for her. While she enjoys the sight she also knows it is inappropriate to keep him on his knees.
"Rise, sir. Let us head to todays festivities." she commands.
A thrill runs down his spine at her tone and he hopes his face doesn't betray him. He rises, face turned down, but now to behold her countenance looking up. He looks into her eyes, not with defiance or challenge, but understanding.
-what is a knight if not a chained dog?- he thinks.
"Ah, in my native tongue, La Princesse d'Ennui. I am at your service, and if I may be so bold, perhaps earn your confidence in time to learn what tires you so."
Her cold gaze wanders over the knight before she begins walking down one of the dimly lit hallways of the castle, motioning for Sir Etienne to follow her.
"I have heard the castle gardens are wonderful and I would like to see them. Maybe we will even encounter some swans there."
She looks at the knights wonderful hat again and smiles mischievously.
He returned her smile, the first time he'd seen her expression change, and offered his arm.
-That smile...Gods be good, a man would kill for it...and she knows it.-
He feels the slightest pressure of her hand on his wrist, a long nail on the skin of his hand.
"Let's be off then. Consider me your humble servant this evening, devoted to your entertainment. If we find no swans in the garden, I'm sure it's because none dare compete with us"
-Rather sure of yourself, aren't you old man? Ah, but fortune favors the bold.-
“I would never presume to carry the favour of a princess,” answering her jibe with deference.
“Given the knights in your guard, I assumed one of them serves as your champion. I simply hoped to run a course, to test his mettle.”
He leans in conspiratorially, “In truth, Your Highness, I have no expectations of victory on the morrow. While my horse is strong and my seat steady, I ride not for the accolades, but for the love. The joy of the moment, the breaking of the lances, the unspoken trust I must place in my opponent and he and me that we go forth to prove our valour, holding the other’s life in the balance.
I talk too much. Simply put, I am there for chivalry and to give the younger knights something to aspire to.
He bent and untied a garter from his lean, well-muscled leg. It was white, embroidered in red, “The honor of being a target.”
These are my watch-words, Your Grace. I strive to honor them in all things.
Part of a knight’s duty is to know both his place and his use,” he said with reverence, tucking the garter in his belt.
“But come now, you wanted tales of glory and valour, not some old man’s notions of chivalry. Shall we walk further or avail ourselves of yon gazebo. It seems a quiet place.”
To call it a mere pond is a disservice. It is truly magnificent, even in the fading light of sundown. The water ripples with gold, a bridge connects the grounds to an island in the center with a structure that looks like the columned buildings of the ancients.
Three swans sedately float on the surface. An adult pair and their offspring? he wonders.
He looks down at the princess. It was appropriate to gaze in wonder at royal ladies, and she truly is wondrous. Like none he's ever seen. She's said nothing since resuming their walk, her eyes inscrutable, her face neutral.
They stop at the water's edge. It is quiet except for the sounds of captured nature. Others must be too busy with the ball to bother. It's peaceful, and yet he knows she is not at peace. He dares put his other hand over hers, pressing it slightly to his arm.
"Your Highness, we've found the swans. Would you like to view them from the island?"
"I would like that very much." She looks up at him for a second, glad she found some company in the knight who treats her so chivalrously.
They set foot on the island and it feels truly magical to her. Her own castle gardens are beautiful in their own way but she doesn't have a small lake with an island in it at home.
Her nails scratch over one of the ancient columns before she walks closer to the edge of the water. With wide eyes she follows the movement of the swans gliding over the waters surface.
"Magnificent creatures don't you agree, Sir Etienne?"
He hazards a look into those wide eyes, seeking the reflected wonder in them. He sees the darkness within her, alongside the light. His breath catches at the sight.
"They are," he assents, "the second, third, and fourth most magnificent thing I've seen since my arrival. And if not for the touch of your hand, I would doubt you were real, Your Highness."
Her gaze finds the knights and a smile plays around her lips as she steps closer to him.
"You are lucky that I enjoy flattery very much."
She raises her hand to lay it flat on his chest and even through his clothes he can feel the coldness of her skin. It is quiet for a few seconds before the moment is broken when the sound of bells starts to ring out in the distance.
