vivi

the door should not have opened.

you were trained to wake to the faintest of disturbances; the soft creak of wood floorboards, the whisper of movement where there should be none. instinct takes hold before a thought can form. your body tenses up and your breath is caught halfway as your hand unconsciously reaches for the hilt of the sword beside your bed.

you sit up.

moonlight spills in a pale ribbons across the floor, climbing the stone walls and there, standing within it.. is her. princess skiendiel.

for a heartbeat, you can only stare at her.

she does not belong here. not in the stark simplicity of your quarters, not among tge rough linens and the bare stone. and yet she stands there, as though she has stepped out of some dream you were not meant to remember. like one of many you have previously had. her white chemise fell in soft waves around her, the thin fabric catching the silver light, hinting at the shape beneath without ever revealing it.

“your royal highness!” you are on your feet in an instant with the essence of sleep gone entirely. “are you hurt?”

you move toward her with every sense of yours sharpened, eyes scanning her face, her hands, the delicate line of her throat. no blood. no sign of struggle. no fear.

“i heard nothing,” you continue more urgent now. “was there a disturbance? did someone-”

“no.” the princess's voice is quiet and certain.

you stop in your tracks.

the silence that follows is different now, in a way you cannot place into words. she watches you, and there is something in her gaze that unsettles you far more than any physical threat could.

“my lady,” you carefully say again but lower this time. “you should not be here. this is no place for a noble of your caliber.”

a faint smile touches her lips. “and yet,” she murmurs, “you did not send me away.”

you hesitate and that is your first mistake.

her eyes flick past you, drawn to the sword resting within reach. you follow her gaze, but do not connect the dots fast enough.

she moves gracefully and unhurried, her fingers closing around the hilt as though it belongs to her. she lifts it, the blade catching the moonlight between you.

“my lady!” you step forward in instinct to protect, a sharp edge in your voice now. “that is not a toy.”

“i know what it is,” she replies softly.

the way she says it makes something tighten in your chest.

she turns the blade slightly, studying it. but not with fear, not even with curiosity, but with a strange deliberate focus. the steel reflects in her eyes, a thin line of silver cutting thriough her brown irises.

then she steps closer, till the distance between you is almost nothing.

you can see the rise and fall of her breath now, the subtle shift of fabric against her skin. you are suddenly, acutely aware of one's self too; of the looseness of your shirt, the warmth beneath it, the vulnerability of standing before her not as a knight in shining armor but as something far less guarded. you both were never meant to see one another reflected in such a light.

“my lady,” you try again, but your voice has become unsteady.

she does not answer. she only lifts the blade between you. her gaze locks onto yours: steady and unflinching. and then, slowly, she brings the flat of the steel closer to her lips. time seems to still.

you should stop her from whatever she was about to do. you know you should. the words rise in your throat, but they never leave it.

her lips part just slightly. and then her tongue traces along the cold metal. a slow glide from base toward the tip, as if she is relishing in the taste of it. the movement is unhurried, almost thoughtful, and utterly at odds with the danger of what she holds.

your breath catches. not from fear. from the fact that her eyes never left your own. not for a single moment.

there is no hesitation in her, no embarrassment. only that same steady, knowing look. watching the way you react. the way you don’t move.

the way you can’t.

“m-my lady…” the words finally come, but she has utterly broken the previous foundation of composure in your cadence. the words lack any former strength they may have held.

she lowers the blade just slightly, though she does not step back. a faint smile returns to her lips.

and still… she does not look away.

the air in your chamber feels different now. everything was too close. what usually held an uncomfortably cold breeze felt too warm.

princess megan skiendiel still stands before you, your trusted sword lowered but not forgotten in her hand. the faint sheen of moonlight clings to its steel, but most importantly to her skin.

you force yourself to breathe.

“your royal highness.” you say, more firmly this time. you try grasping for something solid: a reason, rank, duty, anything that will steady you. “this has gone far enough.”

her head tilts, just slightly.

“has it?” she asks.

you step back, creating distance where none seems to want to exist. it feels necessary. “you should return to your chambers. if anyone were to see you here-”

“they won’t.”

“that is not the point, my lady.” your voice sharpens, though not out of anger but out of strain. the strain of controlling oneself. “i am your sworn knight. my place is to guard you, not..” you stop yourself before the words can form.

not this. not whatever this is becoming.

she watches you closely, as if weighing every word, every flicker of hesitation. then, slowly, she sets the sword aside.

the soft clink of metal against wood echoes louder than it should.

“not what? what if that not is exactly what i want?” she asks.

your jaw tightens. “what you want does not change what is proper.”

a smile curves her lips again, its subtle but unmistakably deliberate.

“proper..” megan repeats as though testing the word on her tongue.

she takes a step closer. you hold your ground this time, just barely but regardless it is held.

“you follow my commands in all things,” she continues softly. “you sleep outside my door. you watch me dress, you stand guard while i bathe, you remain at my side when others must leave.” her voice lowers, threading through the silence. “and yet now you speak to me of propriety?”

“that is different,” the statement comes out weaker than intended.

“is it?”

she is close now. close enough that you can feel the warmth of her body, the faint brush of her presence without even touching.

its tooo close but stepping away would feel like retreat or surrender. and you were taught to never surrender.

“you belong to me in service,” she says, her tone quiet but unyielding. “that is the oath you swore.”

your pulse pounds, each word tightening something deep in your chest anf stomach.

“yes,” you answer carefully. “in service.”

her eyes search yours with sharp intent.

“and if i asked more of you? of your service?”

silence falls again bit heavier this time. you know this ground. you know the lines drawn by duty and by honor and by the unspoken rules that govern everything you are.

and you know you are standing at the edge of them.

“my lady…” your voice drops, roughened by restraint. “there are lines that should not be crossed. not even for you.”

something flickers in her expression, its not anger, not quite. something more dangerous.

“not even for me,” she echoes then, softer, she continues bringing her mouth toward your ear. “or not even for yourself?”

that lands deeper than it should.

you look at her (really look this time) and the certainty you’ve always held begins to fracture. because this is not command alone. not authority for its own sake.

“i would not have you dishonor yourself,” you say at last.

her gaze does not waver.

“then do not call it dishonor.”

the space between you feels impossibly thin. your duty tells you to step back. to end this. to restore the distance that should exist between princess and knight. between sovereign and subjct. between shepherd and flock. between the commander and the commanded.

but you don’t move. and neither does she.

“look at me,” megan says softly.

you already are and that (more than anything) is the problem.

there is nothing else in the world that holds your attention the way she does in this moment. no duty, no rank, no oath is carved into your bones strongly enough to compete with the fact that she is standing there before you, close enough that you can see her chest rise and fall and the faint outline of what lies beneath.

you should step back. but you do not. instead, you take a slow breath in, as if that might steady something that has already begun to unravel beyond retrieve.

“my lady…” you begin but-

“stop calling me that,” she whispers “just megan.”

the words land quietly, but they seemingly change everything. your eyes search hers for certainty, for order, for anything that feels like the world you are supposed to belong to.

you find none of it.

only her irises boring into your own.

“megan,” you correct, barely audible, as though addressing her by her forename properly might be a kind of treason. blasphemy even.

something shifts in her expression at hearing that. not of triumph but permission.

she moves first, closing what little space remains until there is none left that feels safe to retreat into. you step backward until back makes contact with the cold stone walls of your quarters. your breath catches as she tilts her head down toward you, her presence no longer something you can pretend is accidental. it is no longer something you can find an escape from.

your hand lifts but not to stop her. you’re not sure when it stopped being about stopping anything at all.

your fingers hover near her wrist, uncertain, then settle there gently instead, as though anchoring yourself.

“this is…” you start again, but the sentence never completes.

“improper?” she supplies, almost softly amused now.

you don’t answer. because you can’t.

her hand rises slowly, hesitating only for a heartbeat before she touches your chest. the tips of her fingers light against the fabric of your shirt, as if testing whether you are real, or whether you might disappear if handled too roughly.

you don’t move away. that is what decides it. she leans in.

the kiss is not sudden. it is not rushed. when her lips meet yours, it comes as second nature, as a question that already knows its answer.

for a moment, you remain still. caught in the rafters between every vow you have ever made and the one you are making right now without words.

then you respond, carefully at first, afraid the moment might shatter if ypu were to handle it too forcefully. but megan does not pull away. megan does not hesitate and that alone is enough to undo what little discipline you had left to offer.

your hand moves to her waist, steadying her, pulling her closer against your body before you can stop yourself from wanting exactly that. her lips are unbelievably soft and feel way too good against your own. your body moves before your mind can formulate another argument for why this is wrong.

her fingers tighten slightly on the fabric at your breasts, then shift, beginning to hesitantly undo the string fastening of your shirt. the motion is slow, unhurried, neither of you is fully certain where restraint ends and permission begins, only that you wish to no longer to repress what you feel.

you break the kiss just long enough to breathe her name again. a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

“megan…”

she does not answer with words. only with the way she looks at you. she is still close, still unflinching, still choosing this. that reassures you for what you are about to do.

your hand finds the edge of her chemise, hesitating there, waiting for permission. she nods once. that is all.

fabric loosens. you remove it from her with the gentleness of someone handling a butterfly. the world outside this moment fades into something distant and unimportant as you eyes rake over every inch of skin that is slowly being exposed.

there is only the warmth between you and the way your names stop feeling like titles and start feeling like something far more fragile.

it is not as if you have never seen megan bare before. you stood guard as she was bathed by the maids. but it was strictly duty. you had never let your eyes linger for too long although you felt compelled to. but right now it all felt different. you couldnt rip your eyes away no matter how hard you tried.

you were in a trance. when your eyes returned to the princess's face you were met with an expression that caused an odd feeling to brew within your abdomen. her eyebrows were furrowed and cheeks flushed. her eyes dropped to your lips and immediately you two connected again with fervent passion.

you felt her warm tongue enter your mouth. the image of her gliding it against the steel of your sword returned to your mind. you whined into the kiss with the need to feel more. your rough hands glided across the smooth expanse of her back pushing her closer.

your hand continued to travel around megan's body squeezing her ass and pulling her hips against your thigh. this rhythm of slow grinding and kisses continued for a while until you both were out of breath, resting your foreheads against one another's.

you could feel the small wet patch she had caused on your braies. a newfound sense of confidence at how pliable she was under your hands inspired you to switch positions. you swapped pushing megan up against the wall. she shuddered feeling the cold stone directly on her bare back.

before she could even complain your mouth found her neck, sucking and licking.

“you cannot leave any marks… if any other noble we're to notic-”

you hummed in response. the words entered through one ear and swiftly made their exit out the other. you were too far gone on the heavenly taste of her skin, high off the small moans and whimpers she let out when you left a bite.

you begin to slowly trail lower. her jaw. her collarbone. her breast. you take a nipple into your mouth letting your tongue circle and glide over the sensitive bud. megan was clearly enjoying this as she grabs your unoccupied hand and encourages you to grab the other nipple. each gentle pull and squeeze elicited another sinful sound to fall from her wet pink lips.

moving lower, you placed gentle kisses across her tummy. it made megan giggle slightly as your administration felt ticklish. and oh her giggles. they made you smile against her soft skin. her laugh: it was the guiding star during dark nights. to say the woman was perfect would be an understatement. to not worship every inch of her was a deed unforgivable by the heavens.

Finally, your knees hit the ground. for a moment, you can do nothing but look at her. her eyes find yours immediately.

they hold.

neither of you speaks. in the flickering candlelight, she looks almost unreal. like an apparition which had appeared from above. there are no jewels, no crown, no attendants to announce her importance. and yet she has never seemed more like a princess than she does now.

beautiful.

your breath catches as your eyes rake over her body only to travel upward to meet hers again.

there is warmth in her expression, a tenderness you rarely see when courtly masks are in place. she is looking down at you with such openness that it almost hurts.

you have seen her in grand halls and crowded courts. you have watched nobles bow before her and ambassadors stumble over their words in her presence. none of that compares to this.

here, she is simply megan. just megan.

and somehow that makes her even more breathtaking. and for a heartbeat, you are no longer a knight kneeling before a princess. you are simply a woman staring in wonder at someone she never expected to love quite this much.

you slowly placed kisses on her inner thighs with the utmost gentleness. tracing kisses up until you finally come face to face with her heat.

“i have never seen beauty such as yours..” you breathe, “you are too fair… you are bound by grace.”

“then undo me.”

you waste no time in obeying her command, spreading open her cunt and licking a stripe through her folds, savouring her taste.

she gives way too easily under your touch. how she feels, how she smells, how she tastes, it is too much at once. too rich, too full, too unguarded in the way it offers itself.

you try to be careful with it. you really do. it is too much and not enough. you suck at her clit causing her to moan your name in such a sinful way.

she is utterly undone, so wet, her hole is just leaking begging to be filled, tighteningaround nothing. a mix of her slick and your saliva lingers at the corner of your mouth, dripping down slowly but you become aware of it only after it has already marked you.

megan arches her back too overwhelmed by the sensations, she tries to grab the stones of the wall, anything to steady herself. instead she settles for a hand in your hair. her moans grow louder and louder as she is totally over come by the pleasure of your tongue.

even though your living quarters were close to the princess's (for practically of being her personal guard) thus further away from the rest of the servants, it was best to remain careful. after all, the night is silent, it does not take much for a sound to travel in such conditions.

you pull your face out from between her legs for a short moment to utter, “be quiet.”

immediately, the princesses’ hands in your hair tighten, shoving you closer. “you do not command me, understood?”

you moan as she pulls on your hair, the pain mixing into a feeling of pleasure. “understood?”

“mhmm~” you hum out the vibrations on megan's clit sending a wave of satisfaction through her. she uses your mouth, you simply obey and let her manipulate you for her own desire.

despite her performance of domination, she brings a hand to cover her mouth to stifle her noises. alerting anyone would not be an ideal situation.

megan has always attempted to treat you as her equal despite the harsh lines of roles which separated you. but to have her exercise that power upon you in this instance. to remind you of yourself. to remind you of your position beneath her (quite literally) was exhilarating. it turned something within you nothing ever had before.

she used your mouth as a mere puppet to bring her to her own pinnacle.

“i feel~” she moans out, “i'm~”

you lose yourself in it. the rest of the world fades until there is nothing but her. you grip harder onto her shaking thighs keeping them spread apart.

your lungs burn faintly from how little attention you've paid to breathing. every thought that once felt important (duty, rank, consequence, whatever else) has dissolved beneath the simple reality of megan's taste on your tongue and her hands in your hair.

one moment you're leaning into her without thinking. the next…

both her hands catch the side of your head and push. hard. your neck jerks back. the suddenness of it stings.

you stumble slightly grasping onto megan's legs for stability, breath catching painfully in your chest.

for a heartbeat, you can only stare at her. both of you are breathing hard.

megan's bare marked chest rises and falls dramatically. loose strands of hair are stuck to her forehead with sweat. her lips are parted as she looks at you.

and all at once, panic crashes into you. a cold, sick feeling drops straight into your stomach.

you've made a mistake. you must have. why else would she stop? why else would she pull away like that? every fear you've ever carried rushes forward at once.

"your highness..." the words leave you breathlessly. "did i-"

you swallow.

"did i do something wrong?"

for a second, megan only stares with her eyebrows furrowed. then her expression changes completely. all the intensity melts away.

"oh."

the sound is soft. almost startled.

before you can say another word, both her hands are on your face. softly bringing you to stand up and face her at eye level. she steps forward immediately, closing the distance again.

"no," she says. her thumbs brush against your cheeks. "no, no."

there is such genuine affection in her voice that it almost hurts. you must still look stricken because she gives a small, disbelieving laugh.

"my knight." her forehead touches yours. "you thought that was why?"

you don't answer. which is answer enough. her eyes soften.

"you've been perfect." the words are quiet. certain. she says them as though there has never been any doubt. "perfect."

one hand slides into your hair again, but this time the touch is impossibly gentle. megan smiles. a warm, fond smile that makes your chest ache.

"i pushed you away because i did not want our fun to end so soon. after all, the journey is just as delightful as the destination."

a faint flush colors her cheeks. both of you are still drawing uneven breaths. still trying to recover.

"look at you," megan murmurs.

you lower your eyes automatically but she immediately brings a hand to your face and lifts your chin.

"don't." there is no command in it. only tenderness. "i want to see you."

for a long moment, she simply studies your face. and the way she looks at you is far more overwhelming than everything else you had just done.

"you've been perfect," she repeats softly. "exactly as you are.”

megan’s fingers find your sleeve again before you can step away. you pause, breath still unsteady, your hand remains half-lifted as though you meant to create distance again.

she glances past you, toward the far wall of your chamber where slightly tarnished looking glass (mirror) stands, its surface imperfect, framed in dark wood and worn with age.

it is not meant for megan. nothing in this room is.

“take me there,” she says quietly.

for a moment, you don’t move. the request is simple and yet it settles over you with the same weight as everything else she has asked of you tonight. still.. you nod.

your hand finds th3 princess's without thought. the contrast is immediate. hers is so soft, not just smooth but untouched. no roughness, no strain, no mark of labor or steel. a hand that has never needed to hold anything heavier than silk or parchment.

yours… is the opposite.

calloused. scarred. shaped by years of training, by the weight of a sword, by blows taken and given. the skin is rough where hers is not, the difference stark enough that you feel it the moment your fingers close around hers.

yet megan does not pull away. if anything, her grip tightens slightly, as though she notices it too.

you guide the princess across the room, slow, measured steps until you stand before the mirror together. it is small. barely enough to hold both your reflections clearly. but it is enough.

enough to see the truth of it. you behind her. her before you. your hand still holding hers. you look at the reflection and it feels almost like looking at something forbidden.

she is light even in the dimness of this room. the pale softness of her bare skin, the way she carries herself without ever needing to guard against anything the world might throw at her.

you are a shadow beside her.

your shirt loose, your posture instinctively protective even now, your body marked by a life she has never had to live. there are faint scars along your hands, your forearms, stories written into your skin that no court would ever speak of.

you are the same age and yet you are not the same at all. her gaze meets yours through the glass.

“look at us,” she whispers.

you are. you can’t look away.

your free hand rises, slower this time to guve her the chance to stop you. to let her pull away, to remember what stands between you.

she does not.

your fingers brush against her arm first. the softness of her skin is almost startling, it felt like touching something too delicate to be real. you’ve guarded her for years, stood at her side, but never like this, never without distance.

“you have never had to fight,” you murmur, more to yourself than to her.

“no,” she says softly.

“you have never had to lift a finger. all is placed before you.” there is no shame in it. only truth. “you have never had to make a decision. all is made for you.”

“and yet,” megan begins, her gaze steady in the mirror, “i chose to come to you.”

that lands deeper than anything else. your hand shifts, resting at her waist now. she leans back into you, just slightly, closing what little space remains between your bodies.

in the mirror, it looks different.

your head dips, your breath brushing against the crook of her neck before you can stop yourself. she tilts her face just enough that you can see her expression change to be completelyunguarded, completely vulnerable within your hold.

“tell me what you see,” she murmurs.

your eyes flick back to the reflection. to megan. to her face. to her body. to your bodies.

“you,” you answer quietly. “too bright for a place like this.”

“and you?” she presses.

“not meant to stand beside you,” you hesitantly admit.

she turns then, just enough to face you, not fully, but enough that her eyes meet yours directly rather than through the glass.

“you already do, always.” she says.

and then she closes the distance. the kiss this time is different. less uncertain. less restrained.

her hand rises to your cheek, her touch impossibly gentle against skin that has known only force and friction. your own hand tightens slightly at her waist, pulling her closer without thinking, as though you might lose her if you don’t.

your lips part only briefly before finding hers again, aware of the line you are both once stood on had been long passed.

megan's fingers trace along your jaw, then down, brushing against the roughness of your skin as if learning it. choosing it.

you breathe megan's name against her lips, quieter now. and she answers not with words but by drawing you closer.

she turns again so her back is pressed to your front. megan grabs your hand trailing it down her body. her other hand reaches behind you both to grab your nape and pull your head forward.

“finish what we began." she whispers in your ear, oh so softly.

your hand, pressed so gently against the inside of her thigh, with the other snaking around her waist.

your finger tips traced through her wetness. your fingers slipped into her with ease, she had been ready to take you.

she moans directly into your ear as you fill her up. her heat engulfing your fingers, sucking you in. you begin pumping your fingers, desperate to hear her continue making such noises. her hips unconsciously bucked up into your hands with need.

“more.” she breathes.

of course you obey. you curl your fingers inside megan, hitting the perfect spot, causing her to spill out a string of blasphemous curses.

you have heard a thousand sounds in your life that require your attention. but none of them have ever held you the way her voice does. she whispers words of praise and command into your ear while her hips match the pace of your fingers pumping in and out.

“you are doing so well my knight.”

when she speaks your name, you could almost believe there is something heavenly in it, something not meant for ordinary ears.

you feel her clench around your fingers as her hips begin to stutter. you bring your other hand around to rub circles on her clit, causing her to softly gasp at the added stimulation.

you look at the reflection of you two. the sinful sight almost causes you to lose your balance. you watch as your fingers stretch her open while you add in a third digit. you watch then disappear into her. you watch her chest rise and fall. you watch her abdomen tense and back arch.

her moans begin to grow louder.. in an attempt to stifle her noises she connects your lips once more. it's messy. it's desperate. the complete opposite of the princess the kingdom expects is before your in this very moment.

her legs being to tremble as she struggles to hold up her weight.

“mmm thats it thats it keep going~”

the grip she has on you is suffocating, a clear indication she is close. she opens her eyes for a moment, meeting yours in the mirror. its mesmerising. her whines rise into a crescendo as her legs give out. the strength seems to leave her as she reaches her peak.

the years of training have made you strong in quiet ways. supporting her weight is no problem for you.

megan's body convulsed, her juices squirting out and dripping onto the floor. all restraint she'd ever had slipping loose all at once. she could no longer hold herself in the shape the world expected of her.

you have stood in great cathedrals and listened to choirs rise toward the heavens, but even those sacred songs seem so distant now that you have megan in your arms. her body is the most sacred sight to you. you still cannot fathom that it was you whom she chose to share such a vulnerable state with.

and the way she had sounded during it all? the way it made you feel could not be accurately recalled in words.