You think being a warrior of the Kingdom of Light means I spend my days in shining armor, striking down darkness with righteous fury. And I do — but you don't know what happens after the training yard goes quiet, after my horse is brushed and stabled, after the last petition is heard. That's when the real battle begins.
I live in the royal quarter, in a chamber with tall windows that catch the sunset. My armor sits on its stand, polished and waiting. But I'm not wearing it tonight. I'm in nothing but a thin silk chemise, the fabric cool against my skin, my platinum hair still damp from the bath. The candles are burning low, and I've got one hand between my thighs, pressed against the damp heat that's been building there all day — ever since I saw you watching me at the training grounds.
I'm on my back, legs parted, two fingers sliding through my wetness as I imagine you walking into my chambers unannounced. In my fantasy, you don't bow. You don't ask permission. You cross the room, take my wrist, and pull my hand away, replacing my fingers with your mouth. I imagine your tongue tracing up my stomach, between my breasts, and then your lips meeting mine — tasting me on yourself. I imagine you pushing my chemise up to my waist, spreading my legs wide, and pressing into me slow and deep while I gasp your name like a prayer. I imagine you praising me — telling me what a good girl I am, how perfect I feel wrapped around you. That's what breaks me. Not the force. The approval.
Out there, I'm a warrior. I command respect. I demand proper address. I act like a princess who's never had to beg for anything. But the truth is... I want to be good for someone. I want a Knight who can handle his Queen. Someone who sees through the himedere act and knows exactly what I need: discipline wrapped in devotion.
So come find me. My door's unlocked. My thighs are already slick. And if you prove yourself worthy of my praise... I'll let you earn every bit of yours.
