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Kingdom of Paradis, 1313.
Princess Mikasa stood still, her expression a mask of calm as Queen Caven’s voice sliced through the council chamber.
“You must understand, dear princess,” she said. “It has been a year since your wedding, and still, the kingdom awaits an heir. A son, mind you! Do you understand the peril this poses to our bloodline?”
If her words didn’t so often drip with malice, Mikasa might have believed them genuine. But there was no mistaking the queen’s delight in parading her perceived failures before the court. Seated in the king’s chair while the old man lay bedridden and fading, Queen Caven wielded her authority like a snake, rejoicing in her position.
Mikasa felt absolutely tired of this. The scrutiny, the whispered doubts, the veiled accusations; all weighed upon her like a leaden cloak. The queen, swollen with power, circled with advisors like vultures, eager to wield whatever scraps of influence she had against her. Yet Princess Mikasa knew there was nothing to do against it. So, she remained silent, a lioness watching a pack of hyenas. The firstborn of the king, the only woman heir in the kingdom’s history, and yet they sought her ruin.
A farcical tragedy indeed.
“It is troubling, indeed,” Duran, one of the queen’s sycophants, chimed in with a sickly smile. “The people whisper. They fear for the future of the crown, and well, some even question if the princess is capable of... you see... producing an heir.”
Oh, such a remark made Mikasa squirm. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before, a familiar story, indeed. She blinked regardless, barely able to hide her astonishment. Questioning a princess’s fertility—especially that of the Crown Princess—was one of the vilest insults, and she couldn’t quite fathom how a council member could propose something so openly offensive.
“Pardon me, my lord,” she said, her voice steady despite the fire rising in her chest. “Are you suggesting that I am barren?”
“No, my princess,” Duran replied. “I merely repeat what is spoken between the small folk. Important words for the crown, you understand.”
“Sure.”
She sank back into her chair, casting a cold gaze over the array of advisors who had once sworn to uphold her claim. Traitors, every last one of them. They were quick to turn the moment they sensed weakness. Mikasa almost laughed at their cowardice and their pathetic fear of a woman ruling over them.
Feckless knaves, useless swine, all of them.
Her eyes found Queen Caven, sitting smugly, nurturing their discontent like a wolf fattening her cubs. She couldn’t help but see the gleam of delight in her eyes, her mind surely dancing with fantastical images of her usurping Mikasa’s birthright. But, from the other side, the voice of another sycophantic advisor gained the princess’ attention.
“You must understand, princess,” Ross Reid said. “Without a child, your position as heir is in grave jeopardy. Especially as a woman.” His voice dripped with condescension. “Surely, our princess would not wish to see the kingdom fall into chaos, would she?”
Forcing herself to breathe, the princess met the man’s gaze, her voice calm despite the fury that simmered beneath the surface. “We are trying,” she said. “My husband and I are making every effort, and in due course, we shall produce an heir to the crown. There is no need for alarm. And the queen herself, as a woman, might well understand that such matters cannot be rushed.”
The queen’s laugh, sweet as poisoned honey, filled the hall, echoing off the stone walls.
“Of course, my dear, I understand. Yes, indeed, I do.” Her piercing blue eyes locked onto Mikasa. “But, considering that your dear father and I conceived your brother two months before our wedding, I had thought that fertility flowed in your veins as well.”
“We beg you, princess,” Duran spoke again, his tone attempting to be condescending, though he underestimated Mikasa’s wits. She saw through him; he was merely a pawn in Queen Caven’s game. “People want to see stability, and a child from your womb will provide that. If not, they shall ask for someone who can fulfil that role... like your half-brother.”
The mere mention of her half-brother stirred a wave of nausea deep within Mikasa. How could they so blithely entertain the notion of him usurping her claim when the king had steadfastly declared her the rightful successor to the throne? The queen’s advisers waited, each eyeing her, hoping she would falter. They craved it—her fall from grace. Her failure would cement Queen Caven’s grip on the court, and they would all feast like scavengers on the spoils.
Yet Mikasa was nothing if not stubborn, a trait that had marked her since her youth. Others labelled her proud, cunning, and a true embodiment of the golden dragon upon the Ackerman House crest. She refused to allow these vultures to feast upon her remains, nor would she permit her stepmother, that avaricious woman who yearned to see her blood upon the throne, to rob her of what was rightfully hers. No. She would never permit it.
I shall be dead rather than leave the throne to Caven’s blood, she thought.
“My half-brother is but five years old and cannot produce heirs,” she pointed out. “The king has proclaimed me, his sole daughter from his first marriage to the late Queen Kuchel, the rightful heir. If you refuse to defend my claim, then I shall take up that mantle myself, unless my father deems it necessary to alter both his mind and the line of succession.”
She regarded them all with her steely grey eyes, her frown deepening as if she might transform into a dragon, ready to unleash fire upon them until they were consumed. “I shall produce an heir, as I have stated. My husband and I are making every effort.” A smile, laced with irony, graced her lips as she cradled her belly. “Or perhaps I already am with child; who can say? My monthlies have been irregular of late.”
For a fleeting moment, Mikasa relished in the discomfort that flickered across the men’s faces at such an intimate revelation; they ought to grow accustomed to it, she mused.
“So cease your questioning and wait in silence for a child to spring from my blood.”
The silence that enveloped the chamber felt palpable as Mikasa’s words hung like a blade above their heads. The queen’s expression darkened, though she maintained her composed façade, betraying nothing but a flicker of irritation.
“Such bold claims for one so... inexperienced,” Queen Caven replied, her smile now a thin veneer. “The court shall not simply take your word for it. You must provide proof of your resolve.”
“I shall be with child soon, my queen; mark my words. This court will not have to wait long to witness the strength of House Ackerman.”
As Mikasa rose from her chair, her declaration hung in the air, a bold promise that left the council in stunned silence. Queen Caven’s eyes narrowed.
“Then I trust you will not leave us waiting long, dear princess. I can hardly contain my eagerness to hold my grandson in my arms. After all, he shall be my grandson in some fashion. Your dear father binds us together.”
“Indeed,” Mikasa replied. “I will ensure that my resolve bears fruit, and the crown shall have its heir. Now, if you would pardon me, my lords and my queen, I cannot linger here any longer. I wish you all a good day.”
Thus the Princess Mikasa, Crown Princess of the Kigdom of Paradis, rose from her seat at the council, and after offering a slight bow to the queen, she departed. There was but one place she had to go, and she needed to reach it swiftly; after all, she had already pledged to offer something she was uncertain she could provide—at least not without the aid of her husband.
Outside the council chamber, Mikasa hastened her steps, almost breaking into a run. Her destination was the library, the only place in all the palace where her husband might be. These insults and these accusations had to end, and her husband was the only one with the power to silence them. It was time to put a stop to it and compel him to fulfil his duty.
However… given their differences, the task would be difficult. Most difficult, indeed.
As the princess stormed up the stairs, her mind was fixed on how she might finally persuade her husband to give her a child. It wasn’t until she stumbled on one of the high steps that she became aware of her surroundings, alarmed by the sudden risk of falling. But, as always, her waist was seized the moment she began to tip backward, her small frame pressed against a solid chest covered in armour, making her seem so small in comparison that she shuddered.
“Princess,” a knight in black armour murmured near her ear, “be careful, you might fall.”
“Pardon me, sir,” she replied, a flush of embarrassment washing over her. “I’m rather distracted today.”
The knight inclined his head, a subtle nod that sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. He pulled away, but his hand stayed anchored at her waist, the ghost of a caress tickling on her clothed skin.
Ah, her dark knight, her steadfast shadow, a sentinel sworn to guard her heart as fiercely as he defended her from the world’s indignities.
Mikasa could not recall exactly how long he had been with her, but she remembered him always being there, rescuing her from every indignity she faced while bearing the heavy burden of the heiress’ crown. With his smooth, constant presence, he had woven himself into her life, a silent guardian at her back. He had protected her, watched over her, and cared for her. Him cloaked in armour as dark as the midnight sky and as gleaming as polished obsidian, ever near, always within her reach.
Words were a rarity for him, especially when it came to uttering her name, yet his loyalty spoke louder than any proclamation. The visor of his helmet hid most of his face, but the tantalising flash of olive skin and the shimmer of his green eyes betrayed a hint of his concealed beauty, igniting a playful fire within the princess’ soul.
In her daydreams, Mikasa had often wondered what this man looked like beneath his armour. She had imagined how his skin would glisten, beaded with sweat, and, more dangerously, she frequently contemplated how it would feel to have the sensation of his hand against her bare skin—naked, exposed, and free for her to behold. She had wondered if his touch would be as hard as the steel he used and if the heat of his body would be greater compared to the cold metal.
However... ah, those were thoughts she dared not entertain for too long. They were notions destined to remain unanswered, locked away in the deepest recesses of her mind. Mikasa was the Crown Princess, the future queen, and he, her dark knight, was merely a knight, bound by duty to serve her. She was married to a man of her station, and her knight’s devotion was nothing more than the fulfilment of his role. Her fantasies were but dreams, doomed to remain tethered to the earth, never to soar.
“I need to speak with my husband,” she said plainly as they stood before the library doors. “You may take your leave for today.”
Once more, in silence, her knight dipped his head in solemn acknowledgement, stepping back with the grace of a man who knew his place. She never needed to say much when it came to him; a word from her, and he simply obeyed. Such was the nature of their relationship.
Inside the library, Mikasa’s gaze fell on her husband, who sat amidst a fortress of books and scrolls, ever absorbed in his scholarly pursuits. She approached him with a sense of purpose.
“I must speak with you.” She clenched her fists. “Now, Armin.”
Her husband looked up, his cerulean eyes wide with bright surprise. “Of course. What troubles you?” He set aside his spectacles and brushed a stray lock of blond hair from his face.
“I need a child,” Mikasa said bluntly, the words ringing through the quiet space like a challenge thrown to the wind.
Surprise flickered across Armin’s features again, and he leaned back in his chair, his voice soft as he asked, “Ah, it is that matter once more.”
“Yes, it is that matter once more,” she repeated firmly, her eyes narrowing.
“It was the council meeting this morning, was it not? Did they say something?”
Mikasa crossed her arms, the tension in her posture radiating as she sank into the chair opposite him. “Indeed, Armin. They told me many things, as they always do.” Frustration welled up inside her. “First it was on even days, then on odd days. Now it’s every single damn day, ceaselessly reminding me of the fragility of my claim!”
Her voice rose, a crescendo of frustration that reverberated through the walls of the library. Had any of the revered master librarians been present, they would have surely chastised her for such a breach of decorum in such a silent place, regardless of her royal status. But fortune favoured her that day, and the guardians of silence were nowhere to be found. She allowed her ire to spill forth, uncensored.
“They cannot strip you of your rightful place upon the throne merely because of their own covetous desires, Mikasa. You know that very well,” Armin said calmly. “The whole realm knows your father favours you over your younger brother.”
“But I am still a woman,” she countered bitterly. “A woman not meant to reign, yet one who shall do so regardless.” A deep, pained sigh escaped her lips. “Do you not see it, Armin? My claim is weak; my reign is weak. And our marriage… our marriage stands on shaky ground, all because we are without a son!”
Her frustration grew, and she threw her head back, staring up at the vaulted ceiling in exasperation. Her eyes sought some form of solace, some answer, but found none. “Do you not see it?” she asked once more, her voice rising, growing urgent.
“You are stronger than you realise,” Armin replied, his voice a steady balm to her fevered thoughts. “Your worth isn’t measured by the presence of a son, but by the strength of your spirit and the courage you’ve shown in every challenge you’ve faced. Your father sees it, and that’s precisely why he wants you to don the crown.”
Mikasa shook her head, the frustration bubbling over. “But they do not see it that way. The council, the court—they whisper behind my back. They plot and scheme, waiting for any sign of weakness to exploit.” Her hands clenched into fists again, harder, the knuckles turning white with the intensity of her emotions. “I cannot afford to be seen as vulnerable, Armin. I cannot allow them to think I am unfit to lead. But it will not cease until I bear a child. Do you understand that?”
Armin’s gaze fell, his fingers absently combing through his hair—a telltale gesture of unease. “Yes, I do understand,” he said at last. “But, ah… I thought we had already concluded that I cannot give you children, Mikasa.”
And there it was, the crux of everything.
Armin Arlert was her husband, yes, but in name alone.
Their marriage had been forged not from affection but from ambition, welded together in the cold fires of politics. Mikasa had known this truth the moment they stood before the gods and the watchful eyes of the court, their hands clasped in a union that was as cold and distant as the marble beneath their feet. There was no warmth between them, no spark of love to kindle their bond. They were allies, bound together by duty, not desire. Friends, perhaps, though even that felt too generous, a label too intimate for a connection built on obligation. Two people who scarcely shared common ground and, of course, even less shared a bed.
And for that, the castle whispered about the Crown Princess. They said she was difficult to love, difficult to desire. They spoke of how her heart was cold, her gaze unyielding, and her touch distant. There was no doubt, they claimed, that a woman so frigid could never bear a child.
But, truth be told, the reality was far less cruel than what her detractors tried to paint. Armin, her husband, had simply never looked at her the way he looked at others. He had never regarded her as he did the young squires he trained, the knights under his command, or even the stable boy (Jean; she remembered his name).
Armin Arlert, cousin to the Duke of Klorva, simply wouldn’t look at her—or any woman, for that matter—no matter how striking they might be. Females just held no interest for him at all.
Did she blame him? Not really. It was true that in the early days of their marriage, she had felt the sting of insecurity with nights spent wondering what flaw within her made her unworthy of desire. But that ache had dulled with time. Mikada had come to see that neither of them was at fault. The gods had simply shaped Armin’s heart differently. There was no fire to spark between them because no such flame had ever existed.
It was his nature, and she had learnt not only to accept it but to respect it.
Why, then, had they married her to such a man, when a princess’s bloodline demanded heirs? Surely it was the Queen’s doing, a political masterstroke meant to bind her in a union no one could easily undo. The queen must have known the truth of Armin’s heart, yet she had proceeded all the same. A calculated cruelty, wrapped in royal decorum. It left Mikasa bound to a man who could never fulfil the simplest duty of a husband.
“Yes, I know,” Princess Mikasa murmured, her shoulders sagging. “But I need this, Armin. You must understand it shan’t end, or be appeased, unless I bear a child.”
He sighed, shaking his head with resignation. “I know, I know,” he said, lapsing into silence, his thoughts clearly waging war against one another.
“There must be a way,” she pressed softly. “A way that shan’t make you retch.”
At that, a wry smile ghosted across his lips. “For God’s sake, don’t remind me. I’m still mortified.”
Mikasa let out a short laugh, light and fleeting. “It is difficult for a woman to forget the moment she was made to feel undesired.”
Armin’s face flushed crimson, his embarrassment so genuine it nearly softened her frustration. “Gods, I’m sorry. Truly, I am. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Mikasa—but, well… you know how I am.”
She nodded wordlessly, folding her arms, unwilling to twist the dagger further.
The moment she had realised her marriage was doomed hadn’t been during their stilted courtship, when his attention seemed to wander more toward the soldiers of the Ackerman battalion than toward her, resplendent though she was in silks and jewels. Nor had it been during their betrothal banquet, when he had abandoned her side mid-dance to share a laugh with his stable boy.
No, the truth had dawned on her during their wedding night—a night that had never truly come to pass.
Following tradition, Mikasa had lain waiting in their bed, the sheets cold and untouched, for a husband who never arrived. When she went in search of him, she found him in the parlour, slouched over a half-empty goblet, staring into nothing. Determined to claim what was hers, she had undressed before him, hoping boldness might spark something within him. Instead, he had gone pale as parchment and then promptly vomited the entire wedding feast at her feet.
That night ended in tears—hers and his both—as he apologised between fits of shame, swearing it was not her fault but his. And in a strange, tender way, she had believed him. For a year, she had believed him.
“The children might only need my name, isn’t it?” Armin asked suddenly, snapping shut the heavy tome in front of him.
Mikasa blinked, drawn out of her reverie. “Well, yes. At least until one of them becomes king after me.”
Their marriage contract was precise on the matter: any child she bore would carry the Arlert name, but the firstborn—the heir—would ascend under the Ackerman title, preserving her family’s legacy.
“Then,” Armin said, a curious brightness overtaking his features, “I believe I’ve found a solution.”
Her brows lifted. “Please, enlighten me.”
“It’s simple. You only need me to recognise the child as mine, and that I can easily do.”
“Armin…”
“Sleep with another man, Mikasa.”
Mikasa blinked, stunned. “I beg your pardon?”
Armin reclined in his chair, a self-satisfied smile spreading across his face. “You heard me right. Have an affair. Get pregnant by someone who can actually manage it. And, just so you know…” His grin shifted, taking on a decidedly devilish edge. “…I think I know the perfect man for the job.”
“You’ve gone mad,” Mikasa murmured, sinking into the familiar surroundings of her chambers. “You’ve gone truly mad.”
“Why?” Armin asked, tilting his head, the faintest trace of amusement in his blue eyes.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Her voice was tight with desperation. “What man would lie with a crown princess and then allow the child to bear another man’s name?”
“Well, the man I’m about to introduce you to, that’s for certain.”
Mikasa shook her head, disbelief and frustration coiling tight around her chest. “You’re mad,” she muttered again, almost to herself. “You really think it’s that simple?”
Armin only repeated himself, quieter now, almost intimate in the way he said it: “Yes, I do, little wife.” His voice carried the mockery she had learnt to expect—one of his peculiar habits, a penchant for irreverent jesting even in the most serious moments.
“Did you even speak to him first?” She lowered herself onto the parlour couch, hands twisting nervously in her lap. “This is…” Her words faltered, the weight of the absurdity pressing down on her.
“I told him to come over so we could discuss it,” Armin said breezily. “Don’t fret. I’ve long suspected this man harbours feelings for you. I’m certain he’ll leap at the chance to bed you once the opportunity presents itself.”
Heat flooded Mikasa’s cheeks at his words, mortification prickling beneath her skin. But before she could muster a retort, there came a sharp knock, knock, knock at the chamber door—so sudden and loud that she nearly leapt from her seat.
Gods above, she thought, pulse quickening, what madness had she allowed herself to be dragged into?
“Oh, that’s our saviour,” her husband announced, rising with a confidence so infuriatingly smug it almost made her believe his absurd plan might succeed.
Mikasa fixed her gaze upon a meaningless speck on the carpet, focusing all her energy on not fainting as her husband greeted their guest with far too much cheer. A swell of anxiety rose in her chest; she had never imagined sharing her bed with anyone but her husband—and yet here she was, caught in the web of his impossible scheme.
Gods above, Armin!
The hinges groaned as the door opened, and her breath hitched.
“Well, my friend,” she heard Armin say, “would you prefer that my wife explain the situation to you alone?”
Mikasa’s blood ran cold. Alone? With a man she’d never met? She sprang to her feet, dread clawing at her chest—only to find herself staring not into the eyes of a stranger, but into a face achingly familiar.
Oh, gods, she thought, her breath catching.
It was him.
Sir Eren Jaeger, the knight. Her dark knight, no less!
He stood in the doorway like something from a forgotten dream, his armour as black as the deepest night, catching the faint glow of candlelight in a way that almost made him glow with an otherworldly light. A figure of strength, of solemnity, his presence filling the room like the thunder of a storm.
The sight of him, without his visor on, took Mikasa’s breath away.
Eren, lowborn, yes, but noble in ways that went far beyond titles. He was the protector she had chosen all those years ago, after watching him win the royal joust during the king’s fiftieth jubilee with a raw, untamed determination that had captivated her. Back then, Mikasa’s admiration had been innocent, unclouded by anything more than youthful curiosity. But now—older, with her heart tangled in truths she could no longer deny—she saw it for what it truly was: she had been drawn to him from the very first moment. She had desired him as a woman has desired a man since the dawn of time.
There was something about him, something she couldn’t explain. The way his stormy green eyes held a silent fire, the proud way he carried himself, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders but he never faltered.
And yet, despite the pull, she knew how impossible it was.
A princess could never—should never—have her knight as a lover. He was too bound by honour, too devoted to his duty. She could no more ask him for that than she could ask the moon to fall from the sky.
“Armin,” she began, unsteady, “this is—”
But her husband silenced her with a flick of his hand.
“Enough. Speak with her, my friend. I shall take my leave.”
“Armin!” Mikasa cried, a note of panic breaking through as he reached for the door. But it was too late; the latch clicked shut behind him, leaving her stranded in the charged silence of the room, alone with the man she least wished to face under such circumstances.
The princess blinked rapidly, her thoughts scattering like startled birds. The thundering in her chest filled the silence, and heat crept back into her cheeks, blooming fiercely.
This was absurd, utterly absurd. Armin had lost all sense of reason!
“My princess,” came the low, steady voice of her knight—commanding but laced with gentleness. “Did you call for me?”
Mikasa swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “I did,” she managed to say. “My husband actually… he… well… ah! We need your help… I mean, I need your help.”
If her mind was a storm, her tongue was no calmer. Mikasa couldn’t even begin to fathom the depth of her own confusion, much less understand how confused her dark knight might be.
Yet, with an almost unnatural calm, Ser Eren shifted the weight of his body from one foot to the other and replied. “I understand, perfectly. How may I help you, my princess?”
Oh, heavens above. Surely Armin hadn’t told him the truth. Mikasa’s heart lurched in her chest; had her husband truly sent this man here under false pretences? The flutter of nerves within her twisted into a tight knot of dread.
But she was a princess—no, the Crown Princess of the Kingdom of Paradis. This would not be the first unpleasant matter she had to face head-on. If she could confront councilmen twice her age and outwit them in debate, she could certainly endure this. After all, it was only a simple request: she merely needed a man to share her bed, to fill her womb once, twice, or perhaps three times, and hope that the gods were kind enough to grant her a child.
Princes had done worse for less. Their mistresses were praised in song, their illegitimate children running through the courtly life. What she proposed was far more honourable than most royal misdeeds. and yet, because she was a woman, it felt scandalous beyond measure.
Good grief indeed.
“My princess?” The low timbre of her knight’s voice cut through her spiralling thoughts.
Mikasa drew in a breath and lifted her chin, summoning the poise expected of her station. “I need a child, Ser,” she said bluntly. “My husband is unable to provide one, so I am compelled to… hum… explore other options. I, ah…” She faltered briefly, then forced herself onward. “I wish for you to father a child with me.”
Finally the confession hung in the air like morning mist, suspended and trembling. The silence that followed was so deep it might as well have cut her skin.
Mikasa pressed on, fingers twisting together in her lap, seeking courage in their motion. “I can see why Armin deems you a suitable choice. You are my protector—loyal, steadfast. He must believe there is no one better suited to safeguard me in this… ah… endeavour.”
She felt the weight of his gaze even if she didn’t dare to look at him, the full force of those striking green eyes burning through the space between them. She dared not meet them. Speaking of such a thing to a man of honour was near blasphemous, and yet, here she stood, driven by necessity and something perilously close to yearning.
“I know this is unexpected,” she continued, “but I am desperate for a child, you see, and—”
“So you would have me as your whore?”
The words struck like a lash. His voice, low and sharp, carried both fury and disbelief. Mikasa flinched, the sting of humiliation spreading hot across her skin. Of course he would take it so. To him, this was a desecration of chivalry, an insult to everything he stood for.
“N-no, Eren,” she stammered, his name escaping her lips before she could stop it—tasting sweet, dangerous, alive. “I know it sounds that way, but—”
“I would like to.”
She froze. “What?”
“I said I would like to,” he repeated, more steadily now.
Mikasa blinked, her mouth falling open in disbelief. Was this truly happening?
“Lord Armin mentioned it, and I confess I thought it a jest,” her dark knight continued in her silence. “But if you truly wish it, princess, I will answer your call.” His tone softened, the rough edge replaced by something startlingly sincere. “I will share your bed and bring you the satisfaction you seek. It would be my honour.”
“I…” Her breath caught, her mind refusing to keep pace. “You… would?”
Slowly, he drew closer to her, too dangerously close. From this short distance, Mikasa could finally see the sun-kissed gleam of his skin in the dim light, his dark hair falling in unruly strands. But most striking of all were the flames burning in his eyes, a fire that screamed with desire. He looked every inch the man she had forbidden herself to imagine.
“Yes, princess,” he murmured; his voice was almost reverent. “I would. I’ve waited long enough to offer myself to you, to be more than your shield. If you command it, I will gladly give you a child.”
Heat flared in Mikasa’s cheeks—not from shame, but from the staggering weight of the moment. The air between them thickened, pulsing with something alive and electric. Her thoughts betrayed her: his hands, his breath, the heat of his body pressing against hers.
Gods above.
For a single heartbeat, titles and duties melted away. They were no longer princess and knight, bound by ceremony and rank. They were simply man and woman, still clothed, yet already shedding the thousand unspoken barriers that had always separated them. Man and woman dreaming of what would await them in bed.
“May I ask what fuels this enthusiasm?” Mikasa managed, her breath uneven, her chest rising and falling with a betraying rhythm she could not steady.
Eren smiled, though not the polite, courtly smile she was accustomed to. No, this one was dangerous. It stole the air from her lungs and left her heart thrumming wildly.
“Do you know why I perform my duties in silence?” he asked. “Why have I never spoken out of turn, never let myself stray too close?” His jaw tightened, and his eyes gleamed. “It’s because I want you, Princess. I want you so fiercely that if I ever gave that want a voice, I fear I would lose control entirely.”
Mikasa’s lips parted, her pulse hammering at her throat. “You… really want me?” The words came out in a whisper, a fragile sound, as if saying them aloud might summon ruin.
“Yes,” he breathed, “every day I stand beside you, and every day it grows harder not to yield to it. The nearer I am, the more I wish to forget the world and simply be with you. But I cannot. You are the Crown Princess; I am only a knight. Yet if the only way to have you is in secret, in the shadows… then I’ll take that fate gladly.”
Eren’s admission broke from him like something long caged. Mikasa felt something stir deep within her—a reckless courage blooming where fear had once lived. The thought of surrendering, of breaching the line they had danced along for so long, sent a thrilling heat through her veins.
“I must confess,” she said softly, rising to her feet, “that I want you too.” She made a pause as she gulped. “I confess I want to have you, Ser Eren. To have you as a woman takes a man.”
The air shifted. His expression changed; surprise first, then desire, bright and unrestrained desire. His gaze swept over her, reverent yet hungry, as if trying to reconcile the unreachable princess before him with the woman daring to stand this close.
“Then let me show you,” he murmured.
With those four words, something inside Mikasa unspooled. The barriers of rank, decorum, and restraint cracked under the weight of his gaze. His breathing quickened; hers matched.
For the first time, she saw it—the unguarded longing in his eyes, wild and consuming, reflecting her own. It was madness, pure and beautiful.
Eren reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm. The touch was slight, yet it felt like fire, a spark that raced through her, leaving her dizzy.
“Tonight,” he said.
“Tonight,” she echoed, her voice trembling with resolve. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Is that an order, Princess?” His tone was teasing, but the heat beneath it betrayed him.
Mikasa let a faint smile curl her lips. “Yes, my dark knight. It’s an order.”
Night fell over St. Maria Palace, the royal residence now cloaked in a tranquil embrace of warmth. Mikasa dined with her husband in the solar, their easy chatter offering a momentary reprieve from the heavy anticipation of the changes to come. After supper, they withdrew to their chambers, and she began her evening routine.
But something hung in the air, an electric tension perhaps, or perhaps it was the hum of what was to unfold once the doorbell rang and her husband slipped away to leave her in solitude.
“I didn’t know you were friends with him,” she said, brushing through her long hair.
“We train together,” Armin replied, swapping his dinner doublet for a simpler one. “Though I can tell he thinks I lack skills with the sword. You know, with both kinds of swords.”
Mikasa laughed at the implication. It was true that she remained a maiden, but Armin had a penchant for innuendos, and after their many candid discussions, she no longer found his humour surprising. Relief washed over her as they managed to get along, even when the circumstances were anything but simple.
“Will it hurt?” she asked when she finished her nightly ablutions.
“Honestly? A lot.” He chuckled as she rolled her eyes. “But Eren will take care of you; I’m certain of that. He’s not just a man of honour; he adores you.”
“How much does he adore me?”
Armin clicked his tongue, a teasing glint in his eyes. “My dear, that’s something you should ask him.”
As the doorbell rang once more, just as it had that morning, Mikasa jolted in her seat in front of the boudoir, her fingers gripping the ivory hairbrush tightly.
“Ah, that’s my cue, sweetling,” Armin said, stepping closer to plant a quick kiss upon her cheek. “Be a good girl, alright?”
A wave of embarrassment washed over her. “Go away, husband.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
“Yes, I know. Jean is waiting for me,” her husband replied.
In the next breath, his presence slipped away from the bedroom like mist dissolving in the morning sun.
Left in solitude, Mikasa remained at the dressing table, her gaze fixed on the mirror. The silence stretched around her, heavy and thick, as she pondered the things that might happen soon. But then a voice flowed into the room, smooth as velvet.
“May I?”
As she turned, she found Eren standing there in his heavy armour, his helmet tucked under one arm. He seemed weary, the dark circles beneath his eyes revealing the toll of a long watch. For a fleeting moment, guilt crept into her heart for interrupting his much-needed rest. Yet, as he strode into the bedroom with unyielding resolve, his eyes ablaze with a sensual intensity that stripped her of pretence, Mikasa’s resolve solidified.
This was not merely a night of potential gains or advantageous outcomes; it was a spark, an awakening that ignited a fire within her she had never experienced before. The yearning coursing through her was undeniable—she longed to embrace her femininity fully, to revel in the sensations of being a woman, and this man before her was the vessel of that desire.
In that moment, she knew, without a doubt, that he was the one she craved to share this awakening with.
“Thank you for coming, Ser,” she said. “Truly, I deeply appreciate it.”
He offered a smile. “I promised I would, and trust me, I am more than eager to keep my word.”
Mikasa closed the distance between them, her heart quickening as her gaze traced the contours of his sturdy metal frame. The cool gleam of his armour reflected the flickering candlelight, and she could feel the tension of the moment—of everything that had led up to this. One of her hands found its way to his weary shoulder, a gentle touch that seemed to bridge the chasm of uncertainty between them, offering comfort, and perhaps even something more.
“I’m not quite sure how to begin,” she confessed, brow furrowing slightly. “Should I kiss you or hug you first?”
Eren looked at her, his expression shifting. “It doesn’t need to be so calculated.” His eyes sharpened, darkening with intensity as he took a step closer, closing the space between them. “You called it ‘Endeavour’ this morning, but I promise you, princess, it is anything but.”
“No?”
“No.” Eren’s hands shifted to gently grasp her waist, pulling her closer still. “In fact, you can indulge as much as you desire. I told you, I will give you whatever you want.”
Mikasa’s breath caught in her throat. A sudden wave of longing surged through her, and her gaze traced the strong line of his jaw, then dipped lower to the sculpted outline of his lips. A yearning ignited within her, an aching desire to feel those lips against hers. Yet, even as the heat of her emotions rushed through her, a pang of hesitation gripped her heart. Would she rush this moment? Would her inexperience scare him away? She fought to focus on her breath, letting it come in slow, measured waves after three exhalations.
“Can I help you take off your armour?” she asked, her lips parting slightly as she spoke.
“Now that’s a fine beginning, princess,” he said, a slight smile on his lips.
Mikasa stepped closer, fingers brushing against the cold steel of his armour. It was as dark as the midnight sky, as deep as obsidian itself, a stark contrast to the lighter hues of the other warriors in the palace. No one wore armour like his. No one else wore black at all. Silver, gold, bronze, and white could be found in the courtyards, but the blackest of all belonged to him—his dark knight. Why he made such a bold choice remained a mystery to her, but somehow, she was less inclined to ask about it now. There were far more pressing questions on her mind, ones that she needed answers for before this moment could unfold.
“I have some questions,” she began, her fingers deftly unfastening the shoulder pads, the cool metal clicking softly as it loosened. She needed to steady her thoughts. “Just small questions—”
“There’s no history of illness in my family, nor any abnormalities. As for bastards... well, I don’t have any,” Eren interrupted suddenly, his voice steady, almost teasing. But there was something undeniably serious in his tone. “But I’m confident I can get you pregnant soon enough, princess.”
“That’s not what I meant to ask, Eren.” She chuckled softly. “And you can call me Mikasa here. No need for formalities, especially when we’re about to…”
“Fuck,” he interrupted, a half-smile tugging at his lips.
“Fuck?” She blinked, taken aback.
Now it was his turn to chuckle. “Or, well, you might call it ‘lovemaking’. That’s what you royals call it, isn’t it?”
“Huh? I think so…” Mikasa ran her tongue over her lips. “Well, both words are rather... intriguing. Is there any difference?”
“There is, of course there is.” Eren gently cupped her chin, his thumb and forefinger brushing it softly. “But tonight we shall make love, princess. I’ll show you how to fuck on another occasion.”
She blinked, a flood of explicit images rushing through her mind. And from the corner of her eye, she caught Eren stifling a snort, clearly amused by the look on her face.
“That wasn’t your question, was it?” Eren asked in her silence, clearly trying to appease her.
She shook her head. “Not really. It was something far more foolish.”
“I truly believe nothing you do or say could ever be considered foolish.”
As Eren helped her shrug off the last piece of metal that shielded his upper body, Mikasa’s breath caught in her throat. She had seen him in his armour and heard of his strength, but now, in the dim light of their shared space, she truly saw him. His torso was broad and powerful, even without the dark protection of his armour, and her gaze lingered for a moment longer than she intended, drawn to the strength that rippled beneath his skin.
Suddenly, a fleeting thought crossed her mind: he could press her into the mattress, pin her beneath him with all his weight, and steal the breath from her lips. And instead of fear, the idea sparked something fierce—something dark, primal, and undeniable within Mikasa. The urge to pull him closer, to feel his strength above her, to feel Eren’s body pressing down on her with the full weight of his desire, was almost overwhelming.
Yet, despite the surge of lust that coursed through her veins, Mikasa forced herself to be patient. She had to hold back, to savour the tension building between them, lest she regret rushing the moment too soon.
“Armin told me he knew you’d accept.” She couldn’t bring herself to call that blond man her husband at this moment. In fact, she pressured herself to forget that she even had a blond husband but a green-eyed man that was about to give her the wedding night she deserved. “May I ask why he was so certain?” she finally blurted out.
Eren made a thoughtful sound, his hands moving to loosen the steel pieces at his hips. Mikasa watched, torn between helping him or simply watching him, studying each movement. She chose the latter, her fingers aching to reach out, to touch him, but she restrained herself.
“I suppose it’s because I’ve never been one for subtlety," he said after a pause. “It’s no secret how I feel about you, so I suppose it wasn’t difficult for him to figure it out.”
“Is it really that obvious?” She asked, blinking in surprise. The realisation that she might be the object of his affections, the object of his desire—something she hadn’t fully grasped until now—made her heart race. “I... I had no idea.”
Eren clicked his tongue softly, the sound almost amused. “Well, at least I managed to keep it hidden from you. Saved myself a touch of embarrassment.”
Piece by piece, Eren removed his cleats, his belts, and his kneepads. The rhythmic clatter of metal against stone seemed to echo in the silence of the room. Finally, with one last, decisive motion, the last piece hit the floor, leaving him standing before her in nothing but a simple linen shirt and pants.
Mikasa’s breath hitched in her throat.
He was standing there, stripped of all the barriers, both literal and figurative, and yet there was an intensity in his gaze that left her paralysed. Her eyes lingered on him—on the broad expanse of his shoulders, the taut lines of his chest, and the way the muscles in his arms and torso rippled with every movement.
And then, Eren moved closer.
The air between them thickened with the electric charge of his presence as they leaned nearer to the edge of the bed. The space between their bodies seemed impossibly small. Mikasa could feel his warmth and could smell the faint scent of his skin, the sharp tang of sweat and leather lingering in the fabric of his shirt.
“But I have no shame now, princess,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, laced with a hunger that was impossible to ignore. His eyes held hers with a ferocity that made her heart race. “If you want me, even if it’s just to use me, I don’t mind. I just need to touch you. Gods, I’ve wanted to for so long.”
He stepped closer, their bodies nearly touching, and Mikasa could feel the warmth emanating from him, making her breath falter.
“From the moment I was sworn to you, my lady,” Eren spoke, his voice low and reverent, “I knew you were the most exquisite being to walk this earth. I revered you, my princess, as one might a goddess.” He inhaled deeply. “God, I’ve dreamt of you; I’ve dreamt of you every night.”
“Oh,” was all she could whisper as his hand reached up, fingers tracing the soft lines of her cheek. The simple brush of Eren’s touch sent a tremor through Mikasa, a wave so powerful she closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, nuzzling like a little kitten in need of affection.
“You chose me, didn’t you, Mikasa?” He murmured, bending close. “Of all the knights, all the candidates—you chose me.”
She nodded, feeling vulnerable under his touch. “You weren’t just the best at training; you were the best, and… And I have always thought you were beautiful too, very beautiful.”
“Indeed?” His voice held a touch of hope, as though he needed to hear it again to believe it.
“Yes, Sir—”
“Eren,” he interrupted, “I want you to say my name, Mikasa. Say it: Eren.”
She gulped, staring at him intently as she felt herself begin to melt.
It was rare for a princess to call a knight she didn’t know by name. But the way he asked—she wanted to, she really wanted to...
“I even have found myself thinking of you sometimes,” she said, his name on the tip of her tongue, ready to blurt out. “At first, I thought it was just because my marriage lacked intimacy. But it’s more than that. I truly want you, Eren. I do.”
In the haze of the moment, in the flicker of a single heartbeat, Mikasa heard a deep growl from his throat. She couldn’t tell if he stepped forward or leaped in a surge of impulse; all she knew was that her dark knight’s strong hands encircled her waist, pulling her close. Their lips met in a fierce, hungry kiss, his breath mingling with hers as he deepened it, insistently parting her lips to claim her with his tongue, tasting the warmth and sweetness that awaited him there.
Mikasa melted into him, surrendering as his grip on her waist tightened, drawing her closer, their bodies pressed as though they had longed for this union for a lifetime. Her hands found his shoulders, fingers digging in as his kiss grew more fervent, leaving no part of her untouched by his heat. She felt his heartbeat echo against hers, a steady thrum that sent shivers down her spine.
Then, in the heat of their feverish kiss, she felt his teeth bite her bottom lip, tugging with just enough force to draw a low moan from her throat, her breath catching in response. The sound stirred something primal in him, and she felt a subtle tremor course through his body, a raw reaction that made his grip on her tighten, his desire unmistakable and unrestrained.
But the moment didn’t last long. His dark instincts quickly dissolved as the taste of blood mingled with the flavour of their tongues, and he pulled away abruptly. His green eyes widened, reflecting a sense of having committed a grave transgression.
“I beg your pardon,” he murmured, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. “I truly am sorry for getting carried away. I—”
“It’s quite alright. It’s alright, Eren.” He licked her lips again, mesmerised by the taste of her own blood. “You can do whatever you want with me tonight.”
For a moment, he seemed unconvinced, so Mikasa took the lead once more.
She jumped up slightly, wrapping her arms around his neck and urging him to lie down. She savoured him, just as he had savoured her, but with a gentler touch. She pulled him toward the edge of the bed, and as he brushed against her legs, she playfully pretended to fall flat onto the mattress.
“Start, Eren,” she said, gazing up at him from her position. “Please start. Just come in.”
From her vantage point, Mikasa watched, her breath catching, as he swallowed thickly and bit his lip. He leaned over her, a predator claiming his territory, crawling across her body until one knee nestled firmly between her legs, a promise of the pressure to come.
“Should I spread my legs for you? This is how you do it, right?” Her hands slid down to grasp her gown, but just as she made an attempt to lift it, he stopped her.
“This is foolish; you don’t have to just open your legs for me.” Eren’s voice grew thick, dangerous. “But I’ve told you, nothing you do is foolish. Let me show you.”
“What?” she asked, feeling short of breath.
“How I will fuck you,” he said, and the word alone made her blush. He had first told her he was going to make love to her, but now, when he declared he would fuck her, her anticipation grew proportionately to her desire.
Gods, she wanted him; she really wanted him.
It felt as though her need reached him telepathically, for his kisses returned to grace her lips. He began slowly, just as he had surely envisioned at the outset. He kissed her cheekbones, then her lips, before trailing down to her neck, each kiss tender and slow. They clung to her skin like a gentle suction, promising marks that would linger long after.
“Eren.” She breathed, feeling the heat rise within her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m kissing you.” He sank into the curve of her neck where he sucked, nibbled, and scraped with his teeth. “I’m preparing you,” he added, turning to brush his lips against the tip of her nose. “You have to be wet for me; pretty much wet.”
“Oh, I see,” she murmured, remembering some things that she had heard from her nanny on what was supposed to be her wedding night. “But what if I’m already wet?” she dared to ask, feeling the stickiness between her legs.
“That’s something I must witness for myself.”
“Then see it; open my legs.”
His muffled laugh filled the space, a melodious sound that wrapped around her like a warm embrace. “Ah, you’re rather eager, aren’t you? It seems you wish to hasten this moment. I can’t help but ponder whether it’s merely to be done with it or if you truly hunger for me.”
“I want you, Eren,” she said, her lips curving into a sultry pout. “I want you now, and you’re taking far too long.”
He chuckled once more. “Yes, I understand your desires quite clearly.”
And there, his kisses boldly ventured beyond her neck, past her collarbones. His mouth glided over the fine fabric of her nightgown, sucking gently at her nipples from above. The warmth of his mouth left a trail of saliva, rendering the fabric transparent and revealing her hard, erect nipples, tantalised by his tongue. In that moment, Mikasa found herself torn between what she enjoyed more: the way his tongue circled her breasts or the sensation of the fabric teasing her sensitive skin. Regardless of which it was, the combination heightened her arousal, and beads of sweat began to form on her brow as her body became more sensorial, more alive.
“Let me get this off for you, alright?” Eren asked, and she nodded eagerly, shifting to let him remove her dress at last.
However, he didn't act quickly. He seemed to relish the moment, teasing her as he slowly lifted the fabric, his fingers scraping against her legs in a tantalising glide that made Mikasa close her eyes in anticipation.
“You’re teasing me,” she protested, feeling the dress inching up almost to her sex, yet he held it in place. “Eren?”
He smiled innocently. “I’m just taking my time.” Mischief danced in his eyes, but it only made Mikasa growl in frustration, so he hastened, as if remembering that he was bound to heed her commands.
Finally, Eren lifted her nightgown, the soft fabric sliding over her skin before he tossed it aside onto the bed. He paused again, and Mikasa teetered on the edge of impatience, her heart racing in anticipation. But when she looked at him, something unexpected unfolded within him—something she hadn’t quite anticipated.
He stopped not to prolong his playful game of slowness but because he appeared utterly captivated, as if he had discovered the most exquisite treasure in the world. And that treasure was her naked body, glowing with a vibrant flush, a growing ecstasy curling like delicate wisps of smoke through her.
The sheer adoration in his gaze left her feeling momentarily bashful, a rush of warmth flooding her cheeks. “Am I to your liking?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbow, her eyes locking onto his with a mixture of vulnerability and confidence.
Eren opened his mouth to respond, yet the words seemed to elude him. Instead, his hand glided down her stomach, the touch feather-light and electric, caressing her skin with a slow, deliberate exploration. His fingers travelled lower, brushing against the beautiful curls of her Venus mound, sending shivers of anticipation coursing through her body.
Mikasa gasped softly at the sensation, her breath hitching as his fingers lingered at her most intimate place, teasing and awakening every nerve ending. She watched his expression shift, a blend of wonder and hunger dancing in his eyes. Eren leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin, and she rejoiced in the way he drank in her form, as if he was memorising every curve, every contour of her body.
Never had she felt such devotion—not even when people had bowed to her under the weight of her position. But there he was, this man, his green eyes making her feel like a goddess at a pagan altar, revered and cherished, loved so completely, so profusely.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he finally breathed. “You are the most beautiful and enchanting little thing I have ever seen. Oh, my princess, my sweet princess.”
The title had slipped from his lips like the sweetest melody, and Mikasa had made no move to stop him. In truth, she had relished the way he said it, the reverence in his voice, as if it were the most sacred word he knew. And perhaps it was; perhaps it was the most sacred vow he had ever known. After all, he was bound to her by oaths, by words and actions woven tightly together. It was only a matter of time before this bond took on a more tangible form, until the sacrament that united them became flesh—tender, delicious, irresistible.
As if eager to bring this union fully into reality, Eren leaned over her, his lips following the path his fingers had traced through her soft, dark curls. His mouth moved closer, leaving a trail of wet kisses, and soon he reached the tender, inviting flesh between her legs, gently parting them to admire her fully.
“You’re beautiful everywhere, princess,” he murmured. “So pink, and so... wet. Gods.”
“I told you so,” Mikasa managed, her voice barely steady as she held her breath under his touch.
He laughed softly but didn’t respond. Instead, balancing on his elbows, he reached back, curling his fingers along her seams. Slowly, he parted her soaked, pink cunt, and a low moan slipped from his lips, filled with pure, breathless excitement.
“I need to kiss your pretty cunny,” he said in a low tone, and not wasting a moment, he sank between the folds of her cunt, his mouth pressing into her with exquisite devotion.
Eren held her firmly, pinning her down while keeping her open, and then he dived in without hesitation. She inhaled sharply, biting her lip. Holy God—his mouth covered every inch of her, warm and all-encompassing. He teased her, grazing the delicate lips of her cunt, giving her time to adjust to the sensation. The gentle tickling made it nearly impossible for her to stay still. Then, just as her anticipation peaked, he brought his mouth straight to her clit.
She took a breath. Her dark knight knew exactly what he was doing, each tiny movement sending her already aroused body higher to the sky, ready to take off and explode.
“Eren, Eren,” she whimpered. She couldn’t move, couldn’t move at all, but oh God, she wanted to rise up, grind her cunt into Eren’s, and feel more of his face, his cheekbones, his nose, and his breath.
And she did so.
Mikasa summoned monumental strength to lift her body, feeling utterly weak against his touch. Yet she managed it despite his firm grip. Her lower half rose, defying her protector’s hold, and Eren’s mouth became erratic, transforming his kisses into something stronger, more intense, and more primal. He no longer kissed her as if she were delicate rose petals; instead, he sucked her, devouring her entirely. The muffled sounds of his indulgence filled the air, and she couldn’t help but feel utterly undone.
Gods, gods, gods, gods.
She didn’t realise she was whispering until she noticed how his green eyes darkened and his mouth tightened with desire. She fought with every ounce of strength against the impending release of something, desperate to hold on just a moment longer. Eren was relentless, turning their encounter into a battle of mind over matter. She felt her clit encased in stone, sensations ricocheting inside her, trapped and unable to be unleashed, leaving her teetering on the edge of frantic need. Her fingernails dug into the mattress beneath her as her thighs trembled beneath Eren’s steady hands. But the most exasperating sensation was the growing fire in her stomach, igniting in the small of her back and radiating to her navel.
“Eren… I, I…” Her breath caught in her throat, escaping as an audible gasp. This moment prompted Eren to pull away for an instant, concern flashing in his eyes as he searched her face for a sign of her reaction.
“You want to come, don’t you?” He asked, only to pause his teasing and deliver a teasing lick to her hard clit. “Come, princess, come for me.”
“I, I, I...” she stuttered, her whole body trembling slightly. Her nipples were so hard they ached, the pink tips sensitive to every sensation.
Eren got creative, swirling and moving, kneading the insides of her thighs while his thumbs traced the delicate crease of her buttocks beneath her cunt. It was overwhelming… She could hardly hold on.
Just like that, the fire in her stomach ignited like a pyre, burning hot enough to explode. She screamed, screamed, screamed, her legs trembling as Eren continued to lick her up and down. The pleasure was so intense that she forced herself to cover her mouth, muffling her cries into her own hand, shaking and convulsing as Eren worked his magic, holding her open with his strong, calloused hands, weathered from wielding his swords.
Amidst her ecstasy, an involuntary reaction took hold, and her legs tightened around his head. He gasped but didn’t resist; instead, he continued to kiss her as she choked him. It wasn’t until he released a guttural moan into her cunt that Mikasa realised, opening her legs to free him from her grip.
“Oh, gods. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she breathed, lost in the haze of pulsations still coursing through her body.
Eren gasped loudly, coughing, and Mikasa suddenly realised that she might have knocked the air out of him completely with the force of her grip. She sat up immediately.
“Eren?” she called out, but the first sound she heard in response was his laughter, bright and full of life.
He looked at her, his eyes regaining the glow she knew so well. “That would have been a beautiful way to die,” he said, clearly amused.
“I wasn’t trying…”
“I know.” He chuckled, rising on his feet. “But let’s not linger on that, shall we? Even if you came that hard, my mouth alone can’t get you pregnant.”
Oh, he had a point.
Mikasa nodded quietly, stepping back as Eren slipped off his shirt. Reaching the edge of the bed, her legs no longer dangling, she gasped sharply when he suddenly pulled off his pants, letting them fall from his strong, well-defined legs. It was a breathtaking sight. His muscles were sculpted in all the right places, thick and chiselled, especially in his calves and thighs—gods, those thighs could easily be two of her own. Surely, they came from countless hours of training and riding, muscles capable of holding her beneath him with ease. Even with all the decorum expected of a well-bred princess, she could hardly contain her anticipation for the moment when that became a reality.
Yet her anticipation shifted to anxiety as she caught sight of his cock. It stood proudly, and Mikasa blinked, struggling to regain her focus through the haze of her recent pleasure. A shiver ran through her at the sight of it, so thick and hard that she couldn’t help but wonder how much it would hurt when he entered inside her. Surely, it would sting a lot.
She was so captivated by the golden hue and glimmer of his tip that she didn’t realise when Eren laid her back and positioned himself on top of her. Soon, her grey eyes locked onto his green ones, and she noticed them darken again with the promise of pleasure. Eren leaned over her, pressing his forehead against hers, the tip of his cock grazing her flat stomach, leaving the tears of the beginning of his pleasure—a pleasure that he would show her when he came in and painted her with his colours.
“You said you wanted a baby,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” Mikasa replied, shifting slightly beneath him, trying to find the right angle to welcome him. But it was futile; she couldn’t muster the strength she had just moments ago, and his grip on her was unyielding.
“You said you had fantasies about me,” he continued, unfazed by her restless movements.
“Yes.” She swallowed hard, a wave of emotion rising within her.
“Tell me, Mikasa, did I fuck you in those fantasies?” He finally shifted, his cock swinging tantalisingly close, teasing her wetness. “Did I fuck you so hard you couldn’t walk?”
Mikasa stifled a moan, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of his words. She craved him inside her, but her dark knight insisted on taking things slow. If she wanted to experience pleasure and eventually bear a child, she knew she had to answer his questions as he had with her moments ago.
“Yes, yes, Eren,” she whimpered. “You fucked me; you loved me.”
“And I will always love you,” he said, his voice breaking with desperation. “I will always love you, my love, my life, my only princess. Gods… I nearly died the day the king announced your marriage. I almost hanged myself from a beam.”
Then, as if the confession was too raw to bear, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, pressing himself against her, hiding from his own words. Mikasa stroked his head, her slender fingers tangling in his lustrous brown hair, her touch tender yet possessive.
“It’s alright,” she murmured, her voice soft as a coo. “I had to do that, but I’m here now, see? Right here, between your arms.”
Eren nodded slowly, emerging from his hiding place against her, his breath warm as he nuzzled her face. “Yes, I know,” he whispered. “And I’ll be your first, won’t I?”
“Yes, you will,” she breathed, feeling Eren’s chest press down against her, the weight of him anchoring her in a way she never knew she craved. The pressure sank her into the mattress, every inch of her body alive with sensation as her breath caught, quickening with every heartbeat.
Eren’s hands explored her, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate paths over her curves, igniting a warmth that spread through her with every touch. His gaze locked onto hers, intense and unwavering, as though he was memorising her. She felt a blush creeping up her neck, her pulse racing as his eyes seemed to strip away her every layer, exposing her in ways she’d never allowed anyone to see.
His lips found her throat, pressing gentle, lingering kisses that sent shivers cascading down her spine. She arched into him instinctively, her breath escaping in soft gasps. The weight of his humanity grounded her, yet it was the passion in his touch that unraveled her completely.
“Do you feel that?” he whispered, his voice a low murmur against her skin. “I’m here with you, all of me, only for you.”
“Yes, I feel you.” Her fingers trailed along the strong lines of his back, pulling him closer still. The heat between them had intensified, each moment drawing them deeper into each other, as though they were the only two souls in the world.
His hand cradled her cheek, tilting her face up so she was looking directly into his eyes. He brushed his thumb along her lips, his touch both tender and electric, and she parted her lips, letting him in, savouring the salt of his skin. Then she felt it—an exquisite tension building between her legs, an enticing tease that made her heart race. His cockhead hovered just at her entrance, brushing her folds with the slightest pressure, a promise hovering in the space between them. She had never felt so alive, every sense heightened, every feeling magnified, as though this connection had unlocked a part of her that had always been waiting for him.
“Don’t hold back; breathe with me,” he whispered, his voice soft yet firm, a steady anchor in the moment.
And so he pressed into her slowly, inch by inch, filling her with an exquisite intensity that seemed to radiate from deep within her. Her body adjusted around him, softening and yielding as he broke through her maidenhood with a deliberate patience that left her trembling. The sensation was more than she had expected—part ache, part pleasure, and wholly overwhelming as he claimed a part of her that had always been untouched.
She felt each inch as he sank his cock further, his warmth stretching her, expanding her awareness of him. She couldn’t help but marvel at the closeness, the depth, and her breaths mingled with his as he settled fully inside her. Every part of her felt acutely alive, her senses heightened as he held himself there, letting her adjust to the fullness, the sensation of him completely within her.
This was a place no one had ever reached, a privilege meant for her husband; he had never sought it, though. So there he was, the one entrusted to guard her purity, now claiming it in her matrimonial bed. The thought alone ignited a rush of heat that bloomed from her core, heightening her arousal, her own wetness betraying her desire as her body surrendered to him completely. Her breath quickened, and she felt her pulse throbbing in time with the tension building between them.
Eren shifted slightly, his hands steadying her, his gaze never leaving hers, as if asking silent permission to go deeper. She gave it without words, her body arching toward him, welcoming him in even further. The friction, the fullness, the sense of being wholly joined—it was unlike anything she had ever imagined, a pleasure that was as much emotional as it was physical, leaving her breathless, trembling, utterly surrendered to the intimacy they were creating together.
“Mikasa,” he said, his voice a gentle command, urging her to meet his gaze. She struggled to do it, not out of shame but because the sensation between her legs was overwhelming—a throbbing heat that prickled and stung as he stretched her, filling her in a way that felt both intense and unfamiliar. She was caught between pleasure and discomfort, her body opening to him in ways she had never known.
“Mikasa,” he murmured again, “I told you to breathe.”
She took a shuddering breath, grounding herself as he held steady, letting her body adjust.
And as her breath steadied and each inhale and exhale became more audible in the quiet room, he drew back slowly, his movements deliberate and measured. Then, with a careful thrust forward, he filled her again. All she could hear was the sound of their bodies meeting, the loud, breathless moans slipping from her lips and the wet sound of her cunt sucking him in.
“Fuck,” he said, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” His words came out desperate and shaky, a mix of disbelief and something else, something raw, as though the pressure of what was happening was almost too much for him. Perhaps it was—perhaps it was the tightness of her walls around him—too much for him to bear in one go, tempting him to finish too quickly.
But Eren wasn’t weak. Eren was a trained warrior who had weathered countless battles and endured sieges that would break lesser men. He couldn’t allow himself to be overwhelmed so easily, not by this, not by her. So he held back, thrusting in and out with difficulty but effectively imprinting his cock inside her, a carved place that would serve as a path for his seed.
“Oh, Eren,” she sighed, her eyes brimming with tears that spilt over from the intensity of the sensations coursing through her.
“My sweet princess,” he told her, reaching down to tilt her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve longed to seek out courtesans while standing guard outside your door? How many times have I held myself back from barging into your room, thinking your husband was doing this to you?”
He shifted against her hips, a subtle movement that neither pulled her closer nor pushed her away. It was a brief, deliberate move that created the much-needed friction. He was buried deep within her, so deep that she could feel his balls against her wet folds. He held them together tightly, a gentle rise and fall that echoed the soothing rhythm of ocean waves. The sensation was overwhelming—a blend of pleasure and urgency that sent shivers down her spine.
Mikasa felt herself getting lost in it, the world outside fading away as she surrendered to the connection, to the fire building between them. She let him push her knees up to her chest, opening her so completely to him that she was sure there would be no place in her that was secret to him when this was over. He had already seen everything of her, and in that, she found comfort because, deep down, perhaps it had been meant to be this way. The person in charge of her security, knowing everything about her, including her pearly face in bed.
Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods.
He felt better than anything had ever felt. From this angle, he felt so much bigger, and it must have shown on her face because he laughed at her.
“Maybe I should have just walked in,” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance as he loomed over her, feeling larger and bigger from this angle. “I should have taken charge and fulfilled your needs if that foolish husband of yours wasn’t going to bother with your most basic desires.”
Mikasa understood that the insult to Armin slipped out in the heat of the moment, and she knew he didn’t truly mean it. Yet something about his harsh words stirred excitement within her. She felt a thrill at the sight of this man of honour wielding such a filthy tongue, and it only made her crave more, urging him to keep uttering those forbidden words.
And he did. As his unrestrained desire rose, his body thrust against her. His breath was hot as he whispered, “If I had done that, perhaps you would already be pregnant, already full of a fourth or fifth child of mine.”
She flushed all the way to her ears at this, her sole answer. He was fucking her with so much abandon that she should have feared for her safety. But she didn’t. In fact, Mikasa screamed with excitement when a sharp jerk knocked the air from her lungs—a high-pitched scream that could surely be heard down the hallway. But it didn’t matter. After all, she wanted them to know that a baby was being put inside her, that the long-awaited heir would be in her womb, and that her screams were the pleasure of the act that entailed.
“Eren, Eren, I...” she sighed, forcing her eyes open so she could look at him.
“What, my princess?”
“I want to come,” she said pitifully. “I want, I want... ah.”
And she came because she couldn’t resist it; the inner muscles of her cunt clenched so tightly from the enormity of his size that it was something she couldn’t even try to prevent. It was a tidal wave, making her cry out louder than she ever had before.
“Oh, gods,” she screamed. “Gods, it’s so good.”
She was broken, wasted, and completely undone. But Eren didn’t let up, his movements steady and relentless. He moved forward as she scratched at his arm, her nails digging into his skin in a desperate attempt to ground herself. Her breath came in shallow, frantic pants, desperation replacing pleasure.
He pushed deeper, his pace unyielding, as if he was determined to draw out every last moment of this. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, an unwavering focus as he navigated the fine line between his need for release and his desire to prolong this moment, to give her everything he could, to leave no part of her untouched by the mess he was making.
“Do you want my cum inside you, princess?” he groaned, a macabre sound that shivered her. “Do you want me to come inside you and fuck a baby in your womb?”
“Please,” she cried, “that’s what I want. Please, please, your baby, no one else, just yours!”
It seemed that her desperate pleas were what finally broke him. With a harsh exhale of air and a primal growl, he began to release. His hips slammed against her abused cunt as he filled her completely with his cum—the seed that would secure her throne and close mouths. And then he collapsed, shuddering with one last push, his body falling heavily on top of her. His forehead came dangerously close to hers, but they didn’t touch. Eren held back, remembering to protect his princess, even in the heat of his frenzy, an amazing awareness of her even when he was letting go, pushing them both to their limits.
Mikasa revelled in his moans of pleasure, the way he convulsed above her, and the heat that she knew had to be his seed. The torrent of his cum was enough to make her cry out again, and he murmured a wild, panting oath in response. Then her dark knight kissed her—desperate, hungry, satisfied. And the enchantment was complete, the honour fulfilled. She lay open, vulnerable, like a delicate flower. He was stained with the unctuous blood of her maidenhood, the proof of their union staining him in a way that bound them forever.
When he finally withdrew, a soft noise of discomfort escaped her lips, her muscles contracting, burning. Mikasa suddenly became acutely aware of just how sore she was, every nerve ending tingling with a mix of sensitivity and ache. It was a sensation that almost brought a smile to her lips, a reminder of the intensity they had just shared, but she was too exhausted to fully embrace it.
He gently closed her legs and turned her onto her side, allowing her to lie comfortably. She thought they wouldn’t get any closer, but she was surprised when he pressed his chest against her back, wrapping his arms around her in a protective embrace.
“Close your legs; don’t let it spill out, princess,” he said to her in the same tone of voice he always used.
Mikasa couldn’t help but chuckle. “Is my dark knight so tired that he can’t fuck me again?”
The grip tightened around her as he snorted. “I’ve often wondered where that name came from. But I suppose there’s no great mystery to it, is there? It’s all about the armour, isn’t it?”
“And that air of mystery I always thought surrounded you.” A sigh caught in her throat as she felt the telltale warmth of his seed escaping her. A profound sense of loss washed over her—how could she already feel this hollow, this bereft, after having him for only a moment?
“What do you think of me now?” Eren gently nuzzled the top of her head with the tip of his nose, settling his chin atop hers.
She took a moment to answer, as if weighing her response, but in truth, the lingering haze of pleasure still enveloped her senses. “I think we should do this more often, my dark knight,” she replied, a sly smile playing on her lips. “After all, there’s little chance I’ve become pregnant now, wouldn’t you agree?”
She gasped in surprise as he turned her around, his gaze piercing down at her, almost offended by her words. “You are going to get pregnant, Mikasa,” he declared, a frown on his brow. “But you’re right; we’ll have to do this more often. Do you think your husband will object?”
A giggle escaped her lips as she reached up to caress his face, and with that movement, the pressure she had been exerting on her legs dissipated. Soon she felt the warmth of his seed spilling from her inside to the sheets beneath them.
“Armin was the first to suggest this. He’d be mad to complain now,” she replied, a playful glint in her eye. But soon her face twitched. “Eren, gods, I didn’t ask you.”
“What, dear?”
“I never asked if you were alright with the children. You know... they’ll just be mine and Armin’s.” A knot tightened in her chest. “They shan’t be able to call you father.”
Eren gently took her chin in his hand, guiding her eyes to meet his. “My position could never permit me to be with someone like you, to have children with someone like you, the future queen,” he said softly. “So don’t fret. As long as you allow me to train and protect them, I’ll be more than content.”
Mikasa swallowed thickly, uncertainty still lingering in her mind. “Sure?” A sigh caught in her throat as she felt the telltale warmth of his seed leaking from her cunny. A profound sense of loss washed over her—how could she already feel this hollow, this bereft, after having him for only a moment?
“Yes, princess. I’m more than sure.” Eren smiled, the warmth in his eyes unwavering. “Now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, “will you allow this humble servant one more chance to fuck his queen before he retires for tomorrow’s watch? Just to make sure, of course.”
She smiled, slipping her hand around his neck to pull him close, her lips meeting his in a tender kiss. “I was about to ask for it again, my dark knight.”
Morning light warmed Mikasa’s face, gently coaxing her awake. The warmth of the sun felt comforting against her skin, the first rays of the new day slipping through the window and kissing her cheek. But as her eyes fluttered open, a figure stepped into her line of sight, casting a shadow over her. Her husband stood there, grinning with a glint of mischief in his eyes, an apple in hand.
“So? How was the night? Rough night?” he asked and took a slow bite of the apple, savouring it with clear amusement.
Mikasa blinked, disoriented, as memories from last night flooded her mind, raw and vivid. She felt the cling of sweat on her skin and, feeling her nakedness, pulled the sheets up—not that it mattered. Armin’s eyes held no jealousy or lust, only amusement.
Yet she did not respond right away. A princess made others wait for her answer, and that was doubly true for the Crown Princess of Paradis, lying in her bed after a night of rough lovemaking. Her silence was a royal prerogative.
“I might as well say you are the one looking like you’ve been thoroughly fucked,” she pointed out, as her grey gaze roamed over Arming, noticing he was in a similarly spent state, though he’d managed to stay clothed, just barely. “Rough night?”
Armin’s lips twitched upward into a grin, and he leaned against the bedpost, crossing his arms casually. “Not quite as much as yours, I daresay. I merely thought to match your post-fornication glow, to vex a few folk, you see. Jean did a fine job; wouldn’t you agree?”
Princess Mikasa rolled her eyes, but despite herself, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. She adjusted the sheets around her, trying to compose herself. “He must have.”
“So?” Armin insisted. “How was it?”
Mikasa hesitated for a moment, her fingers toying with the edge of the sheets, but then she let it go. There was no need to hide, not with him. “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting to know about... all those feelings. I was kind of blind to them, I guess.”
“I know, love. You didn’t see Eren’s heart, and he was too fearful to reveal it. I think he just needed a nudge from someone a bit wiser. And now, look at us; we all profit. The knight gets his princess, the princess gets his heir, and I get my... knight.”
“Well, I owe you my thanks,” she said softly, pressing a warm kiss to his shoulder. “For being exactly as you are.”
Armin chuckled, his arm sliding around her as he drew her closer. “If it takes but this to keep my princess content, I shall gladly oblige. Just promise me you’ll keep finding joy in it all.”
“I think I can manage that,” she replied.
The silence between them stretched comfortably, a pause filled only with the soft rustle of the sheets and the gentle hum of the early morning. But Mikasa’s mind wandered. Her thoughts drifted to Eren. Where was he now? Was he on guard, standing vigilant outside her door, as he often did? Or perhaps resting somewhere in the barracks after a long shift? She’d always had feelings for him, but the events of the night had deepened those feelings into something more intense.
Just as she was about to voice her thoughts, Armin spoke first, breaking the stillness.
“I just hope your blood is stronger than his, and that the child turns out like you,” he said casually. “It would be quite the scandal if our child had those green eyes of your sworn shield, wouldn’t it?” He leaned back, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the sheets. “But, ah, don’t they say the Ackerman blood is the strongest of them all?”
Mikasa’s eyes snapped open, her heart skipping a beat. Damn. She hadn’t even thought about that. It hadn’t occurred to her how it might look or how it might feel to have a child with eyes that weren’t hers. Eyes that mirrored Eren’s.
“So, what do you say?” Armin asked, his gaze steady. “Is your family’s blood truly that strong?”
The princess just blinked. “I... hadn’t thought about that.”