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Leon walks a few paces behind you, his eyes fixed respectfully on the spot where your cape is pinned to your ceremonial robes. Even if it’s just the two of you in the darkened hall, he doesn’t dare drop his gaze any lower.
Once you’ve reached the door, he slides past you to open it, bowing as you cross the threshold into your chambers.
“I will send for Madelynn to attend to you, Your Grace.” He says, referring to your head maidservant, and promptly turns to leave. To his surprise, you shake your head, freezing him in his tracks.
“Not necessary, Leon.” You say softly. It always makes something in his heart ache when you call him by his name instead of his title. You only ever do it in the safety of your chambers. “You’re here, are you not?”
He swallows at the leading question. “Ah, yes, but I-I am not permitted—”
You cut him off with a raised hand. The gesture is firm but without anger. “I say you are permitted.” You say, with a note of authority in your voice that you don’t often utilize.
“Yes, Your Grace.” He says quietly, closing the door. The heavy oak thuds as the locking mechanism clicks in place. “Thank you.”
He steps over to where you’re standing by your mirror, looking at yourself. The festival had gone off beautifully, with plenty of important attendees, delicious food, and joyful dancing. Leon had watched the whole time from his post on the wall as you laughed and sang with your guests. He always wishes he could take your hand and dance. Just once.
Your garb is even more beautiful than your outfit last year, with deep colors and expensive looking jewels inset into the fabric. Leon really has little need for the arts in his profession, but even he couldn’t deny that the royal seamstress had outdone herself this year.
His fingers hesitate before touching your clothing. “Shall I prepare your bath before we…before I help you disrobe?” He asks, feeling a lump in his throat. He’s not cut out for this kind of work.
You smile at him in the mirror. “Sounds perfect.”
He escapes quickly to your adjoining bathroom, where a servant has thankfully already brought hot water up to fill the tub before your arrival. He dips his middle finger into the water to test the temperature before quickly withdrawing it, feeling oddly like he’s tainting something holy.
There’s a shelf in the corner containing all sorts of fragrances and oils, imported from countries Leon could only dream of ever seeing in his lifetime. A little overwhelmed by the options, he selects a few at random and places them by the tub.
He returns to the main room, where you’re fiddling with your jewelry to remove it. A stab of panic runs through him seeing you even lift a finger and he quickly rushes over.
“Please, allow me, Your Highness.” He insists, gently removing the rings from your hands. With each one, he presses a kiss to where it used to be.
You laugh under your breath. “Thank you.”
Leon swallows as he starts to remove your clothes. As each piece of your extravagant outfit gets taken away, revealing your bare skin, he has to force himself to keep his eyes on the task at hand.
Every time he sees you, he can understand why suitors come from miles around to ask for your hand. Each time you politely decline, he feels a little thrill he has no business feeling.
If it would make you happy, he would gladly hand you off to another.
(Gladly? Maybe not. He would still do it, though. It’s his duty.)
He guides you to the bathroom, still keeping his eyes respectful as he helps you step into the tub. You sigh in relief as you sink down into the water, your gorgeous eyes closing in relaxation.
Leon removes his chest plate with a grunt, leaning it carefully against the wall. Rolling up his sleeves, he kneels beside the tub. “Forgive me. May I wash your hair, Your Majesty?” He asks.
You don’t open your eyes, but a little smile appears on your beautiful lips. “I thought you were doing all of Madelynn’s duties, were you not?” You tease lightly.
He swallows, grabbing the soap to have something to do with his hands. “Yes, yes, you’re right. I apologize.” He starts to work it into a lather, the smell of honey and lavender filling the room.
You lie back as he starts to run his fingers through your hair. It’s silky smooth between his fingers, like melted butter. It’s clear you only use the best products and oils. He rubs gently at your scalp and temples, hoping to soothe any lingering headaches from the festival.
“Is this...satisfactory, Your Grace?” Leon can’t help but ask.
Your eyes open. “Your hands are quite talented, Leon.”
Teasing him again. He looks away.
“I’ve had many years of training, Your Highness.” He starts rambling as he moves to wash your shoulders. “Since I was a boy out in the country.”
You always look fascinated hearing about his upbringing. Heaven knows why, it was just a simple one. “Have you always dreamed of being a knight?”
Leon’s hands glide across your smooth skin. His fingertips touch your chest, breath stuttering a little. “Since I was young. All I have ever wished was to protect those who cannot help themselves.”
One of your wet fingers drags along his jaw and he freezes. “How noble.” You whisper. “Don’t you have any other wishes?”
“I am but the shield of the kingdom.” Leon mutters, almost to himself. His hands dip lower, washing your stomach and the swell of your hip. He dares not drift where he wants, either with his hands or eyes. “That is all. Further…wishing would not be appropriate of my station.”
You lift a leg from the water to allow him to lather the sweet smelling soap over it. He gently cradles your foot, massaging his thumbs into your soles. You must be sore from standing for so long.
“You are a creature of pure perfection.” Leon says before he can stop himself. Once he’s realized what he’s done, he pulls away from your body like he’s been burned, bowing his head in deference. “I-I…Your Highness, I apologize. I forget myself.”
Instead of demanding he leave your presence at once, like he expects, you just laugh and shake your head. “Help me to bed, my dear knight.”
Leon moves stiffly as he dries your body off with a fluffy towel, averting his eyes from your naked skin as best he can. After his careless slip of the tongue, he’s truly not worthy to behold your splendor.
Back in your chambers, he helps you dress in silken sleep clothes. He has to yank his hands away from where they gravitate so naturally to your waist.
“This way, Your Grace.” He murmurs, guiding you to your plush four poster bed. You let out a sigh of relief as you relax against the goose-feather pillows. Leon frowns, already thinking about the rough cot in his own quarters.
(Perhaps if he rushes back, he will still feel the warmth of your hand on his cheek as he pleasures himself in the dark.)
“You performed your duties admirably, Leon.” You say softly. The candlelight casts a magnificent glow across your features.
His heart thrums at the praise. He bows, dipping his head low. “It is always an honor to serve Your Highness.”
“Stay with me?” You say next.
Leon stays, because who is he to refuse orders from his crown?
“Just for a while.” He promises, though he removes his knife from his belt and lays it across the side table. It looks out of place amongst your fine jewels and expensive books.
Leon tries to take up a post by the door, but you stop him with a hand around his wrist. His breath stops as he turns to look at you.
“You don’t have to stand.” You whisper, then shift your body almost imperceptibly to the side, like you’re making room for him in the bed. “Please.”
He presses your knuckles to his mouth. “Just say the word, and I will do anything you ask.”
Your fine nightshirt is discarded to the floor much too quickly. Leon presses his face into your chest, breathing like he’s worried he’ll forget what you smell like (honey and lavender).
His hands fumble with the hem of your shorts, sliding below to find your sex. His head spins with the arousal he finds there, like you’re just as exhilarated as he is.
“You’re stunning.” He breathes, leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach. “Breathtaking.” Another kiss. “Wondrous.” Another kiss. “Ravishing.” Another. “Heavenly.”
“Leon.” You breathe, your voice so soft and wanton.
Leon fixes his mouth at the juncture of your legs and serves the crown as he has never done before. His jaw aches after a while, but he is well versed in ignoring his own pain. Your thighs tremble, bracketing his head as you hold him in place by his hair.
“Your mouth feels divine.” You gasp. His breeches feel ungodly tight.
He could kneel here forever, finding heaven between your thighs. True, his duty is sworn to the kingdom, but right now all his allegiance is fixed to the northern star of your pleasure.
You find your peak even as he continues to lavish you with attention and touch. You have to push his head away, weak protests of overstimulation pouring from your lips.
Leon sits back, wiping his mouth mostly to be polite. Lest he forget, he is in the presence of royalty.
“Was this adequate, Your Highness?” He asks, trying to memorize how you look right now. He may never see such a perfect sight again; your nude form sprawled across silken sheets, chest heaving with exertion.
“You are a ridiculous boy.” You say, though you’re smiling at him. “Utterly ridiculous.”
Leon vows to visit the bishop and ask for forgiveness a thousand times over after this, because your words make his length harden.
He crawls further up your body at your motion, heart stuttering as you pull him in for a kiss. It’s soft and slow, like time has stood still inside your chambers. His hands slide down your sides unbidden.
You allow him to push inside, your arms wrapping around his waist to embrace him as he moves. He leans down to kiss you again. Your mouth tastes like rich wine and cranberry.
Leon tries to move quietly, aware in the back of his mind that he’s committing something akin to a crime, even with your enthusiastic consent. Your body is only meant for royal blood, and he’s defiling that vow.
“Yes, there!” Your fingernails grab at his shoulders, keeping him in place. His hips move rhythmically while one of his hands works at your sex.
“Can you give me one more, My Liege?” He whispers in your ear. “Please. For your knight?”
You gasp and wrap your legs around his waist as you come undone again. He groans, then selfishly, selfishly tumbles over his own peak. He spills inside you, holding your hips so tight as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
Once his head clears, Leon’s stomach drops. “I…Your Highness, I am truly sorry.” He starts, already ready to beg your forgiveness.
To his shock, you just relax back against the pillows, stroking his hair. “No apologies, my dear Leon.” You say softly.
Your Leon. Yes, that sounds just right. He’s yours.
When the candle burns down, he’ll have to leave. It wouldn’t be wise for one of the servants to find him in your bed come dawn.
Leon traces symbols of protection into your thighs. For now, he is yours.