“Do you know what power is?” Princess Katerina asked, her focus pinned to her perfectly manicured nails as opposed to the object of her query. She sat with one leg draped over the armrest of her throne, with her elbow resting on her knee. The casual way she let others stare up the frills of her petticoat beneath the hem of her dress left many newcomers scandalized. Offended, even.

But Lennox barely gave her lurid display of impropriety a glance. Instead, he waited to see if this was yet another of her tiresome rhetorical questions. When she didn’t continue to roll into another self important rant, he proffered a reply.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. Pray tell, highness. What is power?”

They held this conversation in the Throne Room of the Winter Court, the Kingdom’s holdfast in the frigid southern reaches of its territory. For continuity reasons, the various sons and daughters of royal blood were kept far away from one another. That way a Curse or particularly devastating weather spell couldn’t kill them all in one swoop. Katerina was sixth in line, and thus never considered a serious contender for power. Nevertheless, she was of the blood. Worthy of protection by a Houseguard Knight.

Katerina was an archetypal Daughter of the House of Forde: beautiful, talented, yet delusionally self-confident. She wore her family’s silver hair long, allowing the faintly glowing ends to rest on one side of her clavicle. The glow was not natural, though not remarkable either; merely a magical affectation that was all the rage with mages of particular pedigree. Her bronze skin and pinched features made her look like a pitiless statue of some ancient empress, not the young woman she was. Despite her youth, she often exposited on matters of the world like she was just a few weeks study away from knowing everything worth knowing. Not omniscient…but getting there.

“Well, I’m glad you asked. Power, my dear Knight, is the ability to make people do things they don’t want to do. Whether it be financial power making people slave away in toil, or martial power enforcing one’s own will through blade or…”

“Or the power of one’s oath,” the Knight added. Unsaid was his outright contempt for someone so completely inexperienced with the world waxing lyrical about its fundamental forces.

But something about his statement added a glint to the Princess’ eye. “Mere words can give you control over someone with tremendous physical strength…like yourself, for instance.”

He bristled despite himself. “I...cannot say I agree with the idea that an oath, taken in the Light of the One, is merely words. Words are cheap, and spoken without concern to their cause. Oaths are statements. An impression stamped by force of will into the world.” Unconsciously, he touched the pommel of his sword. A gift from the King upon becoming a Knight, and a material symbol of his fealty.

The look of amusement on the Princess’ face made it clear that rather than find his breach of propriety insulting, she revelled in it. The young woman was a terror, plain and simple. Though he was only a few years older than Katerina, the two had lived in separate worlds for much of their lives. Being a Knight was a life of duty, honour, and respect for those in authority. A trust, implicit but firm, that your betters would not only have your best interest, but those of the entire kingdom at heart.

Katerina was a firm rejection of the ideals at the heart of Lennox. He’d known that she’d been ‘wild of spirit’ growing up, having served as Palace Guard for several months before the war. He had hoped that after turning of age, she would have learned from her parade of tutors and instructors some level of respect and decorum. Some infinitesimal speck of gratefulness, for being placed as she was in the lap of one of the finest kingdoms of all of Argan.

But no. The young woman who looked at him with barely concealed impish delight was no more fit to be Queen than he was. And yet, by dint of blood and the capricious winds of fate, he was duty bound to her. To give her not just the respect of her birthright, but to offer his very life to assure her protection.

“The paragon speaks!” the Princess declared, shifting in her throne to be leaning in like a rapt pupil attending a lecture. “Are you telling me there is nothing anyone could do to make you break your oaths?”

The verve in Lennox’s replies drained away. He was unsure where Katerina was going with this, but she had much more freedom to ‘play’ than he did.

“I am a Knight, Highness. I have a duty to protect you, but if you are thinking of attacking me-”

She waved off the suggestion like a trivial gnat. “I am not about to leap upon you. Nothing so crude, at least. But your commentary has given me something to think about.”

The conversation ended there, but Lennox knew the fiendish gears in the mischievous woman’s mind were turning. Not for the first time that day, let alone his assignment, he began to think of ways to, gracefully, be assigned to another part of the realm.

***

Weeks later, and Lennox was returning from one of his frequent patrols of the castle grounds. Heavy boots crunched in the packed snow as the air threatened to drain the very life from his bones. Even in less than an hour away from the keep, he felt dangerously close to losing the feeling in his fingers and face. The rest of him was bound in scaled mail, bound underneath heavy icebear fur. Like a lumbering beast, he trudged into the castle’s cracked gatehouse.

The guard was one of his, not a Knight but a competent enough sort, some daughter of a retainer looking to curry favour. She saluted in the new style and offered a spot by the fire. Lennox’s stoic exterior concealed just how enthusiastically he accepted the offer.

“How many more months of winter, sir?” the guard, Crys, asked. She wore much less lavish, and likely less warm, furs over her armour. Rodents mostly, with a patchwork of pelt colours that evoked a whimsical quilt his Grandmother had once sewn out of the outgrown playclothes of the royal children. Her spear leaned up against the wall, with wrapped hands thrust close enough to the fire to be a danger of the cloth catching if she wasn’t careful.

“Same as the last time you asked. Three at the least. But the winds-”

“-will keep the air cold enough to cut with,” Crys finished, and the soldiers exchanged a small smile. Neither were from this part of the world, so snow had been an interesting novelty when they’d arrived. Now, Lennox wished every time he saw the stuff it would be the last.

The Knight entered the keep, past the heavy wooden door, and doffed his sweat-slickened armour as quick as decorum might allow. The perfidious chill of the air would fade, he told himself. He would head to the dining hall and request a big, heaping bowl of the royal cook’s hunting stew. Then he would curl up with one of his books and-

“KNIGHT LENNOX!”

He turned weary eyes to the other end of the room to see the jittering form of Vikka, the Princess’ attendant. Whip thin and a permanent resident of the edge of her wits, she followed her charge’s instructions with all the enthusiasm and vigour of a bound demon. If her mistress was deserving, that loyalty might have been inspiring.

“I have just returned from patrol, Vikka, so unless this is urgent-”

“It is INCREDIBLY urgent!” the maid, among other things, said in her shrill tone. She even stamped her feet for emphasis, though the fact that she was a full foot shorter than the Knight while he wore boots made the gesture less of a tyrant making a demand and more of a temper tantrum. “The Princess DEMANDS your attendance AT ONCE!”

Lennox took the deepest breath of his life. In it, he cultivated all his ire, all his frustration, feeling it swell in him like a cresting wave…then exhaled, letting that feeling flow out of his body.

“Tell her I will be there momentarily.”

The servant didn’t so much leave as she did vanish in a cloud of dust, her departure heralded by the pitter-patter of footsteps that were too quick to be a walk but far too dignified to be a run. Lennox did allow himself some time to make himself presentable, quickly throwing on a change of clothes.

The one thing he kept from his patrol outfit was his sword. Not only was it his weapon, his tool with which to protect his Kingdom. But it was the symbol of his rank. A militia or a guard could wield many weapons. A bow. An axe. But only Knights could use a longsword, or at least, use it the way it was meant to be used. An axe could chop logs, a bow could poach a deer or rabbit. But the blade of a sword was meant for one purpose alone: the death of another person. A weapon of war.

And so he wore his scabbard along with his formal doublet and pantaloons, a new fashion he’d grown quite fond of for its lack of frivolity, to his meeting with her royal highness. He still smelled of sweat and metal, but if she had a problem with it, that was her problem. A minor riposte for having summoned him in such a way.

The door to the Princess’ bedchambers opened just before his hand touched the door handle. Vikka stood on the other end, her eyes wide like those of a prey animal in the last moments of life.

“You were told to come immediately!” she hissed.

“Let the man in, Vikka. And let yourself out. I have something to discuss with him in private.” The maid sputtered, but obliged, curtseying her acquiescence before leaving the two alone, closing the door with unnecessary force.

Lennox had been in the Princess’ bedroom often enough, though rarely on his own. It wasn’t like she had anything to fear from a Knight sworn to her father’s service. But it was a matter of decorum and propriety; Knights were not left alone in the presence of young noble ladies who they were not actively courting. A royal in direct line to the throne least of all. Though, as always, this was not a concern his charge seemed to hold.

As for the room itself, it had somehow gotten messier in the several weeks since his last visit. Items like clothing and food were not in sight, of course, that was Vikka’s purview. But the tables were covered in notes, quills, jars of ink, various half-consumed potions, and magical gemstones of every description, things likely specifically excluded from the servant’s duties. Tomes older than some religions had been piled up like cordwood near the room’s fireplace, liberally marked with finger-width strips of coloured fabric to mark place. Some were even dog-eared, an act of almost callous disregard for the cost of what a book like that cost.

“May I ask the nature of your summons?” he asked. After years of practice of dealing with those in authority, the irritation barely bled into his tone.

The Princess held up her right hand, continuing to write in her notebook with her left. For whatever reason, those with magical talent tended to be left-handed. Not always, but often.

“Do you remember our last conversation, in the throne room? On the nature of power, and honour?”

“Yes.” Short answers were always preferable. Katerina was a rhetorical hyena, and would clamp her jaws on any elaboration like a scrap of meat. Something he regretted not hammering into his head.

I’ve been mulling over what you said.” She put down her pen in a crystal inkwell. The magical dye drained from the phoenix feather and back into its reservoir with steady pulses of soft, red light. “I will be the first to admit, I may have been too quick to judge your response. We see things differently, as two people in different stations in life are wont to do. As a scholar of the arcane as well as an heir to the throne, it is my duty as well as my desire to see beyond my first impressions. How can one rule if they only see what’s beneath the bridge of their own nose?”

Lennox felt a swell of hope. Just a tiny sliver, he’d been cut out at the knees before. But maybe, just maybe, the young woman was starting to learn something more than how best to make a father disappointed.

“I’m...grateful that I could be of service in such a fashion,” he offered, inclining his head slightly. She smiled in return, though he could count on his hands the number of times that expression had been a good omen.

“Honour is not something I’ve interacted with in any meaningful way. I’m aware of it as a concept, and by the rules those under its sway operate. But I lack intimate context, something I’d like to amend. You are brave, and strong, and surely a representative of the best qualities of your sex and position. But who are you besides the powerful man? The virtuous paladin? You play the role of the protector of young maidens, but what of Lennox the person? Is there anything underneath the armour?” She pantomimed covering her mouth in shock as if embarrassed before adding: “So to speak.”

Frankly, he thought there wasn’t a whole lot about her to understand. But he played along.

“’Understanding other perspectives is one of the steps towards true wisdom,’” he recited. A flaccid truism a Prior had told him once.

“I couldn’t agree more! To that end, I’m giving you a gift.” She pointed to the hilt of his sword. “Present that to me, pommel out, if you would be so kind.”

With a flicker of hesitation, he did so. His sword was, in more ways than one, his most valuable possession. But ultimately, it was a symbol of loyalty and obedience to the royal family. And she was a Princess. She was His Princess, his charge. So he obeyed. He could do nothing else

Katerina examined the weapon like it was a curio fit for a cabinet, not a tool of death. She let her finger trail along the handguard, the soft pad of her finger no doubt finding every slight chip and nick from its use. She smiled as she reached the pommel, no doubt recognizing the crest of her family’s house. But as she stood there, examining her heraldry, her hand cupped around the metal ball at the base of the sword. And, with a chant from her lips, the metal began to warm.

“Your highness?” Lennox asked, but she did not respond. The chanting grew in volume, as did the warmth coming off the blade. He expected it to melt, or twist, or do something horrible that only a mage could conjure from their sinister imagination. But the sword remained whole. It did not drip down his hands, molten steel fusing to his flesh. But it had been changed.

When she uncupped the pommel, it had transmogrified into...something else. It looked on the surface like some kind of precious stone, raw and unpolished, but it was pink. He knew no stone or mineral that was that colour. It was very...very...

“The word you’re looking for is rose quartz. Or, I suppose, that’s two words,” she supplied, examining her handiwork.

“I don’t understand. You’ve changed the pommel of my sword to a gem?”

“Oh no, not a gem. Non magical rose quartz is barely worth anything in such a small quantity. But it does make for a spectacular medium for carrying slow release, long term spellwork.”

The words slotted into place, and already he began to hold his blade out away from his body. “You’ve cursed my sword.”

The Princess snapped her fingers. “Why aren’t you the cleverest Knight in the land! Yes, Lennox, I’ve cursed your blade. I’ve made it emit a kind of, well, let’s say transformational radiation. It won’t affect anyone else, so long as you don’t stand near them for too long. But if you keep it close to your body, over time, the spell I’ve woven into the pommel will begin to change you.”

An ember of rage began to glow in his heart. This…profound violation of trust ate away at the very heart of him. His ideals, his beliefs. When he spoke again, it was with as cold a fury as he could manage.

“Transform me into what?”

“Well, I am not above admitting my own failings, but I’ve detected from you a lack of understanding as to the challenges and demands that come from being of the female persuasion. If I may be so bold, your stoic, taciturn, and dower attitude leaves you totally insulated from the concerns of a fellow member of the fairer sex. So, I’ve endeavored to correct this discrepancy.”

“To what end.”

“Toward the end of mutual understanding!” She said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Lennox stared at the pommel. The material had changed, but the royal seal was still intact. Damn, he couldn’t even remove the cursed thing on a technicality.

“And if I refuse this gift?” he asked.

The Princess feigned shock. “I…I don’t understand, my dutiful Knight. You would reject a gift from your charge? That’s not very honourable, is it?”

“This…gift…would interfere with my ability to perform my duties,” he replied, trying not to grind his teeth.

“That’s strange. Knights Hesta and Gillain are both women. Do they not perform satisfactorily? Are you saying you are above them? Would Knight Hesta be somehow impaired by her mammaries or her increased hip to waist ratio and be unable to defend my person?”

“Of course not, but-”

“Then I can only surmise that the rejection of my gift, this lovely customized pommel for your blade sworn into my service, was that you personally do not like me. Is that the case?”

A long, perhaps too long, pause. “No, your highness.”

She clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! Well, I expect to see you sporting your new, enhanced weapon at every opportunity. And I will instruct the keep’s staff to make sure that you have the blade on your person at all times, as a good Knight should do. Failure to do so will, well, I believe you know what would happen to a derelict, disobedient servant to the crown.”

Lennox did know. He’d done some of the executions himself. “And there is no way to convince you to not follow through on this…gift?”

She smiled serenely. “Well, I suppose there would be. If you would tell me you forsake your oath of obedience, then I would be forced to take back my gift. Of course, it would just be between you and me. There would be nothing to come of it, no reprimand or sanction. I would just need to hear from your lips that the vow you made in the Light of the One was just words.”

His every hackle rose. The damnable, petulant little girl. She had no right to do this! Having lived a life devoid of actual trial, shipped away to live out these months in the lap of comfort on the far edge of any responsibility she might have, her Highness had decided to make sport of his most heartfelt of beliefs. Part of him, not an insignificant part, wanted to rip the pommel off and hurl it with all force at her smug face. But that was what she wanted. And, given her magical acumen, he doubted it’d do much.

And so, with a deep breath, he sheathed the sword. This was not the time. He would send message to the King and petition him for relief.

“That will not be necessary, your Highness. I accept your gift with all the gratitude it deserves.” He bowed, then moved to leave.

“Before you go,” she said, sliding back into her chair at her desk, “I just want you to know that anything that happens to you is your responsibility. I can reverse the changes at any time. But you must tell me so, and you must say, with full throated vigour, that your honour is forfeit.”

The corner of his eye twitched. “Is that all?”

“Yes. Send Vikka in if you see her, but you are dismissed.”

***

His first thought, at least after the font of expletives shouted into the wind on one of the castle’s walls, was that he would simply resist the effects of the gem. He was a Knight, after all. A bastion against the darkness. A living emblem of virtuous masculinity. What did he have to fear from some conjuration? So for the next few weeks, he continued as normal. And as the sole Knight in charge of protection of the Princess and, to a lesser extent, the rest of her retinue, Lennox kept himself busy making sure the drafty ruin they inhabited was as secure as possible.

The Winter Court was, charitably, still a castle. There were several stone walls, technically, and they all connected, again technically. It had been the capital of one of a long ago dispatched rival to the Kingdom’s hegemony, and still marked by the scars of battle. The only intact building was the keep in which all were housed, its ancient stones kept warm by vigilantly maintained hearthfires that roared in most of the larger rooms and in the royal apartment. The rest of the outbuildings, as well as the walls, were pocked with the evidence of siege warfare. The walls in particular had gaps large enough to wheel the Royal Carriage through, the product of either mundane or magical explosive damage.

It was on the patrol of one of these shattered walls, one week into having the pink pommel, that he noticed the cold more than he should. Rationalizing it momentarily as having lost track of time spent in the brisk wind, he shuffled back in to warm up against the fire in the meeting hall. Despite being close to the roaring flames, he couldn’t get the warmth back into his bones. He shucked his armour to let it dry, only to find that his body hair was coming out in tufts as he doffed his garments. Not the hair on his head. If anything, that had gotten thicker. But the short, curly hair on his arms. It fluttered away at the slightest contact, leaving a soft peach fuzz behind, if anything.

As the night grew colder and winter crept into the walls more and more, staying warm proved to be more challenging that ever before. He withstood the discomfort without complaint of course, but the chattering of his teeth was unavoidable. His men noticed this, and began to be more liberal with their offers of taking longer shifts on the wall. All the while their eyes drifted to his sword’s pommel, and its strange, ethereal glow.

Early into the third week of holding fast against his blade’s corruption, and he could no longer deny that the magic was having an effect. He couldn’t afford a mirror, of course. Few could. But the polished shine of his armour revealed more than he wished it would. And before him, bent in the convex reflection of his helmet, was a body not his own. Before he sported abdominal muscles of wrought iron. Now, his stomach had concealed itself beneath growing curves. Soft, supple, and practically squeezable in places.

But despite the indignities of losing his carefully sculpted and cultivated physique, he refused to let it compromise his ability to perform his duties. He trained twice as hard, fighting back with every ounce of his strength as he hacked away with a practice sword or cut cord upon cord of firewood, excusing the servant who usually did such taskings until his arms felt like they would literally fall off.

It was after one of these intense workout sessions that he found himself in the keep’s one prominent luxury: the hot springs bathhouse. A respite from both the unpleasant chill as well as the soreness of well worked muscles, it had proved to be a haven for Lennox during his current ordeal.

But even here, amidst the magically heated waters, he found little sanctuary. Floating naked in the copper basin of the inlaid tub, the extent that his cursed blade was changed him clear. On his chest, clear as day, were a pair of breasts. Small, surely, but their sight was unmistakable. He could wrap his shirt tight to hide them for now, but…

“Damnation,” he swore. What was he going to do? This couldn’t go on for much longer. His entreaties to the King had not been responded to. Either his phrasing had not made the seriousness of the matter clear enough, or he just didn’t care.

He closed his eyes. It wasn’t for a sovereign to care about the inconvenience of a single Knight. He knew that. He KNEW that. But every day his body changed, warped into this soft, pleasant thing.

And it was pleasant…at least to look at. Though as a Knight, he was bound to be of the utmost gentleman when it came to showing affection, he nevertheless had the same urges of many under his command. But the nature of his position meant that simply slinking off to a bawdyhouse was not available. And the more his form resembled the desirable shapes he preferred in a partner…

With eyes still firmly shut, his sword hand trailed down the side of his body, feeling the length of his form. Despite losing some of his height to the curse, he was still tall. And that height translated into having long, luxurious legs. And with his body hair either thin enough to be invisible or depilated altogether, in the dim light of the bathhouse, amidst the gentle roil of the water, it was easy enough to imagine these parts belonged to an attractive, athletic…

The building arousal he felt from his own altered form proved too much to deny altogether. Though his faith didn’t prohibit masturbation, it was still something that indicated a lack of self control. But rather than dive straight for his cock, he explored the rest of his body. And as distressing as it was to have one’s form be changed by factors outside of your control, he could not deny how good roving hands felt along the curve of his hips. Sliding down his stomach. And to his breasts where he-

“Ahh!~” he cried, then instantly shut down. Merely brushing a thumb against his nipple had made him cry out like some lady of the evening!

Lennox played with himself on and off, aware that this was a public space open to anyone in need of a warm soak. In between stolen glances toward the entrances, he charted new erogenous zones he hadn’t even imagined before. None more potent than his blossoming breasts.

As he teased and twisted his new anatomy, a devious thought arose. Nobody could read his thoughts, they were safe to explore his real feelings. He could get a measure of revenge by indulging in some truly dishonourable conduct.

Princess Katerina. She was attractive, of course she was attractive. But her personality, gods! She was like a viper in fine silk. Truly, she deserved to be put in her place. To be pressed against the wall and made to quiver, to be made to understand…

He tried to picture his charge as a submissive, but it didn’t work. It was out of tune with who he knew she was. She was many things, but she wouldn’t yield to him. The Princess would know him, see through his soul to the core of who he was. The fantasy shifted. No longer was she the one against the wall. She had used her spells to bind him, keeping him chained to arcane fetters while she tugged down his breaches…

“Oh! Excuse me, madam. I-”

Lennox thrashed out of the lust-addled stupor, springing up and out of the bath and revealing his blossoming, feminine form. Standing in the doorway with her own nakedness concealed by a towel was Crys: the guard he often saw during his patrols.

“Apologies are mine!” he said in a voice so clipped the sentence blended into a single word. He gathered his underclothes and hurried off to the changing room.

As he towelled and dressed, he found it difficult to hold leash on his emotions. This damn feminine frailty! He cursed his fate, cursed his weakness, and thrice cursed that damn, spoiled brat who…who…

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Despite the damp heat of the air, a cold chill filled him.

“Madam, I hold no judgment in my heart. Our hours are long, chance for amorous encounters few and far between.”

A confusing duality of relief and embarrassment suffused him. Relief, for she’d somehow not recognised him! But that meant that she had thought he was…a woman. And unless he wanted to give away the game…

He coughed, trying to speak in a higher register. To his horror, he found it easier than he would have liked.

“Thank you…I would appreciate it if you kept this…to yourself.”

Crys snorted. “I’d be in all kinds of trouble if Knight Lennox knew how often I got in similar situations. Just…try to keep it to your own quarters. And if you can’t…well, my shift ends at dusk most days. Come find me in the mess hall, perhaps we can help eachother out.”

Without further explanation, she left to go about her own abulutions, leaving Lennox to dress quickly and flee with as much dignity as possible. Driving off a posse of highwaymen was one thing, but being propositioned…by a subordinate?

Lennox hurried back to his own room. He was still dripping water when he slammed the door shut. Once again he was thankful for his position, and the overall free space available in the keep, that he was able to have his own room. To be among his men during this...transfiguration would have been too much.

It was already too much. As he wrung the excess moisture from his hair, he acknowledged that he’d gotten in far above his head. Even now, the solution was readily at hand. All he had to do was give up and acquiesce to the Princess’ demands.

And yet, all Lennox could think about was masturbating. These damnable urges! The confused mix of feeling had his mind trapped in a cocoon, making clear thought impossible. He tried again. Pantaloons down, hand around cock, beating off like he had countless times as a younger man.

But try as he might, his cock refused to cooperate. He tried the old standbys, the images that had gotten him through his days as a lonely squire. But though the spirit was willing, and if anything the images conjured were more vivid and salacious than ever, his flesh failed him!

That was until he pressed against the door, and gasped! Lennox’s rear had not only inflated, but touching it now felt good. A little too good. One hand drifted from his crotch to his ass, creeping along the curve…the changes had increased the sensitivity to his body, and this included…

His hand froze. No! Sex was an act of domination, of exerting his control over another. In the same way as a fight. One was the dominant, the other submissive. And he was a man! Authority sprung from his flesh as did blood and seed.

But…he wasn’t totally in control. He never was. As a Knight, he was bound by oath and loyalty to his liege, and by extension his accursed spawn. He wondered if it was just stubbornness and his sense of honour that was keeping him from giving her what she wanted. Why was he putting himself through this pointless, frustrating, embarrassing, humiliating, and degrading hardship?

“Because,” he whispered, “A part of me…enjoys following orders…”

Before he could stop himself, his fingers had reached his hole. The imaginary Katerina returned to torment him, but instead of chained to the wall, she pressed against his back. Captive. Ensnared. A pressure against his sally port. He whimpered…then yielded.

“My Knight,” the fantasy whispered into his ear, “My special Knight.”

In moments, he shot a shameful load all over his hand. The delirium of arousal removed, shame shot into his every fibre. He stared at the puddle of submissive seed, and saw a terrible fate befalling him. Not just bound by oath, but bound by desire. For a woman he could never have, trapped in a stranger’s body. He had to stop this…no matter the cost.

***

Before he gripped the handle to Katerina’s quarters, Lennox paused. His hand hovered there as he fought with himself. He had to give in, to end this charade and return to his old body, his old life!

There was a part of him that resisted. A single hope. If he could show His Majesty the sheer magnitude of his spawn’s depravity and carelessness, her whole world would come crashing down. Shipped off as a bride to some unimportant house, and him reassigned to someone worthy of being protected.

He straightened. Yes, he would endure, as he would have if he’d been shot with a crossbow bolt for his liege. This new body, these new feelings…they would be borne out of pure spite. Once the King interfered, he would be returned to his old form, and everything would be back the way it ought to be.

So with that idea lingering in the back of his mind, he entered the Princess’ room once again. This time, she was in a state of near undress. Only wearing a form-fitting dress and stockings, she was practically naked. Vikka was helping another woman, a stout lady on the other end of middle age who served as Katerina’s personal seamstress. Taking measurements around the bust line, Lennox couldn’t help but stare at his feet.

“Oh come now, Knight Lennox, I would hope you’d feel comfortable enough around me by now. Lift your eyes.”

The Knight did so, though reluctantly; the fantasy of her lecherous dominance still fresh in his mind. “I simply don’t wish to imply any dishonour on your royal personage,” he offered meekly. In the strain, his voice actually cracked, raising a register to reach a height it hadn’t ever since puberty.

That made her crack a smile. “Rest assured, I have no fear of that. What with you being more aligned with the fairer sex these days than not.”

Blushing, Lennox looked between the two other women. Neither reacted, their focus entirely on the exacting task of measuring the Princess down to the smallest unit of measurement. Nevertheless, he struggled to voice his feelings in their presence.

“That’s…not exactly…I’m still a man, in all ways that matter,” he said, though without as much force as he might have liked.

“Of course, of course. I hear you’ve been training doubly hard to maintain your musculature. An admirable level of devotion to your assignment! But all that extra effort in addition to your duties as my Houseguard must be so exhausting. You can put an end to all this, you know. All I need to hear is, well, you know what I want to hear.”

“And you know my response,” he replied, steel returning to his voice.

She smiled. “I suppose I do. Which brings me to why I requested your presence. As the head of security, you ought to be informed that I’ve been invited to attend a ball in two weeks’ time. It’s the Orialchum Jubilee of the Butterfly Queen, ugh, and I’ve been offered an invitation. Strictly those of the feminine persuasion only, of course. You know how the Astrals are. It’ll be all conspiracies and canapes, but I can’t NOT be seen on premises.”

He blinked. “The Astral Synodyne is another continent away. How are we going to get there in two weeks?”

“The Magisters of Thrast are kindly providing me a temporary portal for myself and a single attendant.”

“You can’t be serious!” he said, a little louder than normal. He dropped his voice down and continued: “I…I won’t allow you to go to another Kingdom without protection.”

“I’m glad you agree! Therefore, I’ll be bringing you along as my handmaiden as well as my bodyguard.”

The two attendants measuring her stopped, looked at one another, then back at Lennox. The Knight, for his part, couldn’t help but flush at the suggestion. He grasped for the words to express his outrage, but outright denial conflicted with his role and station.

“Your Highness, with all due respect, I doubt anyone would be fooled by such transparent mummary. I may have undergone some changes, but-”

Katerina stepped away from the motionless forms of Vikka and the seamstress and strode over to the enormous, full body mirror they were using for the fitting. She tilted it toward Lennox, and for the first time he saw in full clarity just how far the transformation had extended.

Lennox was not a woman, something he had to tell himself emphatically as he stared into the reflection. He could see the imperfections: too tall, jaw too sharply formed, shoulders too broad. He wasn’t, he wasn’t! And yet…he had breasts. Small, meagre handfuls, but their curve even underneath his clothing was undeniable. His hips had increased as his waist had shrunk. A pair of powerful thighs nevertheless looked like they belonged in feminine stockings more than masculine hose.

“As you can see,” Katerina said with not an insignificant amount of smugness, “We won’t have a problem helping you pass as a member of the feminine persuasion. Especially not after we get you in a gorgeous dress!”

As flustered as he was by this inference, his denial felt pointless. He was still tall…for a woman. And he was still muscular…for a woman. But the raw truth of the matter was that the sword’s curse had taken its toll.

With a deep, body-shuddering sigh, he turned full body toward the three women. Eyes locked on the Princess, he genuflected.

“Please, your Highness…this has gone on too far. Whatever I have done to offend you-”

She batted away his heartfelt apology with a whip of her wrist. “Yes yes you are dreadfully sorry. We’re past that now. You’re no longer my object of petty torment, you’re my project. My experiment. One of my passing hobbies is alchemy, I’m sure you’ve seen my various potions and concoctions scattered around. At the core of that study is the desire to transform one thing, wholly and completely, into another.”

Katerina strode over until she loomed over the Knight, her domineering force of will bending focus around her until it looked like she was the only thing in the room besides him.

“Say the words I want to hear and this stops,” she continued. “Else we keep going, together, and I make you into someone new.”

Lennox froze. Her presence, her demeanour, it was all so dominant. He’s seen shades of her like this, but the veneer of a petulant heir was flaking off, revealing a core of iron underneath. He faltered.

“I…I cannot.”

“Then rise. I dub you Dame Lenna, and you shall address yourself as such until we return from the ball. I will have others take over your duties while we prepare you to be my handmaiden. Is that understood?”

Lennox…Lenna…rose and nodded. “I do not understand, but I obey.”

Katerina smiled. “That is all I need for now. Cheer up! We shall turn you into a strong, powerful woman. And in the end, I think, you will thank me.”

***

“This is...unacceptable.”

Lenna stared at the two offered dresses in Vikkas hands. One a scandalously revealing gown in the Western fashion, with areas where bare shoulders were clearly visible for all to see. The other was more modest...up until the knee. Then, some mad tailor decided to give up, leaving the skirt half finished and exposing bare calf like some streetwalker plying her trade. Neither outfit spoke of a woman of dignity, of class and rank.

Of course, none of this should have mattered. Lennox, Houseguard Knight of the Realm, wouldn’t have cared if his arms or legs were revealed. But now that she was presenting, at least for now, in a feminine fashion, there were certain expectations. And for Lenna’s first appearance in public to be in such...debauched vestments.

“I’m SORRY,” Vikka screamed, tears welling in her eyes, “But your PROPORTIONS are VERY DISSIMILAR to my Mistress. These were the ONLY TWO DRESSES I found that would fit, and they still require SEVERAL ADJUSTMENTS before you can wear them in public to HIDE ANY ANATOMIC DISCREPENCIES!”

The Knight blinked away an expression of surprise at the sheer vehemence with which the handmaiden spoke. Either she was a much better performer than she was a tailor, or the choice of dress was clearly not the intentional insult Lenna had thought it had been.

“My apologies Vikka. This is all very new to me. I’m having trouble...” She searched for the right words for her emotions, but there were none. But at least her contrition made the jump through her tone, and the maid swiped away some of her tears with the back of her hand. The one that held the open topped dress. “I’ll try this one on.”

“EXCELLENT. Now GET NAKED IMMEDIATELY, so I can dress you!”

Lenna shook her head. She’d been through a lot of shit, but needing someone’s help to put on clothing was a step too far.

Vikka visibly swallowed emotions and perhaps a lecture or two, before thrusting the dress out to be taken. She then retreated from the room like she’d just handed over an explosive rune, not a garment. “FINE. Try it on now and get a feel for moving in it, then REPORT IMMEDIATELY ANY DISCOMFORT NO MATTER HOW SMALL. Also remember that you have DANCE LESSONS SHORTLY, so DON’T TAKE TOO LONG.” With perhaps too much force, she slammed the door, leaving Lenna alone in the room.

Lenna had spent the last few days sequestered in this guest room, normally reserved for visiting dignitaries, while she was educated on how the fairer sex carried itself at formal gatherings. Elocution, curtseys, and a veritable holy book of Do Nots that she’d barely retained as a concept, let alone in practice. Even something like sitting was to be done in a certain way. Doing so the way Lennox would, her legs were splayed out showing perhaps far too much of herself to any passing observer.

The physical changes had slowed, but not stopped. She’d lost an inch of height, along with the harder edges of her face. Also gone was her ability to achieve erection, though the constant stimulus of new clothes, tailoring visits, and being in the presence of several attractive women at once had provided no shortage of stimulus. To her embarrassment, instead of stiffening, her member had begun to…drip.

With a visible blush, she stripped down in front of the mirror to her underthings and tried to wrangle herself, for the first time, into an honest to goodness formal dress. Not a peasant skirt or frock, but something a lady might wear.

And failed. Miserably. Nothing fit right, she nearly tore a shoulder frill trying to wriggle her arm. There were tassels that did…something, and some kind of fastener that Lenna had never seen in her life. Lenna cursed, tossing the whole ensable to her feet.

“How in the godsdamned world was it so hard to be a woman?!”

“Normally, ladies need a servant to help them.”

In the now open doorway, arms folded, stood Crys.

Lenna stammered. It had been the first time since the two had seen each other since the awkwardness in the bath house. Though still a subordinate, the Knight felt completely removed from her previous authority. Not just in a different body, but the shield of confidence, of utterly unshakable bravado, it had diffused.

Crys closed the door behind her, locked it, and approached. Before Lenna could give shape to the amorphous blob of emotions warring within her, the guard did something she never would have in different circumstances.

She took a swing at a superior officer.

Lenna reacted without thinking, moving out of the way while catching the blow, carrying through its momentum until she’d hooked Crys arm in a debilitating hold.

“What are you doing, Guardswoman?” Lenna hissed, fingers tightening around the woman’s limb.

“I’m your dance teacher, of course. I wanted to see if you remember how to move your feet.”

Stunned to silence, she let her go. Lenna looked down at her own hands, seeing not the soft dainty things she thought they’d become, but the calloused, rough digits of a warrior. Of a Knight.

“You’re still yourself, Sir,” Crys replied, working out her arm from where the hold had pinched a nerve. “Fastest counter in the Academy, I heard. And we’ve sparred together what? Twenty times? Thirty?”

“Close to the latter,” Lenna acknowledged, folding her arms. “I think I see what you’re getting at. And though I can’t say I condone it, I do appreciate it. Perhaps you won’t have to go on report.”

“Whatever you like, Sir. I just couldn’t take you moping about like a figure in some perverse tragedy. You’re still a Knight, despite the extra…accoutrements.” Crys gestured towards her own chest, which caused Lenna to realize she was, in fact, mostly naked. Lenna folded her arms over her chest. How did this keep happening to her?

“What do you know of this, Guardswoman?” she asked.

Crys shrugged. “Some of the guards noticed you were training extra hard, and that you were hiding your body with more and more clothing, even around the hearthfires. Then, in the bathhouse, I didn’t know it was you at first, but it didn’t take an academic to add two and two to get four. Politely, you have a very identifiable voice at the moment. Caught between two worlds, I suppose. We can work on that if you wish…or…” The guard’s voice petered out as her normally confident demeanour faltered. “Is that…something you would want? Is this a curse, or a change for the better?”

“It’s a curse!” Lenna snapped, tone white hot all of a sudden. “It’s a damnable curse that that brat Katerina has me under. That damn oath, I’d forsake it if I could. All I have to do is tell her that my word doesn’t matter and she’ll put me back the way I was.”

“Then lie.”

Lenna’s train of thought derailed. “What?”

“You’re a Knight, not a saint!” she said with an exasperated laugh. “You’ve had to tell dozens of mistruths and coach unpleasant realities in ways royals are able to hear without throwing a fit. Kings and Princesses are fickle little creatures sometimes, best kept from their worst natures. We all know it! So just tell her what she wants and keep the truth close to your heart?”

There was an obvious answer to that, Lenna knew. A very clear and obvious response. She just couldn’t think what it was. Her mouth opened and closed several times as possible excuses bubbled to the surface, only to beach themselves when under a moment’s scrutiny. Of course he’d lied before. So why was it so hard to just…tell her what she wanted to hear? Give her that little treat and let her pretend she won?

“I can’t,” Lenna said, her voice strained. “I just…I just can’t.”

For a moment, Crys looked perilously close to inquiring further. But, to their mutual relief, she let the matter drop.

“Well, for now, we’ll need to get you dressed. I was called to the quarters of a ‘recalcitrant young lady who must be taught the basics of the Summer and Winter Waltzes’ and, as one of the only women on staff who has any rhythm, it falls to me to be your Headmistress.”

Lenna nodded curtly. A physically demanding task? She could handle that. “Very well. I’ll do my best to keep up. But before that,” she looked down at the now rumpled dress on the ground, “Could you help me with this?”

The dressing took substantially longer than she’d anticipated. Men’s clothing, or at least the clothing favoured by those who needed to fight at a moment’s notice like Crys, were practical affairs. Slip on, buckle, tie. The dress Lenna was expected to be worn was, in fact, several pieces, each interlocking like some kind of fabric based puzzle. The laces on the back of her frock, when it was worn properly, were placed totally beyond her reach.

“So…going to tell me what the occasion is that necessitates this kind of outfit?” Crys asked, working her way up the dress’ back, tying it tight but not too tight. “Or perhaps extend an invite. Wouldn’t mind seeing how you manage punching out some foreign Count’s lights in a ball gown.”

For the first time in a while, Lenna smiled.

***

“She’s MOVING!” Vikka squealed, wide brimmed brush in hand.

“No she’s not,” Crys corrected, mascara pen held disturbingly like a stiletto in her dexterous fingers, “Because Lenna knows if she moves, she’ll look like a Backalley Sally, not the Belle of the Ball.”

Grumbling, Lenna did her best to keep perfectly still as both women did their best to make over her face into the peak of femininity. This had not been one of the lessons, for which she thanked the gods, and so all she had to do was not tremble or squirm too much. But as her new appearance took shape in the circular mirror in front of them, it was hard not to have any reaction at all.

She looked…pretty. Maybe not gorgeous, not like Katerina did without effort. But if it wasn’t her…If she was Lennox, viewing Lenna, and they were two different people…

“DON’T SMILE. I’m ABOUT to APPLY the BLUSH.”

“Sorry.” Being under these two women’s tutelage in the last week, both strong in their own way, had been a stressful experience…but not an altogether unpleasant one. It had been a full time effort getting Lenna ready for her debut. Katerina had even let Vikka off from her multitude of other duties to focus on this one, singular task. And it had been frustrating, and sometimes embarrassing. But looking now, at the dressed and perfumed and now thoroughly made up woman in the reflection, it was hard to deny: Lenna made a pretty good lady.

Just as that moment of reflection hit, a great sucking sound announced the arrival of the portal. It burst forth into existence against the north wall, then bounced around a bit as if looking for something. The Princess, who had watched the whole affair from a seat in the corner, shot to her feet. She reached out to snare the tiny, wobbling door in space, capturing it in her hands before stretching it out.

As she did, Lenna did her best to *try* and pretend she wasn’t ogling her charge. The golden gown she wore was resplendent, all the more by how it changed to shift out of her way as she walked so that it made it seem she was walking through a sea of waist-high grain as she moved. It also featured a rather risque cut to the fabric in that portions of her upper back were visible, showing almost down to the shoulder blades!

“You simply can’t buy good voidcasters these days,” she chided, murmuring an arcane ritual as she strained. Her back muscles tensing, and Lenna forced herself to not stare. After much effort, the tear became stable. Or as stable as a magical portal ever got. With a nod of satisfaction, she plucked her purse from the seat she’d been lurking in earlier and slid it over her shoulder. “Come on, Dame Lenna.”

The Princess pointed at the arcane orifice shimmering in reality, motioning for Lenna to go first. Before complying, the Knight turned to the other pair in the room.

“Thank you, both. I wouldn’t be ready at all without both of you.”

Crys smiled warmly. Vikka looked like she was about to say something snippy, then thought better of it.

“Just return Mistress in one piece,” she said, strain noticeably gone from her voice. Lenna gave her as solemn a nod as she could, then strode to the mouth of the portal. Thankfully, high heels were not in fashion for women this season, and her shoes were merely elevated elegance rather than towering threats to human life. They were conjured, of course. Vikka could work miracles, but only magic could create elegant, feminine footwear to fit at such short notice.

With a deep breath, Lenna stepped through the portal into the unknown…

***

…and emerged a fraction of a second later in another room altogether. Rather than the dull cold of the Winter Court’s stone, the air was warm and lively. Sconces of blue mageflame burned away, heatlessly illuminating an oval room tightly packed with arcane contraptions of various shape and description. The primary focus of the room, a hollow ring of orialchum, kept the portal suspended between its circular surface.

“Please keep moving,” a tired apprentice said, her hand coaxing the Knight forward, “We don’t want you fusing with any of our other guests.”

“What? Oh, sorry,” she said, sliding out of the area of transition. In a few seconds, Katerina followed her through.

“My compliments to the Voidcaster!” she announced, bowing ever so slightly to the mage. “What an effortless and easy translocation! I barely felt my soul being touched, let alone severed.”

Lenna’s eyes shot wide as she tried to gauge if her charge was kidding. The apprentice merely grunted, which could have been laughter or confusion or just a ‘that’s great move along please’. Sliding a hand through the crook of Lenna’s arm, the Princess made it clear that now was not the time to dawdle.

Out into a long corridor, following a series of kindly glowing arrows on the floor, they found their way to the enormous doors leading to the ballroom. Lenna halted, to Katerina’s confusion. She actually tried to tug her back into motion, but as powerful as the Princess was, she was not strong enough to move Lenna when she did not wish to move.

It had all built to this, Lenna realized. As a warrior, as a blade in the service of her Lord, she had supreme confidence. And when in similar functions, a Knight was allowed a certain distance. The title granting both literal and figurative armour from the petty intrigues of court. But now…now she was proceeding into a new world entirely. Not as an observer of court, but as a participant. As a combatant.

Lenna felt the absence of her sword keenly. Standing this close, she could hear the dull buzz of conversation on the other side of the door. The clink of glasses, the muffled notes of music, and the occasional punctuation of polite, fake laughter. A whole world of pretensions and veiled threats. Of pleasantries and knives behind the back.

Warfare, by any other name, would be so horrible.

“I’m not looking forward to this,” she replied, as if it was necessary. Despite the Princess being the reason she was in this situation in the first place, some of the formality between them had ablated. Whether that was just frustration diminishing her capacity for performative politeness or a genuine growth of understanding, Lenna couldn’t say.

“Well, chin up, gorgeous. I can’t have my lady-in-waiting looking stone-faced and sullen the whole evening. Would seriously dampen the mood. You’re here to guard me, remember? Can’t do it if you’re in the other room!”

“You should have let me bring a weapon.”

Katerina rolled her eyes. “This is a party for mages, silly. Might as well have brought a handful of porridge for all the good it would do you. However,” she said, tapping the purse at her side, “I do have certain contingencies should the need arise. But enough preamble. Let’s get festive!”

Without waiting for Lenna’s further grumbling, Katerina threw open the door with a broad flourish, revealing the ballroom in a flash of colour. The room was a panoply of shades, from the gaudy all the way up to the eye watering, as at least a hundred of the world’s richest magic users, their attendants, and various other toadies and hangers-on mingled amidst several floors of opulent marble and silken drapery. The centre of the festivities was a huge dance floor that looked to be a solid, perfectly flat lake that had been frozen in time. Twirling, boisterous forms in gorgeous dresses expressed themselves to the sound of a band that, it turned out, was an enormous spinning wax cylinder.

In a swirl of otherworldly features, the most uncanny had to be the light source for the room. An enormous alchemical device hung from the domed ceiling, emulated a kind of dark blue sun. Two dozen or more smaller lights circled in a repeating, oscillating pattern. Each looked like fireflies, slowly looping through a pattern of dark hues from red to green to blue and back again. And around the whole thing floated a trio of hovering platforms adorned with comfortable furniture, two of which were already in use.

It was quite literally the most expensive thing Lenna had ever seen in her life. Katerina, on the other hand, strolled down the stairs from the door like she hadn’t even noticed it. She walked past an attendant in the livery of House Ramela, an older woman who stood stock still, peering down at Katerina with a hunter’s eyes and effortlessly recited off her title.

“Presenting to the Ball: Princess Katerina, Sixth Heir to the Throne of Forde. Dynast of the Southern Reaches and Guardian of the Winter Court, and…” The woman’s voice trailed off, obviously expecting a second person to be following her. It was then that Lenna realized she was still standing at the doorway. She hustled to join her charge, skirt lifted, trying desperately to look like she belonged.

Katerina indicated her companion with an almost dismissive wave of her hand. “And this is Dame Lenna of House…what is the name of your House again, dear?”

“House Stone,” she replied, rewarded with a brief flicker of real emotion beneath the Princess’ mask of placid amusement. Genuine mirth? Annoyance? Whatever it was, Lenna was just glad she was getting better at this whole verbal jousting thing. It was getting annoying not to be able to strike back in kind.

“Presenting Dame Lenna of House Stone,” the attendant repeated, studiously oblivious to the interplay between the two. They continued down the stairs, hanging a right at the dance floor to make their way over to several knots of well-dressed women engaging in banter with so many layers of subtext and sniping that there’d be no point in taking anything said at face value.

After several introductions to people Lenna wouldn’t remember when the night was half over, the whole affair had her exhausted already. She was about to proceed with Katerina, when one of the knots loosened, revealing a short woman’s cheery face and beckoning hand.

“You are this mysterious Dame Lenna, I presume?” The woman’s voice was loud out of any proportion to her size. There would be no pretending she hadn’t heard.

“Go on, mingle! I’ll be floating around,” Katerina said, not even waiting for a response before literally turning into a cloud of fog to go zip up to one of the platforms overlooking the ballroom. Flustered and unlikely to grow wings without Katerina’s explicit permission, Lenna relented. Remembering her many lessons on conversation, she stepped over to close the circle of elegant women that had opened for her.

“I am. Of House Stone,” she said, before hastily adding. “A minor house, you likely haven’t heard of it.”

She shook off the explanation. “There’s no need, darling, we all know who you are.”

Lenna’s heart skipped a beat. “You…I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“My, she doesn’t buy them bright,” one of the women said not quite under her breath. The shorter woman cast a scolding glance, but not a harsh one. More of an admonition not to spoil the game.

“We’re all aware of Princess Katerina’s tastes. You aren’t the first stallion she’s brought to mare, you know.”

Lenna felt a pit open up below her. “I don’t understand,” she repeated, this time her voice flat and void of pretension.

The short woman pressed on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that sort of thing! My husband’s gorgeous treat of a sister was once a very dower young man indeed. But in Katerina’s case, she treats girls like you much like a bouquet of flowers: stimulating for the moment, but the allure fading quickly once plucked.”

Lenna had hoped to get at least an hour in before getting emotionally flayed in public. But apparently that had been too much to ask. As her face heated, much to the titters of delight from the miserable gaggle, the Knight imagined the many, many ways she could ruin this nice party with force of arms.

Instead, she looked to the side of the room, where several servants with trays of food and beverages were making their way into the rest of the room.

“Well, this has been a wonderful conversation. But unfortunately, a more important matter calls my attention. Good day,” Lenna said, curtseying, then immediately grabbing two flutes of mysterious glowing liquor and downing them both before clattering the glasses back on the tray.

All the lessons, all that work preparing to be some kind of mincing debutante, and they had exposed her as fraud barely a minute into entering the game.

“Fuck,” she hissed, grabbing a third drink and heading off to sulk. At least from the corner she could keep an eye on Katerina. The platform she had floated up to was coming around on the rotation, and her discussion appeared fairly friendly, if animated.

“You new?”

Lenna didn’t recognise the voice. Startled, but unwilling to return to the role of dithering handmaiden, she nodded and pounded back one half of her glass.

“What gave it away? My stride? My voice?” She turned to look at the other end of the conversation, and to her surprise, it was a guard. She was taller than Lenna, though not taller than Lennox had been. Her mail gleamed in such a way as to make the ringlets appear to be colours from the rainbow. But the heavy mace at her waist was not an ornament. Despite clear care taken to polish and repair it, the dents and scars of use were clear for those who knew where to look. She spoke to no palace soldier, but a warrior.

“The fact that you just drank three flutes of sparkwine. That stuff doesn’t have an effect if you’re not a mage. Might as well have chugged three tankards of water.”

The sigh Lenna let out went on for an improbable amount of time. Then, after quickly dumping the rest of the fluid down her throat, she leant against the wall next to the guard.

“Fucking mages,” she hissed.

“Can’t agree more,” the guard replied. “You serve? You move like you serve.”

She thought about putting up a front, but if the rest of the guests decided to be so blunt, why should she hide?

“Knight, actually. I’m here to make sure Princess Katerina doesn’t get a knife while filling up on tiny sausages.”

The guard snorted. “Of course. Sorry you ended up stuck in that getup. You look great in it, at least.”

Lenna had a reaction ready for just about every other verbal interaction, but a genuine compliment about her appearance left her frazzled.

“Thanks…first time being, y’know, a ‘lady’.” Which was true, but might be taken as meaning the literal definition of lady, a woman of noble birth, and not lady as in presenting as female.

“Well you carry it well. But,” the guard nodded toward the dance floor, “Looks like not everyone has the same graces. That one yours?”

Lenna looked over, expecting to say no. But sure enough, Katerina was in the middle of a slowly widening circle of dancing figures, having quite the argument with a taller woman in a tight, black dress.

“Unfortunately. Take this for me, would you?” she asked, handing the guard the empty glass.

“No worries. Go show those mages how people like us work for a living.”

Smiling at that, Lenna hustled over to her charge. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, and here the Princess was, looking as likely to start casting fists as readily as spells. As she got closer, details of the other woman came into view. The most noteworthy of which were a set of seemingly interconnected tattoos that sprouted from her bare arms, neck, and thighs.

“...do something about it,” the inked interloper demanded, her voice clear that she had the utmost confidence that the Princess wouldn’t. Sure enough, a faint glow that flickered in Katerina’s fingers sputtered and died. This towering magical force of nature was mute, unwilling to stand up for herself.

“That’s my job,” Lenna announced, smoothly interjecting herself between the pair, pushing the tattooed woman back as politely as possible. A flash of seething rage slid past the woman’s faintly glimmering eyes, quenched by focused effort almost as quickly as it appeared.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” she said, offering a sketch of a curtsey. “My name is Savin. You may have heard of me.”

She hadn’t, but the Knight returned the gesture, remembering for a moment that she was supposed to be a gentlewoman, even if that fiction was becoming more threadbare by the moment. “Lenna, House Stone, charmed. May I ask what you’re doing being so close to Her Highness?”

Savin smiled. “Perhaps I wanted to kiss her. Do you have a problem with that? Are you jealous?”

Heat flooded Lenna’s face, but she hoped that it would just look like she was just getting pissed off. “I wouldn’t, but it appeared from afar like there was some hostility in this interaction. Have I misread the situation?” She turned to Katerina.

The Princess’s mouth pinched as if tasting something peculiar. “We were having a conversation, though I will say it was more animated than I would have liked.”

“I meant no offence, dear Katerina. I merely offered my assistance should you require help with your enchantments. I know you struggle with the fundamentals.”

White hot fury boiled in Katerina’s eyes. She stepped forward, looking just about ready to throw a punch herself. Lenna held her back, only waiting before she relented against her Knight’s superior strength to turn herself toward Savin.

“I have a feeling you did mean offence. I would appreciate if you were to apologize to the Princess, in lieu of any hard feelings.” She kept her voice as calm as she could. Deep breaths, remember the lessons about how ladies handled conflict-

“I don’t believe you were invited to this particular event, Dame Lenna,” she said, then leaned over and sniffed the air. “You stink of mundanity. The only magic in your body is…wait…an enchantment? How very interesting indeed! You hadn’t told me you’d brought another dress up doll, Katerina dear. Were you hoping to break this one in with me?” As if to make her intent clear, she brought her fingers up into the shape of a crossbow’s trigger mechanism.

Lenna was just about sick of listening to these fucking mages think aloud about just how powerful they were. Her hand reached instinctually for the hilt of her blade, but there was nothing.

“Looking for something like this?” the interloper asked, before reaching *into* the tattoos on her right wrist. With a wince of pain, she pulled, and the long tangle of lines pulled away from her skin, spinning themselves into a solid shape. Further and further until the unmistakable form of a sword appeared. The tattoos on one arm had completely disappeared, coalesced into a blade of twisting lines.

“Sorcerous horseshit,” Lenna spat, pushing Katerina back further. “Apologize to my lady or I’ll put you in a box.”

“Exactly how, ‘Dame’? I’m a Magister, and your peasant blood is as thin as my piss. With what savage blundering are you going to protect your charge?”

That gave her a moment’s pause…but only a moment. Magisters were the highest level a mage could ascend to, and the Magisters of Thrast were some of the hoarders of the most esoteric, and powerful, arcane secrets in the world. That explained Katerina’s reluctance, though not the reason for the initial confrontation.

In a rolling wave spreading out over the enormous room, the ball’s participants paused their petty skirmishes for social clout. If there were any authorities, they had made themselves scarce. No one, it seemed, would be stepping in to halt this. Lenna cracked her knuckles. Finally, something she understood: curative violence. If only-

“Hey!”

It was Katerina’s voice. Lenna turned just in time to see the glint of an object flash through the air. She caught it on instinct, only after it touched her hand and it sparked into life did she recognize it as the cursed gem pommel of her sword. The damn thing that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Now, however, it glowed with a new purpose. It exploded outward in spurts of crystalline growth until it took a final form: a pink, glowing duplicate of her real sword. Not identical copy, but close enough. Like the rock had made it from memory.

Lenna swung it to test its weight. Almost perfect. Satisfied, she gave Katerina the first earnest nod of appreciation in a long time.

“Don’t wound her pride too badly,” the Princess said, taking up a spot in the growing ring of spectators, “I still need help opening a portal home.”

“As you wish,” Lenna said, entering a high guard stance, blade on her shoulder. Savin entered into something similar, blade forward, though there was a clear expression of annoyance on her face. The Knight knew what someone who got their way by fronting aggressively and expecting the other party to back down looked like when they realized they’d put their boot in it.

“Last chance to back out of this,” Lenna offered, beginning to circle like a wolf. Savin did the same, having little difficulty keeping her stance. Several of the watching mages commented, and one or two were exchanging currency. Perhaps she should put down some of her salary on herself.

“I have nothing to fear from you,” Savin shot back, but before another caustic remark could leave her lips, Lenna struck out. Her blade came down like a hammer, but Savin skillfully deflected the force and carried it down. Before Lenna could reset, Savin’s weapon lashed out like a whip, slicing into the Knight’s shoulder. With some last minute poise, she made the whole thing look like a single fluid motion, much to the enjoyment and some polite applause.

Lenna checked her wound. Merely a nick, doing more damage to her dress than her skin. She tried again, this time a little more cautiously, and she found herself with another cut, this time on the upper arm on the opposite side. To her mild annoyance, it meant that her dress was dangling by threads. One errant tug and her breasts would be on full display.

“A fine counter!” one voice said.

“A Mistress of the Blade indeed!” commented another.

She started piecing together just what kind of opponent she’d found herself tangling with. These weren’t crippling wounds; the Magister was trying to embarrass her. As a guard in a royal household, she’d seen more than a few peacocking fops aiming to play at being a maestro of swordplay. Practicing at fencing, bladedancing, and other forms of formalized combat sport. As both a veteran and someone who thought she had good taste, Lenna hated it. Especially when one of those types brought up a soldier from a nearby tavern or brothel for a coin or two to beat up with a bunch of flashy parlour tricks and play at being a real warrior.

She was going to enjoy this a little too much.

The Knight let her opponent take the next few strikes, cycling through several guards to keep any attempt to figure out her strategies more difficult. The frustration visibly built in her opponent as any attempt to coax out a response was met with stoic silence or a batting away of a feint like an errant insect. Normally, the fight would be over at this point; real fights didn’t last very long on the battlefield. But it did feel good to leave someone looking for pageantry and derring-do to look like they’d barely left the stables.

“Strike me, damn you!” Savin seethed.

Lenna nodded, and, with a grin, she yanked down the top of her dress and exposed herself. Stunning both the crowd and her opponent, Lenna lashed out with a diagonal slash upward. The magister shook off the moment of shock and swept out her blade to perform the same momentum directing trick, caught the momentum of the blade, and guided it through an arc that sent the blade flying up. A tremendous, flashy feat to disarm someone so easily.

She was so euphoric, in fact, that she didn’t notice the pommel of Lenna’s blade until it had smashed into her face.

The crystal sword had not gone flying. It had merely rotated in the air, where Lenna’s hands clasped onto it as the Knight brought the weapon back down in a mordhau grip: hands clasped on bare blade and slamming the pommel down like a mace. Normally reserved for dazing armoured opponents (and used when one was wearing gloves), it was also an excellent tool for smashing egos like overripe melons. Inelegant. Brutal. But effective.

Savin toppled like a sock full of meat. As her body came to rest, the sword splattered against the ground into a plate of dazed ink noodles. Then, as if sheepishly realizing it was out of place, it melted back into her arm, sliding back into place on her skin. Lenna pulled the sword out of her hands with a wince, then bent down to check to see if her opponent was still alive. She was, but the lights were completely out. The room’s jocular banter and exchange of bets had ceased. All stood in silence, like they’d watched an actor die of a heart attack in the middle of a monologue. Part of them were unsure if this was a part of a performance, that the Magister was merely playing dead to effect some miraculous recovery. But as the seconds ticked by, the reality set in.

Katerina broke the stillness as she leapt over the collapsed body of her tormentor, beaming with no small amount of pride.

“Lenna!” she said, grasping the topless woman’s hands and reacting with shock when she saw the slice marks in both of them. “Goddess, you’re bleeding…come, let’s get this taken care of.”

She pulled the Knight along to one of the side doors, tugging by the wrist. She wasn’t nearly as strong, but the insistence of her charge made it clear it wasn’t a request. Lenna did, however, take a moment to look at the prone form of her opponent and hocked a thoroughly unladylike glob of spit onto the polished dance floor.

“Fucking amateur,” she said, then let herself be stolen from the room.

***

Healing the wound proved to be within the Princess’ powers, though Katerina had decided it’d be best to stay out of sight for a while. They had found one of likely half a dozen pantries, and hidden away behind boxes of saved preserves and several large barrels of bulk sparkwine. Apparently, the Magisters hadn’t even sprung for the good stuff.

“Hold still!” she hissed, attending to the Knight’s cuts. With a pass of her hand and a heatless flame extending from her fingers, she sealed the cuts in Lenna’s palms, then went to the ones on her body. The fact that she was naked from the top up had barely registered with either of them, it seemed, until the last of her wounds was closed.

“Thank you,” she said, then tried in vain to put her top back on. Unfortunately, Savin’s surgical cuts had made that impossible. “Don’t suppose your magic works on silk?”

“I’m a magical healer, not a tailor. But I can rustle up a more utilitarian outfit before we leave. It’ll be the least I could do after allowing this…situation to fester.”

“If I may ask,” Lenna began, choosing her words with care, “What precipitated the argument?”

For a moment, it looked like the aloof, unaccountable Princess would make an unwelcome return. Her entire face tensed, and her eyes darted back and forth as if searching for an excuse to act outraged. But, blessedly, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. When she opened them again, she looked tired, not angry.

“Savin and I were…well, not exactly in a relationship, but we were close. These balls were our chance to connect. We had a falling out last year, and I’d hoped we could at least be cordial about it. But I suppose that was too much to ask.”

“Yes, she mentioned I was not the first one you’ve done this to.” Lenna indicated her exposed chest to emphasize what she meant.

Katerina didn’t pretend to act surprised or offended. “Several aggressive suitors found themselves as my spellbound armcandy for a while, this is true. I released them from the curse when I was done with them, and after they were cowed.”

“Where are they now?” she asked, a hint of trepidation at the idea of learning an answer she didn’t want to hear.

“Oh they’re doing fine. Last time I heard, at least. Perhaps a little less willing to push themselves on potential partners, which I see as an unalloyed good for the world.”

“I don’t understand,” Lenna said, rising to her feet to pace. “I was never aggressive toward you, I never tried to force myself upon you. I was loyal! I was obedient! I did everything I could to keep you safe!”

“Yes, which is why I did this.” At Lenna’s confusion, she elaborated. “You are the only man in my entire life who has wanted nothing from me. My father wanted a potential heir, and later, a potential tool for securing an alliance. Princes wanted me for my title. And I can feel the slimy, lecherous gazes of merchants and diplomats as they slide down my body. But you, not once, have seen me as something worth obtaining. And I wanted to know why.”

“You could have asked.”

“I’ve never gotten a straight answer for the questions I’ve asked in my entire life…why would I get one from you? You spoke in vagaries like honour and loyalty, but we both know those are constructs. They aren’t elements, they aren’t natural truths. So I wanted to put them in the crucible. I wanted to test your tensile strength and see what it would take to make you break and become like the rest of the men in my life. But…you didn’t. Even when I was petty, or belittling. In fact…you thrived.”

Silence fell.

Katerina continued. “When we return, I’ll dispel the curse. Informing the subject of the nature of the experiment is a surefire way to ruin the results, after all.”

Lenna halted. An end! A sweet and blessed end to this whole charade! That was all she’d wanted: a chance to go back to being a Knight!

A Knight. Not a man, she realized. A Knight.

She looked down at herself. It was not Lennox’s body, but it was not a terrible form either. Looking into the mirror and seeing something attractive. Something worthy of being desired. She would never be some dainty lady of court, nor did she ever want to be. But…there could be a middle ground that could be reached in all of this. Some equilibrium beyond the performance of femininity and returning back to her old self.

She tried to picture Lennox again, but his shape was…blurry. Maybe it had been the lack of mirrors in her life before, but she found it hard to picture the man she was. Or had been.

“Going back now may be difficult,” Lenna began, quickly looking for excuses. “The others, I mean, they might not respect me after they found out. The King, your father, he might look for someone else if he should find out. And-”

Katerina put a finger to Lenna’s lips. “None of the opinions of the men in our lives matter. Not really. I want to know what you say. What you feel? Are you Lenna, or are you Lennox?”

What she would have thought would be a quick answer took almost a minute to give voice to. “I’m both, I suppose. The Dame of the Ball I am not. But…I would still pledge my blade to your service. I wish to be a Knight above all.”

“And you hold to your oath, even after all the travails I put you through?”

Lenna stiffened. “I am a Knight. Your Knight. Sworn to obey. To endure. You may not understand it, but by this point, you must have some understanding.” Then, with a little mirth: “I talk about it often enough.”

“Indeed you do. Well, I suppose there’s nothing to it then. Despite Savin’s crude commentary, my enchantments are excellent, and can be tailored to my every whim. When we return, we’ll sit down together and determine just which parts of this experience you want to keep. Or which parts you wish to expand upon.”

And here, at either the worst or the best possible time, Lenna’s imagination got the better of her. Vivid images over herself not sitting, but splayed out on a table, with the dextrous but unyielding hands of her Princess using magic and alchemy to change her body to match her whims got her inappropriately excited. She tried to tamp it down, to control herself…but it was one battle that she had no hope of winning.

Katerinas’ eyes slid down Lenna’s body, resting at her lap. “Something about that make you excited, my Knight?”

The Knight looked down to see, in a moment of purest embarrassment, that there was one thing that a dress meant for a feminine figure was particularly terrible at hiding. She’d been so stressed that the prospect hadn’t approached notice, but if one were to get an erection in such a garment, it would be very difficult to ignore. And though she had trouble getting all the way hard, the stiffness between her legs was clear.

“My apologies,” Lenna began, but felt her Princess’ arms wrap around her neck.

“Don’t. Stop apologising, stop making excuses. You’ve sworn that silly oath to me, you obey my demands, so out with it. The truth. Do I excite you? Do I make you aroused?”

There was little point in lying, though for a moment, Lenna did think about doing so. It would make things easier if she could just bluff her way out with some line about ‘combat excitement’. But neither of them would believe it. And besides…

“Yes. your Highness. I didn’t, not before. I suppose I failed your test, then. You are now something I desire. Something I…something I need. I know we can never be formally betrothed, but-”

Lenna found herself cut off again. Not by Katerina’s words this time, but by her lips. A forceful kiss pressed to her mouth. Not a weak, tentative thing, but a demand. An attack. And after a moment’s shock, Lenna delivered a riposte of her own. Their bodies grew closer. Katerina pushed her up against a crate, and the Knight forced her back against the wall. There, in the pantry of some strange palace, they duelled, even their tongues joining the fray.

When they broke for air, Lenna felt lost. Adrift. This was wrong, she knew it was wrong.

“Forget formalities. Forget everyone else. I want you, Lenna. And I always get what I want.”

Katerina retrieved the crystalline sword she’d tossed her during the fight. She squeezed it, pulsing her magical energy through the blade. It retreated as readily as it had grown, shrinking back into the pommel and reminding Lenna a little bit too much like the slow bleed of her cock size in the last few weeks. As if responding to this comparison, the crystal’s shape bent and bulged to become much more phallic.

Much.

The sharp edges blended into a perfectly smooth, rounded shape until it became impossible to deny what it was turning into. And to Lenna’s surprise, the crystal had remembered something else besides her sword’s shape. The cock it had become was a perfect replica of the dick she had once had before her transformation. Above average and thick.

“Recognize this?” the Princess asked. Her fingers worked to pull some kind of energy together, and just as she had conjured a pair of shoes, her manacrafting went to work to conjure a strange strapping apparatus around her waist. Its purpose became obvious when Lenna noticed a locking mechanism at its groin.

“I..I do.” Lenna’s lip trembled. Fear? Anticipation? She couldn’t say one or the other, but she knew what was coming.

The Princess waved her hand, and the tattered remnants of Lenna’s dress unspooled themselves into dozens and dozens of threads, unmaking what must have taken months of labour in mere seconds. Then, the fibers wrapped around her wrists and ankles. They pulled her with impossible strength until she was on top of a rough, wooden crate. The silk tugged tighter, pulling her legs apart until she was rigged up and trussed like some hunted prey animal, her ass exposed and ready to be taken.

“The first trick a magic user learns is how to break things apart. Sewing things together? That’s another department. But I much prefer this look for you. Wrapped up, taken. Oh I’m sure you could break out of it if you wanted, these muscles…” She traced a line down Lenna’s breastbone, sliding along her taut tummy, slaloming around her rather impressive abdominal muscles. “They are quite the sight. But you won’t. Because I do not wish it. I want you to be tied up, to be helpless for me. And you will obey.”

Lenna nodded before she could help herself. She would. She always would.

Katerina’s hand fell to the stiff organ that twitched between Lenna’s thighs. “And what should we do about this, hmm? I could take this away, you know. Give you the pussy you deserve. Make you the passive receiver that we all know you truly are inside.” Lenna was speechless. Her heart hammered in her chest. As she searched for her own feelings toward that part of herself, the Princess let her off the hook. “Perhaps another time. I wouldn’t want to leave my Knight unarmed…at least, not yet. I have one more spell up my sleeve tonight, but it is not for you I’m afraid.”

While she slid her soft fingers along Lenna’s body, Katerina whispered another strange incantation. The pink phallus attached to her waist glowed once more, soaking up a new spell’s energies. But there would be no time to ask for what was on her mind, for the Princess soon pressed herself against her guardian’s tight, virginal hole. And with a tangible, visible need to her eyes, she thrust herself forward.

Katerina cried out as the gemstone dick slid inside, her voice echoing off the many surfaces of the room they defiled. Lenna at first thought it was the Princess playing a role, but the scream of pleasure was so debased that it could only have been genuine. She realized that the incantation had been to duplicate the sensations of a real penis. As she felt herself give way to the pink cock, she did her best to relax. It was still a strange sensation, and the shaft was much larger than the fingers she’d tried with. But as a loyal Knight, she strove to accommodate her Highness in all things.

At first the Princess’ movements were gentle. Her shaft was literally rock hard, and Lenna was still a novice at being penetrated. But like a ferocious beast strapped in a cage, there was a hunger stirring within her. The sympathetic magical connection she had with her crystal cock was transferring that same desire Lenna felt during her own amorous escapades when she was younger.

To ease Katerina’s mind, Lenna reached out with her legs to clamp them gently around her back. There was a similar hold to this in unarmed combat, though with a much different purpose.

“Am I sufficient for her Highness?” the Knight asked, playing up the role of dutiful servant with a bit of playful bite. Despite being the one on her back, Lenna had no intention of being passive.

Something Katerina evidently enjoyed, as both her pace and her breathing picked up. Lenna’s next retort jumbled in her brain as the cock pressed against that spot in her insides that made every thought appear fuzzy and indistinct. Her half-hard erection oozed a thin strand of seed onto herself. Not shot out as in orgasm, but a meagre offering. A display of carnal indulgence. This liquid was not for siring an heir; this was for demonstrating how much one enjoyed getting fucked.

The door to the pantry burst open without preamble. Both women froze, heads snapping back to see Savin stroll in, gazing at a floating arrow pointing at the pair in her hand. She looked none the worse for wear after her fight, though her dress did look a little rumpled.

“Finally found you. Look, the Ball’s been called off. The Queen’s thrown a fit and entered her cocoon aga-” Her eyes left her hand and ventured upward, seeing for the first time exactly what the woman who had beaten her and her ex-romantic interest were in the middle of doing in so far flung a room. Warmth rose in her cheeks, and the visible tattoos on her skin actually retreated toward her sides and back, as if looking away politely.

Katerina’s shock melted into shock and perverse delight as she thrust herself forward, making an involuntary moan leap from Lenna’s lips.

“We’ll be there momentarily, Savin. Do close the door on your way out, would you?” the Princess said ever so sweetly, her hips rocking back and forth and staring her ex dead in the eye as she fucked the woman who kicked her ass in front of her. Savin, to her credit, nodded and withdrew, slamming the door firmly behind her. Katerina waisted no time after she heard the latch close. “The woman you beat saw you impaled on me. Do you enjoy that? Do you like knowing your victory is soured by your opponent knowing you spread your legs so easily for me?”

Lenna’s reply was non-verbal; a combination of a low moan of humiliated pleasure and a long jet of submissive cream pulsed onto herself. It was so fucking shameful, but it felt so fucking good! How could she ever go back to sex any other way?

After that, her climax was inevitable. Katerina leaned in to press herself deep within, her thrusts becoming manic and desperate. There would be no holding on for Lenna, but she did try to muffle her squeals and whimpers as much as she could. In the end, though, her Princess did make her scream.

In a final act of obedience, Lenna came. Thin, weak squirts of feminine fluid spurted from her cock onto her toned stomach, forming a miniature sea of submissive bliss. Katerina’s orgasm wasn’t far behind, the pleasure-toy allowing her to feel just what it was like to have a cock erupt and spill its seed deep inside a partner. Of course, it was all sensory illusion. But nevertheless, in her addled haze, Lenna could swear she felt something spurt and gush inside her. Claiming her. Marking her insides as territory belonging to her Highness.

They dressed quickly after that, not wanting to wear out their welcome any more than they already had. Lenna spun a simple outfit up out of arcane power around Lenna’s body, but denied her the chance to retrieve her discarded underthings.

“Leave those. I want some evidence of our deeds left behind,” Katerina said, as if it was a totally normal thing. Her sense of shame totally overloaded, Lenna merely nodded and pulled her hand back from the panties.

“You’re merciless,” she said, shaking her head.

“If I go too far, you’ll tell me. And if it doesn’t make you excited, I’ll know. So come now, my Knight. Let’s get back to the Winter Court and regale everyone on our much lauded and dignified adventure. But first-” She shook the pink crystal dildo until it turned back into a sword, and held it out for Lenna. “Your weapon, my Knight.”

Lenna took the proffered weapon. “They won’t mind me carrying it around the palace?”

Katerina waved the question off. “Oh I’m sure they already know you have it, after that fight in the ballroom. And besides, I’m going to enjoy seeing you walk around with the crystal that was, moments before, buried in your tight little ass. I’ve made the symbol of your martial strength into a reminder of your submission, my sweet. How wonderful is that?”

Lenna wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. But most of all, the one thing she wanted to do more than anything…was this whole night, with her Princess, all over again.