Amaryllis was miserable. She was back in her knight’s lap, being jostled and slammed against the cuisses of Bridget’s armor. The ride was worse than it had been two days previous. They were now attempting to cut a path through dense forest–through the Aesvithr. Gnarled, black branches and bristling, pine-coated arms reached out from all around to scratch and tear at them. Her knight did what she could to protect Her Grace, but it was insufficient. Amaryllis winced again as a claw-like branch scratched her shin. At least she needn’t worry about her brocade gown. 

It had taken some convincing to get Princess Amaryllis to put away her gown, even in its tattered state. Bridget had found a roughspun robe for Amaryllis to wear, and, even though the garment was below her station, she had agreed to wear it. Being identified as High King Cahry’s daughter was too great a liability. The two had agreed to pack up her royal clothing along with what supplies they could collect from the little cabin before leaving again. 

The Princess and her knight had spent another night in Dreag Due’s cabin. She had been able to rest, and her knight had attended to her appropriately, even if the accommodations were limited. Yet, Amaryllis had found the experience to be nauseating. Bridget had been doting, desperate to please Her Grace and see to her every need. Amaryllis had spent the entire time fighting the competing urges to berate and ravish her. After a few hours in the cabin, The Princess–fool that she was–began to long for their journey to continue. 

Amaryllis peered up into Bridget’s face. At least here in the woods, her knight had regained some of her steely resolve. Her heart fluttered. Suddenly she wished her knight would look at her like that, fierce and angry–she wished Bridget’s face would take on some of the menace she had seen in Dearg Due’s face. That look of hunger and hatred. For a moment, she pictured Bridget cursing and striking her. She felt her eyes water. 

There was another heavy thud as Grani stumbled into a gully, and Amaryllis was nearly thrown from the saddle. Bridget had to press The Princess close to her bosom. 

“Sorry, Your Grace,” Bridget said reflexively, earnestly. Bridget prepared herself for a derisive remark, but received only silence. She felt her shoulders tense. Looking down at her Princess, she noticed that the girl was pressing herself into her bosom. The Princess’ eyes were downcast. Bridget felt a familiar pang of guilt and excitement rise in her chest. Carrying The Princess in her lap had become so much harder since their night together–their stay in the cabin, she corrected herself. She must not delude herself into thinking that she, a lowly knight, shared any intimacy with Her Grace. Still the ache and want was there, she could not lie to herself. She felt the princess’ soft body against her lap and chest.

Many of the fastenings and straps of her plate had been destroyed by that creature, Dearg Due. Without the tools and supplies to make repairs, Bridget had been left with only her cuisses, greaves, gauntlets, and vambraces. Above her waist, there was now nothing but her tunic between Bridget and Her Grace’s warmth and curves. She desperately pushed away that thought. She needed to focus on serving her Princess.  

The knight knew this was no journey fit for Her Grace’s royal person. Princess Amaryllis deserved better. She deserved a comfortable seat, good food, and rest. She deserved a servant capable of ensuring her safety and comfort. Bridget imagined being granted the privilege of attending to Her Grace that way. 

Bridget desperately wanted to please Her Grace to see to her needs and safety. Even in the roughspun robe Princess Amaryllis was wearing now, her glistening red hair and her supple curves could never be mistaken for anything less than royalty. Bridget ached. She wanted to see The Princess smile in satisfaction–to see her cheeks round with a smile, even a cruel or mocking one. She desperately wanted to run her hands along Her Grace’s hips and waist. Bridget bit her lip hard. For the thousandth time that day, Bridget redirected her thoughts to The Princess’ immediate safety. 

“I fear we will have to camp in the forest, Your Grace,” Bridget said hesitantly. “There are game trails and the stream nearby should lead to another village eventually, but I know not how soon.”

“Very well,” Amaryllis replied flatly. 

Bridget’s shoulders tensed.

“I know that it will not befit your royal person, but I will try to please My Lady as best I can,” Bridget offered meekly. 

“Hmm.” Amaryllis’ eyes remained downcast. 

Bridget waited for The Princess to continue. The Knight flicked her eye over the Princess’ face searching it desperately for any sign of anger or approval. All Bridget found there was blank indifference. Somehow that was more terrible even than anger or disgust. For an agonizing minute, they sat together in silence. Bridget was beginning to feel nauseous from the suspense. 

Bridget pulled Grani’s reins gently and the horse slowed. She shifted herself in the saddle, taking care to keep Amaryllis seated in the center of the saddle as she slipped out from behind her. Gently landing on the ground, she looked up longingly at Her Grace, meeting her gaze for the first time in hours. She felt a wave of relief wash over her even as her shoulders tensed further. “Please, Your Grace, you are displeased. Tell me what offends you; I long to dispatch it.” 

Princess Amaryllis’ expression remained blank and hollow for a long moment. Eventually, Her Grace cast her gaze down at the knight standing below her. Bridget saw something in Her Grace’s eyes, some fire there. A cruel snarl started to form on her lips. “You wish to please me?” 

The Princess’ mocking voice was ringing in Bridget’s ears. The rest of the world dropped away as the knight continued to stare into Her Grace’s eyes. “More than anything, Your Grace,” Bridget’s voice was frail and high. She felt as though she had to squeeze the words from her chest. “Please,” she managed to add, unable to force any other words from herself. 

The Princess’ cruel smile widened as she looked down at the knight. Bridget saw The Princess lift her foot, now clad in loose, deerskin turnshoe. 

“Take it off.” 

Bridget sprang to action without thinking. She slipped the turnshoe from Her Grace’s foot. A terrifying joy reeled through her. The knight had been blessed with a desire she could fulfill, a command she could obey. The skin of Bridget’s hand hummed as it brushed Her Grace’s foot. The Princess’ foot was so unimaginably soft. Even this lowest part of Her inspired awe. Her Grace extended her toes and wiggled them, swinging her foot slightly in front of the knight.

Amaryllis giggled mockingly. “You are desperate, aren’t you?” she asked. 

Bridget blinked, realizing her mouth had been hanging open. She tried to form a coherent thought, but the attempt was banished the moment she met Amaryllis’ gaze. 

Amaryllis was toying with the ruby hanging above her bust. It was glowing dimly. The light was not as bright and overwhelming as it had been, but the glow had the same red hue as the night The Princess had confronted that monster. There was a moment of doubt and hesitation at the back of her mind, but Bridget forced it away. Her Grace was caring and benevolent. 

“Pathetic,” Amaryllis said. She pushed her foot into Bridget’s face, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to press the knight’s cheek roughly against her nose. 

Bridget felt as though her heart would burst. Her Grace was touching her, allowing her to feel her softness. Without thinking the knight began to kiss gently against the sole of her foot. The desire she had been keeping barely suppressed was pounding in her chest and deep in her belly, desperate to break out of her. She wanted to seize The Princess, to worship each inch of Her. 

“You desire me,” Amaryllis stated firmly. 

“Nooo,” Bridget whined idiotically, panic and reflexive denial rising within her. 

“Do not lie!” Amaryllis cried. The Princess pulled back and kicked hard with her foot.

Bridget’s foot, finding little traction in the mud, slipped out from under her. Bridget yelped like a struck dog and toppled backward, falling scattered on the ground. There was a loud slap as she fell into the mud-filled gully. A spray of muck and silt splatted over her arms, legs, and tunic. Panic surged through her. She had displeased Her Grace. “No, please, no,” she begged desperately, scrabbling to her hands and knees. “Please, please, Your Grace.” 

Amaryllis dropped from the saddle and landed uneasily next to her knight. Holding Grani’s reins, The Princess managed to only sink her right foot, still protected by her other turnshoe, into the mud. 

Bridget was starting to rise to her knees. 

Amaryllis placed her naked foot on Bridget’s chest and pushed down, forcing the knight onto her back. The wet mud of the gully enveloped the knight’s tight locks. Placing all of her weight on her left foot, Amaryllis stepped forward with her right. She could hear the knight below her gasp as Bridget bore The Princess’ full weight for a moment. Once Amaryllis had secured her footing again, she moved her naked foot back to the knight’s face. Pressing down on the knight’s right cheek, she forced Bridget to turn her face and pushed it into the mud.

Bridget’s cheeks burned with shame. There was something joyful in being hurt. She longed to please Her Grace, to feel her body, to kiss and worship, to be rewarded, but clearly she was not worthy. She did not please The Princess. There was something right and good and pleasing, then, that she should be punished. This was so much infinitely better than the silence and blank stare. Her heart pounded with joy as she felt the wet mud press against her face.  

Bridget had to keep one eye firmly closed against the mud, but, straining her free eye, she could make out The Princess’ cruel smile. At least she could see when Her Grace was not pressing her cheek into her eye, making it impossible for the knight to see anything at all. Bridget felt another wave of euphoria. She was making Her Grace happy. She was pleasing her Princess. She felt her belly and thighs clench. She tried to bury the burning want deeper, but she could not resist rolling her hips and squeezing her thighs.  

“You desire me more than anything,” Amaryllis hissed, her voice cruel and gleeful.  

Bridget let out a long whine. She burned with shame and longing. “Yes, Your Grace. I’m sorry, Your Grace.” 

The same cruel smile remained fixed on Amaryllis’ face. Taking her foot off Bridget’s face, The Princess dropped onto the knight’s chest, placing her left knee firmly on her servant. Flipping her hair back, she quickly reached behind her neck and unclasped her necklace. 

For a bizarre moment Bridget felt panic rip through her as she realized The Princess’ right leg was now sinking into the mud. Her Grace would dirty her robes. The worry was quickly robbed from her mind. Bridget turned her head and wiped the mud from her left eye. Blinking, she saw the crystal glowing above her. Cognitively, she recognized the deep red glow from the night Her Grace had confronted the monster, but somehow she felt–she knew–that glow from somewhere else. The familiarity was somehow comforting, familiar, easy to simply sink into. 

“That’s right,” Amaryllis cooed. “That’s a good knight.” 

Bridget felt the ache in her shoulders–the mud on her face, the shame in her cheeks–all melt away. None of that mattered now. She only needed to feel the warmth of the red glow and the sweet, low purr of Amaryllis’ voice. Her Grace was so beautiful. She would do anything to bask in her presence like this.

“You remember that desire you’ve been fighting to keep in check.” Amaryllis took on a mocking, sing-song quality. 

Bridget bucked her hips involuntarily, more at Her Grace’s mocking tone than the words themselves, although the wave of shame and embarrassment that came after as she realized The Princess’ meaning forced another useless spasm out of her hips. The second buck was enough to bounce The Princess against the knight’s chest. For a moment, the crystal swung and spun out of Bridget’s view. Her world reeled as some of the fog momentarily cleared from her head. 

A wide smile split Amaryllis’ face, and she turned away to laugh. High and mocking, The Princess’ laughter shook her bosom. Collecting herself, Her Grace turned back to the knight below her. To her surprise Bridget was staring back at her; Amaryllis had moved the crystal, still softly glowing, out of the knight’s view. The knight was so wildly beautiful. Her dark olive cheeks were flushed a deep red and her eyes were wide in awe. Her lips were wet and parted slightly. Amaryllis could make out the knight’s pink tongue just behind her teeth. The Princess’ heart throbbed painfully, and for a brief moment she wanted to embrace the woman below her and sob. She fought back the wave of emotion and held the crystal above the knight’s eyes again, coaxing Bridget’s gaze into fixating on the stone again. “That overwhelming desire for me.” Amaryllis continued, falling back into a lower sing-song patter, soothing herself as much as the woman below her. As she spoke she shifted her left knee further down her knight’s chest and pressed her foot hard between the prostrate woman’s legs.

Bridget whined loudly. The knight felt her thighs clench automatically around Her Grace’s foot. She knew she should not, but she wanted so badly to grind her hips against Her Grace’s foot. Bridget felt herself tremble with the effort of holding herself still. Seeing The Princess’ round cheeks, full from laughing, in the brief moments Her Grace’s crystal had been out of view had made Bridget ache in ways she had not known she could. 

“Good, knight,” Amaryllis cooed. “You’ve done such a good job fighting to control that desire. Truly a demonstration of your chivalry. You have overcome a great challenge for Your Lady, have you not, Syr Knight?” Amaryllis asked in a lilting up-pitch. The Princess extended her neck, tilted up her chin, and shook her head gently, wiggling her nose above the knight. Her lips curled in a cruel half-smile.

Bridget’s world reeled. On some level she detected the mockery in Amaryllis’ voice, but the mere fact of Her Grace’s praise drowned out anything else. Her Grace was praising her. She had pleased Her Lady. Bridget let out another long whine. The noise was jagged, forced out between panting breaths. “Yes, yes, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace,” Bridget managed to babble when speech, or something resembling it, returned to her. 

“And you want to overcome challenges for Your Lady do you not?” Amaryllis asked in the same lilt.

“Yes, please, please, Your Grace,” Bridget continued to babble. There was no restraint left in her now. She was floating in the warm red light and the purr of The Princess’ voice. No part of her wanted anything but to please Her Grace. 

“The greater the challenge. The greater the chance to prove your devotion?” 

“Yes, always, anything, Your Grace.”

“Now and forever,” Amaryllis intoned.

“Now and forever,” Bridget replied instantly.

“Then we should make it harder for you to resist,” The Princess stated, nodding sagely as if they had already agreed.

“What?” Bridget gasped, cool panic rushing into her veins. She was barely able to stop herself from rutting uselessly against The Princess’ foot. The prospect of having to struggle even more against the waves of need that were pounding at the edge of her awareness was more than she could allow. 

Amaryllis’ mouth twisted and her eyes narrowed. She shifted her weight to her right leg and, drawing back just a little, slammed the top of her foot between Bridget’s legs. 

The Knight’s entire body spasmed. Her back curled forward, and she let out another sharp yelp. “I am sorry, Your Grace. Yes, Your Grace. Make it harder, please,” Bridget babbled, her breath coming in irregular shaky waves. 

“That’s a good knight. Yes, we should make it harder to resist this desire. That way you can prove how virtuous you are–how worthy.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Please.”

“Good. So as you stare, you will simply allow all of that resistance to drain into the crystal. All of your composure, all that long training in courtesy and restraint…” Amaryllis allowed the crystal to twirl and glint in the light for a moment. All the while, she took in the knight’s face. The deep red cheeks, her wet and parted lips, her empty, glassy eyes, everything about her knight was beautiful. “You are mine.” Amaryllis spoke the last word through gritted teeth. “And all you are is mine. And I demand this of you. You are my sweet, doting knight. My dearest possession.”

Bridget’s heart hammered against her chest and tears welled in her eyes as she heard the words. She wanted nothing more than that. To be Her Lady’s. To be pleasing. To be owned. She wanted to make The Princess Amaryllis happy.

“And so if I want to break you. I shall.”

Bridget’s head spun. A hot tear rolled down her cheek.

“You can fight that crushing desire for My Royal Person with what little I leave you, but all that knightly chivalry is mine, and you shall not have it till I return it to you. You can feel it drain away. All those chiding thoughts, all those practiced reflexes of restraint, are mine now. When you reach for them next, there will be nothing…” Amaryllis let the words hang. 

Bridget, despite herself, felt her shoulders tense. She desperately needed to hear Her Grace’s command. 

Amaryllis breathed, “but me.”

Bridget whined. Her hips were bucking now, grinding against The Princess’ foot hard enough to bounce Amaryllis and send the crystal on erratic arcs above her. 

“That’s right, good toy. Nothing but my broken little plaything,” Amaryllis hissed losing the sing-song cadence. She moved the crystal aside to get a better look at the expression of dumb desperation on Bridget’s face. 

As the glow left her vision, Bridget blinked. Her head was reeling. Her entire awareness soaked in warm arousal and the dizzying pounding of her own heart in her ears. As she began to make sense of the world around her, she caught the princess’ face. In Her Grace’s glittering, red eyes, Bridget could begin to make out an emotion the knight did not recognize. The Princess’ lips were curling downward. 

Bridget’s eye glanced downward. Even in the borrowed roughspun robe, Her Grace’s beauty was unmistakable. Her wide thighs and hips curved into her round belly. Bridget ground herself on The Princess’ foot still pressed between her legs as she looked, imagining caressing and feeling her softness. Trailing her eyes upward, she saw The Princess’ bust. Highlighted in the red glow of her crystal and straining against the ill-fitting robe, Bridget could see the round slope of each breast pressing against each other. She shuddered. Gripping The Princess’s foot tighter with her thighs, she increased the speed of her rut, shorter and faster.   

Bridget bit her lip hard. Her cheeks and ears burned with shame as she lifted her hand to Her Grace’s breast. Had she been able to tear her eyes away, she would have turned her face down into the mud again in shame. Gently at first she began to cup Her Grace’s breast. With the other hand the knight began to slowly stroke Her Grace’s thigh. 

“Weak, pathetic thing,” Amaryllis hissed, a thin smile turning the edges of her mouth. 

The insult whipped through her like lightning. Bridget shuddered and bucked hard against The Princess. 

Letting out a sharp gasp, Amaryllis lost her balance. She fell onto her right knee, losing her perch on the knight’s belly. As more of her weight shifted, she slipped again and began to fall. The Princess threw her arm up and then out to her side to catch her fall. She heard a wet slap and a thud. With dull horror, Amaryllis looked down to see her right hand, and the pendant it had been holding, fully submerged in the mud. 

Bridget’s hand was on the collar of Amaryllis’ robe before a conscious thought registered in the knight’s mind. She tugged hard, pulling the collar down below The Princess’ round shoulder. Distantly, she heard The Princess yelp in protest, but none of that seemed real in the face of the warm, soft skin before her. Bridget pressed her face against the supple curve of The Princess’ shoulder. Even after a day of sweat and travel, Her Grace was still richly perfumed with some heady scent too complex for Bridget to parse–some rich mixture full of roses. The same maddening scent that she had desperately been trying to ignore for hours now. Her left hand flew to the side of Amaryllis’ head, her right still gripping The Princess’ collar, and she pulled the shorter woman against her roughly, pressing her nose into Her Grace’s hair just behind the shorter woman’s ear. For a moment, Bridget’s entire world was filled with The Princess as she breathed in her scent.

Distantly, Bridget felt a jerk against her hands and some noise of protest. She pulled–hard–and began running her lips against Her Lady’s neck. Feeling the soft skin she began to kiss and suck, eliciting a sharp gasp from The Princess. Bridget extended her teeth and bit down, desperate to devour–to have–The Princess below her. There was a sharp gasp. Bridget could feel The Princess squirm gently in her grasp, and then suddenly she felt some pressure against her back. The knight tensed before realizing the pressure was Amaryllis’ arms. The Princess was embracing her, drawing her closer. She could feel the smaller woman’s heart pounding against her chest and lips–feel her body shake slightly every few moments. Was The Princess sobbing? Bridget loosened her grip. 

Something was wrong, Bridget knew, distantly. She tried to locate the origin of her hesitance, but it was like gasping at the empty air. 

The Princess shifted upward, pressing even closer against Bridget’s body–soft and inviting. Bridget tried to maintain her focus, but then felt Amaryllis’ lips against her ear. 

“Pathetic,” The Princess whispered.

Bridget pushed The Princess down with her right hand, forcing Her Grace into the muddy ground beneath them. Meanwhile her left hand gathered the hem of The Princess’ robe and yanked it upward. Bridget pushed her lips against Her Grace’s. They were so soft and opened welcomingly. Forcing herself inside, she felt Her Grace’s tongue with her own. As they kissed, Bridget fumbled ineptly beneath The Princess’ skirt. The taller woman’s gauntlet was still on and she could barely feel Her Grace’s skin and cloth through the leather. Unable to wait any longer, she pulled and ripped uselessly. 

Bridget felt Amaryllis squirm and moan into her mouth. 

Pushing away and sitting up, Bridget began biting and pulling at the leather ties of her gauntlet. Yanking it off, she threw it into the brush above the walls of the gully. Without pausing, she began to work at her belt and trousers. With frustration she realized the latter were pinned under her cuisses and greaves. Pulling away her belt, she yanked her dagger from its sheath and tossed the belt aside, she slipped the blade behind her waistband and cut down. The material was soaked as she peeled it away. 

Bridget turned to see The Princess before her. The shorter woman had begun to prop herself up, her arms extended behind her forcing her heaving chest out. Her Grace’s face was scarlet, and her eyes were wide, watching Bridget closely. Bridget felt the same distant sense that she should do something. She should… She blinked and shook her head. Her Grace’s bosom and shoulder banished the thought. 

Bridget reached out, dagger in hand.

Amaryllis yelped and attempted to drag herself backward, but the poor leverage and mud allowed only an inch or two. 

Bridget caught the shorter woman’s collar with one hand and slipped the dagger under it with the other. While it split her shift easily, Bridget had to pull hard and saw against the roughspun, but in a few moments she was able to make a long, jagged cut down the front of the robe and shift beneath. Gripping the sides of the cut, Bridget ripped the front of The Princess’ garments open. The Princess’ bosom spilled out. They were softer and more perfect than Bridget had imagined. The gentle pale white curve and wide, dark-red nipple filled the taller woman’s vision. Bridget could not contain herself. Maintaining her grip on the torn edges of Amaryllis’ collar, she pulled The Princess to her and took a nipple into her mouth, rolling it against her tongue. Bridget heard The Princess gasp, her voice high and sudden before settling into a long warm moan. 

Releasing the collar, Bridget slid one arm behind Amaryllis while the other hand, dagger still wedged between thumb and forefinger, wandered back down between the shorter woman’s legs. Using her fingers to shield The Princess’ belly from the blade, Bridget slipped the dagger under the waistband of Amaryllis’ undergarments. Keeping her hand between the blade and The Princess’ thigh, Bridget sliced through the narrow band of fabric at The Princess’ hip. Bridget felt The Princess spring up against the folds of her robe as the restraining fabric fell away. Greedily, Bridget threw the dagger behind her and placed her fingers on Her Grace’s length. She felt The Princess’ pulse against her fingertips. Still sucking against Amaryllis’ nipple, she gently ran her fingers from base to tip. Bridget’s world spun as she  heard The Princess gasp again in pleasure. Her Grace was every bit as wet as Bridget. The taller woman gently ran the tips of her fingers along the underside of The Princess’ length, eliciting another moan–longer and louder this time–from Amaryllis.

Releasing Her Grace’s bosom from her mouth, Bridget raised herself above the shorter woman. The taller woman was still cradling The Princess in her left arm, but, using her right hand, Bridget guided The Princess between her legs and slid herself around Her Grace. Bridget shuddered in pleasure. Lowering her knees to the ground, Bridget began to rock gently, feeling The Princess sliding inside her. The Princess still smelled intoxicatingly of her rose perfume, but now the smell was mixed with the sour musk of sex. Bridget’s eyes rolled back, it was too much to feel, smell, and see Her Grace all at once, but she needed more. 

The Princess was inside her, she realized again in awe. She felt blessed–perverse. She–some broken common thing–was housing the divine. She felt the muscles low in her belly begin to tense and clench. Her thighs were beginning to shake, making it harder and harder to maintain a steady pace. The shuddering erratic tempo only made her more desperate. Her body was screaming for more. She began to rut more desperately, her whole body becoming a supplication desperately praying against The Princess’ length, as if Her Grace’s wand was a holy relic inside her. Nestling her face in Her Grace’s hair, she bounced and cried, no longer able to keep any steady rhythm. 

Bridget felt Amaryllis run a hand gently through her hair, “What a desperate little thing.” The Princess’ voice was raspy and warm. “What a good little failure–wanting me more than you wanted to be a knight.”

Bridget’s body convulsed as waves of white-hot pleasure washed over her. She would be anything for Her Grace. She would gladly be nothing for Her Grace. Her hips spasmed and her back arched as the waves continued to hit her. She felt the muscles of her thighs shake with pleasure and exhaustion. Unable to maintain her balance, she rolled off The Princess. The moment she felt The Princess slip from her, Bridget felt a longing take its place.  

Bridget collapsed into the mud, falling on her back, blind to the filth around her. Some of the haze of desire was clearing from her mind. Her vision swam, and she had to fight to steady her breath. For a long few moments she floated happily in the afterglow. Though something was wrong, she knew. A familiar tension was growing in her shoulders. Slowly, as the haze continued to clear, she realized the magnitude of what she had done.  

She scrabbled to a half-sitting position and quickly found The Princess standing a few feet from her. Princess Amaryllis held the front of her roughspun robe closed with her left hand. The other hung at her side, fist clenched. Bridget could just make out a mud caked chain hanging from her closed fist. The look on Her Grace’s face made Bridget’s stomach drop.  

“You were a false knight afterall.” Amaryllis intoned indifferently. The Princess whipped her right hand and threw the chain into Bridget’s lap. 

Bridget looked at the object coiled in her lap. It was Princess Amaryllis’ pendant, caked in mud. Bridget’s chest seized in horror and panic. “No, Your Grace, never.” Bridget fell forward into the mud. She had meant to kneel or to stand; she was no longer certain which. Instead, she had slipped and landed on her hands applying a fresh coat of mud and silt to her arms.

Amaryllis’ mouth turned up and her eyes narrowed as she looked down at Bridget. “Did you not swear to me that you would control your desire? Did you not promise never to violate my royal person?” 

Hot tears began to roll down Bridget’s face, “Please, Your Grace. No, I…” She felt like her chest was going to collapse in on itself. Her breathing came in stabbing bursts that sent spikes of pain through her. She wanted desperately to do anything, everything, to show that she was still devoted–that she still held The Princess above all else, forever. 

“Do not lie to me anymore.” Amaryllis’ voice was cold ice. “All your professions of devotion were deception. I see that now. You were only as selfless as all the others. I declare you degraded, Bridget. You are no longer a knight in the service of House Sinnach. I will trust my safety to myself.” Amaryllis kept Bridget’s gaze for only a few moments. 

The Princess turned then and, clutching the front of her dress closed with one hand and pulling up the hem of her roughspun robe up above the mud with the other, left. She walked at first, and then she ran. In a few moments she was up the side of the gully and out of sight, deeper into the woods. 

The sillage of her heady rose perfume filled Bridget’s nose for a moment before diffusing into the smell of rotting vegetation all around her.  

Bridget’s heart was pounding in her ears. She could not hear her own thoughts over the noise. For a moment she was frozen there in the mud, dumbstruck. Slowly she sat back and let herself sink into the mud. She felt the cold filth cover her naked thighs and sink between her legs. The crushing pressure in her chest was too much. She broke and began to sob.