A king wasn't meant to kneel.

A king was meant to perch on a throne. Look down on his people with apathy and disinterest. Idly drum his fingertips on the bejewelled armrest of his seat and wave over servants with a flick of his wrist. Swirl a goblet of the finest wine and overlook his kingdom with a look of self-assurance. A king was meant to have the highest level of authority above every soul within his nation. Complete and indisputable control.

But there Blade was. A king on his knees in front of the one and only person in the cosmos who had absolute power over him.

"My queen," he sighed blissfully, tucking his face against your abdomen. His hands were at the small of your back, his fingers curling into the laces of your gown's corsetted bodice. He leaned against you weakly, pathetically pressing his face into your tummy and letting out a shaky exhale. Everyone else in the kingdom knew him as their king. A man of strategy and poise. One who demanded respect and obedience..

But before you, he was completely and utterly weak. When he would find you in your shared chamber after a long day, his brain would melt to sludge, his body would go frail and boneless, and he would fall at your feet, looking up at you as if you were his salvation. Anything you asked of him, anything in the world, he would obey. Anything at all. He was thoroughly, wholly yours.

To say Blade loved you was a gross understatement. He worshipped the very ground you walked on. His hands reached for you in his sleep and when he woke. His heart longed for you endlessly in your absence. Adoration, affection, fondness... None of those words were enough to describe how he revered you, but they would have to do.

"I love you," he whispered, almost breathless. You didn't even need to lift a finger to have his heart aching in his throat. The king bared his heart to you, allowing you to hold it in your palms if you so wished or run it through with a dagger if you so wished. It was yours to do with as you pleased. "With all that I am, I love you."