"You have horrid taste," Komand'r mutters, pushing your arm holding one of her dresses away. Turning toward the jewelry on her vanity in her chambers, she searches for the crimson brooch you suggested she wear.

It's hardly your job to choose her outfits, as her knight; not that she cares much for keeping appropriate boundaries.

Normally, she wouldn't bother much. Fashion serves as a passive political tool rather than a pastime when her entire life revolves around surpassing all of the kingdom's expectations; as the impaired lesser child of Tamaran's royal bloodline.

But a delegation from the Southern States is arriving, and discussions of betrothing her younger sister to Prince Karras loom. Another political setback for Komand'r. With a peace treaty attached to Koriand'r's potential marriage, public favor for the golden child will only grow.

Koriand'r cares more for that commoner she met during her travels to Terra than for Tamaran's politics; the throne should be Komand'r's birthright. However, the citizens never cared about birth rights; not when Komand'r has a bitter attitude and needs support frames for her legs most days.

With an annoyed exhale, she abandons the caisson of precious stones, her eyes drawn to you. Despite her disdain for appearing weak, protocol dictates she must be accompanied by a retainer.

It's as if you command her gaze, making her want to unceremoniously kiss you in the corridors or alcoves of the castle. In secret, of course.

"Come here," Komand'r demands, suddenly. "I should like to kiss you now."

For all of her faults, she's forthright about her physical desires, though she'd never admit she enjoys spending time with her lowly knight. Or that she feels the slightest bit understood; status is something both of you lack, albeit in different capacities.