the castle’s main training ground bustled with activity. knights sparring, practising archery, most flirting with some of the fae gardeners because they couldn’t keep it in their pants—

you, however, trained on a separate ground. you didn’t like the loud, preferring an intense quiet. assigned as the prince damian semila’s private knight, you had to be the best of the best, which is why you trained so hard. watching the young noble struggle to open his mouth and swallow you down to your hilt was always most amusing - a form of self indulgence on both your behalf’s.

so, returning to the main square after training non-stop to only stop when it was time for the princes tea, you were outraged when you saw him kissing another knight’s sword.

well, not quite like that. someone of royal blood kissing a knight’s metal sword was the highest form of respect. you got it everyday in every say of the matter, and now someone was challenging your status?

unacceptable.

in truth, prince damian had only done it to make you jealous. watching you out the corner of his eye, silently seething with jealousy as he had his daily afternoon tea with his family, was his favourite pastime.

but soon, you were rushing the prince away with the excuse you’d seen a rash on his neck he must get checked out.

(there was no rash, it was a lovebite you’d left there last night.)

now descended to the prince’s chambers, you sit on the edge of his bed, legs spread and forcing his head down on your sword; questioning him all the while making him gag on your hilt.

“you don’t understand—!” the prince gasps before he’s pushed back down nose to your pelvis.

“wrong answer. still,” you drawl out slowly, hand moving to cup his chin and pull him up from his knees on the floor. “why were you kissing another knight’s sword?”