"What..."

The knights of Camelot hit Garrick's forces like a hammer blow from the gods themselves. At their head rode a figure on a massive black warhorse, moving through the enemy lines with the casual efficiency of Death taking inventory. His sword was a blur of silver and crimson, and men fell before him like wheat before a scythe.

One. Two. Five. Ten.

He killed ten soldiers without even dismounting, his horse responding to the slightest pressure of his knees while his blade did its brutal work.

Adrienne found herself staring.

The rider's armor was dark steel chased with gold, his helm shaped like a lion's maw. But it was the way he moved that caught her attention...fluid, precise, utterly devastating. He made killing look like an art form.

His gaze swept the battlefield, sharp and assessing. Then stopped on her.

Even across the chaos and carnage, Adrienne felt the weight of that stare. The rider's head tilted slightly, and she knew he'd recognized her. The only woman on the battlefield. The royal crest blazing on her breastplate.

His attention moved on, but not before she saw something that might have been a smirk beneath his helm.

Arrogant bastard.

"The knights of Camelot are here, my lady!" Lancelot appeared at her side, breathing hard, blood streaming from a cut above his eye. They fell into their back-to-back formation automatically, moving in the deadly dance they'd perfected over years. "Your father must have sent word to them!"

"Damn that old man." Adrienne blocked an overhead strike, twisted, brought her elbow up into her attacker's face. Bone crunched. She followed through with her blade, and he crumpled. "I don't need a knight in shining armor to save me."

She ducked under a spear thrust, grabbed the weapon's shaft, and used the wielder's own momentum against him. A quick twist disarmed him. Her sword flashed, and he learned what mercy looked like in its absence.

The Camelot forces were turning the tide. Garrick's soldiers, finding themselves suddenly trapped between two armies, began to break. To flee. The battle raged on for another brutal hour, but the outcome was no longer in doubt.

Finally...finally...the last of the enemy forces retreated over the hill, leaving only corpses and moans behind.

Adrienne stood in the center of the carnage, chest heaving, her armor splattered with blood that was mostly not her own. The cut on her arm burned, but it was shallow. It wouldn't scar if she was careful.

Around her, the survivors of both armies were checking for wounded, stripping the dead of anything useful. The ugly practicality of war's aftermath.

"Gather round!" Her voice cut through the relative quiet, commanding attention even hoarse with exhaustion. "Check for wounded. Strip the dead. We return to Silvara before nightfall."

"My lady." Leon appeared, somehow looking relatively clean despite the carnage. "You should speak with the knights of Camelot. Thank them for their assistance."

Adrienne's jaw clenched hard enough to make her teeth ache. "I never asked for their interference. They can get off my face before I slay one of them as a message to their silly prince."

"Really?" 

The voice came from behind her...deep, calm, with an edge of dark amusement that made her spine snap straight. "That's how you show appreciation for help?"

Adrienne turned slowly, her hand still on her sword hilt.

The man who'd led the Camelot charge stood a few feet away, his helm now removed and tucked under one arm. He was tall...gods, he was tall built like a siege weapon wrapped in muscle and barely contained violence. Dark hair fell across his forehead, still damp with sweat. His eyes were the color of smoke and steel, and they were fixed on her with an intensity that felt almost physical.

A thin white scar cut across his jaw. Battle-earned, obviously. And despite the blood spattering his armor, despite the exhaustion that should have been dragging at him after that fight, he stood there looking almost bored.

Arrogant. Definitely arrogant.

"What?" Adrienne met his gaze without flinching. "Should I lie down and worship you for interfering?"

One dark eyebrow rose. "Worship might be excessive. But 'thank you' is traditional."

"Your Highness, he's the pri...." Lancelot started, voice urgent.

"Shut up, Lance, and get my horse ready." Adrienne didn't break eye contact with the stranger, something hot and defiant burning in her chest. 

"And you tall ugly thing...whoever you are...can tell your prince that he'd better fight this betrothal nonsense. Tell him he'd better not show his ugly face to me, because I'll use his blood to paint my room."

She turned on her heel and stalked away, her spine rigid, every line of her body screaming defiance.

"Did she just call me ugly?"

Orion stood rooted to the spot, watching the princess disappear into the chaos of her troops, and tried to process what had just happened.

She didn't know. She had no idea who he was.

And she'd just called him ugly. To his face. Well, technically to what she thought was his subordinate's face, but still.

"My Lord." Sir Greene appeared at his elbow, his second-in-command and closest friend since childhood. Greene's armor was somehow even bloodier than Orion's, but his weathered face showed only mild concern. "The horses are ready. No wounded among our men. We can reach Camelot by noon tomorrow if we leave within the hour."

Orion barely heard him. His gaze was still locked on the spot where the princess had vanished. "A little thing just called me ugly, and you're standing there calling me 'my Lord,' Greene."

Greene's mouth twitched. "Well. You did just rescue her without asking permission. Some people find that presumptuous."

"Some people should learn gratitude."

"Some people," Greene said carefully, "looked like they were handling themselves fairly well before we arrived."

That was... unfortunately accurate.

Orion had expected a spoiled princess playing at being a knight. What he'd found instead was a warrior who fought like a wounded tigress...vicious, skilled, and utterly fearless. 

He'd watched her take down men twice her size with a combination of speed and brutality that would have made his training masters nod in approval.

She'd grabbed a spear mid-battle and used it to lift a fully armored soldier off the ground before finishing him. Brutal, efficient and Impressive.

And then she'd looked at him with those hazel eyes...currently more gold than green, lit with fury and exhaustion...and told him to get out of her face.

"Too much energy and sass," Orion muttered, "for that tiny body."

"My Lord?"

He shook himself, pulling his attention back to the present.

"Nothing. Let's move out. The sooner we're back in Camelot, the sooner I can figure out how to get out of this marriage."

✷✷✷SILVARA✷✷✷

The bathwater had gone cold an hour ago, but Adrienne hadn't cared. She'd needed to scrub the blood off...enemy blood, her soldiers' blood, the metallic stench that seemed to have seeped into her very pores. Now she stood in her chambers wrapped in a silk robe that felt wrong against her skin, watching Old Rosaline and two younger maids fuss over an elaborate gown spread across her bed.

The dress was a nightmare of purple silk and white embroidery, with a neckline that would show far too much skin and sleeves that would restrict her movement. It looked expensive. It looked elegant.

It looked like a cage.

"I'm not wearing that thing, Rosa."

Old Rosaline, who'd been the head maid since before Adrienne was born, who'd nursed her through childhood fevers, who was more mother than servant didn't even look up from smoothing out the fabric. "Come now, you're a princess. Dress like royalty for once in your life."

"Nah." Adrienne crossed her arms, still dripping water onto the stone floor. "I'll pass."

"Child..."

"I'm not a child. I'm twenty-one years old and I just spent the night killing men who wanted to destroy our kingdom." She turned to one of the younger maids, a girl named Petra who always looked slightly terrified of her. "Get me some trousers. Black ones. And a plain white shirt."

Petra's eyes went wide, darting between Adrienne and Rosaline like she'd just been asked to choose sides in a war.

"Your Highness," Rosaline said, her voice taking on that particular tone that meant she was gearing up for a lecture, "your father specifically requested you wear something appropriate for..."

"My father can request all he wants. I'm wearing trousers." Adrienne pulled the robe tighter, suddenly exhausted beyond measure. The battle, the betrothal, the weight of everything pressing down on her shoulders-it was too much. "Please, Rosa. Not tonight. I can't... I can't pretend to be something I'm not. Not tonight."

Something in her voice must have gotten through, because Rosaline's stern expression softened. She shooed the other maids out with a wave of her weathered hands, waiting until the door closed before approaching Adrienne.

"Sit, child."

"I told you, I'm not..."

"Sit."

Adrienne sat.

Rosaline took up a brush and began working through Adrienne's wet tangles with gentle efficiency. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the crackle of the fireplace and the soft pull of bristles through blonde curls.

"Your mother," Rosaline said quietly, "used to hate these dresses too."

Adrienne's breath caught. "She did?"

"Oh yes. She'd sneak out of them the moment she could, run through the gardens in her underthings just to feel the grass under her feet." A sad smile touched Rosaline's lips. "Drove your grandmother absolutely mad."

"I never knew that."

"There's a lot you don't know about her. You were so young when..." The brush paused. "But she would have been proud of you today. Fighting for your kingdom. Leading those men."

"And the betrothal?" Adrienne's voice came out small, vulnerable in a way she hated. "Would she be proud of that too?"

Rosaline was quiet for a long moment. "She would understand that sometimes, being a princess means making impossible choices. But she would also tell you that you're stronger than you think. And that no man...prince or otherwise....could ever truly cage you unless you let him."

Adrienne closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her.

"Now." Rosaline set down the brush. "Trousers and a white shirt?"

"Please."

"You're going to give your father a heart attack."

"Good. Maybe he'll reconsider this whole marriage nonsense."

Rosaline's laugh was soft and sad. "Oh, child. If only it were that simple."

༆

Dinner with her father was always a formal affair, even when it was just the two of them. The dining hall was too large, too empty, the long table stretching between them like a canyon. Candles flickered in silver candelabras, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls.

Adrienne had worn the trousers.

King Aldric sat at the head of the table, looking older and more tired than he had that morning. His hand trembled slightly as he lifted his wine goblet, and Adrienne pretended not to notice.

"The battle went well, I heard." His voice was carefully neutral.

"It was a piece of cake." Adrienne stabbed at her roasted chicken with more force than necessary. "Until someone decided to interfere."

"The knights of Camelot saved lives, Adrienne. Including yours."

"I didn't need saving." The fork clattered against her plate. "We had it under control."

"You were outnumbered five to one."

"We've faced worse odds."

Aldric set down his goblet with a soft clink. "You lost twenty-five men."

The words hung in the air like an accusation. Adrienne's jaw clenched. "I know exactly how many men I lost, Father. I remember every single face."

"I'm not trying to..." He sighed, rubbing his temples. "I'm glad you're safe. That's all I meant."

They ate in tense silence for several minutes. Adrienne could feel her father working up to something, could see it in the way he kept glancing at her, then away. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"Speaking of Camelot." His tone was too casual, which immediately put her on guard. "Prince Orion and his father will be coming for dinner tomorrow night. Possibly his mother and sister as well."

Adrienne's fork froze halfway to her mouth. "What?"

"It's customary for the families to meet before..."

"Tomorrow?" She set down the fork with deliberate care, fighting the urge to throw it. "Tomorrow night? I thought the betrothal ceremony was four weeks away. Why are we rushing this?"

"We're not rushing anything. You and the prince should get familiar with each other. Get to know...."

"Get familiar?" Adrienne's laugh was sharp enough to cut. "With a man I've never met? Who's being forced to marry me as much as I'm being forced to marry him?"

"Adrienne..."

"No." She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against stone. "No, I don't want to 'get familiar' with Prince Onions or his family or anyone from that arrogant kingdom."

"Prince Orion," Aldric corrected wearily.

"Same thing." She began pacing, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "What's next, Father? Should I practice my curtsies? Learn to simper and giggle and bat my eyelashes?"

"I'm asking you to have one dinner..."

"One dinner, then a betrothal, then a wedding, then a lifetime of being someone I'm not!" Her voice rose, echoing off the high ceilings. "When does it end? When do I get to choose anything about my own life?"

Aldric's face crumpled, aging another decade in an instant. "You think I want this? You think I don't know what I'm asking of you?"

"Then don't ask it!"

"I don't have a choice!" His fist came down on the table, rattling plates and goblets. "Don't you understand? Silvara is vulnerable. We've already been attacked once. How long before they come again? How long before I can't protect you anymore?"

"I can protect myself!"

"For how long?" His voice cracked. "How many battles can you win before the odds finally catch up? Before I have to bury you next to your mother?"

The mention of her mother stole the air from Adrienne's lungs. She stared at her father, seeing the fear naked in his eyes, the desperate love that was slowly killing him.

"Get familiar with the prince," Aldric said quietly. "That's all I ask. One dinner. Can you do that for me?"

Adrienne's throat was tight. "Familiar my foot. This is all bullshit and you know it."

She turned and walked out, leaving her father alone in the too-large dining hall, surrounded by flickering shadows and too much food.

༆

The night air was cool against Adrienne's face as she slipped through the palace's back gardens. She'd changed into darker clothes...practical for moving unseen through the city. Lancelot materialized from the shadows like a ghost, falling into step beside her without a word.

"You know," he said after a moment, "sneaking out of the palace to visit your lover the night before meeting your betrothed is probably poor form."

"Good thing I don't care about form."

"Fair point."

They moved through Silvara's streets in comfortable silence, keeping to the less-traveled paths. Garrett's house sat on the edge of the merchant quarter...nice enough to be respectable, not grand enough to draw attention. Exactly the kind of calculated mediocrity that should have warned her years ago.

Lancelot took up position outside the door, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt. "I'll be here. Try not to do anything stupid."

"Define stupid."

"Anything that makes my job harder."

Adrienne managed a weak smile before slipping inside.

Garrett was waiting in his sitting room, sprawled in a chair with practiced casualness. He was handsome in a conventional way, sandy hair, blue eyes, the kind of smile that probably worked on most women. It had certainly worked on her, once upon a time.

"Adrienne." He stood, moving toward her with that familiar grace. "I've been worried sick. The battle...are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." She accepted his embrace, but something about it felt wrong. Perfunctory. Like he was going through the motions. "Just tired."

"Come, sit." He guided her to the settee, keeping her hand in his. His thumb traced circles on her palm, a gesture that used to make her melt. "Tell me everything."

So she did. The battle. The interference from Camelot. The dinner waiting for her tomorrow night.

Garrett listened, his expression shifting from concern to something that looked almost like calculation. When she finished, he was quiet for a long moment.

"So you're really going through with it," he said finally. "The betrothal."

"I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice, love." But his voice lacked conviction, and he wouldn't meet her eyes. "We could run away. Leave Silvara, start fresh somewhere..."

"And abandon my kingdom?" Adrienne pulled her hand free, studying him. "You know I can't do that."

"Can't, or won't?"

"What's the difference?"

Garrett stood, pacing to the window. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight. "The difference is that one means you're trapped, and the other means you're choosing to leave me."

"That's not fair..."

"Isn't it?" He turned, and there was something in his eyes she'd never seen before. Something almost like resentment. "I've loved you for two years, Adrienne. Two years of sneaking around, of stolen moments, of waiting for you to choose me. And now you're telling me you're going to marry some prince?"

"I don't want to marry him!"

"But you're going to." It wasn't a question. "Because duty comes first. Because the kingdom needs you. Because your father asks it." He laughed, bitter and hollow. "I'm just the commoner who was never good enough anyway."

Guilt twisted in Adrienne's chest like a knife. "Garrett, I..."

"No, it's fine." He held up a hand, his expression shifting to something resigned. Almost martyred. "I understand. I do. You're a princess. You have responsibilities. I'm just... I'm just the man who loves you, watching you walk away."

"I don't want to walk away."

"But you will." He came back to her, taking her face in his hands. His touch was gentle, but his eyes were hard. "You'll marry your prince. You'll give him heirs. You'll be the queen you were born to be. And I'll be here, remembering what we had."

Something about his words felt rehearsed. Performed. But Adrienne was too tired, too emotionally raw, to examine it too closely.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." He kissed her forehead, soft and sad. "Just... remember me, when you're in his bed. Remember that I loved you first. That I would have given you everything, if you'd let me."

The guilt intensified, crushing her lungs. She buried her face against his chest, fighting tears.

✷✷⁠✷CAMELOT✷✷✷

Orion slammed into the palace suite like a storm, his mood as black as the sky outside. Dinner with his family had been a special kind of torture-his father unmoved by his report that Princess Adrienne could clearly defend herself, his sister finding the entire situation hilarious.

"We're going to Silvara for dinner tomorrow night," his father had announced, as casually as if he were discussing the weather."What? You mean who and..."

"Father, all of us, right?" Giselle had interrupted, practically vibrating with glee. "Including me? I need to see the girl who's making my big brother run mad."

"Manners, Giselle," their mother had cautioned, but even she'd been smiling.

Orion had excused himself shortly after, unable to stomach another minute of his family's amusement at his expense.

Now he stood in his chambers, yanking at his collar, wanting nothing more than to hit something. Or drink something. Or...

"You're back."

The voice came from his bed, sultry and knowing. Celeste reclined against his pillows wearing nothing but a sheer silk negligee that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her dark hair spilled across the sheets like ink, her lips curved in that smile that promised sin and satisfaction.

"I don't care about the betrothal," she purred, sitting up slowly. The negligee slipped lower. "Just come here and let me make you forget. Let me give you an heir. That's what you need, isn't it?"

She stood, moving toward him with feline grace. Her hands went to the negligee's ties, and it whispered to the floor in a pool of silk.

Orion's gaze darkened.

Celeste was breathtaking. Effortlessly beautiful in a way that made his blood run hot. He'd never bothered to untangle what he truly felt for her-emotions had never been his priority. As long as he could worship her curves, crave her skin, and lose himself in the perfection of her body, that was enough.

And gods, it was always enough.

"Come here," Celeste breathed, and her hands were on his clothes, unfastening buckles with practiced efficiency. "Let me make it better."

His clothes hit the floor piece by piece. When her mouth found his, he tasted wine and want and everything he actually needed right now.

She'd always carried herself like a queen. Moved like she was born to rule. And her body-he knew every curve, every sensitive spot, knew exactly how to make her scream his name.

Her hands worked at his belt, freeing him with dark desire. "Bed," she commanded, and he obeyed gladly.

She climbed over him, all silken skin and knowing eyes. "Forget her," Celeste whispered, taking him in hand. "Forget the princess. There's only this. Only us."

Orion groaned as she positioned herself above him, sinking down in one smooth motion that made him forget his own name. She was heat and perfection and exactly what he craved, moving with the confidence of someone who knew his body as well as he knew hers.

"That's it," she breathed, rolling her hips in that way that drove him insane. "Just feel me. Only me."

"Ahhh...yesss"

He gripped her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh as she rode him with increasing urgency. Her breasts swayed with each movement, and when he captured one in his mouth, she threw her head back with a moan that sent heat straight through him.

"Ouuu...fuuuuuuucck"

This was what he needed. Her body, her skill, the way she took him apart and put him back together.

"Harder," she demanded, and he flipped them, pinning her beneath him with a growl.

He drove into her with punishing force, chasing the pleasure only she could give him. Celeste wrapped her legs around his waist, her nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood, and he loved it. Loved the pain, the passion, the way she matched him stroke for stroke.

"Yes," she hissed. "Like that. Fuck me harder. Ruin me."

He pounded into her until she was sobbing his name, until her body clenched around him in waves that pulled him under. He followed her over the edge with a guttural groan, emptying himself inside her, his mind finally, blissfully blank.

Pure satisfaction. Pure release.

Exactly what he needed.

Orion collapsed beside Celeste, breathing hard, his body completely sated. She'd wrung every ounce of tension from him, left him boneless and satisfied in a way only she could manage.

"Better?" She traced lazy patterns on his chest, smug and satisfied and absolutely right to be.

"Much better."

She curled against him, fitting perfectly against his side like she always did. "Good. Because you're mine, Orion. Betrothed or not. Remember that."

He pulled her closer, his hand sliding possessively over her hip. "I'm not likely to forget."

She laughed softly, already drifting toward sleep, and Orion closed his eyes.

⁠✷✷⁠✷⁠SILVARA✷⁠✷⁠✷

Adrienne woke to sunlight stabbing through her curtains and Old Rosaline's disapproving face looming over her bed.

"Up. Now. You have exactly four hours to make yourself presentable."

"Go away, Rosa." Adrienne buried her face in the pillow. "I'm dying. Terminal illness. Very tragic. Cancel everything."

"The only thing that's going to be terminal is my patience." Rosaline yanked the covers off in one smooth motion, letting the morning chill assault Adrienne's skin. "The royal family of Camelot arrives at sunset. You will be clean, dressed, and civil, or so help me-"

"Civil." Adrienne sat up, her blonde curls a riot around her face. "You want me to be civil to the arrogant prince who thinks I want him? Who probably thinks I'll be blushing and battering my lashes at his face? Who-"

"Who you're going to marry in four weeks whether you like it or not." Rosaline's voice softened slightly. "Child, I know this isn't what you wanted. But for tonight, can you just... try?"

Adrienne's jaw clenched. "Fine. I'll try. But if Prince Onions says one word triggering me, I'm stabbing him with a dinner fork."

"That's alright." Rosaline sighed. "Now, about your dress-"

"No."

"Adrienne-"

"Absolutely not." She swung her legs out of bed, padding toward her wardrobe in bare feet. "I wore trousers yesterday. I'll wear trousers today. That's my compromise."

"Your father specifically requested-"

"My father can request all he wants." Adrienne pulled out a pair of black trousers and a cream-colored blouse with gold embroidery at the collar-elegant enough to be formal, practical enough to move in. "This or nothing, Rosa. Choose."

The old woman studied her for a long moment, then nodded wearily. "You're going to give that poor prince absolute hell, aren't you?"

"That's the plan."

"Good." A small smile tugged at Rosaline's lips. "Your mother would approve."