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Summary
“My Princess?” In the mirror, her face is bright red: she had said that. Her stomach twists painfully and she clamps down on him just as he squeezes at the sides of her neck. “Say it.”
“Your Princess,” Zelda gasps, eyes trained on his reflection. “Your Princess— I’m your Princess.”
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Her appointed knight steps away from their horses, back still turned to the hunting party, and cuts Zelda a dark stare. Her cunt clenches needily, she knows what that look means. His Princess. The audacious endearment sits heavily on the back of her tongue, burning like bile.