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    Summary

    “Have any of you seen combat?” she dares to ask. It was the first question she wanted to ask the moment she entered the room, the answer already clear in the nuisance of their house banners flooding the throne room, decorative feathers and jewels hanging from all of them. Peacocks among wolves.

    They all stare at her with red stained cheeks. “Real combat,” Caitlyn clarifies when one of the knights begins to step forward, his stature of someone who’s barely seen the sun outside of a brothel. He steps back only for the nameless knight to take a step forward.

    Caitlyn doesn’t recall closing the distance, something in the knight acting as a siren call to the princess. “You,” Caitlyn states simply. It isn’t a judgement or an accusation. But remembrance. The way her gloved fingers felt when taking the favor from Caitlyn’s hands, her helmet still hiding the whole of her face.

    “The one and only, Princess” she quips quietly. She doesn’t bow her head as the others had when she met them at eye level. No. This knight raises her chin. Not in defiance but in something Caitlyn can only describe as a challenging reverence.

     

    I dare you to choose me as I am.

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