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Juliet couldn’t fathom how gently her knight touched her when he was given the chance.
She knew he wasn’t weak, not in the slightest, and yet he held back with her. The princess had spied on him training with other knights in the courtyard when she was supposed to be doing her studies and watched as he won against every opponent, sparks flying from their blades as they clashed. He was the roughest out there, wolf-like endurance as he called up another man only a minute after clearing the arena from the previous fight - it made her head spin to watch him work. It was the only time she got to see him without his helmet, from that third-story window, see him win and then throw his head back and smile wide as he rested his blade on his shoulder in triumph, using the other hand to help up his companion. Invigorating, it became, to watch him run a gloved hand through that deep red hair, face in the sun. He always wore his helmet around Juliet, a sign of his dedication, a sign of his respect for her, but by the gods there had been times recently where she wanted to take it off of him herself and look at him up close - look at him the way only the sun had been allowed to. Days spent sat at her bedroom door reading, she’d heard the rumors through thin walls, whispers that Sir Kingsley, son of the former Captain of the Royal Guard, had never taken a lover. Whispers that he went into town from time to time but only ever went to see his mother, wondering why such a renowned name, such a handsome face had never shown interest in any of the maids or towns-girls like the other men his age. Juliet wanted to ask, wanted to know , wanted to get him alone and look into the brown eyes she’d only seen through the slit of his helmet as she did, she wanted the answer. The strong, handsome, and unattainable man she called hers - she wanted to know him and all his secrets.
Her pursuits had started small but she could not believe how much they’d paid off in the month since. She had started by giving him simple attention, bading him good morning or afternoon when she entered her chambers, asking how he was doing, using his name in her questions, and she’d never felt her heart skip as many beats as it did when he got flustered by her. He fumbled for an answer, in those first few days, but always regained his composure enough to bow to her, thank her for asking, and tell her he was doing well - never forgetting to add “your highness” to the end of whatever he said to her. His voice was beautiful, a gentle sound, not intimidating like his deep-voiced friends tended to be, and while she held it together well in front of him, that first time he’d answered all soft and pretty she’d gone into her room and smiled for the rest of the day, playing his words over and over again in her mind. Anytime the 20-year-old saw him - quite the common occurrence seeing as he was her chamber guard - butterflies would flutter about in her stomach, even creeping into her lungs and stealing her breath from time to time. The blonde wanted to know him, wanted to meet him outside of their roles and court him properly, find out what lie behind knightship and courtesy in Sir Kinglsey.
It took a little less than a week to ask him to walk with her to the dining room. She could tell the request sent a panic through him judging from how he looked at his friend before looking back to her, asking through stammers if her ladies in waiting were alright, as they tended to fulfil the role she was asking of him. Juliet had reassured her caring knight they were quite alright, making sure to look up at him through her eyelashes when she told him she wanted to walk with him this afternoon, not missing his sharp inhale. He’d softened after he exhaled, breathing out a quiet “of course, your highness,” and offering an armored arm for her to rest hers on. She had taken him up on his offer, remembering the cold of the armor against her fingertips but the warmth in her chest as they walked across the castle, Juliet trying to make small talk with the quiet man. His anxiety radiated off of him, during that first walk, but after the third, he began to relax a little. He began to hum along to her ramblings, answer some of her surface level questions of his history at the castle, and even if she always followed “your highness” with “please call me Juliet,” it was the one request he never listened to. If it had been anything else she would’ve mentioned it to someone but she found it endearing, the way she could tell he was smiling under the protective gear.
On their tenth walk she attempted to hold his hand. On the way to the library she was uncharacteristically quiet, inching her hand towards his with each step, still making conversation here and there but focused more on putting one foot in front of the other. He was quiet today too, as if he knew, but she couldn’t decipher the expression he wore under the mask. However, he didn’t pull away, he let it all happen, a lack of apprehension that made her heart pound in her ears, and although she could feel his eyes on her as she refused to look anywhere but forward. The two stopped when they reached the grand mahogany doors but Juliet didn’t let go, instead watching with warm cheeks as her knight moved to face her, cradling her hand in his with a softness she couldn’t fathom coming from the warrior before he bowed. His face was only an inch away from her hand and for a moment she forgot about the mask and hoped he might kiss it, feeling instead his warm exhale brush her knuckles before he released it and it fell, like a feather, back to her side. She felt in that moment as if she might float off the ground, weightless in the heavy stone castle, heavy, littered with heavy gold. The blonde watched as his hand came to rest on the hilt of the sword at his belt, hearing his smile rather than seeing it.
“Enjoy your studies, your highness,” He had said, and she remembered nodding, murmuring her gratitude before watching him walk away, pushing the door to the library open on auto-pilot and sitting in her usual chair to read. She couldn’t recall a word of what she read when her ladies asked later that night, fumbling through some fake answer as she carded her hands through her hair, the very hand his breath had touched still warm from it.
The small touches he graced her with always took her breath away, how he let her hold his hand after that day, how he held it, curling around hers like it was precious and it would be a shame to let go, how he seemed to make sure their fingers brushed when he handed her something, but it wasn’t just the touch, not after those first few weeks. Everything he did seemed to light a fire in her gut, in her chest, as if he had cracked flint and steel together anytime his eyes lingered on her, or he spoke quiet so only they could hear, or even how he spoke to other knights when they passed them - standing straight as he nodded at them, a stern “sir!” of acknowledgement coming from within the helmet - and she couldn’t get enough. Sir Kingsley made her feel human, like a common girl rather than an heir to a throne, made her feel like she had wings and could fly from her gilded cage. Even her ladies saw it, teasing her and asking questions as if they were girls at a slumber party, as if they were all teenage girls again listening to Marta tell the story of her first kiss. She would always get too flustered to speak clearly, not that she’d know what to say when they asked “what are you two?” but she adored it all the same.
It had changed since the tenth walk, developing in ways she could only dream of. Her father had began allowing him to go with her during horseback riding around the castle grounds, she’d gotten him to start coming with her on garden visits, she’d learned his schedule by heart, sneaking down into the kitchen on nights when he worked alone - though that in particular had taken a lot of reassuring and planning - and she’d never felt more alive. As a child, she’d always imagined meeting a foreign prince at a royal ball and falling in love, but as her knight learned exactly how she liked to have her toast while she sat on the counter in her nightgown on a night that was otherwise forgettable, she stopped hoping for prince charming.
Today had again changed everything, an unexpected day that had easily become one of the most eventful in her life thus far - he’d finally offered to take her to the nearby village. It was something she’d wanted to do since she’d learned of the world outside the castle at age 5, even moreso when she learned that he was from a rural village himself. She daydreamed about it anytime she could, leading to it often being the favorite topic for their walks through the halls, until finally when they walked to the stables for their usual trail ride, he leaned down to her in an action that made those butterflies flutter and whispered into her ear that he’d hidden a spare set of commoners clothes by one of the entrances into the woods and they could go to town today if she so pleased, just for an hour or two.
She’d never wanted to take his helmet off and kiss him more than she did at that very moment.
It seems the gods had felt her desire after they snuck off castle grounds as time seemed to slow, watching him pull off the mask she’d gotten to know, shaking out his auburn red hair from atop his horse. He shot her a nervous smile, as if to ask for permission, and she learned that he had freckles - an observation that subconsciously made her let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her horse, Molly, shifted her weight beneath her rider, and for the first time since she was a child Juliet worried she’d fall off, heat blossoming across her face. His brown eyes caught the morning sun and she saw a flash of gold as he dismounted, coming up to her with one hand outstretched, the other tucked behind his back and holding his horse’s loose reins. Her knight was shy and it made her heart melt, smiling at him from the saddle. He was shy, considerate, and nervous beyond measure from the way he bounced on the balls of his feet, excited even if it was such a short trip. He had already reassured her on the way that he had the weapons necessary to keep her safe and she trusted him with her life, a person she’d only known for a few months now.
“Your highness, may I help you down?”
He was shy, considerate, and hers, even if only by title.
She took his hand.
…
Juliet didn’t realize she was bleeding until she took off her commoner’s dress at the edge of the river. Her knight had led her here minutes prior after the chaos of the ambush, calloused hands with bloodied raw knuckles softly taking hers, guiding her to where they’d decided to leave their clothes and capes and curling her shaking fingers around the handle of a long jagged knife. Even with pounding disorienting adrenaline running through her body, she saw a flash of determination in those amber eyes she’d fallen for, a set of eyes that fell closed as she felt her hand be lifted to meet chapped lips.
She felt her knight press the lightest of kisses to the back of her hand, just like she’d hoped a few weeks ago outside the library.
“I will fix this, your highness.”
It hadn’t been more than a few minutes that she’d been alone before her heart finally stopped drumming in her ears. The sound of the river brought her from her dream-like haze, kicking her into shaky action as she brought her dress from its hiding place and looked around before she began to undress. The back was easy enough to untie, even if she had no mirror to assist her, as was to shrug off the sleeves - one hand kept on her chest to keep her bra from coming off too - but as she went to stand it was as if her knee had given out under her. Juliet caught the gravel beside the river to prevent her from careening into it, wincing as she felt a pain erupt from her hand, but that wasn’t her main concern.
For someone taught war strategy, she’d never really seen blood, not until she pulled the rest of her dress off and looked down at her legs.
It was only one leg, thankfully, but the gash looked foul, even if she couldn’t remember how it had happened. She heard a ringing in her ears just looking at it, bringing a hand to it and nearly throwing up her breakfast when she felt how warm the blood was. The wound almost seemed to have a pulse, a feeling logistically she knew was just her own heartbeat, but she swore it moved under her touch, steadily pouring down each side of her thigh and trickling down towards her knee. From her lessons she knew that any higher wouldn’t hit an artery, a thought in of itself that made her head hurt more than it already did, if that were possible. She didn’t know what to do, watching the blood move across her body, where her knight had gone, how it had all gone so poorly in just a few hours.
She remembers the men calling her knight one name, him responding another, the men laughing. The redhead had shot her a worried look when they first spotted him, first called out to him as Aster , laughing in his face as he told them Aster had died when they were children, that his name was Phillip, how he’d rested one of his calloused gentle hands on the hilt of his sword and stepped in front of her. The men were drunkards, nothing more than washed up sailors if she had to bet, and yet their taunting held something sinister, as if they’d hoped to find her and her knight on their day ashore.
“Likely story, we know Cap’n didn’t have no son, not our Cap’n.”
Their words had weight, one that only got heavier the more they spoke, but in the alley when the first bottle broke she was forced to put her questions aside.
She didn’t know what name to call, looking back down at her bleeding thigh. It was either Phillip Kinglsey, the one who won the sparring matches against his friends, who guarded her doors while she changed, she slept, she bathed, her Phillip who’d given children piggy-back rides in the town square and introduced her to the market-stand owner, or it was Aster Kinglsey. A woman, it seemed, that she’d only discovered existed today yet felt like she’d known since their first meeting. There had been something different about Sir Kingsley from the very beginning, in a way she understood now, different from the other men. It was hidden, hidden well, hidden in the way her knight’s eyes tracked her with something other than the lust she’d unfortunately grown familiar with as she aged, the gentle way her knight held her hand, how she dropped her shoulders when Juliet talked to her, Aster who she saw whenever her knight’s eyes caught the light, or looked at her for permission before doing something menial, or tried the apple at the market to make sure it was safe before offering it to her, ready to take the fall if it wasn’t. She was enamored with whoever had been under the helmet in these past few weeks, and yet she felt like she’d only met the full person 20 minutes ago. Juliet looked back down to her thigh, her breath coming fast now as it didn’t seem to stop dripping blood, her hands on the gravel bank of the river starting to go numb from how tightly she squeezed the rocks.
“Kingsley,” She called out weakly, probably barely heard over the river’s singing, interrupted by her hyperventilating lungs that cried out for more air, “Kingsley!”
The sound of hoofsteps had never been more welcoming. It felt like only a second had passed before her Kinglsey was by her side, moving her long curls so that her knight could rest a warm hand between the princess’ shoulder blades, using the other hand to guide her face towards hers, mouthing something she couldn’t hear over her own heartbeat.
She had never been more certain that was going to bleed out in a forest, by the side of a river, in her underwear.
“-cess? Princess you’re alright, I have you, I’m going to get you fixed up, alright?” Her knight’s voice finally reached her ears, her voice a soft thing that shook with each word, her thumb dragging back and forth across her cheek. She couldn’t do anything really besides stare, trying to regain control of her body in any way she could. Kingsley told her she was doing perfect, miming taking a deep breath and Juliet parroted the motion, as if there was anything else she could do. The deep brown of her knight’s eyes were grounding beyond what she could ever have imagined, voice even more so.
“I’m going to bandage you up, is that alright?”
Kingsley pulled her hand away from her cheek as Juliet took another deep breath and finally nodded, pulling the other from her back a moment later, and the wounded animal beneath her skin almost cried out at the lack of contact. She had enough sense to look away from her knight’s eyes and instead follow her hands, watching through exaggerated deep breaths as the sword wielding hands reached for her leg. Kingsley looked up at her from her knees, the gentle edges of the river lapping at her boots, both hands hovering above her knee, just below the wound. Her knight looked at her for permission, as she always did, and instead of answering she lifted to meet them through gritted teeth, pain blossoming through her from the movement, an indecent sound of discomfort following suit.
The way she fought the drunks in the alley, Juliet half expected her touch to be rough, half expected the adrenaline to take over within her knight and for the grip to be tight - it was anything but.
Whenever she thought back to this moment later she’d go red in the face thinking about how Kingsley had touched her. It was so full of care, the way all but her thumbs curled around her thigh, so devoid of deceit or malicious intent while holding the princess’ life and reputation in her hands, as her palms delicately shifted up closer to the wound and she got closer. Juliet hissed a breath when her knight wiped some of the blood from around it, met immediately with apologetic “I know”s from the person in front of her. For the first time in a few minutes she could hear her heartbeat in her ears for a reason other than the wound. Kingsley pulled away after examining it for a second more, cursing under her breath before swiftly pulling her shirt over her head - Juliet only now realizing that her knight had shed their leather armor sometime in the past few minutes - and began tearing it into strips. She could only watch in silence as her knight worked at the fabric, the woman before her proving distracting enough to turn the pain into a dull ache, even if only for a moment. The riverbank was shielded by trees but some light spilled through the canopy of leaves, painting Kingsley’s bare shoulders with spots of gold as the muscle moved beneath her skin, the pale bandage-like fabric binding her knight’s chest a stark white compared to the shadow from the trees. She was beautiful, draped in a gold light that turned her choppy hair to fire, that made her skin seem even more sunkissed than it was, and she fleetingly hoped it wouldn’t be the last time she’d see her knight like this. Juliet didn’t need any more confirmation than that bandage, catching Aster’s eyes as she finished with most of the shirt. The redhead seemed to flounder under her direct, examining, curious gaze but she shook her head free of whatever thoughts had surfaced, reaching for her leg again, looking at her before touching. If they were somewhere else, if she hadn’t just witnessed the first fight of her life, she would’ve sent her a different kind of nodding yes, though looking at the young woman in front of her, someone very different from prince charming, she didn’t quite know what it would imply. Juliet felt a calloused soft hand lift her bleeding leg, the other slipping a few strips of the fabric under it before Aster exhaled, a steely focus coming over her face as she held the fabric, one that made her nervous.
“Your highness, this might hurt, but I promise you that I know what I’m doing, okay?”
“What do you m- fuck!”
…
It only took Aster a few minutes to bandage her wound, explaining that the bandage had to be tight so her bleeding would stop, apologizing for any additional pain she’d caused. The redhead wiped the tears that had fallen across Juliet’s cheeks after rinsing her bloodied hands in the river, continuing to apologize over and over again for ever thinking this was a good idea. The princess felt a breeze move through the curls running down her back as her knight knelt beside her in regret, head bowed as if ready for punishment - though she was more focused on the chill that went through her than she was about dealing any blow.
“Ast- um, Kingsley, can you help me with my dress? I’d… I’d like to go back to the castle now,” Her voice portrayed the fatigue she felt after the events of the past hour, words dragging and quiet, but even as soft as they were Aster sprung to action, rising from her kneel and answering her faithful “of course, your highness” before grabbing the red and cream dress she’d left the castle wearing in one hand. The other was outstretched to her, as it had been before she’d dismounted Molly what felt like eons ago, that same encouraging shy smile on her knight’s face. Embarrassment overtook the princess, remembering her near trip into the river when she’d tried to stand earlier, looking at Aster from the ground, the person she adored. She couldn’t help but draw her hands to her chest, finding a curl to nervously card her fingers through instead of making another attempt to take the hand offered to her.
“I’m not sure I can, I nearly fell in before,” The confession felt unbecoming of her status, of her life, and still Aster’s expression did not waver, if anything it grew softer.
“Before I was not here, your highness, I won’t let you fall,” the redhead replied, a warmth spreading through her as her knight looked at her, admiration and a fierce loyalty blazing in those sun-caught amber eyes she’d come to adore studying in the past few hours. I won’t let you fall. She trusted the person before her, the stranger she felt like she’d known for years and only met just today.
She took her hand.
Putting weight on the leg shot a pain through her that she had never felt before, but the other held her weight, even if most of it was now leaning into her knight’s bare shoulder and side. Aster was reassuring and encouraging with every movement, soothing when all she could do was try and stay upright. Her stomach rumbled, noontime fast approaching, adding another ache to her previously unmarred body. The blonde felt the shoulder she was leaning on move behind her, a muscular arm gently snaking its way around her, forearm adding another point of support to her side. It was electric, all things considered, to be this close, to be encompassed by her touch on all sides, to turn her head and feel her knight’s collarbones against her cheek, to breathe in deeply and smell Aster. Blood had been the only thing she’d smelled before, a metallic thing as if she were in a metalsmith’s shop, being shown the next ceremonial sword her father would be anointing the newest knight with, but Aster smelt nothing like that. She could hear her knight’s murmurings of “there we go” or “you’re doing wonderful, your highness,” in her ear as she was guided back into her dress but all she could do was take another deep breath, inhaling the smell of leather, of campfire smoke, of the earth - of her Aster. Hers, if only by title.
Aster didn’t take away her support even after the princess was clothed, instead slowly twisting to face the girl, tenderly lifting her arms so they could loop around her neck, her own weapon-wielding hands finding their way around her waist. Juliet knew she was doing it so they could get moving but the movements took her breath away, pale green eyes finding brown once more.
“Is this alright, your highness?” The redhead only had to breathe it to be heard, her warm honey words hitting her face as light as mist, and she felt her lips part as she exhaled in response, gaze flickering down to the chapped lips that had just spoken before coming back up, a movement she knew didn’t go unnoticed by the taller.
Juliet went to say yes, that it was more than alright, but the words didn’t come out, as if suddenly all dried up. She licked her lips, not missing how Aster mimicked her earlier motion, eyes tracking the movement before coming back to look at her. There was a wanting in the low-lidded look she was given, in the way her knight’s thumb ran itself back and forth across her hips, one she wanted to give into in that moment, more than anything. She wanted to say yes, an answer to an unspoken question and the spoken one all the same, but it wasn’t what came out.
“You called me princess earlier, when you found me.”
What?
It made Aster’s mouth fall open, her eyes widening at the words. She felt her knight stiffen beneath her hands and had to resist the urge to card her hands through her dark red hair, wondering when she’d get to again, to be this close. Her knight looked beyond worried, as if she was resisting something too, probably to kneel and bow her head like she’d been taught to when apologizing. Juliet wanted to learn everything about her, at that thought, how she’d snuck through knight training, why she’d done it, if anyone in the castle knew.
“I’m sorry, your-”
“No, it’s,” She interrupted, stopping herself to let the smallest of smiles grace her lips, “it’s quite alright.”
She watched as worry and regret twisted into confusion, an expression that made her knight look a bit like the floppy eared dogs some of the stablehands kept on the property, the ones who’d tilt their head when they didn’t understand what their command was, just like Aster did in front of her. The comparison made her laugh, a reaction opposite to what she should have done, a gentle thing in response to her knight treating her with what would be seen as disrespect by calling her the improper title, in response to the utterly forbidden way she was holding her waist, after learning she was a woman this whole time, after the outing planned by her knight had led to her own injury.
“Your highness?” Aster prompted, head still tilted, brows still furrowed, only softening when Juliet brought a hand from where it lay on the back of her neck to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. Her leg throbbed, her stomach ached, she wasn’t sure how she’d even walk to her room without causing a disturbance, and yet she couldn’t help but smile in her knight’s hold. The redhead nearly melted at the touch, leaning into her hand like a moth to flame, as if that very touch meant the world.
“How many times must I ask you to call me Juliet?”
It was a familiar question, one she asked maybe once a day, a question that made Aster smile back at her, providing the same answer she had for weeks - answering like it was the first time. Comfort, comfort hidden in the familiarity.
“Always once more, your highness. Can I help you onto your horse?”
She didn’t miss the longing in the knight’s expression, the longing swirling, mixing, colliding with something she couldn’t quite place.
“That sounds lovely.”
…
On their way back they figured out their story, Aster hidden away once more under her armor and Juliet riding side saddle beside her. Her knight would carry her in, after they put away their horses, and if anyone were to ask they’d explain that the heat had gotten to her and she needed to lie down was all - carrying her would conserve her strength. It seemed like the perfect plan until the princess remembered an incredibly important part of her schedule for the day, the schedule she’d gone over this morning before her world was turned on its head.
“Oh my gods,” She remembers saying, clutching both reins in one hand and using the other to cover the bottom half her face, groaning in response to Aster’s panicked “what?” - mad at herself more than anyone else. How had she forgotten? Sela had even reminded her this morning as she helped with her hair, how had she forgotten something so important-
“I am supposed to be bathed today,” Juliet had admitted, looking down at her legs, to the hidden gash, to her hands, hidden underneath borrowed knight’s gloves which had barely been injured but had still required some cleaning nonetheless, looking up only to see a silver helmet - she could only imagine how pale she was beneath the mask.
“What are- what does that mean? Why- is that bad?” Her knight had asked as they neared the stables now, having to ask quietly as the forms of people shoveling hay came into view.
“I am a princess, do you think my father would let me bathe myself?”
“ Fuck .”
They had played it off well, pulling into the stable, even if the young stablehands made it incredibly difficult. The boy nearest to them bowed so deeply his head almost collided with his knees while Aster dismounted, speaking too fast to be comprehensible as he did so. Within seconds he righted himself, pulling over the stairs so she could properly dismount her own mare, leading with her good leg before finding refuge in her knight’s arms. The boy must not have been older than 13 but he gave an alarmingly observant look between the two of them, even as they told their cover story. He bowed his head at them, giving a quiet “of course, your highness,” before turning to lead the horses to their stalls - undoubtedly going to his friends to spread the tale. Her knight cursed under her breath and if they didn’t have a part to play she would’ve teased her about such vulgar language but instead they made their way for the castle, having to stop more than once when people rushed up asking if the princess was alright, demanding where they’d been: it was exhausting after the events of the past few hours.
Yet Aster did her part, telling the story with ease, lying to her fellow royal guards, the advisors, or even the maids. It was almost admirable, how well she acted her part, an act that made her think back to the past few weeks she’d spent “getting to know” her knight. She wondered for the first time if she’d been lied to, lied to by “Sir Kingsley.”
They reached her doors before she had the chance to think on it further. The redhead told her story once more, the tale strengthened by the nod she supplied, and the two guards parted for them to enter, met by another obstacle as her dear ladies in waiting nearly rushed them. They let Aster carry her in enough for the doors to close before starting their fussing, ushering her knight to rest her on the bed, to turn around, and to not dare eavesdrop. Their empty threatening made Juliet laugh, even in the dizzying commotion of her three best friends fluttering about her, and she swore from the corner of her eye she could see Aster’s shoulders drop a little, relax a bit at her laughter.
“I’m alright, girls, I swear it. I got overheated on our ride and Sir Kingsley brought me to a shaded spot so I could cool down - I’m sorry I took so long to return.”
As she spoke she reached out her hands to squeeze each of theirs, to reassure her loving friends. They’d started out years ago as unattainable girls that she wanted to befriend more than anything, maids who treated her as if one wrong move would bring their deaths, but now, a decade later, she couldn’t help but look at them each with such love. Sela with her permanent motherly pout but who always snuck her sweets when she’d ask for a water, who loved to do her hair, Ava who played cards with her on rainy days, who had the best eye for color out of them, and Marta who made them all feel like teenagers again with her tales of boys, of commoner music, the one who snuck the three of them dirty books from her father’s study that they’d all read and squeal over. She almost teared up thinking about it as their voices got quiet and they asked how it had been to be out with Sir Kingsley all day, a question she shooed away with a hand, hiding her growing smile with the other. Ava and Marta looked at each other before looking at her, silent gasps on their faces, Sela looking at said knight’s back and straightening up with her hands on her hips.
“We’ve got it from here, Sir, her highness needs some rest-” It wasn’t a request to be refuted, closer to an order, but regardless Juliet reached out and grasped the skirt of her blue dress, almost desperately.
“Sela, I want him to stay,” She interrupted firmly, hearing a disbelieving laugh and a shocked “Juliet!” from beside her, looking back and forth between one of her oldest friends and her knight. Sela’s near-black eyes held concern, a type she could never truly understand, but she tried to reassure her with a pleading look.
“But, but you need a bath and some rest?”
Juliet nodded, feeling what could only be her affectionate Ava curl a hand around her bicep in support.
“I know,” she spoke slowly, as if to an animal, “I was thinking… I’d like to bathe myself tonight.”
The room was silent after her words, the distant coos of birds outside becoming the only sound heard in the room besides baited breath. She turned to look at Marta sitting across from the bed on her vanity stool, seeing the smile she bit down, a surprising amount of pride hidden in the curve of her lips, to Ava beside her who gave her arm three squeezes, a code they’d made as kids whenever she needed to do something brave - an “I am here,” a message hidden in easy affection. Looking back at Sela was the hardest part, the closest person she had to an older sister, the woman two years older than her who couldn’t help but act like she knew more than Juliet ever could. She could never be mad at her, the protective shield she could easily hide behind here at the castle, but she’d learned of the real world today, not that Sela could know it.
“Who will protect you?” The older of them asked, almost in a whisper, refusing to look at her knight by the door. She chose to ignore the “protect you from him?” that she implied, focusing instead on meeting her question with an answer of certainty.
“Sir Kingsley will.”
“He’s a man , Juliet, just like the rest of them.”
“He is different, Sela, he is my knight.”
Her most loyal friend seemed to deflate, knowing the argument would continue no further from the tone she used, probably thinking about how naive she was, a sentiment that would’ve shone true if it were anyone but Aster stood in the room with them. The silence returned, only intensified by the staring contest between the two women, but as she always had Sela looked away first. As each of her friends conceded, curtsying as taught when someone was in the room, she was shot two approving smiles, a rebellious thumbs up from Marta even, a motion followed by Ava’s giggling. Sela didn’t share the same enthusiasm, cupping her face with a worn hand, one she knew was hardened by years of work she had the privilege of ignorance to. She told her to be careful, that they wouldn’t tell her father, that if she needed anything to call. To not let him do anything that could be regretted after the fact. Juliet nodded, thanking her for trusting her judgement, and the ravenette before her couldn’t resist rolling her eyes with just a hint of affection in the movement, exhaling before following after the younger girls. As she crossed Aster, Juliet watched as she poked a sharp nail into her silver breastplate, an obvious threat leaving her lips, though inaudible from the other side of the room, the blonde smiling to herself when her knight dipped her head, placing a fist over her heart in a signal of gratitude.
Juliet knew she’d never hear the end of this once she regrouped with her friends later, she knew they’d have millions of questions.
But that was for a later time, silently watching the secret back door to her room as it settled closed, watching as Aster took off her helmet, coming over and resting it on the vanity by the bed. She ran a hand through her deep red hair, hands she’d come to meet in the past few hours, before her knight knelt before the side of the bed where the princess was sitting, head dipping once again.
“Whatever you need done, your highness, I will do.”
She figured out, in that very moment, what it was that lingered in every soft touch she felt, in each word, in each second of the deep eye contact that had only started today but they had been passing back and forth for weeks. It was devotion, dedication and devotion as if her knight had invented it just for her.
“Stay, stay with me?” It was a question, a vulnerable breath cast onto a burning ember, hoping for flame. Aster raised her head, still kneeling at her feet, to meet her crystalline peridot eyes.
“As you wish, your highness.”
…
On a later day, much later than she could fathom, a dreamy hope she couldn’t express now without being sent to the madhouse, she would compliment Aster on her self-control as she sat on the stool in the corner of her bathroom. Still a princess, she made sure the suds in the tub would obscure anything too revealing, but if her knight and her had switched placed, if she was on the receiving end of the siren eyes she cast the redhead’s way, there would be a lot more water on the floor than their would be the tub. It was so endearing, the way Aster refused to be anything like the men she pretended to be one of, who had turned and closed her eyes when Juliet had lowered herself into the hot water, only turning back when she said it was alright to do so. Aster, who had offered to stand outside, even if her posture showed she didn’t want to, who had kept on her metal armor until Juliet requested she take it off, that it couldn’t be comfortable.
The princess rested her head on her dripping wet arms as they perched on the side of the tub, crossed beneath her chin. It had been a quiet affair, unlike the usual hour set aside for her bathing full of gossip and giggling, but she had to admit she liked listening to the water lap at the walls of the basin as she moved, to hum with every sigh and hear her knight clear her throat from time to time, to have the privilege to watch the other girl try and hide her nerves. She’d asked if this was okay, to want Aster here, if it would make her uncomfortable, and the woman had told her no, that she could never make her uncomfortable, and even now she could tell it wasn’t discomfort that colored her cheeks that pretty pink.
“What do I call you, now?” She wasn’t sure what prompted her to ask so bluntly, but she did, speaking it softly into the warm, humid air of the room. Aster blinked slowly, as if rolling the question around in her mouth, as if trying to taste all that was hidden in it, examining her question like it was a fine cigar.
“What would you like to call me?” Aster replied slowly, as if testing the waters with each word, and she shot the warrior an exasperatedly fond look, tilting so her cheek rested against her arms rather than her chin.
“That is not an answer, you answered my question with a question.” Her snarky tone drew a disbelieving chuckle from the other girl, watching as she finally relaxed, spreading her knees apart in a way that made her heart skip a beat before resting her elbows on them, one hand coming up to hold the weight of her cheek. She only had on a sleeveless top when the armor was pulled from her, the muscle on her arms casting shadows across her skin in the low lamplight, and Juliet vowed then and there to find out what made her laugh and perfect it, that she wanted to hear that low vibrating laugh every day of her life.
“You have options, your highness. You can call me whatever you wish but most call me Phillip, it’s easier that way; I’ve gone by it since my father died.”
“And what about Aster, was it?”
It had been a question of genuine curiosity, spoken softly, though nothing could’ve prepared her for the reaction she received. She was entranced when she watched a shiver run down her knight, her eyes fluttered closed for just a moment as she called her Aster. She breathed a small “oh,” in response, all other words leaving her mind. It had probably been years since she’d been called such by someone other than a lazy old drunk and she wondered if she was the first to say it with anything but malice since she was a child.
Juliet wondered if it was the first time she’d heard her name spoken with want in the five-letter word, dripping with it, just like the water droplets that ran down her hand and onto the mat beside the bath.
Aster composed herself, looking at her with those beautiful, wide eyes of hers, her dilated pupils obvious in the flickering of the candlelight, rendered speechless from a single word. She almost felt bad when she smiled something mischievous, watching the girl in the corner, the one who looked at her, a hand over her mouth. Almost.
“Aster?”
The second time she said it she made sure to phrase it like a question, something innocent, though she knew her knight would be able to tell it was purposeful. The blonde watched as one of her knees started to bounce, something she knew to be a nervous habit many had in the castle, before Aster cleared her throat, bringing her hand from her face to clasp the other one in front of her.
“Y- Yes, your highness, you may call me that, though, though I do worry it would blow my, uh, cover.” For having just cleared her throat, her sentence came out in stammers, something that made Juliet laugh from her watery oasis. Her knight let out her own exhale, seemingly of amusement, as if aware of her stumbling, as if realizing just how crazy the situation was, whistling something asinine to herself. It was nice, to laugh with her nervous, thoughtful, kind knight, to fluster her, and she couldn’t get enough.
“Only in private then, how is that?” She replied, the action almost hard with how big her smile had grown to be, one of her wet curls falling to frame her face. Aster found herself matching the expression, Juliet watching as she nodded enthusiastically.
“I’ll admit, I’d quite like that, your highness.”
It was a warm feeling, wanting Aster. It wasn’t an animalistic beast clawing to get out, it was something gentle blossoming in her chest, butterflies fluttering in her stomach at the sight of the girl, her voice, of her. It was a nice feeling, wanting a woman.
“I’d love for you to call me Juliet.”
“I know, your highness.”
Her smile didn’t fade, nor did it in the time after. She asked how long ago Aster had become Phillip, if she’d ever been lied to for the sake of keeping the cover, and she’d be the first to admit that her stomach flipped when Aster told her she never had, that the Sir Kingsley she knew was the same person sat before her. It was Aster Phillip Kingsley, she learned, so she’d technically known more of her than anyone besides her mother and father. She learned that the very same mother lived one village over from where they had visited earlier, learned that she visited as often as she can, that her mother had been the most supportive person in her life during these past 10 years. She didn’t know how long she’d been in the bath until the water had started to turn cold, asking her knight if she could draw some new water for her, just so she could finish washing her hair and then she’d be out. Aster easily obliged, coming over and adding the warm water to the cooling tub. The domesticity of it overwhelmed her as she said a quiet thank you, hearing the redhead sit rather than seeing it as she finished with her hair.
A few minutes passed, Juliet humming something meaningless to fill the comfortable air, making sure to scrub herself clean one last time. Just as the sponge went over her shoulder did Aster finally speak again.
“Juliet?”
There was an unladylike slap as the sponge hit the surface of the water, whipping her head to look at her knight. She leaned back against the wall, sheepishly scratching the back of her neck with one hand, the other tapping nervously on her knee, and all Juliet could hear was her heartbeat in her ears as her gaze met the princess’. Juliet, she’d called her Juliet. The blonde let out a breath when she felt the other’s focus on her, so much leaving her lungs she was dizzied by it.
“If- Gods, this is hard, if I really was Phillip, if- if I were a man, would you have still asked me to stay? Is it just because I’m a woman, that this is okay? I don’t- I don’t want to be another lady in waiting.”
The words hit her like a brick, almost knocking the wind from her, but before she could respond with her confused furrowed brows Aster started again, this time running a hand through her hair as she added a single sentence that made everything clearer.
“Was that real, by the river?”
There were a dozen more silent examples that came to mind when she spoke of “that,” and she understood instantly. Their walks, sneaking into the kitchens, the library, how her knight had showed her the village, how they’d danced, how he’d protected her, how she’d kissed her hand, how they held each other, entwined at the river, example after example endless in her memory - had it all changed now that she was a woman? She was asking if there was still something there, now that Juliet knew, and words couldn’t begin to express just how much fire burned in her chest for the other. Her soul felt so big in that moment, there in the bath, she feared it would become too big for her body and escape.
“No matter who was beneath that helmet, I would’ve asked them to stay.” Her words were firm, spoken with the certainty of ink, watching her knight’s face flush, though the next part was harder to articulate, not that she didn’t try her best.
“I don’t, I don’t want another lady in waiting, I want you- I, I want you and I want to be wanted… by you. I don’t want a one-time thing.”
“I have never wanted anything in my life as much as I want you,” the redhead replied in such a desperate rush that it made her laugh, a giddy shining golden sound that she couldn’t stop from bubbling up, feeling the freest she’d ever felt sitting in the again cooling bath, leaning up on her elbows now to meet her eyes, wet hair falling over her shoulders like a waterfall.
“Walk me back from the dining room tonight, walk me back when all the advisors and my father are wine drunk and won’t remember seeing us in the hall, I’ll tell the girls to take the night off, come back with me.”
Her words were equally as excited, equally as ridiculous, equally as improper, equally as rushed as she leaned out of the tub, meeting her soon-to-be lover halfway. She felt a familiar and dry calloused hand lift hers to her lips, the blinding smile gracing her face not only seen, but memorized, felt with her kiss, heard as she spoke four familiar words, ones she never wanted to stop hearing.
“Of course, your highness.”
Devotion, dripping from Aster’s words, as if she invented it.