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YanPrincess!Reader who only goes to watch the joust if she knows the knight with the three feathers in his helm, is going to be there. She only has eyes for one. No one else deserves her favor. She acts appropriately for her station, appropriately dousing new knights with praise when decorum demands. But if a satchel of coins found its way into her knight’s quarters, she could accuse him of theft. Frame him, with full believability. But it was a token. The only safe way to express her undying devotion. A parcel of jewels here. An expert tailored cloak there. An anonymous secret just between them. She would take the fall for it, if it ever came to that.
Most often than not, when he came home, he could expect a wrapped gift tucked into a corner of his house. She was quick, efficient. Slipping in and out while he was visiting friends, or training. She knew she could be killed for it. A scandal perfect for roasting her over the fires of propriety. But it was so fun watching him from her window. Seeing him frantic, as he scrambles to find the newest gift as soon as he gets home.
She had the perfect view into his windows from her own. She couldn’t believe her luck when she found her favored knight moved so close to the castle. She liked teasing him, making him just as on edge around her as she was around him. He was none the wiser that it was his princess who was playing with him in such a cruel way. Making him delirious and on edge, for no other reason than to satiate the itch in her chest.
Reader who is desperate for any proximity she can get. When she leaves for the country of her future husband, she requests the protection of the three feathered knight. So, she can continue to be greedy with him. To consume his presence through her skin, just so she doesn’t feel so detached from rationality. Every inhale of air into his lungs is proof that he’s alive, and evidence to support her in her delusion. It tells her that he can take more from her. More teasing and prodding. That if she digs her fingers in harder, he won’t break. The rise and fall of his chest under his tunic only goads her on in her fantasies.
It makes her picture him breathless. More so than he is after a match. After he’s been thrown from his horse and has gotten the wind knocked out of him. It makes her twist in her seat, the thought of him barely holding himself together. Of his limbs being uncooperative and sluggish, head lulling low from dizziness. She is uncertain why this thought makes the itch she has for him worse. But she indulges herself in him because of it.
She knows she won’t be able to continue with her offerings. He would grow too suspicious. So, she lets herself search for more intimate moments. A bath in the stream. Where she hides behind foliage and watches intently as he washes the grime of travel from his skin. A drink at the inn. Face flushed, and grin wide. More at ease with himself than he’s been recently.
She scolds herself the entire time when she sneaks into his quarters late at night. A barrier she hadn’t let herself cross before. She kneels by the side of his bed and hopes that he’ll never be pulled away from her. Protected in her sphere of influence.