162ALRIGHT, SOMEONE EXPLAIN TO ME WHY THE HECK SO MUCH EFFORT WENT INTO THIS CHAPTER?!
GUYS! (And Gals!) This story was supposed to be a goddang one shot! Why am I playing through the entirety of Dark Souls 1 Remastered to get a feel for things when writing this?! I even beat the damn DLC again!
I went completely all in on writing this chapter! Do you guys even understand how amazing of a chapter your about to read?! I swear, you ladies and gents just don't even know!
Enjoy the newest addition to the story guys. :)
Warning: Lewd thoughts Beckon the Spectral Facepalm Brigade!-If salacious visions invade your thoughts, behold the arrival of the Spectral Facepalm Brigade, lamenting your impure escapades. A facepalm for every inappropriate thought! Exercise purity!
The moon's feeble glow struggled to penetrate the thick clouds, casting an eerie light over the desolate streets of Anor Londo. Patches navigated the shadows with familiarity, his shabby clothes' concealing his form as he approached a grimy and seedy bar thats only appeal was its cheap drink.
The body of an old, weathered wooden sign creaked gently in the moonlight, illuminating the faded letters that read 'The Paleblood Pint.' The atmosphere inside was heavy with the scent of stale ale, mingled with the sharp tang of spilled liquor and damp wood.
As Patches pushed open the creaking door, the clamor of the patrons and the low hum of conversations washed over him. The dimly lit tavern was adorned with worn-out wooden furniture, each table telling tales of drunken revelries and hushed conversations. The air was thick with the smog of pipe smoke.
Behind the counter stood Chester, a figure of curious elegance amid the dimness, meticulously polished glasses behind the bar of his humble tavern. The flickering candlelight played upon the fine lines of his tailored, Victorian-era attire — a stark juxtaposition against the tarnished, gritty setting. His slender fingers moved with practiced grace, deftly cleaning each glass, an air of precision about his actions.
His jet-black top hat sat tilted upon his neatly combed silver hair, and a well-trimmed goatee adorned his countenance, framing sharp, discerning eyes that remained fixed on the entrance.
Patches made his way through the dimly lit interior, the uneven wooden floorboards creaking under his footsteps. He approached the counter, leaning in slightly to speak in a hushed tone.
"Chester, my good man," Patches beamed at at the barkeep, a warm glint in his eye. "Business as usual, I see."
"Patches..." Chester replied with a tone that spoke of his less-than-enthusiastic sentiment toward the bald trickster. "What do you want?
"Whispers in the wind, speaking of mysteries yet unveiled." Patches said, with an air of exaggerated intrigue, slipping a few coins across the countertop. "Perhaps you've caught a few?"
Chester wasted no time in placing his hand across the table and pocketing the coin before replying.
"I've been poking around, but nothing substantial on this "Kaylen" character you're inquiring about. All there is are a few nobodies with a passing familiarity. Otherwise, the name is a ghost in these parts."
Patches frowned, disappointment evident in his eyes. "Then what do you have for me?"
Chester hesitated, then leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I've heard whispers from the south about trouble in Izalith. Rumor has it that a few months back, the Royal Capital was breached."
Patches raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Izalith? With the old Witch and her daughters?"
"The one and the same. There's been talks that the castle nearly went up in flames and one of the Queen's daughters was taken hostage for a time." Chester continued eerily.
"Tch. Nonsense." Patches scoffed. "If something that actually happened, it would be the only thing everyone from here to Thorolund would be talking about."
Chester leaned closer, his eyes scanning for eavesdroppers. "That's the thing. The Queen's keeping things quite hushed up, framing it as an accident and punishing anyone who says otherwise. But someone let it slip what happened and from how I heard it told, apparently it was all done by just one guy."
"One man? Against an entire castle full of gods and the old witch herself?" Patches said with clear skepticism.
Chester nodded solemnly. "Aye, a deadly one at that. Turned the place upside down, leaving a lot of dead along the way."
Patches absorbed the informant's words, calculating the potential gains that could be made from spinning this tale. A wicked grin played across his lips as he could practically already feel the gold he'd make from this lining his pockets.
"They ever end up catching the one who did it then?" Patches questioned.
"What part of "The Queen is punishing anyone who say otherwise" didn't you understand?"
"Ahhh, so you've given me a story about a man who strolled into a castle full of gods, took a princess hostage and then waltz's back out without being caught? Wonderful." Patches said as he made to leave the bar, completely feigning disinterest. "I'd love to hear the reaction of everyone else when they realize you peddle in tall tale instead of real information now."
The comment was brief, said as he was making his way out of the bar. But if nothing else, Patches had a way of making other question themselves. And Chester, after thinking it over for a time and realizing just how nonsensical the rumor sounded, decided it indeed wouldn't be worth sharing with anyone else.
As for Patches, a devious scheme was already percolating in his mind.
He envisioned spinning a narrative, a captivating tale of a rogue human terrorizing kingdoms, with Kaylen unwittingly cast as the puppet in this web of deception. The sum of gold he'd reap from Velka for this false account would be more than generous for aiding in "safeguarding" the city from such a supposed malefactor.
A merry tune danced through the air as he contemplated the riches that lay in wait, brushing aside any notion of morality or empathy for the person he would throw into the fire to obtain it.
The early morning sunlight only just began to pierce through the clouds, casting a faint warm golden glow over the majestic spires and battlements of Anor Londo's Royal capital. As the city was beginning to awaken to life with the hum of activity, one figure lay sprawled out on the roof of the castle, oblivious to the world below.
Kaylen's eyes fluttered open, and he groaned as the reality of his situation flooded back into his sleepy consciousness. He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, rubbing his aching neck.
He couldn't believe he had done it – defied Gwynevere's orders.
With is own frustrations placated by a night of rest, the reality of his transgression began to set in. Without a doubt, whatever vexation or anger she felt towards him last night will only have been made worse by his defiance.
With a resigned sigh, Kaylen got up from the ground and leaned upon the roofs parapet, taking in the breathtaking view of the sprawling cityscape below. The cool morning breeze tousled his hair, emphasizing just how small a man he truly was to be here in such an exalted place, home to the gods and their most powerful guardians.
"Idiot," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he took it all in. The events of the previous few days replayed in his mind like a surreal dream. Being blackmailed by Ciaran, being threatened by the Goddess of Sin herself, being forced to massage the body of the Princess of the Golden City.
He chuckled wryly, realizing that his decision to sleep on the roof might have been his first semblance of real defiance in this divine city. "Heh, guess I've found my rebellious streak," he muttered under his breath.
He lowers his head and closes his eyes, Kaylen pondered his options. Which, in truth, weren't much of any.
He kept hoping that some idea would suddenly pop into his mind like a light bulb to get him out of being Gwynevere's dog to be punished. Surely there had to be a way out of this situation.
"Maybe I could fake an illness?" he mused offhandedly, ignoring the faint whisper of movement that sounded at his back. "Or maybe I could just keep hiding? Tch...Yeah, right. Just stay in perpetual hiding, constantly dodging the searching eyes of a Princess for months on end in her own castle. What a plan."
Dispite his outward contemplation, Kaylen had resigned himself to the hard truth-the only way forward would be to somehow work his way back into Gwynevere's good graces.
No one here truly had his back to look out for him and the only person above Gwynevere to tell her "No" is Gwyn. Needless to say, he couldn't go to him for help.
There was no avoiding being her doormat.
Kaylen sighs again. Opening his eyes and turning slightly, he acknowledges them for the first time despite having long since noticed their approach—two figures, graceful and silent as the wind, now standing at either side of him as if they had materialized out of thin air. Their bodies clad in dark blue, loose-fitting garments set over light armor that seemed to blend seamlessly into the dim light of dawn. Over their face was a white porcelain mask lined with ivory locks.
It was the Lords Blades-the pair Ciaran had assigned to keep an eye on him.
"Morning," greeted one of the Blades nonchalantly, offering a casual nod.
"Morning," added the other, leaning against the stone parapet.
At this, Kaylen offers a somewhat curt nod that said he didn't want to talk, before turning his attention back towards his view of the city. If his internal clock was right, he had maybe just over an hour before he had to be in first formation for Ornstien.
"It's quite impressive, you know, to notice our approach so keenly," remarked the first of the two women, her voice polite yet tinged with amusement. "No need to feign ignorance. The tension in your back betrayed your awareness."
"It doesn't take much to spot someone who doesn't want to be seen." Kaylen said dryly, seemingly unperturbed by her words. "Speaking of which, walking right up to the guy you're supposed to be watching isn't exactly the subtlest approach for a pair of assassins'."
The first Lords Blade allowed a smile to play upon her lips, a hint of amusement concealed by her mask. "True, but sometimes, a direct approach can be quite revealing."
As if underscoring her point, they both drew nearer to Kaylen's person. Showing no hesitation in closing the distance between them, drawing themselves into an intimate proximity. The air thickened with a tantalizing tension, a palpable closeness that played with Kaylen's senses.
In the ensuing hush, Kaylen couldn't escape the subtle magnetism they effortlessly emanated. Their armor, crafted for battle, seemed to caress their forms to his eyes, hinting at the concealed allure that lay just beneath the surface. Every calculated step, each graceful sway of their hips, was an invitation, a testament to their mastery—a fusion of lethal prowess and a tantalizing sensuality that was impossible to ignore.
As they moved nearer, it became evident that every subtle detail was a deliberate act of enticement.
Even the seemingly inconspicuous elements, like the constant forward placement of one foot, poised for both offense and defense, spoke of their readiness and innate skill, a readiness to spring into action at a moment's notice.
Reflecting on what Gwynevere had shared about the elusive Lords Blades and their close association to Ciaran, it should come as no surprise that they were indeed artists of deception. Their movements wove a tapestry of allure and danger in a mere handful of movements, ensnaring their prey effortlessly. Kaylen, too, found himself ensnared, his gaze momentarily shifting, a glimpse of vulnerability masked by his stoic, dismissive exterior. In their presence, he felt laid bare, his own defenses no match for their bewitching prowess.
But if nothing else, Kaylen refused to let this reality show on his face for more than a single heartbeat. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction.
"You know," he began, a hint of nonchalance in his tone, "Ciaran had a way about her when she did this. More finesse and a touch more unsettling. With you two it doesn't quite reach the same level."
The Blades exchanged glances, a flicker of intrigue and amusement dancing in their eyes.
"Heh, quite the unfair comparison, pitting us against the best," one of them chimed, her voice a melodic caress as they edged closer. "But if you wish, we can strive to leave a more lasting impression."
The other Lord's Blade graced him with a subtle smile, a teasing curve to her lips beneath the mask. "Strength in numbers and all that," she teased, her voice like velvet, inviting and warm. "Rest assured, we'll strive not to disappoint."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it already. You guys are hot, and I'm supposed to play along, succumbing to your charms, only to find myself flat on my back with a blade at my throat." Kaylen responded matter-of-factly, making it clear he wasn't an easy target. "Thanks, but no thanks."
Laughter softly rippled through the morning air, a musical backdrop to their surreal conversation. Their amusement felt genuine, yet tinged with a subtle tension.
"Heh, heh, killjoy. What would be so bad about playing along for bit? Opportunities for us to enjoy ourselves are scarce, you know," the Blade on his right chimed, a mischievous glint in her eyes, her tone playfully persistent.
The other twirled a small blade that seemingly materializing out of thin air in her hand, her gaze locked onto Kaylen's face, trying to discern any crack in his facade.
"Where's your sense of adventure? Given your reputation and aspirations for Velka, we thought you might relish a warm-up with us," the other added coyly, studying Kaylen for any hint of reaction. "We're certainly a little curious to see what you're made of."
Kaylen maintained his composure. "Uh huh. And this has absolutely nothing to do with me catching you both tailing me yesterday, with Ciaran reprimanding you?"
In that moment, the two Lords Blades hesitated, their synchrony briefly disrupted by being called out.
"No~," they chimed in unison, betraying a hint of mischief—confirming that this indeed was a bit of payback for the events of the previous day.
At this, a smirk tugged at Kaylen's lips, impossible to conceal. One after another, these women—these goddesses—kept entering his life, each seemingly intent on adding their own special dash of misery. A part of him found the sheer audacity of it all almost comical.
Yet, beneath the amusement, a flicker of annoyance simmered. They played their games, veiling their true intentions behind their charming facade. It irked him, this dance of veils and shadows, making him feel like a pawn in their grand design.
He didn't like it one bit. His posture adjusted ever so slightly between the two women. A small movement, barely noticeable—a shift in the set of his shoulders, a straightening of his back.
In this moment, his fingers moved with a quiet grace, a dance all their own. A whispered touch here, a nimble brush there-smooth, precise, and unseen.
"Well, sorry to disappoint, but my idea of a warm-up doesn't involve fighting gods because their bored. And I've already got enough to worry about with anything like this to the mix." Kaylen replied calmly with a somewhat annoyed sigh. His fingers deftly collecting what they sought. A slight turn of the wrist, a subtle flourish, and the task was accomplished. "I'll tell you what I told Ciaran. If you're going to try to follow me so halfheartedly, it would be hard for me not to notice. You're caught only because you don't respect your target."
The two Blades exchanged another glance, and it seemed like they were sharing a secret joke he wasn't privy to.
"I see. Do you believe you are deserving of respect simply because you managed to overcome Smough?" one of them asked, her tone condescending.
Kaylen smirked somewhat at this. "Deserving of respect? That's not for me to decide. But earning it?" He said plainly as held up the dagger he had deftly acquired from its unassuming owner, the glint of the blade catching the light. "That would be a different story."
As a stunned silence settled is and their amused smirks fell. Amidst this quietude, Kaylen twirled the dagger between his fingers with casual ease, the glint of the blade catching the light, adding to the gravity of the revelation.
"Bit of a tip. Don't watch the mouth...watch the hands."
Without another word, Kaylen placed the dagger on the parapet before removing himself from in-between the two women and making to leave rooftop, aware of the gazes of those he was leaving behind lingering upon him. The sharp silence from the two Blades spoke louder than any words could have.
The feeling of being watched persisted even as he left the rooftop, and the sensation stayed with him even after he had gone.
But as he turn his back and left, the young human didn't give either of his would-be observers a second thought.
As Kaylen descended from the rooftop, the faint glow of early morning sunlight began to tinge the eastern horizon. The gentle hues of dawn were beginning to pierce the darkness, casting a soft, ethereal light upon the immaculate halls of the Royal Castle. The play of light and shadow added to the splendor of the surroundings, giving an aura of majesty to the polished marble floors and grand tapestries that adorned the walls.
Making his way through the corridors, the castle seemed to awaken with him. Servants in their crisp attire and laden with the weight of responsibilities were just beginning their daily routines, ensuring the castle was a haven of opulence and order. Their gazes flickered towards Kaylen, acknowledging his presence with a respectful nod or a hushed murmur, well aware of his recent trials and the rumors surrounding him.
He continued on his path, each step purposeful, each corridor leading him closer to his destination. Soon, he arrived at the entrance to the women's bath, where Gwynevere's guards stood sentry, vigilant in their duty. His nerves prickled with the dread of what awaited him inside.
With a measured breath, he approached the guards. They eyed him warily, recognizing him at a glance.
One guard hesitated with a look of clear displeasure in his eyes, before exchanging a glance with the other, and then nodded reluctantly, allowing Kaylen passage. The door creaked open, revealing the opulent space within, adorned with exquisite marble and soft, intricate frescoes. It was a stark contrast to the torment he knew he'd endure within these luxurious confines.
As Kaylen stepped into the lavish women's bath, the sight before him was both awe-inspiring and slightly unnerving. Gwynevere, the divine princess of Anor Londo, was already seated at the opposite end of the bath as if she was waiting for him, her form a study in ethereal beauty. The early morning light cast a gentle glow upon her, enhancing the radiance that seemed to emanate from her very being. Her curves and elegance were beyond mortal standards, truly worthy of the divine title she bore.
Her tone, however, was far from divine at this moment. It dripped with a barely concealed wrath as she spoke, her voice smooth but edged with disdain. "Well, well, well. Look who decided to show his face."
Kaylen hesitated, acutely aware of the delicate line he walked. "Princess, I—"
"Would thou care to disrobe and join me?" She cut him off, her patience clearly thin. "I have an ache in my foot that could use thy attention."
It was a command veiled in the elegance of a request, yet the expectation was clear. Kaylen, feeling the weight of her gaze upon him, began to disrobe, feeling a mix of humiliation and tension as he approached the large bath.
The steamy heat of the warm water welcomed him, doing little to ease his mounting tension. Swallowing hard, he approached Gwynevere until he stood close enough for her foot to comfortably reach him. He then knelt before her in the steaming water, expected her to express her outrage at any moment. But instead she placed a delicate foot upon his knee and stared down at him expectantly.
Slowly, using his thumb and forefinger, he began rubbing her foot in an attempt to soothe them both-his mind racing for a way to navigate this situation without further aggravating the princess.
"The nerve. The sheer audacity of thy actions." Gwynevere's voice sliced through the air like a whip. She sat in the opulent bath, her form exuding both divine beauty and simmering fury. "So thou believeth thou canst do as thou wish, dost thou? That thou art above the orders I give." Gwynevere remarked, her voice holding a cold edge. "Thou? A mere human."
Kaylen hesitated, feeling the weight of her anger press upon him like a physical force. "Princess, I meant no disrespect. Circumstances—"
"Silence! Thy feeble excuses only deepen thy pitiable image!" she interjected, her voice like a blade of ice slicing through him. "Thou shalt speak only when permitted. Otherwise, I don't want to hear a single sound from thy mouth. Am I clear?"
"..."
"Good. Now massage harder."
Biting his tongue and doing as she ordered, Kaylen continued his task. He tried not to give any expression of disagreement with her words, to remain passive and occupied with only the task before him, but this only seemed to have the effect of fanning the flames.
Gwynevere, her irritation escalating, shifted in the bath and turned her gaze upon Kaylen, her eyes simmering with a blend of outrage and disdain. "Tell me, Kaylen, dost thou believe I have been unjust? Treating thee with undue severity?" she said, her voice dripping with bitter sarcasm, "Speak."
Kaylen, aware of that such a question only served to stoke her own anger, chose his words carefully. "My lady, it is not my place to judge—"
"Thy place," she interrupted, barely letting him answer, her tone laced with venom, "is to obey! It is to prostrate thyself before thy betters and understand thy insignificance! Thy defiance yesterday is nothing short of unacceptable insolence!"
With no small hint of roughness, Gwynevere lifted her delicate foot and pressed it firmly against Kaylen's cheek. The sensation of her warm, moist skin skin against his own a crushing blow to his pride - a far too intimate reminder of his lowly place in the hierarchy. Her eyes bore into his, revealing the victorious satisfaction she felt, perched as if on a throne, lording over him.
"Thou ought to count thyself fortunate to even breathe the same air as royalty such as myself. Grateful to kneel in my presence, obediently tending to my every whim," she sneered mockingly.
The sharpness of her tone was calculated to belittle and demean him, to strip away any remnants of power he might have clung to. Kaylen's jaw clenched, a silent battle waged within him to contain the storm of emotions that threatened to engulf him. She aimed to shatter his resilience, to diminish him until he felt as small as she wished him to be—a humiliation that was undeniably effective.
Summoning every ounce of his resolve, Kaylen steeled himself and began to reach up, intending to delicately lift her feet from his cheek so he could resume massaging them. However, before his fingers could graze her skin, she reprimanded him sharply.
"Did I grant thee permission to shift my foot from its position?"
His hand hovered in mid-air, suspended by her authority. He felt akin to a marionette, his strings pulled by her directive. "No, Princess," he replied, his voice tinged with a strained humility as he slowly lowered his hand and shifted his gaze away from her own, leaving her foot in its place upon his cheek.
She shifted her weight slightly, leaning against the edge of the bath, her disdain palpable in the air between them. "One might assume that even a human could grasp such elementary instructions—simply doing as thou art told. Alas, thou hast already proven thy inability to comprehend thy place and my directives."
Each word she spoke felt like a deep cut to his pride, a sharp reminder that he was a mere puppet in her elaborate theater. The sting of her words ran deep, but he knew he had to endure this, to maintain the facade of strength. He swallowed his retort, his determination to keep his composure unwavering.
"Tis clear thy insolence knows no bounds," she continued, her words laced with both exasperation and a twisted amusement. "Tis almost entertaining, if it weren't so pitiful."
Each word from her lips felt like a sharp lash, stinging and gnawing at Kaylen's spirit. He fought hard to conceal the tumult of emotions, to fortify himself against this relentless verbal assault. Gwynevere persisted, her foot placed humiliatingly on his face with her toes toying with his hair, a cruel reminder of her perceived dominance, .
"I've made my decision," Gwynevere declared, her tone chillingly detached. "Thou shalt attend to my needs for the day. Thy actions of displeasing me will not go without consequence."
A surge of panic surged through Kaylen, making his voice quiver. "P-Princess, I can't-"
"Art thou defying my direct orders?'" she interjected, her eyes narrowing challengingly, her tone an icy proclamation of her superiority.
"N-No, but I have prior commitments. It could be disastrous if we were seen-"
"'Prior commitments?'" she scoffed, almost daring him to entertain such thoughts. "Am I to understand that thou dost prioritize other obligations over my commands?"
Kaylen's heart raced, torn between his loyalty to his training and the obedience demanded by Gwynevere. The chasm between his duties to Ornstien and his duties to this capricious princess seemed insurmountable. He was ensnared in a perilous game where every move carried weighty consequences and he was left to make his choice between two terrible options.
He tried again to get her to understand, "Princess, it's just I've been assigned to train with Ornstien by your fat-"
"Enough!" Gwynevere's voice cracked like a whip, her annoyance cutting through the air. "Thy excuses are tiresome. Dost thou truly believe thy words hold any weight in the face of my orders?"
"I—" he began, but she cut him off once more.
"Thou wilt be at my disposal and attend to my needs as I have commanded,'" she proclaimed, her voice as cold as ice, her gaze boring into his very soul. "Nothing else holds significance. Is that clear?"
Desperation clawed at him, but he had to try once more. He'd be screwed if he was seen with the princess. "M...My clothing, Princess," he stammered, fighting to find a middle ground amidst the tempest of anxiety, "I've been provided with only basic attire. It wouldn't befit your image to be seen with me in such rags, would it?"
A flicker of calculated consideration passed over Gwynevere's face. She angled her head slightly towards the closed bathroom door. "Guards! Fetch one of the male servant's suits for Kaylen. Make it swift."
"W-What?"
At her command, a flurry of activity erupted outside the bathroom within seconds. Muffled sounds of guards engaged in a hurried commotion, seizing the uniform of a passing male servant, drifted into the room.
Moments later, the guards opened the bathroom door and presenting a stolen uniform for Kaylen to wear.
He felt a pang of guilt for the innocent servant who would bear the brunt of this act. It was a disheartening indication that he wasn't going to just be let go.
Gwynevere, the mastermind behind this unsettling performance, subtly used her foot to nudge against Kaylen's face—a final reminder of her dominion over him. "Leave the bath and dress thyself," she directed, her voice carrying the weight of command. "I expect thee to be ready and waiting when I am finished."
Accepting the absence of alternatives, Kaylen obediently complied. He emerged from the bath, drying himself off with a towel conveniently hanging nearby, before donning the pilfered servant's uniform. It fit him reasonably well, a silver lining in this forced role.
Dressed, he stood in a hushed demeanor by the room's edge, awaiting Gwynevere's completion of her bath. He grappled with a sense of intrusion, a discomfort amplified by the awareness of Gwynevere's gaze lingering upon him as she bathed. He fought the urge to look back, to take in the sight of her vulnerable form many a man would kill to see. After all, it didn't take a genius to know she wouldn't appreciate being stared at while she washed herself.
Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, the rhythmic sounds of water reverberating within the chamber. Gwynevere took her time, flaunting her superiority even in the mundane act of bathing.
At last, she emerged from the water, her divine form revealed unapologetically, devoid of any trace of shame or discomfort. She meticulously dried herself before adorning her accustomed elegant robes, a seamless transition that spoke of her grace and poise.
"Now, follow," she commanded, her movement regal and decisive. Kaylen stood still, hesitating for the longest time, desperately searching for an alternative to obeying her. However, in mere seconds, the weight of inevitability settled upon him, a blend of dread and reluctant acceptance. His heart heavy, he understood there were no other options. And so, he did as she commanded, leaving the bath in her wake.
As he followed behind Gwynevere through the grand halls of the castle, Kaylen keenly felt the weight of curious gazes upon him. Servants and knights passed by in equal measure, their subtle glances revealing a mix of surprise, intrigue, and undisguised interest of a human walking at the Princesses side.
He attempted to shield his face with a hand, a feeble effort to retain some semblance of anonymity amidst the prying eyes. But he knew it was a futile attempt; the whispers and murmurs would likely ripple through the castle like wildfire before the day's end.
Gwynevere, seemingly unperturbed by the attention, spoke without turning back at him. "Kaylen, as thou art in my service for the day, thou art to stay close to my side at all times; ready to take my commands. Get up here."
He stole a glance at her profile, her dignified poise a sharp contrast to his palpable unease. With obedience guiding his actions, he closed the distance, matching her stride as they navigated the bustling corridors.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, a quiet lament for the inevitable gossip that would swirl through the castle. The news of his proximity to Gwynevere would spread like wildfire, and there would be no escaping the scrutiny of her father.
As more guards and servants passed them by, Kaylen grappled with the awareness that his presence beside Gwynevere had become a spectacle. He could feel the weight of their collective gazes upon him. Resigned, he straightened his posture, attempting to project an image of calm professionalism even though he felt anything but.
There was no turning back now. He was finished and he knew it.
The grandeur of the castle's courtyard unfolded before them as they stepped into the sunlight, the morning sun painting the vast space with a warm, golden hue. Gwynevere's luxurious carriage, a symbol of opulence and comfort, stood proudly amidst the grandeur. The polished wood and intricate carvings gleamed in the sunlight, a testament to the craftsmanship that adorned it. A pair of magnificent horses, strong and vibrant, stood poised, awaiting their cue to pull the ornate carriage.
Kaylen observed as the guards expertly assumed their positions—one at the front, ready to take the reins, and the other seated at his side, vigilant for any potential threats. Gwynevere, a magnetic presence, elegantly made her way into the carriage, her robes cascading like liquid moonlight.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Kaylen followed, his movements imbued with a sense of solemnity. The interior of the carriage cocooned them in opulence. Plush cushions adorned with intricate embroidery beckoned for relaxation, while the gentle scent of fresh flowers and leather reassured comfort. The carriage's upholstery, adorned with intricate patterns, combined with its gentle rocking, created an atmosphere of tranquility as they set off from the castle.
Though these comforts were the furthest things from Kaylen's mind.
He felt a heaviness settle within him, a palpable weight of knowing that his connection to Gwynevere was now conspicuously public, exposed for all to see. Any hope of concealing his interactions with the princess from Gwyn had been shattered. The consequences of this day loomed over him, an uncertain future casting its shadow.
Gwynevere studied Kaylen, her gaze lingering on his downcast expression. It bore a resemblance to a saddened puppy that had just been scolded by its master. Tendrils of guilt flickered within her heart, threatening to grow. But she wrestled them back, refusing to let them unravel her pride.
"All of this could have been avoided if thou had shown even a modicum of respect for thy betters." she said, attempting to smother her small echoes of guilt with a tone of condescension. "Disrespect only begets consequences."
"..."
Kaylen's silence was like a weight, a burden of her making. The guilt tugged at her, trying to force its way to the surface. She spoke again, attempting to bury it deeper.
"And let us not forget that thou displays such impudence even after everything I've done for thee. It was I who healed thee after thy duel with Smough, saving thy wretched life from the clutches of death. Yet still thou showest no gratitude, no respect,'" she pressed on, her voice tinged with accusation."
"..."
"I...I have given thee plenty leeway, more than thou dost deserve. Yet, thou persist in this insolence. Even going so far as to ignore my commands and defy my authority,"
As the carriage rolled on, Gwynevere's guilt intensified as Kaylen still did not reply. As she watch him remain silent and somber, and it gnawed at her like a persistent creature. Despite her best efforts to suppress it, guilt clawed at her insides.
"Say something," she finally ordered, her voice holding a note of vulnerability she rarely displayed.
Kaylen lifted his gaze to meet hers, and Gwynevere saw in his expression a mix of solemnity and acceptance. He bowed his head as he uttered words of compliance. "I apologize, my lady. I will obey your wishes."
His compliance hung in the air, and Gwynevere felt a pang of regret for her earlier treatment of him. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and it reflected in her gaze, laden with guilt as she looked at him..
A small huff escaped Gwynevere before she spoke again, her tone softer this time. "Good. Now, why art thou sitting all the way over there? I told thee to stay close." She gently patted the cushion beside her, an invitation for him to draw closer. "Come, sit next to me."
Kaylen hesitated for a fleeting moment, then acquiesced, rising from his seat across from her and settling directly at the princess's side.
It was then, just as he began to allow his gaze to lower once more so that he could return to his solemn thoughts, that Gwynevere tenderly enveloped Kaylen in her embrace, pulling him close until his forehead rested against the soft curve of her breast.
She felt his body tensed with a mixture of surprise and an electrifying awareness of their intimate proximity. A soft blush crept across his cheeks as the alluring scent of her perfume, a sweet and intoxicating essence, filled his senses, further enhancing the enchantment of the moment.
Gwynevere's fingers delicately ran through his hair, a tender gesture that sent shivers down his spine. Her eyes twinkled with a mischievous light as she peered down at him, a slight smug smirk playing on her lips, revealing her awareness of the effect she had on him.
"Stop being sad," Gwynevere, her voice a soothing melody, ordered softly, wrapping around his troubled mind like a comforting embrace. "It's dampening my mood. And I can't have thee looking so glum when thou art with me."
Kaylen, be it because of the strange fog that somewhat fell upon his thought or simply because he did not wish to, didn't move away or resist her embrace.
Struggling to regain his composure, Kaylen felt her body against his, warm and inviting. He could feel her curves through the thin fabric of her dress, every inch of her a perfect sculpture. The rise and fall of her chest against his cheek with each breath seemed like a gentle caress, like a lullaby soothing away all his worries. Making every muscle in his body relax while every nerve tingled.
Despite his efforts, the otherworldly allure of her presence made it challenging to focus on anything but the sensation of being held close by her.
"Princess, we shouldn't..." Kaylen's voice began, but before he could fully interject, she pressed her warm hand against his cheek, causing his words to falter and die in his throat. Her touch was a paradox—comforting and soothing, yet tinged with a strange electric current. Kaylen found himself inadvertently melting into the sensation.
"Shhh," she interrupted calmly, her touch silencing any protests. "Just be at ease. We wouldn't want thee saying anything to remind me I'm upset with thee, would we?"
Somewhere in the depths of his mind, a distant part of him screamed that something wasn't right, that this peace wasn't natural.
Yet, those thoughts were drowned out by the sheer serenity that Gwynevere exuded. In that moment, surrendering to the warmth and grace of her touch seemed to be the simplest, most alluring choice. The intimacy of the situation blurred the boundaries between them, leaving Kaylen in a state of tranquil uncertainty, lost in the enigmatic allure of the princess.
She smiled down at him, her eyes holding that peculiar mix of mirth and kindness. The fog in his mind lifted just a bit, as if purposefully offering him a taste of clarity.
"Better?" she asked, her voice tender.
"N-..No, not better." Kaylen said finding his voiced, a bit of his frustration seeped into his tone. Though he made no effort to remove himself from Gwynevere's embrace, even as the haze slowly faded away. "You've screwed me. Traveling so openly with you through the castle...people are going to talk, rumors are going to spread."
"Lions do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep," Gwynevere her voice gentle, yet somehow holding a twinge of superiority.
"Yeah? Well, I'm not a "Lion" or a god like you. I'm just human. And the minute your father thinks something is off, I'm done for." Kaylen lamented plainly. "And I get this is just a game to you, but it's real for me. It's real that I could end up disappearing without a trace over a foot massage. Its-...Just-...Just forget it. Don't know why I'm talking as if this is something you even think twice about."
His last words came with a sigh of acceptance, prompting Gwynevere to pause for a few moments as she looked down one him. Soon enough, the Princess simply decided to playful poke a finger against his cheek.
"How very rude to speak of me as if I am some heartless fiend, especially considering everything that has happened was brought about by thine own doing," Gwynevere explained gently. "I've been nothing but accommodating and agreeable. Thou asked for discretion from my father, and I granted it. All I asked for in return was a bit of thy time in the morning. Thou asked to meet me in my chambers to better avoid anyone taking notice, and I agreed. Only for thee to decide not to follow through on thine end of the bargain, even though it was your idea. I'm certain it came as no surprise that I was angry about it. Not to mention the many smaller acts of disobedience thou hast shown, of which I haven't even really punished thee for yet."
Gwynevere ran her hand through his hair gently, her touch a tender caress as her words carried a tone that was both casual and reprimanding.
"And now thou speak as if there should not be consequences for what thou hast done. Painting me to be the villain in an effort to excuse thy actions instead of taking responsibility," Gwynevere stated plainly. "Now... which part of that am I wrong about?"
The carriage continued its journey, its occupants nestled within a cocoon of plush comfort. Kaylen sat there, silently mulling over Gwynevere's words, feeling the tiny sting of frustration at the realization that she did, in fact, have a point.
Just as Kaylen was about to say something, the carriage came to a halt, and a guard on the outside cleared his throat to announce their arrival. "Your majesty, we have reached—"
In a moment of annoyance, Gwynevere sharply interrupted,
"I'm busy! Do not interrupt me again!"
The guard straightened up, looking slightly taken aback, but wisely chose not to press any further. Kaylen shifted uncomfortably at the show of the Princesses mood swings, but was quickly pulled in closer to her person for his efforts. As if she was denying him the option to escape.
"Well, Kaylen?" she began, her tone gentle once more. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
Kaylen sighed and relaxed himself a bit more, swallowing his pride and resigning himself the the fact that there was no point in being stubborn about it.
"You're...You're right, Princess." he said sincerely. "I've been careless, and my actions have not shown the proper respect and consideration owed to you. It was wrong of me to go against your wishes and upset you. I should have been more mindful, and...I'm sorry."
Gwynevere's lips curved into a satisfied smile. "Hm. Louder, please. I do enjoy hearing thee admit it."
"I said, you're right and I'm sorry, Princess." Kaylen said a little louder, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.
"Louder." she encouraged.
"You're right and I'm sorry!" Kaylen said, raising his voice that much louder as his embarrassment grew with it.
"Once more with a bit of love," Gwynevere pushed, enjoying this very entertaining show of modesty.
Kaylen took a deep, steadying breath, swallowing his pride that much further like bitter medicine. He knew he had to go the extra mile if he wanted her to be satisfied, even if it stung his ego.
"You're right, Princess Gwynevere," he declared, projecting his voice with an air of theatrics as his face grew warmer by the second. "My insensitivity and lack of respect was a blight on my character, one that I deeply regret. I allowed my own impulsiveness to cloud my judgment, and for that, I am deeply sorry."
Gwynevere's lips curved into a delighted smile, reveling in the drama and the appeal to her vanity. She was accustomed to such displays, but there was an earnestness in Kaylen's words that touched her.
"Ah~, much better, dear Kaylen,'" she cooed, relishing the moment. "Thy remorse is as palpable as the sun's gentle caress. Let this be a lesson for the future—think before thou act, for thy actions have consequences in this delicate dance of life."
Kaylen, feeling a mix of amusement and chagrin, gathered his courage to bring up his looming concern. "What about your father? He's still going to be upset with me."
Gwynevere chuckled softly, her laughter a soothing melody that seemed meant for his ears alone. "Worry not. If I vouch for thee, my father won't harm thee. He might be stern, but he respects my judgment, especially when it comes to friends. After all, it's not as if anyone actually knows anything our activity's together, right?"
At her reassurance, Kaylen perked up for a moment and blinked twice as a realization his him square in the head. She was right. The answer to avoiding a dire fate was staring him right in the face the entire time.
Gwynevere was the beloved daughter of the king, and her word held immense weight in the castle. Of course, her father would heed her counsel. While there might still be the issue of her drawing too much attention to him, potentially bringing other problems, it was best to take things one step at a time.
"Thank you!" Kaylen exclaimed dramatically, trying to flatter her in hopes of staying on her good side. "Oh, divine princess, your grace and kindness know no bounds. I am forever indebted to your generosity."
Gwynevere chuckled, well aware of his efforts to charm her.
"Thou has a way with words, Kaylen. But flattery will only get thee so far."
Kaylen grinned, glad to have lightened the mood. "But it helps, doesn't it?"
Gwynevere chuckled again, her amusement genuine. "Perhaps, just a little."
At this, they both shared a lighthearted chuckle, the air between them feeling less tense and more familiar. With Kaylen more than glad that Gwynevere was so easily appeased.
It was then that a thought struck him.
"Actually, where even are we?" Kaylen said curiously, not knowing where they went after leaving the royal castle.
He began to attempt to remove himself from Gwynevere's embrace, moving toward the carriage's curtain-shrouded windows to see what was outside. However, Gwynevere playfully pulled him back into place at her side against her bosom, lounging elegantly within the plush carriage, making herself all the more comfortable.
"Does it truly matter? Our journey together is what's important," she remarked, dismissing his curiosity with a wave of her hand. "But while we're here, feel free to remind me of the qualities thou art so grateful to be blessed with."
"Oh. Uh, of course, princess." Kaylen cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter as he tried to think of something. "It goes without saying that your grace and elegance rival the most illustrious constellations that adorn our nightly sky."
Gwynevere chuckled, finding a strange delight in his flowery language. "Heh, heh. Oh, do go on."
"And your kindness," Kaylen added, his words gaining confidence, "is like the warm embrace of sunlight, filling even the coldest corners of this world."
The corners of her lips curled upwards. "More, please."
"More? Uh~...your wisdom," he continued, pretty sure that she'd be tired of it now. "is akin to the ancient tomes of forgotten realms, ever enlightening those fortunate enough to bask in its glow."
Gwynevere playfully fanned herself. "Why, thank you. But surely, there's more."
"Uh, right. Your~...uh... eyes," Kaylen said, gathering his creativity so as to not draw a blank, "are like twin pools of shimmering moonlight, reflecting the gentle grace of the moon itself."
Gwynevere chuckled, seemingly insatiable for praise. "More, dear Kaylen. Surely thine eloquence hasn't run dry."
Suddenly, a few composed knocks resonated on the carriage door and a refined voice humbly offered its greeting, "Your Grace, it is my humble honor to request your esteemed presence outside the carriage so that I may greet you with all the praise befitting your divine radiance."
"Who's that?" Kaylen questioned curiously.
Gwynevere, however, felt her patience dwindling and replied, her voice tinged with irritation, "I will attend to you when I am prepared. For now, you shall wait."
The voice outside was hushed, clearly caught off guard by her response, but he acquiesced with a respectful, "Uh...Of course, Your Grace. At your leisure."
Turning her attention back to Kaylen, Gwynevere wasted no time in returning back to the topic at hand. "Don't mind him. Continue, dear Kaylen."
Kaylen stifled a sigh, attempting to find new and creative ways to further praise her, wondering how this day had turned into such an elaborate performance. Yet still a small smirk tugged at her lips, as he saw that she really was enjoying this theatrical display immensely. He spoke, his words as sincere as he could muster, "I would be an idiot if I didn't speak on your passion, Princess. It is a force of nature, a tempest that commands respect and awe, just as the mightiest storms shape the land. No sane person would want to stoke your temper."
Gwynevere nodded in approval, her regal expression unwavering. "A lesson thou shouldst take to heart, my dear friend. Keep them coming. And speak them a little louder for our audience outside."
Hearing this, and guessing that whoever was outside the carriage probably heard her say that in such a blatantly mocking fashion, Kaylen suspected that they would probably be thoroughly angered at being ignored in such a way.
But whatever. If that's what it takes to keep her happy, then he was more than happy to be the reason someone else that's not her is upset.
They probably weren't that important anyway.
As Kaylen continued to craft his flowery praises, their shared laughter and playful jests filled the carriage. It was a peculiar kind of interaction for the young human, but one he decided wasn't the worst turn out for things.
In the heart of the Royal Castle, within shadowed halls, Ciaran, the accomplished Lord's Blade, stood in the presence of her fellow elite, a subtle focus in her eyes.
"Lady Ciaran," one of the Lords Blades began, her tone giving nothing but complete respect, "Princess Gwynevere has slightly deviated from her planned course of rendezvous with Duke Flann."
Ciaran's brow furrowed at the revelation. The Duke was not someone to be taken lightly. Flann wielded substantial influence over the kingdom's spice trade, a vital lifeline of the realm's prosperity, and his reach extended to numerous small business pursuits.
Ciaran had her people monitoring him for quite some time and it was difficult to not take note of his cunning. He had deftly woven a web of alliances and loyalties that touched every corner of the kingdom. He held sway over merchant guilds and had secured lucrative agreements with influential trading partners abroad.
However, it was his well established desire to court Princess Gwynevere, the beloved Princess of Sunlight, that had truly elevated Duke Flann's standing. An alliance with the princess would bolster his power, granting him unprecedented access to the heart of the royal family. It was a move laden with strategic implications, a delicate game that had implications for the kingdom's stability and the delicate balance of power within its borders.
"Deviated?" Ciaran repeated, her mind swiftly processing the ramifications. "Explain."
"She has taken the human, Kaylen, with her to meet the Duke." the Lord's Blade explained. "Though it can be assumed it is purely for the use of her entertainment, this could jeopardize the delicate relations with the Duke."
Ciaran absorbed this news, her mind quickly sifting through the implications.
"My lady, the Duke does not hold humans in high regard. At your command, we could see to it that young Kaylen is discreetly removed from the situation and returned to the castle as to avoid any incidents." The Blade spoke.
Ciaran took a moment, her gaze distant as she weighed the options, considered the possible repercussions. She was well aware of the delicate balance in the realm of the nobility, a game where a single misstep could cause a cascade of consequences.
"No," she finally said, her voice firm but thoughtful. "We shall not act hastily. Continue to monitor the situation closely. Intervene only if the life of Princess Gwynevere is in imminent danger that the Princess guards cannot handle. Otherwise, you are only to observe and gather intelligence of the Dukes castle."
Her decision was met with a nod of agreement, and the Lord's Blade left, ready to execute her command with the precision and swiftness they were trained for.
As the room emptied, Ciaran placed a hand to her chin in thought, her mind racing, calculating the potential outcomes of this unexpected turn of events. The game had changed, and she was determined to ensure her pieces were in the right position to influence the outcome.
"Hmph. Kaylen," she murmured to herself, a hint of mirth in her tone, "always at the wrong place at the wrong time."
There was a tinge of amusement in her voice, recognizing the recurring pattern that seemed to entangle the young human. Yet, she was no stranger to the unpredictability of destiny. Flexibility and adaptability were virtues she held dear, ones that served her well in her duties.
"Very well. As I already said, I'm quite good at making lemonade when handed a few lemons."
WAAAAAIT! JUST WAAAAAAIT! THERE ARE THINGS TO BE SAID!
Okay, firstly, holy moly this chapter got away from me. I spent, like, a few days blitzing dark souls 1 to get through Anor Londo and get a feel for being in front of and close to Gwynevere to write this chapter. (And hot damn, she has a LOT more curves in-game than even I remember.) So I hope I did a solid job of describing her in the story and the feeling she might invoke from a human like Kaylen.
Secondly, I had to look at a lot of movies to get a few references for the "Petulant and entitled Princess" image I wanted to portray for Gwynevere. I don't want her to feel malicious, just veeeeery entitled with a touch of immaturity. Really make it feel that when she looks down on someone, it's not because of who THEY are, it's because of who SHE is.
But even still, I want it to feel as if she can still empathize and show a bit of remorse. No need for her entitlement to make her come off as a total b**ch. (At least not all the time anyway.)
And lastly, I decided to touch up on showing just a small hint of Kaylen's own skill with him managing to casually swipe a dagger from a Lords Blade, who are supposed to be some of the best of the best. Gonna start dipping my toe into things and showing what he's capable of when push comes to shove. As well as touching on a bit more of the in's and out's of the Gods and Anor Londo as well. So look forward to a bit more of all that, guys.
But anyways, that's all I have to say this time around, ladies and gents.
As always, feel free to leave a review and tell me what you guys thought about this chapter of the story. Did Kaylen and the Lords Blade do a good job in touching on Kaylen's skill? Did Gwynevere's actions towards Kaylen feel warranted or did it just feel irredeemably cruel? Should Kaylen have remained angry at Gwynevere for her actions or was it the right call to have him begrudgingly admit his mistakes towards her and apologize to get back on her good side? (I somewhat was going to add a bit more with him holding a grudge, but decided to leave it.)
Honest opinions are always appreciated as I'm always looking to improve my style of writing to make this story a bit more interesting for you guys. so don't be shy in telling me your thoughts about how things are going so far. Outside opinions will have a huge effect on how this story will play out.
This is Supreme Gamer, Signing out.
P.S. For those of you that picked on the TONS of references in this chapter, you guys are the real legends.
P.S. A humble request, if I may: let us navigate this fanciful tale with mirth and merry hearts, steering clear of those notorious whispers of "This is the writer's barely disguised fetish."- Yours jestfully, The Scribbler of Shenanigans, Supreme gamer. (That means no remakes on the foot thing, guys! It's purely meant to paint the scene. I swear!"