Exit: A Knight of Many Layers (Lilian)

[AN: To set expectations: what follows in this chapter is all plot and no porn. Some pun though, but only in the title.]

With my lord slumbering peacefully, the only sound in the room is my own heartbeat. I am, in a way, surprised that he has yet to notice it, and wonder what it might be like to have it racing in the heat of the moment, or to press my chest against his ear and let the beat lull him to sleep...

Ah, but I'm getting distracted. My lord is not the sort of man to take advantage of a sleeping maiden, and I have no reason to be afraid. Nor have I any reason to be ashamed: My duties as his retainer have been fulfilled, and his desire to have me close at hand as his bedmate is no more scandalous than his desire to have me close at hand as his bodyguard. Although, I am heartened at his integrity: when he thought me an inexperienced damsel, he showed the sort of respect and dignity I've not seen in these halls in the past decade.

But there are still things to be wary of, and matters to consider. There is a magic to him, I'm sure, and the fact that I can't see it is proof enough of its strength. It's odd: I can feel it, like a subtle warmth in the air, and yet I can see nothing when I look upon him. Such a thing is impossible in and of itself, and yet... perhaps it is simply an effect of whatever magic is upon him. Ah well: it is a minor thing, and the fact that I am here now means I will have more than enough time to study the matter in the future.

As I think this, my lord rolls slightly, and his hand comes to rest on the side of my breast. I tense slightly, but he shows no sign of waking, and his hand is neither invasive nor uncomfortable, merely resting in place upon my bosom. It flexes idly and gently, but makes no motion to truly grab at me. Not that I would care if he did: it is his right, after all.

But, as I am not tired, and it is not my place to simply slumber beside my lord, I should make myself useful while I remain beside him.

My mind casts to my studies, and the various texts my masters have had me peruse in the past, and then to the many reports of demons and their ilk I have had to deliver to my mistresses, and then to the many meetings of nobles I have had to attend. In all my years, I have seen many things: wars and famines, the deaths of kings and queens, and even of their children as regrettable as it is when it occurs. I've seen the borders shift back and forth into and out of the demonic realm, and I've even stood upon the same grounds as two of the demons' kings, alongside Armelia's heroic rulers both times.

But I have never seen a man quite so peculiar as my current lord. Nor have I met a man who was so forward and honest, and so willing to accept the faults of his servants and peers. To have his trust is a privilege, and I will not fail to meet his standards. As much as the warmth of his body is beginning to cause a tingling in my chest...

...ah, but I digress.

I suppose the only conclusion I can make is that it is a mystery, and one that will not be solved by idling about in bed, no matter how comfortable it may be.

So, I rise, and slip out from my lord's grasp. He is a light sleeper, and I can tell immediately that he has been disturbed, but I am quick to quell his concerns with a gentle, soothing murmur, and he subsides back into sleep, comforted at my continued presence. Gently, I tuck him properly into bed and - with a simple cantrip - warm the covers. It is the dead of winter, after all, and no castle is ever properly warm during these months.

And, with my lord taken care of, I slip back into my uniform, cast a few spells of alarm and warding, and set myself in place to maintain vigil over his slumber. Eventually, even a dragoness must sleep, and so I doze at the hour of the night an intruder would be least likely to use...

...and jolt to wakefulness as my alarms actually trigger!

Truly? Who would have the gall?!

My eyes dart across the room, taking all of it in within an instant even as my breath rumbles my fury... but no sound comes out. A spell of silence has engulfed the chamber, no doubt to prevent the working of most spells. Foolish. A dragon is not so much lesser without its magic as a mortal human would be.

In this instant even as my eyes seek their prey, the chair clatters silently into the far wall as I leap over my lord in a protective posture. Then, I spot my quarry.

Shadows. Mere apparitions - and not true demons. Apparitions of the fallen, animated in darkness, and filled with nought else but the malignant will of their creator. Favored tools of shadow-demons. This pair, it seems, take the form of a pair of young priestesses. I recognize them, and were the situation different I might take time to ponder this in bewilderment...

...but regardless of their likeness, these shades seek to harm my lord in the dead of night. I will not allow it.

Recognizing my danger, the priestess-shadows recede, and four lesser shades surge forth in their place. These are formless, the identities of their former selves too weak to give them shape, and my sword is drawn upon them without delay. With two flashes of enchanted steel, the first shade is severed along both axes. At the same time, one of its compatriots - thinking itself safe - tries to dart past me only to be sent careening into the wall by a swipe of my tail as it lengthens toward its true extent, then recedes.

But numbers have a strength of their own.

The other two lesser shades manage to get by, and although one recoils at the protective enchantments placed around my lord's bed, the second manages to endure and strike true, withdrawing some of his vitality as the priestesses watch from afar. The first of these I batter aside, the second? Its wretched hand is severed as my blade pierces through it, and then into its throat. The shade unravels, and my lord's essence is returned to him as I turn about to face the rest of the intruders.

The two lesser shades which remain are nearly discorporeated already, but it is the priestesses which are more dangerous, I know.

Shades, even those with some semblance of identity drawn from the corpse which birthed them, are not terribly intelligent or wise. This is evident by the lack of commitment to their **** upon my lord, which was their only true chance to do him harm. At the same time, it is only by my lord's continued presence that they survive: I cannot simply... vent my frustrations upon them without undue risk to his safety.

With two casual swings of my blade, I dispel both remaining lesser shades and advance upon their 'betters.' They try to split apart, and one is slammed into the wall by my tail for its trouble. The other has the audacity to draw forth a twisted mockery of the priestess' ceremonial sword and attempt to match blades with me. It invokes some manner of magic, and the blade darts through my own to inflict... a not-insignificant blow upon me, shearing through one sleeve to sever scales (skin) from the arm beneath. A mere flesh-wound: it failed to deal lasting harm, and its ability to reap essence is futile against a dragon such as myself.

In return, my own blade darts forward and neatly severs one of the priestess' shadowy limbs from her body... and then turns about to sever her at the waist with great ****. Turning back toward the other priestess, only just having recovered from her unplanned journey into the stonework, I stride forward and thrust my sword through her heart. An instant later, she is gone. With her absence, the unnatural silence of the room turns once more into the gentle ambience of the night.

Upon his bed, my lord miraculously slumbers - kept asleep by the very magic which would have concealed his ending if I had not been on guard. Verifying the security of the room, I sigh remorsefully... and then bellow loudly enough that my roar echoes throughout the castle.

This is an incident I must reply to before morning, after all...

[AN: Our next story-branch will follow this chapter, but it will have to wait for me to do another cycle. I've already dedicated two chapters to this, after all. In the meantime, feel free to make your guesses as to who our next candidate for the prompt's tender mercies is... though I feel pretty confident I've dropped enough signs at this point.]