The Princess’ Guardian

“Well-rested?” a voice asks, pulling you from your thoughts. You look up to see a pretty redhead staring at you with bright green eyes and a knowing smile on her face. Her hair is a fiery cascade of curls, and her freckled cheeks give her a warm, approachable demeanor. She’s dressed in a practical yet well-tailored tunic and trousers, her posture relaxed but confident.

“Where is the princess?” you ask cautiously, your eyes scanning the room for Viola.

“You can address her as Princess Viola—or just Viola when you’re alone,” the woman replies with a playful smile. “She has matters of state to attend to, but don’t worry. She sent me to fetch you.”

“And what should I call you?” you ask, intrigued by her easygoing manner.

“Dame Olivandra Shetland, at your service,” she says with a mocking bow, her grin widening. “But everyone just calls me Ollie.” She arches an eyebrow, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Now, are you going to get out of this pool, or should I send the guards in after you?”

Something about her easy smile and straightforward demeanor makes her feel trustworthy. With a grin of your own, you climb out of the pool, the warm water dripping from your body as you step onto the stone floor.

Ollie’s eyes flicker downward for a moment, and she lets out a low whistle. “Her Highness certainly wasn’t exaggerating when she said you were well-endowed,” she remarks, her tone light but appreciative. “Morale among the guard has been low lately. Maybe I should’ve sent a few in to collect you after all.” She hands you a towel, her smirk never wavering.

“Show’s over, ladies,” Ollie calls over to a trio of young courtiers who had been eyeing your now-famous manhood. The women blush and pretend to be deep in conversation, though their glances in your direction are anything but subtle.

Ollie shakes her head, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Seems like a lot of folks are yearning for a bit of cock these days,” she mutters under her breath.

You follow her through a different entrance than the one you used with the princess, winding up a flight of stairs into a large hallway. Ornate tapestries line the gray stone walls, their intricate patterns depicting scenes of battles, coronations, and other pivotal moments in Askeria’s history. Small windows overlook a well-manicured garden with a pond at its center. A group of small, frail men sit by the pond, throwing bread to a family of ducks, their laughter carrying faintly through the glass.

“These are the men’s quarters,” Ollie explains before you can ask. She opens her mouth to say more but stops as a short, balding man in a fine silk robe enters the hallway, flanked by two white-robed attendants. The man’s face is flushed with indignation, and he puffs up his chest in an attempt to look more imposing, despite being a head shorter than both you and Ollie.

“What’s the meaning of this intrusion, Dame Olivandra?” the man demands, his voice sharp and accusatory.

“Lord Caldersmith,” Ollie says, inclining her head slightly in a gesture of respect that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m here on the princess’s orders. This male is to be given a room in the men’s quarters. Did she not send word?”

The man’s face reddens at Ollie’s words, his jowls quivering with barely contained anger. “She most assuredly did not,” he snaps. “And you can be sure that the Queen and my mother will hear of this.”

Caldersmith blinks in surprise as his gaze shifts to you, realizing for the first time that you’re not a woman. His eyes narrow as he takes in your imposing frame, his expression a mix of curiosity and disdain. “Where on earth did you find such a creature?” he asks, his tone dripping with condescension.

Ollie shrugs, her demeanor unbothered. “You know how the princess is, my lord. She tends to go through men quickly, and the queen figured this one might hold up a little longer than the last few.”

The man sniffs, his nose wrinkling as if he’s caught a whiff of something unpleasant. Without another word, he stalks back into his room, his attendants shooting you dark looks before following him.

“What was that about?” you ask once Caldersmith is out of earshot.

Ollie snorts, her expression turning serious. “That, my large friend, is Lord Caldersmith. The eldest son of Duchess Evelyn Caldersmith.”

“He’s been kept hostage here ever since his mother’s failed coup last year,” she continues, her voice low. “Hostage or not, he’s a scion of one of the high houses of Askeria. He’s not to be trifled with. Were I you, I’d keep clear of him unless you want a dagger in your back.”

“Anything else I should know?” you ask, your tone wary.

She shakes her head. “Stay clear of Caldersmith, and you should be fine. By now, everyone else knows not to lay a finger on you without the princess’s permission. As long as you stay on her good side, you won’t have any problems.”

Ollie guides you into a large but sparsely decorated room, with a four-poster bed on one side and a fireplace burning cheerily on the other. The room is simple but comfortable, the air warm and inviting.

“The tailor will be in to see you shortly,” Ollie says, turning to leave. But then she pauses, her expression serious as she looks back at you. “Watch your back around Caldersmith. I don’t know why, but the princess seems to like you, and I don’t want to explain why her new toy got killed right under my nose.”

With that, she disappears down the hall, leaving you standing in the room, naked except for a small towel and a growing sense of unease.