Sir Gilles is my old friend and mentor

The next few weeks were pretty uneventful, probably because of people trying to get to grip with the reality of not having a strong man on the throne. Or simply because of carefully planning their moves. So I was luckily free enough to use this time for sparring practice with my mentor, at least when I was not attending to the council. I had been taught to be pretty lenient with them and most matters were domestic anyways, so I usually let the council make their own decisions by way of majority vote and they seemed to like me for it.

My mentor Sir Gilles, only 25 years himself, was the first son of a minor baron pretty close to the capital so they were in my father's personal demesne (or my demesne now actually) and their family had been pretty loyal supporters to the crown for quite some time now. So even though I used to have a secret crush on him when I was younger, the chances of me being able to marry him and also continuing my own family's line are sadly pretty slim.

"Good." Sir Gilles says as I parry his ambitious swing of his sword "You're learning it pretty fast girl. You might as well even become just as good as your great-great-grandmother. Tales about the hellish fury she brought onto her enemies are spread far and wide. Probably the reason this new law was changed."

"But don't think you will last very long in an actual battle, especially if you're facing multiple opponents." I duck underneath his sword right as his next swing seems to hit and roll my nimble body acrobatically out on the ground until I'm right behind him. Thinking that now I have the upper hand. But as I try to get up, Gilles has already turned around and pointed the tip of his now dangerously looking sword towards my neck, and I let my body fall down backwards in recognition of his victory.

"Silly girl," "Such a move might look impressive and all, but you should have known it only works out in a romantic play."

"Now try again and see if you can find an opening to strike after you parried, or else some squandrel might find your warm welcoming opening to parry after a fight." He snickers, pleased at his own version of a crude joke.

I look at him, confused, he usually was way more gentle towards me. And I always held him as one of the most noblest Knights you would ever see, or so I thought. But somehow his joke seems to have an effect on me, and I start to feel a slight pleasurable buzz spread between my thighs. Am I getting wet just because someone makes me imagine about sex like all the other girls in the many countless, not so courtly, other stories? Or is it because I used to like this guy?

Getting up from the tall grass I try to think how I feel about this new side of him and how I should respond, as honestly I don't even really know myself. And yet i find myself a little bit flushed as I see him towering above me.