Of course he shouldn't. Detlef had sworn an oath to protect and serve, not admire and touch.
Her royal highness was, however, of a particular nature. She was vivacious, always had been, that spark of life within her that gave her energy, making her seem bouncy and active even when she was meant to be sitting still. Cillianna was younger than him by two decades, and though he had only served her mother's court for a decade, he had always been assigned to her. Always by her side. Always watching over her, even as she grew up and developed into a young woman, and an attitude like that of a vixen.
She was perfectly demure in court. The trouble began in her chambers, and had ever since she'd turned of age last spring.
"Oh, Lef," she moaned on the bed, flexing her toes so her slippers fell off her feet. "It has been a while, has it not?"
He tried so hard not to look. She was so young, and so not innocent. Her hair was flaxen and her eyes a bright green. She wore only the finest gowns and the most exotic silks. Her small breasts were encased in a delicate bodice. They fit so perfectly in his hands. She had cried out so sweetly when he'd last lowered his mouth on them, sucked on the delicate pink nipples.
He hated how he fell for her, every time, despite his attempts to tell her what they both knew by now: it wasn't right, she was like a daughter to him, his duty was to protect her. Somehow all it had taken for him to relent had been the touch of her hand.
Even now he recalled that innocent face gazing up at him as his cock slipped past her puffy, wet folds, entering her.
He hadn't asked if he'd taken her virginity. He hadn't had to. He had felt her tighten around him, not from pleasure but from a twinge of pain. Had he been a better man, maybe this would have stopped him. It had not.
The weight of the guilt was on him every day, but still the thought of it made him even hungrier for her. His cock twitched. What she should have given to a husband, she had given to him instead.
She could have been his daughter. In a sense, with her busy neglectful mother, her father dead, he really was the closest she had for a father. He remembered how she used to look up at him, like a girl crying out for a strong father. He had failed her in that regard, too.
"Been a while since what, your royal highness?" His voice sounded rough, tired, even to his own ears.
He tossed and turned at night and nothing helped, not even fucking his own hand in her stead. His latest terrible fantasy: her hand forcing his beneath her gowns at a royal event to bring her to climax in secret yet in public. He flushed at the thought. He was a terrible knight.
"Since our last beautiful union," the princess said, licking over her plump bottom lip. "Would you not agree?"
"Your royal highness, we can't," he tried, but she curled her finger to make him come to her. "This must come to an end. It has gone on far too long as it is." He stood solidly at his post, the stand of resistance.
"Do you not enjoy my company, dear Detlef?" She sounded so wounded, it stung his heart a little.
"It is not that, your royal highness."
She smiled gently. "Come closer to me. I can barely hear you."
He couldn't not obey her. As much as he wanted not to move, he found his feet moving towards her.
"The court physician told me that once I marry, a husband needs regular release. The male body will grow sick if it doesn't get such relief," she chattered as her hands worked at his clothing.
He sighed. Her closeness had its usual effect on him, his breeches tenting handsomely. She was such a pretty thing. She was so dear to him. He would die for her.
He supposed he would also do this.
"Is that so?" He reached out to push one of her curls behind her ear gently, and the dam burst: he kissed her passionately, violently almost, and she moaned into the kiss.
Her hand wrapped around his cock, thumb playing with the wet arousal at its tip. "You need your relief, Lef, it's only fair."
"Hmm," he said, his hands escaping down her body to cup her round bottom over her silky gown.
"You work so hard," she said, her voice growing breathy. Her hand tightened around his cock. "And this time, I want your full release."
He grew wild for her, one hand sliding between her thighs to find her tight, sweet cunt. Gods, he was a terrible servant. For giving into her, for wanting it in the first place. His other hand lowered her dress, wrapping his hungry lips over one sweet tit. The whole of it fit into his mouth.
Her body curved towards him, letting out the loveliest low cry. She was wet for him, his fingers confirmed, as he continued to work the soft tit, playing with the tightened nipple against his tongue.
When she came, her smaller body shook beneath him, and her hand let go of his cock. He could no longer hold back. "You need my cock, my sweetness? You want me to fuck you, my precious joy?"
"Your full release, Detlef," she gasped, her cheeks flushed. "In me this time. Not upon my bosom, or my belly. I desire it."
"It is not wise, my child," he said, knowing well that such conquest was only permitted within the marital chambers. Theirs wasn't that. Could never be that. His mind darkened, as the beautiful creature beneath him felt like she should be his to claim.
But his mind knew she wasn't.
"Please," she moaned. "I want your seed, my handsome knight. Yours is the only seed I want. Let it fill me like your love fills me. You do love me, do you not?"
"Cilli, my precious girl–"
He pushed in, his big cock sliding into her waiting cunt. She clenched down on him, moaning sweetly. She was so tight and wet for him, the perfect grip around his cock. He thrust deeper in, bottoming out in the girl he longed to call his bride. She was his love, no matter how wrong it was.
She was his, for all it mattered.
He fucked into her, with the fast pace he knew she favored, watching as her cute little tits bounced from the impact of his thrusts. The thought obsessed him. His seed filling her up so much it flowed out of her cunt. He could finger her to another orgasm with the slick of his own come. He could fuck her again with it.
"Are you mine, princess?" He wanted to hear it.
"Always," she told him. "No matter who they force me to marry."
He could feel it, her tightening around him. His hand pushed into her hair, loosening it from its carefully woven braid. He held it and leaned down to speak next to the shell of her ear: "Mine."
She erupted around his cock, halting his movement for a moment. The feeling was exhilarating. She truly was his, his pretty thing, his treasure.
His girl to mark his own.
The thought worked through him like lightning. Something loosened in him, the hot burn of release shocking him until he was coming. His release flooded her and he stayed buried in her, taking heavy, ragged breaths over her smaller body. She was spent, too, but when he at last withdrew from her beautiful cunt, he could see the mess he left behind.
White seed dripped out between her puffy lips, looking as well fucked as she could be. It was the most wanton thing he'd ever seen.
The regret settled in him once the last sweat pearl on his temple had dried.
"Mm, Lef, that was fantastic." She curled her toes in the air. "Quite a puddle we left, but I'm sure the maids won't mind. There is plenty of linen in the castle."
His guilt settled heavily in his chest, a stone he was forced to carry there even as he kissed her again, closing his arms around her.
Months moved by him, and his resistance died out slowly, but he would never allow himself to release inside of her again. The possibility of child was terribly slim in his eyes: he was older and she was only fertile for a few days of the month. She was unlikely to bear his child. The mere thought was scandalous, unthinkable really.
But what he thought did not matter to the ways of nature.
When her belly rounded and the queen began to seek the culprit, he stayed mum. Who had stayed in her chambers at night, he was asked. Who indeed, he did not know. Must have nodded off during his duty, a terrible oversight by him.
He was assigned to a different tower of the palace, away from his princess, but still she sought him out at night.
Always his, even to both their ruin.