She saw a knight.
He was at the end of the corridor. Silver armor. The Queen's Own. He was standing at attention, his hand on his sword, his eyes forward. He saw her. His eyes widened—she was in a sheet, her hair was loose, her face was flushed, and the room behind her smelled like a brothel.
"Guard!" the Queen called. Her voice cracked. It was not royal. It was the voice of a woman who has been fucked for an hour and is trying to sound like a queen. "Remove that man from my chamber. Now."
The knight blinked.
"My Queen—?"
"That man. The old man. In there. On the floor. Arrest him."
The knight looked past her. Into the room. He saw the bed. He saw the sheets. He saw the old man and the maid on the floor, unconscious, naked, intertwined.
His face went white.
He moved.
