HennessyTheAuthor

In a dangerous world where warlords rule, monsters roam, and treachery lurks behind every corner, there exists a mercenary known only as Dude.

No title, no fancy lineage—just Dude.

Women whisper his name in hushed tones. Men either want to hire him or kill him. He’s a walking contradiction—deadly, yet lazy; cocky, yet irresistibly charming; a warrior with the strength of ten men but a habit of forgetting his own plans mid-fight. He never says no to coin, danger, or a damsel in distress. And somehow, no matter how insane the odds, he always pulls through with a smirk on his lips and a blade in his hand.

But it’s not just his swordplay that’s legendary.

After the dust settles, the women he saves find themselves drawn to him—whether it’s the thrill of survival, the heat of the moment, or just the way his rough hands feel against their skin. And when they give in to the tension, the passion that follows is nothing short of earth-shattering.

Tales Of A Swordsman

Princess Thalia was known for three things: her poise, her diplomacy, and her terrifying skill with a fan. Not the frilly kind—the iron kind. Weaponized elegance.

So of course, the first time she met Dude, she was ankle-deep in manure.

"Need a hand?" he asked, looking down at her from his saddle, grinning like sin in leather.

"I need a new kingdom," she replied, swatting horseflies with her hem.

He laughed. It was annoying. And charming. And definitely annoying.

She hired him out of desperation. Royal carriage broken. Guards fled. Political summit in three days.

"I'll protect you," he said. "But I don't do 'your highness.'"

"Too many syllables. I'll stick with 'your hotness.'"

She nearly stabbed him with her jeweled hairpin.

Their journey was a disaster. Bandits. Rain. Lost boots. He stole a pie from a farmer. She bribed a dog with jewelry.

He slept shirtless. She pretended not to notice. He caught her staring.

"I'm trained to detect threats," she said.

"Then I must be the sexiest threat you've ever seen."

She absolutely, definitely did not blush.

The tension finally snapped in a ruined chapel under the stars. One kiss. Then another. Then a blur of tangled limbs, bitten lips, and breathless sighs.

He made her feel like a woman—not just a crown.

She arrived at the summit with leaves in her hair, Dude at her side, and a dress scandalously wrinkled.

The nobles whispered. The diplomats stared.

Thalia smiled sweetly and said, "Any objections?"

He kissed her one last time, slow and unforgettable.

"You'll rule just fine without me," he said. "Besides, you deserve someone who doesn't keep a dagger under his pillow and a map to the next chaos."

She didn't cry. Not until he was gone.

But she wore her fan like a blade and her smile like a dare, and when they spoke of her, they said she was the princess a mercenary couldn't keep.

And somewhere far away, Dude smiled at the memory—before walking straight into his next disaster.

The Memory & Dude