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

The last thing I expected when I signed up for royal protection duty was to see all three of them.

Dude — chaotic, half-buttoned, all charm and trouble.

Guy — polished, noble, sword always clean, honor always louder than necessary.

Him — silent, deadly, and somehow the sexiest shadow in the kingdom.

I was one of two princesses. My sister and I had been shuffled from court to court since birth. This time, someone wanted us dead.

Enter the three most absurd men I've ever met.

They were not a team. They were a disaster.

Dude took off his shirt before breakfast.

Guy insisted on prayer before dinner.

Him barely spoke, but his eyes never stopped undressing people.

My sister flirted with all of them.

But when the ambush came, they moved like a single blade.

Him vanished — and returned wiping blood off his dagger.

We survived. Barely. But my heart wasn't safe.

Rain. A broken-down carriage. One tent.

Him sharpened his knives and stared like he knew every wicked thing I'd dreamed.

I lay between my sister and the storm, too aware of every heartbeat outside.

That night, the three of them took shifts — watching over us. Watching each other.

Who could seduce which of them first.

My sister kissed Guy under a waterfall.

Him kissed us both in a corridor without making a sound.

It happened in the abandoned watchtower.

Dude's hands were fast. Guy's were reverent. Him's were everywhere at once.

We were stripped by mouths. Lifted. Held. Worshipped.

I lost count of the moans. Of the fingers. Of whose tongue was where.

Dude kissed us goodbye and promised nothing.

Guy gave us a vow we didn't ask for.

But sometimes, when I sleep, I still feel all three.

And I know — one day, we'll all find each other again.

And next time, no one's leaving the bed.

3 Swords, 2 Princesses, 1 Bed