Lysandra

She knelt between his legs, her fingers grazing his thighs with slow, deliberate care. Kael let out a low breath, his head tipping back as her touch sent fire trailing across his skin.

Her lips brushed his abdomen. Each kiss left him weaker than the last, his hands tangling in her hair as if anchoring himself to the moment. Kael moaned softly and relaxed more into the grass as she bobbed her head diligently, moaning softly on his hardness.

She crawled over him, settling above him with a quiet confidence.

Her body started rocking over him, slow at first, then faster as pleasure built. His fingers gripped her hips, the pressure growing with every second.

Then it hit.

A deep moan escaped him as the feeling rushed through him, hot and overwhelming. His body arched, shook, then slowly went still. He lay there, breath heavy, chest rising and falling. For a moment, all he could feel was her gentle touch, her quiet breath, and the stillness that followed the storm.

It felt good. She felt good. And he wanted more.

"Kael," Lysandra moaned desperately.

Kael's eyes flew open at the sound of his name. For a heartbeat, he didn't move, just stared at her. Then his pupils dilated, his whole body going rigid. Shock surged over his face like a storm breaking. He quickly got up.

"What just happened?" he rasped, voice hoarse.

Lysandra blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Did I... did we...?" He swallowed hard, the words caught on his tongue.

"I don't understand," she whispered, confused. "I thought you wanted this."

"Wanted what?" Kael shook his head, heart thudding like war drums. "We were... I was helping you ride. Then we stopped to eat..."

His gaze swept over her bare skin, then down to himself, to the flattened grass beneath them. He thought he must have dreamt the whole thing

"What did you do to me?" he asked, voice low and raw, both fear and fury rising beneath the surface.

Tears welled in Lysandra's eyes, sudden and shimmering. Her bottom lip trembled as she pulled the edge of the cloak over her chest.

"I can't believe you," she whispered, voice cracking. You used me," she said, tears slipping down her cheeks. "You made me feel safe, made me trust you, and now you're acting like I did something wrong."

Kael stepped back, horrified.

Her shoulders shook as she covered her face. "I thought you cared about me."

"I didn't mean for..." He ran a hand through his hair, chest tightening. "Goddess, I don't even know what this is. Something's not right."

But she was already turning away, sobbing quietly. She picked up her clothes.

"You're just like the others," she whispered as she climbed her horse and left.

As she rode through the woods, the wind teasing her hair and the horse's hooves drumming against the earth, she let out a low, triumphant laugh, the sound rich with satisfaction.

Lysandra had arrived at court as Queen Maravelle's distant, orphaned niece, and Kael, moved by duty and pity, became her patient guide and quiet protector as she clung to him with desperate gratitude.

But the real truth was that she was Maravelle's weapon, a Dreambinder, descended from the Veiled Circle, an ancient order of women who wove illusions from thought itself. Her magic allowed her to plant vivid, false memories and emotions into a person's mind, making them believe they acted of their own will. With Kael, she used Dreambind to make him believe they had been intimate, though nothing had truly happened, only the illusion, and his guilt, remained.

....

The long oak table was busy with chatter, dishes being cleared, and linens folded. Sunlight slanted through the high windows, casting warm gold across the stone floor.

Then silence fell.

Princess Selene entered without announcement, her pale lavender gown sweeping behind her like spilled silk. A hush rippled through the hall as servants froze, curtsied, and bowed.

Selene walked to the center of the room, her hands clasped neatly before her, expression serene and unreadable. Her two maids following behind.

"Who is Bessie," Selene said, her voice honeyed and smooth.

The former royal maid hesitated but obeyed, stepping forward with a nervous curtsy, palms slick against the sides of her apron.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

Selene's hand snapped across her cheek before the words had even finished leaving her mouth.

The sound cracked through the chamber like a whip. Bessie staggered, her head turning with the blow, hand flying to her reddening cheek.

Gasps rippled across the room.

She turned to the two guards at the entrance. "Guards. Take her to the throne room. The Queen waits."

Bessie gasped.

Two palace guards stepped forward at once and lifted Bessie from the floor. Her face was pale, lips trembling, the red welt on her cheek stark against her skin.

Selene turned to face the room.

"Let this be a warning. No servant, no matter how clever or how pretty or desperate is above their station. And any who attempt to cross that line…" She let the words hang. "Will find themselves removed and punished."

Selene glared at everyone, her eyes sweeping over the silent kitchen like a blade drawn in warning. Without another word, she spun on her heel, silken skirts snapping behind her, and stalked out, her two personal maids scrambling to keep pace behind her like shadows.

The door slammed shut in her wake.

For a breath, the kitchen remained still.

Then the murmurs erupted.

"Did she just..."

"She slapped her!"

"That girl's finished..."

"What did she do?"

"Is that why she was demoted…"

The cook, a broad-shouldered woman with flour dusting her apron, slammed her palm on the table. "Enough! You lot want Ysara marching in here with her cane and her tongue sharp as fire?"

That shut them up.

"Back to work," the cook barked. "Unless you want the her knocking your heads together."

Pots clattered. Bread was kneaded with fresh vengeance and voices dropped to whispers. But no one could forget what they'd just seen.

....

"You were given proximity, privilege, and trust, and in return, you betrayed it, for vanity, for lust and for selfish ambition." you thought yourself… special. Do you know what happens to women who tempt kings?" Maravelle said looking straight at Bessie.

"They are remembered in stories as warnings, not heroines."

Bessie trembled, but Maravelle's tone only grew harder.

"You are hereby stripped of all title, favor, and standing."

She paused. Her next words were not spoken in anger, but with the finality of law.

"You are to be reassigned to the scullery quarters. No more linens. No more silver. You will scrub floors, latrines, bloodstains, and chamber pots. You will sleep in the ash room beneath the stairs, where even rats hesitate to linger for a whole month. Then you will be reassigned to the stables. And if you dare speak the King's name again, you will do it toothless."

Then the Queen lifted her hand and said, "this is my final judgement, let it be done."

As the doors closed behind the fallen maid, Maravelle turned to her court.

"Let all who serve remember this as a warning."