Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Upon the death of the King, one last epic battle between knights—a child forged by deceit—both killed in one fatal blow by enchanted swords, the Roundtable disbanded. The King's body lay upon the boat to sail through the river to Avalon, sailing into the light with her friends and allies looking upon her one last time. The court mage and dear friend disappeared as his duty was fulfilled.

The peace the King and the Roundtable fought for was finally achieved: the new Age of Peace. The Knights became Princes of the New Era, kings of their kingdoms but princes compared to the rightful and forever King of the realm.

Yet, the darkness found its way as peace made many of the retired knights complacent , the warning signs ignored by most. Your father did not ignore the signs. The northern kingdom had tried to warn the others, but your father was seen as a senile old fool whom the other knights believed unworthy of knighthood.

He was a Viking. After the king saved his village, he took the oath of the King; he did not turn away his Gods but followed an oath of honor and chivalry.

The once and future King believed all can be worthy of the Roundtable, no matter race or creed all can find purpose here. 

Your father was alone, he was not discouraged as the king was alone at first when she pulled the sword out of the stone. Her wizard could only do so much, she endured her trials alone with her faith and hope.

Father will do the same as war spreads like the plague across the land, the peace broken by an old enemy. No one can stand before him, none for the divine King has long ago returned the sword to the guardian of the lake before her body was sent adrift into Avalon. The King's people once more in need can only pray for her return as foretold by her wizard.

Pray and hope to survive…

The northern kingdom, where winters are bitter and summers do not last, is a flame. Screams of civilians echo below as soldiers try to fend off the drake riders and their beasts. The cries of wyverns in the blackened skies rain fire upon the land, the army of fallen knights arisen by forbidden magic, and at the head of this is the betrayer knight who destroyed the Roundtable.

Your father was once a knight under the leadership of twelve knights of the inner circle of the Roundtable. There were thousands of other knights whom the once and future king commanded.

Upon her most divine's death, the knights scattered across the realms claiming territory and honoring the great king. Your father, though a lesser knight, returned home and raised it from a small village to a kingdom. Your mother was no princess used to raise status, no she was an average hard-working woman who your father loved until her time in this realm ended. Father often says you favor her appearance.

There were many difficulties, all overcome as the people united. None however could have foreseen the return not of the king but her killer, an old ally turned enemy returned from the depths of oblivion to rain terror upon her divine's land.

Three of the twelve Great kingdoms, created by three knights formerly a part of the inner circle, have fallen; there are only ashes that remain of them.

The fallen knight made sure to make his return known with blood and ash.

A missive brought by an undead footsoldier of a kingdom none know the crest of, it did not stop until the letter was given to your father. The silence in the room added to the seriousness of the situation. The court Seer has banished the creature back to oblivion and cleansed the throne room. The letter burned and was not spoken about while you were around. All conversations about the dark betrayers were held in the war room where your father no longer allowed you.

You took offense as you are the prince, you take your father's throne when dies in battle and the valkyries take his soul to his All-Father's hall to feast. Mother will not be with him as her God is different and has her slumber until the King's return. You try talking to your father but the Seer stops you, he tries to explain that the situation is delicate. The Seer is a good man and his wisdom is always sound, he is a mage you can trust. His council does not help soothe your worries, but he does assist in finding you a trainer for your combat studies.

It will be two years before the war finds its way beyond the northern wall. The Watchers' reports were a confirmation: the dark knight is coming.

You believed your father, a Viking at heart and knight of the order, could defeat this mad knight! You believe in your Seer and Kingsguard, you believe in yourself.

War is not like chess, it is not as clean; the Kingslayer cares not for who he kills, there is only death left in his wake.

In fire and thunderous roars, the Kingslayer approach with his undead army and enslaved dragons.

It is told that the dark knight has the backing of a dark Sorceress, the Seer can only tell stories about her. He told you stories have pieces of the truth, we must decipher it.

You were ready to die beside your father, ready to fight with honor— Instead, your father, a brave (or a fool) old man whose Viking’s blood will never allow him to flee, has ordered his most trusted Kingsguard to take you and run.

It broke your heart as he treated you like a fragile child, though you were many springs ago, you had hoped to prove yourself to him… His reasons are he has already lost your mother, he cannot lose the last piece of her in this world. So long as the prince lives, so does the kingdom's revival.

Through a secret tunnel, you are spirited away with the Seer and Kingsguard, unwillingly.

The battle is fierce but lost, the undead and drakes are not easy to put down even with enchanted swords. Looking up at the castle's battlements, you see the dark knight killing the guards.

He will find your father, he will kill your father, he will desecrate your father's corpse!

And you, like your father, foolishly escape the safety of guards and Seer to save your father, to hell with his pride as king or a warrior!

Chapter Text

As a child, a young boy curious as a cat, you spent many days running around this castle. You learned all the best hiding spots from the maids who would catch you with your mother to get you in the bath. Learn the best place to hide your treats so you can share with the mice in hopes of training them to do tricks. And as you grew older and bolder, you took up learning swordsmanship.

A clever boy who spent most of his days preparing for a moment like this. However, books and training could never prepare you for a monster like the Betrayer Knight.

The trail of blood, piles of armor and ashes from undead soldiers, and the sound of steel clashing leads you to the throne room. You run as fast as you can until the sound of breaking steel echoes and your father's armored body falls to his knees as he holds his abdomen. He has been stabbed but not killed.

The dark knight stands then wipes your father's blood on his shoulder between the pauldrons, “Oh, you old fool, this could have ended with you by my side as one of my thralls.” There stands the traitorous fallen knight, in dark armor with a pauldron covered in thorns, he is the one who killed the king of the realm. “Shame.” Pulling back his sword to kick your father into laying on his back before stepping on your father's stomach as he lays there helplessly, “Now where is your spawn? A princess should provide me with enough entertainment until her youth fades.”

Your father does not answer. His eyes glaring daggers.

“Well, if you will not answer to me in life then you will in death !” Raising his rapier to spear your father's heart. The enchanted blade was forged by a Sorceress who craved power, her evil heart creating unbreakable steel.

“No!” Your voice delays the dark knight just long enough for you to attempt to attack him. He moves to the side but does not strike as if curious about this new piece on the board.

You stand between him and your father, “You will go no further, demon!”

“(Name),” Breathing hard from pain and his struggle to side up, “D-don't he is t-too strong.” Your father grabs your sword belt.

The dark knight laughs as he runs his gauntlet-covered hand through his messy hair, “Come save your king? You are far too late, little knight.”

Your eyes narrow as you remain in the proper stance in combat. Your rapier in one hand and your parrying dagger in the other, “Hold on, my liege. I will get you to safety.”

“Stupid boy, I told you to run!” Coughing blood, “Go!”

You shake your head, “We leave or we fall together.”

A clap for the entertaining dialogue, “Truly commendable but you should've listened to the old bastard. Even if you did fairy him away, I gave the old bastard a taste of poison. He will die then return to me as a thrall.”

You look behind you to see your father looking as horrified as you.

“Your All-Father will not be seeing you in his halls, old man.”

You charge at him in your rage at crude disrespect, the dark knight blocking each attack. Impressive, most of the knights in this castle use various swords or long spears, and none use the weapon combination you have.

“(Name)...” Your father falling over and dying with the final sight before him is you attacking the Kingslayer.

The traitorous knight is assessing you, studying the way you fight. Clearly, you have skill yet lack experience in using it in battle, killing you would be as easy as cutting a piece of meat. Yet, the more he looks, at your face, the familiarity in those eyes from the king to you.

Oh… Oh! What a turn of events! To think he got to kill another king-father so soon.

“You are… Oh, how wonderful!” Joyous as his next attack as you nearly fly across the room, you fall onto your knee next to your dead father. “He had a son! It is no wonder why he did not toss me his daughter for a peace agreement.” You glare at him, “A handsome boy too. Must take after your mother, thank the Gods.”

You get up and rush him.

“Your master taught you will, little prince,” Allowing you to control the fight, “I can teach you more .” You move him enough for you to make a quick dash out of the throne room, “Running are we so soon? Shall I go easier on you?” Swinging his sword in the air before following suit with no urgency in his step.

The castle is crumbling around you, history burning up in flames, your home is being destroyed around you.

All you can think about is burying the monster with you no matter the cost. 

The lower part of the castle is empty, giving you a chance to go into the armory, grabbing the black-tipped bolt arrows and stationing the large crossbow to face the door. The second he kicks the other door open, you shoot ballistic arrows.

You have seen magic, studied it though you have no talent for it, the Seer showing you druid magic. The fire summoned is not natural, it burns with dark red flames with the center being black. The flames consume the arrows and start setting the room on fire as is catches onto any flammable sources. 

The horror of seeing him summon fire to burn arrows confirmed a rumor: he is a Dragonborn. A rare breed created by either a dragon and mortal or by a mortal altering a dragon's egg. No magic fire burns unnaturally like that! What sort of monster is spawned from this realm!?

“Go on, little prince, if you wish to leave this room alive come at me!” The laughter mocking and vicious is a sinister sight with fire around you both. The Kingslayer is right though, you need to get past him in order to escape— Escape to try something else.

You still have some black power smoke you use to sneak your way back into the castle. You pull your last one out as you move in one direction, he grins as he goes to attack you.

A feint . Oh, he likes how you play!

The smoke in his face and you slip his grasp before he can close his fist. You get far enough outside but you are playing chess against a cheater, one who has played the game far longer than you and chooses to play his way.

“I shall keep you,” A sharp pull on your collar caused you to choke, body dragged back, his weight with his armor bringing you down on your front, “Our game comes to an end, little prince.”

Your weapons scattering in front of you from the rough fall, he is wrestling with you as you thrash and try to hit him with your elbows.

“Now, now, my little prince, fighting will only make it harder for you.”

You keep trying to escape from under him. Your attire being light is a blessing and soon to be a curse.

The sharp sound of ripping and hot air on your lower half makes you go still, the shock of it followed by words of a promise whispered in your ear.

“Behave and this only be a moment of pain, my prince.”

Of course, you do not listen as stubbornness runs in your family. “So be it.” The dark knight did warn you and if he must break you into obedience then all the more fun for him! “Scream nice and loud then.”

You do. With tears and blood, you are defiled surrounded by fire and misery.

Chapter Text

Never has he felt such a strong need to ravage his prey in this manner. The Kingslayer has laid with many during his time as knight of the inner circle of the Roundtable. The benefits of being seen as a hero, many fell to his feet to offer appreciation for his deeds. How humorous some still do in the hopes of him sparing their miserable life.

You are different. Something when the dark knight wanted more than to chase you and fight you, oh he wants to do this once more with you!

The glee is all over his face as lets out one final groan as he fills your abused hole with more of his cum.

Finally, something to entertain him on his long boring days and nights. This boy— No, you well into your prime years of adult years— the dark knight finds you pleasing. It has been quite some time since the urge to defile flesh led him to take you in such an ‘intimate’ manner. The hunger and thrill for an opponent to best him in combat grows during your attempts to fight him, he wants to see what can draw out of you if he pushes the limits of a mortal.

Will you break again like you did here?

Most use claymores, swords and shields, or halberd; yet you used a rapier as he does with a parrying dagger. Your style of clothing is different, light yet padded for warmth and minor protection. A belt that carried alchemical pots and your sheath.

What inspired this? 

Why learn this form rather than be a brute like your father? He used a heavy weighted double-sided axe, useful in the frontlines, fitting of your father's berserker way of fighting. Why not wear the traditional armor of knights of the Kingsguard?

Could it be because of the many scars from various spelling and developing science done to you? Grafting skin to heal the scars of what seems to be important areas of your body.

A sickly child? Could explain why you were not by the old man's side the moment the dark knight entered the throne room?

Fascinating, whatever the reason it appears the Gods of the old and new favor him this day. A victory and victory's spoils. He is tempted to wake you and have you scream for him again, the scenery is perfect for a sexual tryst!

The crackling of fire on the dying burned building within the kingdom grounds, the ambiance of falling debris, and the undead soldiers beginning to loot the castle and remaining standing buildings.

The training yard has nothing of use but he can hear the soldiers in the castle, your father's body will be among the undead gathering all that can fit in their arms.

Perhaps he should take you in front of the corpse of your king-father!

So many ideas and your hole is now wet enough to properly enjoy. 

The skies no longer rain fire and now black snow falls a mix of the soot and ashes. The dragons have begun to disappear left back into the darkness of the betrayer knight's domain, the Sorceress will be expecting him soon as well. Shame.

Pulling out of you, the Kingslayer stands looking up at the sky as he adjusts his trousers; his hips sore from doing all work with you. The experience was not too pleasant for the dark knight either at first, you were dry and only so much precum can be used as lubrication. The blood did not help either, it was a chore but necessary one to break your little spirit momentarily.

Later, he looks forward to later, this will feed into your flaming hatred for him.

The sight of you passed out from the pain, blood and cum between your legs, and your torn clothing; the monster is pleased for the moment.

Partly pleased. He found your father but the Seer the Sorceress wants. The druid, a follower of the Moon Goddess, is important for reasons she is unwilling to tell him. The dark knight permits her secrets as he holds her heart within his grasp. At any time he can break it.

His eyes wander to the current layout, no, this place is far too cold for his taste. Why would anyone want to settle here is a wonder to him.

The darkness he awoke was cold… Empty… Lonely . It was a cost he would pay over and over to kill the divine-blessed king .

The dark knight removes his shoulder cape before kneeling by your side, lifting you up to wrap it around your exposed lower half— A part of him wants to spear his cock back into your hole. The amount of cum inside of you would make it a lot easier.

Later when you are awake. You look so beautiful at rest though your face in agony is a favorite too.

Picking you up is an easy feat, his unconscious bride where dreams only for now are your escape from him, held with gentle care opposite to what he has done to you.

A swirl of mist comes flying towards you both, then lifting both in the air before forming a steed made of smoke. A nightmare steed created by oblivion and tamed by the dark knight to take into battle. Grabbing the reins then tapping it with the back of his foot and clicking his tongue. A sharp cry before wings form and fly up in the air. Your body is held close by your captor.

And just in case you think you can return to at least the ruins of your kingdom, he will have this place turned to ashes in the snow as if nothing was ever living here.

The morning sun through a stained glass window, the sound of birds chirping, the occasional groan of an undead soldier making their rounds through the back courtyard you can see if you get up to explore the balcony's view.

You slumber in soft, clean, comfortable sheets; moving every so often as you dream of your mother tending to the garden. She smiles at you before bending down to pick you up showing you the garden at her level. You point at each flower and she tells you the name. You wake up to her putting you down, nothing alarming you as you wake up in a room you do not recognize yet there is no sense of danger.

Had the knights saved you? You touch your head which is currently in a fog as you try to gather yourself. When you move off the bed, you fall to the floor in pain. Gasping as your lower back and ass hurt terribly; you then vividly recall what has been done to you.

He… He defiled you… No man… Is supposed to be touched in such a way. The dark knight had taken you like an unwilling maiden, spearing you over and over no matter the pain or your broken begging for him to stop. The experience leaves you on the floor in a state of traumatic shock.

Then you become aware of everything in the bedchambers.

It makes you sick. This… This cannot be happening.

This perfect paradise could not possibly belong to… No, no this is a dream. You must be dreaming, this twisted nightmare, no no!

This should not have happened.

It seems this to be unused guest bedchambers, everything clean and comfortable for you.

Everything is clean and set up for your comfort .

For you… This was prepared for you.

Everything is perfect! Everything a woman needs is in these cursed bedchambers! The vanity with jewelry boxes, small supplies for rogue and face powder, the flowers too resting on the vanity like a gift from a suitor. You awoke freshly clean, but the soreness remained and you touched a few spots of bruises on the back and side of your neck; the worst insult is you are in a simple woman's peasant gown… It barely fits your chest…

You pick yourself up using the bed as leverage, legs regaining the ability to walk though uncomfortable. Laying in bed is all you can do until the pain fades away. When you close your eyes it is with the hopes of never waking up, to return to your dream about your mother in her garden.

Dream and everything will go away, dream and you once more the proud son of the northern kingdom.

Yet, you cannot sleep while your honor and body have been stained by that monster !

The sound of the bell chime draws your attention, it is the usual sound one hears when a meal has been prepared in the dining room. Your eyes narrow, this could be an opportunity?

Chapter Text

Ah, home. In darkness, he was born; in darkness, he was raised; in darkness, he shall remain. Quite depressing given his fate that is told by tavern bards in song, the traitorous dark knight who killed the king of the realm. The fall of Roundtable blamed him, yet, it was not only his fault, there were others who created the cracks within the perfect order. Twelve knights were in the inner circle, and thousands pledged themselves to the order and king. She said all are equal in their voice here yet she was king with a chair that fit her status. The mage was doing all in his power to keep her at the head of the table.

There were no equals, no true balance, only power granted to one unworthy bastard child.

The castle, the Lady of Shadows castle, is as cold as ever to enter. He did not expect to see his mother there waiting for him. Ah, she must be cross with him as her mother wisps are there too— She only uses them to keep her emotions in check. The steed disappears after placing its rider on the ground, the dark knight walking with you in arms still asleep— The travel was long so he used a minor sleeping spell to keep you asleep throughout the trip.

The sight of you caused the wisps to go to you with curiosity and worry.

“Who is this?”

“Prince of the Northern kingdom,” Pridefully displaying you in his arms, “My prize.” The arrogance in her son's voice as he feels not one ounce of shame or regret for attacking a kingdom she did not tell him to attack. Once again, he went out on his own, killing and conquering what he wanted. The necromancer warned her of a possible change, though… She doubts his bloodlust was caused by the resurrection ritual.

“Take him into the guest bedchambers quickly.” Ordering her wisps, “Let him go, Mordred!” Snapping at him with part of her anger.

“Yes, mother.” Not all happy about letting you be taken by wisps when he had plans to be there when you woke up. “Do not be such a cruel mother, he just lost his family.” Speaking again when they are alone.

The sound of a slap stunned him first before the actual feeling of it across his face. Behind her black veil with her horns of onyx under them, he knows her face is one of anger, the Lady of Shadows is not at all pleased with him, “Kneel!” 

A command forcing him to kneel with his head low. 

“The twelve kingdoms only . You may plunder and take all you want from them but no other. Those were my orders, simple orders yet you are leaving nothing but ashes and scorched earth! I will not rule over nothing.”

“Are you not the Lady of Nothingness now? Surely there is no difference.”

Silence then a sharp cry of pain as the Sorceress uses her magic to hurt him, “You will not leave the castle under any circumstances for the next two campaigns.” 

“Mother—”

The magic stops as she turns around, “You can take this time to reflect.” She knows he won't.

“And my prize?”

“I care not what you do with him. Break him but do not kill him, he might be of use in cleaning up your failure.” Exasperated, “Some tasks should be done with gentle hands, not a sword.” Walking away.

The influence of her magic fades until she is entirely away from him, he gets up with a slight sway from being in that position for so long (and pain but he is prideful).

That had gone better than usual.

The Sorceress, his mother , usually punishes him severely for failing his tasks— Especially, ones that involve him kidnapping magi— Though the red knight is strong, though he has her heart as his sword, he is bound to her. She does not trust him, nor should she even if she created him, the tainted dragon blood with him rebels and he will kill her. She branded her crest upon his chest, close to his heart, and used her magic to make him obedient.

The dark knight, Mordred, figures to retire for the evening before the Sorceress decides to change her mind. The Necromancer will try to calm her down, then he will inspect the newest thralls. Your father will make a fine addition to the army.

Mordred slept well, rarely does he dream of anything outside of killing and his death but tonight he dreamt of you. Dreamt of your body, details he liked the most, of taking you upon his bed. The way you would moan saying his name, beg for him as he mated with you.

Romance has no appeal to him, not after what he did to the king by using Lancelot and Guinevere. The whore and the fool, Mordred had to only force the king to see even within her court there are those closest to him with daggers aiming for her heart.

Mordred only wishes to rip you apart, fest upon you, and fight you.

The dream ends when the light of the sun hits his eyes.

Really? The Kingslayer almost laughed at the sight he awoke to the sound of birds chirping, the sun's rays of light, and the aura calm. How unlike her. When was the last time the Sorceress used her power in this prison to turn it into a paradise similar to Avalon? The atmosphere here is always dark, depressing, and overall boring .

Mordred goes outside this dark realm because he cannot stand it! This piece of oblivion where she hides until the dirty work of conquering the realm for her is completed, he loathes it.

A sigh and groan as Mordred stretches his back then smiles as he feels the aches caused by his fun with you. You, the prince of ice and snow, who he needs to find right now .

Getting up does not happen immediately as his cock is hard from the dream of you, it is not something he can ignore nor is he going to. Mordred takes care of it with practice movements and though it does relieve him, he still wants you. The things he can do to you, for you, for you to do to him, for you to crave him.

The servant wisps are called to run a bath, prepare his clothes, and a meal prepared for two in the dining room. The wisps are gossiping in their language, mumbling amongst themselves, Mordred has not seen them this excited.

“Princess is pretty.” This is what he caught as he translated metally what they say. Oh, princess? What princess? Unless… Hah! They probably assumed you were a princess given your face is not quite the traditional knight's face. You look like your mother, mother's eyes and father’s hair color; Mordred likes that. The dark knight looks beautiful because the Lady of Shadows made him like this. Easier to manipulate those around him, those knights did not expect him to be the strongest among them given his appearance. It made their defeat all the more satisfying.

Mordred bathes in oils and a wisp washing his hair, his eyes looking at the outfits presented.

Luxury he takes for himself, the Necromancer takes his piece of course as payment. People included, you are not the first person he has taken as a prize. Mother usually kills them after he grows bored of them, stealing their life force to increase her power. He does not care.

Mordred doubts he will be bored of you so soon.

Chapter Text

You were born sick. Born fragile as ice over a lake, and useless to a land covered in it. Father held no true interest in you, not when you were young and often around your mother.

Mother loved you, maybe she loved you too much, as she cared for her darling boy. You are a bright star in the night sky, pointing often to the northern star that guides all on their paths; her brightest star in the sky. Everything you learned was from her proactively finding ways to show you can be great as the divine king with your mind. Seer was an excellent tutor and his patience with you was that of a Saint.

As you grew older, the sicker you became, your father was not there for you. There were good days, days when Seer used science instead of magic to ease the pain. Days when you had enough strength to request to duel your father, you wanted to show him what you learned from books and observations; he agreed but you did not catch the way he held no interest.

You were young, a boy, a sickly boy who wanted your father's love and attention.

The duel did not last more than five minutes before your chest started to hurt, your legs wobbled, and your vision was blurred; it hurt your bones when you collapsed and Seer rushed to your side to use his magic to cool your body temperature and healing to ease the pain.

“The Gods cursed me with a sickly boy. A girl would have been of more use.” Those words slipped out, there was no taking back what he had said. Your father had tensed up, his grip on the training sword loosened until it fell to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he saw how devastating those words were to the boy who was hanging on by a thread of his short life.

“(Name), I—”

“I'm sorry, my liege. I'll go now.” Seer tried to help you up but you sharply snatched your arm away. You endured the pain physically as the emotional pain had given you the strength to walk away.

You loved your father… Obligation . The love for the idea of a parent, the storybook father who handed down family names and traditions to his son. Your father became two figures: a king and a man who wished he had a daughter to throw away as other nobility do in stories you have read.

There was no amount of words he could say to a sickly boy who quietly found living to be of worth.

When your mother died, she gifted her parts to you. Eyes, lungs, heart; Seer did not want to desecrate her body yet it was her will and he was not going to break his vow to her to save you. An alchemist, one decorated with red crystal, helped in the experimental grafting.

Love became a burden on your borrowed heart.

One life ends to save another. You live for your mother, you live because you believe her love keeps you alive.

The scars remain as reminders, your back and chest bear these scars.

Does he see them? It crosses your mind when you charge into the dining room with one hand holding up the gown for you to charge in. Feet on stone as you refuse to wear a woman's shoes, you did not remove the gown to be decent as you lack smalls.

The Red Knight, he was standing with his arms crossed staring at food from the side of the table, he had only snapped out of inner thoughts when your fist met his cheek.

There is no clashing of swords, there is only an angry cry from you punching the dark knight with all your strength though it hurts your hand. Mordred grins all too ready to respond with further violence. A dull knife grabbed by you to cut him only grabbed by your wrist and tossed around; you land on the floor with him on top of ready to punch you in return. 

You are wearing a gown, no wonder you ran in here fuming. It is a peasant's gown and he can see your chest from his view above you, part of your chest exposed with his marks in view. He stared at those rather than the scars.

“Should I say this was not my doing?” It honestly was not. The wisps likely took you to the nearest spare bedchambers, one that belonged to a woman who entertained him until he became bored. They assumed you also were a woman— You smell nice too, the wisp must have bathed you. He buries his nose in the crook of your neck breathing in deep lavender with hints of vanilla and your scent.

“I say it has done wonders on you.” Pulling back to see your face, “You make a far better woman than a knight.” That stung. Mordred had moved off of you quickly as a knife in your hand though dull is still a weapon— He will permit it for now.

“Your vileness knows no bounds!” Screaming at him as you and him do this dance of a fight, “I will kill you!” You know how wild you must look with a dull knife in hand as you get up from the floor, eyes locked on his.

The smock forces you to be careful, the corset tight on your chest; it makes you blind with rage. It makes it hard to move effectively. The bastard knows too and uses it to his advantage.

“The day you do kill me,” A ripping sound as the red knight got hold of the top part of your gown as he yanked it down during this fight. One side of your chest is completely exposed, and his eyes wander shamelessly, “My ghost will see to keep you company.”

What sort of nonsense is that!? You hate how you want to cover yourself with how he looks upon you like some common barmaid. You try to stab him but instead of dodging, he grabs your wrist and uses your momentum to slam you into the table. 

“So fragile.” Taking the knife out of your hand after twisting your arm a bit. A few cuts and punches back but it is lacking, so fragile you would make a terrible knight. Sir Bedivere is stronger than you and he only had one arm (one of the few knights Mordred tolerated).

“So weak.”

“I am no woman!” The knife was taken and tossed away, “I am (Name) of house Erikson! Son of King Erik and Queen—” His covers yours to stop your yapping, however, you bite his hand is a surprise enough for you to headbutt him with the back of your, which hurts you too.

“Haha!” Blood drips from his nose.

You get from under him however he rips the top part of your gown once more to expose your chest completely, you hit him with an empty plate which causes him to drop down before he can fully get up. Bleeding from the top of his head, he is far more wild looking at you, it scares you.

“Yield, monster.” Grabbing another plate, “I said— Stop it!” Yelling at him as he tackles you against the table knocking the wind out of you. Mordred is grabbing whatever fabric parts of you he can, his mouth on your chest biting your skin next to your nipple. You try, oh you try, your hardest to get him off of you. His hand lands under your gown touching where you do not want him to touch.

“How cute,” His hand, “It would not satisfy a woman.” The insult is made as he touches your small flaccid cock.

“Shut up! Don't touch me!” You struggle but he has your arms pinned behind you using your sleeves to his advantage to keep your hands from trying to claw him as you did before.

“Why? Its only use is to be touched.” Pulling down the foreskin revealing the head of your cock to cool air, “It twitches so eagerly.” You know it is only because he is oddly touching you, a wrong way to touch. This is not how a man should touch another man.

You bite down on your bottom lip to keep any traitorous sound from spilling out of your mouth.

It is weird, wrong as before too, the precum leaking from your cock making it easier for him to move up and down at a steady pace. You squeeze your eyes shut as it is overwhelming, your legs shake yet he keeps you steady with his body on yours.

“Go on, cum. Spill your seed onto my hand.”

To your horror, you cum on his hand unable to control yourself. There you lay on the table twitching and panting for air, your eyes wide in shock.

“Perfect.” His presence is still behind you but not on top of you, he keeps you bent over the table and ties your sleeves together to keep your hands bound. “Let's try this again.”

Chapter Text

Did the red knight believe his actions would magically be forgiven when he breaks you, reshapes you, makes you love him? No, not love for love is romantic and he will not stand for that nonsense. When you desire him, obsess over him, when you crumble for even an ounce of his attention. As he yearns for you, you will yearn for him; fall into the depth of his darkness by his side.

Mordred indulges excessively when it comes to you, his princess , you react so wonderfully violently to his insults. As a man it is belittling, as a person it is violating, and as the prince of ashes and snow… You stare out into the illusion of a beautiful garden. He told you this is all fake, an illusion created by his mother for reasons he believes is because of you. You brought spring, a rarity. Mother created illusions of winter, fall, and sometimes summer. Spring has only bloomed here once in honor of the death of a woman she loved… Giving up her immortality for a man. Morgan wanted her to live, to see the realm under true and just by the rightful queen.

Mother said nothing more about her.

Strangely, the portrait he saw had the same eye color as you.

The collar around your neck, a comfortable fabric with red gem hangs like a teardrop, Mordred does not like the remainder of what it means. You turn your head to look at him from over your bare shoulders; once again you are forced to wear a gown, but this time a noble gown of red, gold, and white. The colors match him, these are his colors on you announcing who you belong to.

Your eyes narrow then close as you turn your head away toward the window, only then did your eyes open to stare outside. Mordred has not broken you, this he knows, but he has tired you.

The lust he has for you is endless— Wrong and endless— You found yourself often put in the position a woman would be in. Underneath the dark knight as he pierces you upon his cock over and over. Reaching deep enough to touch something wrong deep within, makes you fall apart so easily.

Are you cursed? Has the God of your mother and the Gods of your father finally forsaken you? Was your torturous youth not enough? Must you be degraded, defiled, and devalued until you are nothing but hollow flesh with grafting of parts from his mother?!

You wish to cry but it would run the black makeup around your eyes. The methods of enhancing your beauty were done by the Handmaiden Wisps who believed you to be a woman; though you showed proof of not being one… They still act as if you are.

Mordred kneels down, his head resting on your knees; he can feel you tense and close your legs tight.

“Spar with me this afternoon.”

“No.” An immediate reply with no emotion.

“I promised to show you more. To give you a chance to surpass your limits.” Mordred almost sounds like a spoiled brat who cannot handle the singular word ‘ no ’.

“I am not a fool to fall for your tricks, Kingslayer.” The birds disappear then reappear after flying away into the sky, “Is raping me not enough? Now you wish to best me in combat once more… Just take from me and leave me alone.” The tiredness, the pure exhaustion in your tone is the same as the day you attempted to take your life.

Three weeks ago, Mordred has not touched you since that day.

It was early morning, the sun was not as bright as the illusion created a rainy day. Spring rain. Mordred had finished taking you a few moments before dawn, he had become insatiable since he had to stay in this cramped old castle until the Necromancer's second return.

The red knight redressed as you lay in bed on your side curled up in a ball, you were holding your breath until he stood up from your bed after putting his shoes on.

The second you let it as he normally leaves, you bite down on your bottom lip when his fingers play with the ends of your hair.

“ Grow your hair out, you'll look prettier with long hair .” It has already started growing out, the only indication of the passage of time for you is this.

After the dining room insult, you have been as jumpy as a rabbit without its winter coat. Always on guard yet never strong enough to fight him off despite your rage. Rage seems to arouse him when you unleash it upon him. You have come to realize it is likely his way of foreplay.

You try to have places of peace, places you can breathe in but it is impossible with him. He is on you when the second dawn breaks the first light; your bedchambers are not safe enough for you to hide in— You tried.

“ A gorgeous princess needs his hair to display his crown. ”

When you were forced to take him into your mouth, he spilled his seed upon your head crowning you as his princess. You could not wash your hair enough to believe all of his spent was washed, no matter how many oils and bath salts you used. You have nor ever will forgive him, he has done things to you no man should ever do to one another; the shame and disgust— It has you feeling like a disgrace, your skin crawls as you tried so many times to scrub your skin raw with hot water and a washcloth.

He leaned in close whispering in your ear the way he will enough pulling that lovely hair of yours, he does grab fist fills of it when he wants you to stop hiding your face in the pillows.

“ Rest, my princess. Breakfast will be ready to restore your fragile stamina. ” Kissing your sore cheek from when he had slapped you in response to you biting his hand.

You did not arrive when called down for breakfast.

Mordred allowed your stubbornness or perhaps he did tire you that much.

Brunch you did not arrive nor did the wisps find you in your bedchambers. You were nowhere in the west wing of the castle, where all guests are granted permission to roam freely including the courtyard gardens.

The thralls gather near an empty hall in the east wing, Mordred's area of the castle he barely uses, your father's corpse included in the crowd. There he found you had bled yourself to death. Blood all around the treasure room, your body lifeless and cold as you have been here for a few hours.

You had taken the broach he gifted you of his house's crest from your gown and stabbed it into your stomach. Over and over as much as you could, spreading your blood upon everything this bastard knight has stolen. You had ultimately killed yourself with your father's axe that was in the pile of weapons tossed in from defeated knights and warriors.

The only reason you are alive now is because, in this realm of darkness, Morgan le Fay the Lady of Shadows holds dominion over death and life. Bringing you back was as easy as writing your name upon the summon symbols. You were brought back and collared, the collar will not allow you to enact any inspiring endings to your life.

Morgan le Fay, you did not see her but her magic was oppressive when you tried to jump off your balcony. That is why you are currently sitting at the balcony gazing out while Mordred is with you playing nice . You still are being disrespected as he has not given you clothes fitting for a prince.

“I swear not to pursue you while sparring with you.”

“Swear not to pursue me at all!” Snapping at him, “Swear to never touch me again!” You screamed at him then silence followed as you gathered your breath then you sighed, “Why do I bother with you…” There is no point in this.

“You are my prize, so allow me to reward you for pleasing me.” He stands up casting a shadow over you. Looking up at him shoots fear down your spine, “Spar with me and grow strong enough to kill me or never be touched by me but you will never leave this place dead or alive.” His hand tilts your chin up, “I will keep to my word not to spar in the hopes of bedding you after.”

You can see it in those ruby mismatched eyes he is serious, they do not falter nor does he lean down to steal an undeserving kiss.

Chapter Text

A month. Mordred tells you it has been a month since bringing you here to the original castle of Pendragon. Mordred tells you this castle belongs to his mother who resides in the north wing of the castle— The main part. There is a Necromancer who resides in the south wing but at the lower levels so you will never see him. 

The wisps are souls kept here by Morgan Le Fay as her undying faithful servants; he does not know any of them personally. The thralls of the undead are not of his making, he prefers fire and steel.

Yes, he is dragonborn. His mother used both her blood and the Silver Knight's blood and the egg of a dead dragon to create him. Without a dragon's soul with the egg, she created a new life. It is forbidden magic but only forbidden as kingdoms would use similar rituals to create heroic champions— It is a lost ritual.

Mordred likes women and men, both are alluring. He likes you in gowns because he believes it brings out your beauty. Though he is not opposed to trousers and tunic, it makes you look dull compared to how you are being made to gown or smock. No, he did order the wisps to dress you like this. It was by chance and mistake.

He does not love you, he is incapable of it or believes in it. He does believe in carnal pleasures and desire. The day you fought him, he knew you had to be his. You are his, a prize for him to indulge in at a whim. The red knight tells you giving in will be beneficial and he is willing to allow you to make suggestions.

You suggest he cut off his cock. He suggests you grow yours bigger.

No, you cannot bury your father. He has uses. Yes, he will permit you to burn the axes’ in his place.

He waits for your response as he pauses his hands from cutting into the roast beef slice once more. This is the first civil dinner you both had.

“If you are expecting gratitude,” You are continuing to swirl your goblet of wine, “Remember you killed him and desecrated his body.”

“And I shall remind you it is my generosity which is granting you to perform your heathen funeral rites.”

You say nothing as you set your goblet down, “Heathen says the man who commits sodomy upon me.”

“Which you still cum and bask in the glow of such release,” Take a small piece of meat into his mouth with a cheeky smirk on his face. “Shall I demonstrate?”

“No!”

“Shame. Later than when the moon is high. Leave your bedchamber door unlocked, I would hate to break them open again.”

You are fuming but remain calm as you go back to eating.

Civil but tense, you suppose it is better than being force-fed while warming his cock. To think the kingslayer has sought you out endlessly for a month— Three weeks he did not touch you. It is strange how the red knight kept to his word about teaching you how to fight, he is willingly giving you the tools to his demise. He finds a thrill to this, training you to kill him but he expects hesitation as time goes on. You refuse to believe you will ever hesitate to kill a recurring nightmare.

Today, all day, both of you have been in the training room sparring. You have lost many times as you are above a novice but lack stamina due to your sickness. Even with your mother's lungs, your blood is still infected.

The medicines you would make and take, the alchemist teaching you how, is no longer available. You have woken up a few times during the night feverish and twice had dizzy spells.

“Thinking of a clever way to thank me, princess?”

“No, I was thinking how I will die before separating your head from your body.” 

He is confused, “You will not die. No harm will come to from anyone nor yourself.”

“You cannot stop biology, oathbreaker.” You flinch when he stands up slamming his hands on the table.

“Explain!” So you do. In enough detail to keep things private and others too complex for him to understand.

“I will have the thralls fetch—”

“They will spoil the items I need!” This is true, “It needs to be cared for and gathered properly.” Careful with your tactic, “Do you not have… Living servants?”

He clicks his tongue, “No, mother dislikes the mortality of humans.” Annoyed.

“Perhaps… No, you would never get these supplies.”

“Of course, I would!” Growling, “You are mine and you will not be taken in by your unclean blood.”

Mordred says those words are ironic given he loves biting you hard enough to cause you to bleed and licking it.

“Of course.” He will be away for a while given the items are from various regions of the twelve kingdoms.

“You will accompany me.”

“What!?” Oh, he suggested it before you could!? “I mean… Are you not worried I will run away?”

“ No, for you have nothing to run back t o.”

… You are the Prince of Ashes and Snow… Suddenly, you feel like throwing up.

Mordred did not bed you when he slipped into your chambers, he did however sleep beside you that night. He held you in his arms from behind, his warmth had come in handy when chills wreck through your body. The symptoms will get worse, frequently, until your body completely gives out. You hate it but you clung to him as the cold would not go away, you silently sob as the pain made everything hurt.

“Rest, little prince.” Mumbling in his half sleep state. You tried but he felt warm, so warm you wanted to bury yourself in him. You turn over to bury your face in his chest as a shiver has you trembling. The dark knight's breath is hot on your cheek, you open your legs to him when grabs one from behind, he places your legs over his hips.

“Mordred.”

“You're cold.” So matter-in-fact as he gets warmer.

The way he holds you keeps you close to his chest, you can smell him . You grip his thin soft round collar tunic, tugging on it as he rubs your back, gasping when his hips rock against yours. “Relax, place your burdens upon me.”

You do not want to but you feel miserable and cold, and your mind is not right in this vulnerable state.

“Mordred…”

It is very different how he is touching you as if you are made of glass, as if you will fall apart the second his grip is too firm. You wrap your arms around his chest as he rubs both his and your cocks, jerking them off with his hand. The heat is helping, the exertion leaving you out of breath, and you are unable to control your voice. The red knight, you cannot see his face, is he happy?

You want to be upset but you are too lost in the misery and relief; allowing even a kiss with his tongue taking yours.

You cum right as he does, both wasted seed all over his hand. “Cold.” Partly true, mostly delirious.

“You will warm up in a moment, (Name).” With concern in his voice, as he holds you close with one arm around your waist, the other is under your sleeping tunic and fingering your hole. One finger, well lubricated by the shared cum on his hand, you tense up then relax as you stop caring for a moment— You just want to be warm.

Chapter Text

“These items do have medicinal properties when combined.” She is impressed by the detailed instructions down to the timing of cooling down the elixir, “Your prince must have a talented and knowledgeable alchemist.”

Mordred knows what you are doing, or going to attempt to do the moment he takes you out of the realm of shadows. Though it is clear you do need the medicine given how you were last night (the way you were so fragile will ever escape his thoughts), he is going to allow you to try. See how far a broken caged bird can fly without him.

When dawn broke in the illusion, Mordred was gone before you were woken by the wisps. Last night, he saw— Felt something different. There was a tightness in his chest, a panic as he saw and felt you become a fragile creature; the anger to be unable to— It must be because he owns you, a prize to be enjoyed by him until he grows bored of you.

He took your notes before seeking Morgan in her spell chamber.

“I know well you are not dull in the mind enough to fall for this ploy to escape.” Eyeing him behind her veil, “However, this can be used to our advantage…”

Your bloodied body on the ground of his treasury, he had felt so angry at how you dared to leave him .

There is no love, there is only the desire to own you. To have the thrill of danger and pin it down every night and claim it. Mordred is certain pain in his chest was caused by panic of losing a good plaything.

“ Mordred .”

Right, mother was talking as he sat in the spell chamber in her wing of the castle. He has to seek her permission to leave else she will punish him.

“Of course your mind is on your pet prince,” She is currently standing behind the table littered with tomes, scrolls, and papers with both symbols and words. Her spell chamber is where her magic is strongest, her horns glow with ethereal beauty, yet she does not change from her black veil and mourning gown. “You need to pay attention, son.”

“Of course, mother. Please, impart your wisdom to me.”

A scoff from the woman, “You still sass me though your beloved prince's fate relies upon me granting you permission to leave my realm.”

“... My deepest apologies, queen mother.” He bows with his hand on his heart.

She is surprised to see him… “He holds that much importance to you?”

“Yes, he is mine. My prize and desire.”

Morgan Le Fay will not tell him infatuation leads into love, he will deny it and likely call her a liar as he believes himself born without a heart of mortals. Dragons do not love, they dominate and destroy.

Yet, he forgets the tale of the Dragon Knight and the Dragon Queen he fell in love with.

“I see, well, your prize is granting you an opportunity to complete your task. Allow your prince to escape here,” Pointing at a small map where she marked each of the locations the items are located. “The druid likely fled to this township right on the border. Remember to capture not kill.”

“As you wish.” Spoken without sass or questioning, “I have your permission then, queen mother?”

“Yes,” She has not seen this side of him before, “Mordred…” She shakes her head, “Away with you and do not return empty handed.”

Was last night real? You were delirious but you swear the dark knight was gentle with you. Your body betrays you in your moment of weakness, willingly taking the monster's cock just to not suffer… The chills were painful, it made every part of your body ache to the bone. The warmth of a dragonborn had soothe it, he soothed you; you are confused, lost in the dragon's lair who keeps you within his hoard.

Why did the… Monsters are confusing! This must be a new trap. Yes, he is once again messing with your mind.

You remind yourself with your eyes on the mirror examining your body that the red knight is taking some you. The mirror in front of you allows you to see a complete view of your naked body fresh from a bath of scorching hot water and rough scrubbing of your poor skin.

He will leave his mark of taint upon you no matter if you resist or submit; you must remember that. In grain into your mind when your body betrays you. Your father's corpse roams in unwilling service, his body will wander… You were only able to partially grant him a funeral, you can only hope his Gods accepted his soul into the golden halls of a warrior.

Mordred is only doing what he must to keep his plaything alive, this a game to him.

Last night was a mistake, you were not well and some twisted part of you had given in so you could not suffer once again.

You find appropriate clothes left on your bed after your bath. You make yourself focus on that rather than spiral over the crisis in your mind. These clothes are not sparring clothes, these are appropriate and worthy of a man to travel in. You had been quick to dress in excitement as the only time you can dress properly is in training— Mordred says otherwise but you know he wants a princess to dine with him. Easy access between your legs.

You had to gaze upon yourself for a moment in the mirror, marks hidden away by the high collar. Your hands wander your clothed body, to be sure these are real— You will savor this.

There is nothing for you to pack. A month here, your hair is growing out. Your eyes drift to well made cloak that was with your attire, hand siding through the fabric as you think about your kidnapper.

Given what he saw last night, you believe he only worries because his plaything will be too broken to play with. You are going to have to use that as your advantage, as much as you do not wish to be vulnerable, it is your only way to keep him at bay.

With a deep sigh, you pray to your mother's God to give you strength.

Chapter Text

Father spoke about the many different lands in the realm, the places he discovered as a viking and places he discovered as a knight, you would listen with great interest when he talked. Being sickly at such a young age, you did not have much of a chance to explore outside of the castle; any attempt to try was met with extreme scolding from your worried mother.

After the grafting, you gave up. You did not care about the world outside of your home, all that mattered was the people and kingdom. Now all of that is ashes…

The roads have been quiet since returning to the realm of the twelve kingdoms, you are grateful to breathe in the air of a real place and not smell a linger scent of a corpse. Necromancy is such a disgusting form of magic, you hate it.

Getting upset is not the idea right now as the map shows you are far from any place you recognize in your kingdom or its borders. Very far . The land here is warm as it is, bright, many miles of fields of wheat. It is like a sea of gold that seems to stretch for miles, you cannot help but stare in wonderment as you pass by it on the road to a place you have never seen.

There were several places you told the dark knight where the items were exported from. None of them are in range of the twelve knights’ kingdoms, two of the other places are near your destroyed home— Which means the court mage could have fled to either of those places.

This land is furthest from your fallen kingdom, this you know is done to keep you from running away. Mordred has you riding in front of him as he supposedly watches behind you for safety… As if the collar hidden under your high collar tunic will not prevent you from either harming yourself or escaping him; Mordred would only have to find you by following the traces of his mother's magic.

So you enjoy the sight of nature and sun that is real and not an illusion; pretending to not feel the red knight's wandering hands hidden by your cloak. Since the ride started— Since leaving that oppressive domain— He has been handsy. Mordred touches you yes but it always seemed to be done with the intention of sex or to make you upset. Right now, he is rubbing your hips that had started to ache from your lack of experience riding a horse for so long.

A small village is found and they say the next town will have the ingredients you need. Mordred permits resting here and for you to explore. You guess you are appreciative of his permission as you do wander about and talk to some of the town's people.

Hours before the sun is setting, the people are returning to their homes and family, Mordred makes camp within the village as the tavern does not have rooms, only food and drink— You know they are frightened of strangers given the traveling word of the gruesome war.

“They should be fearful,” Mordred is setting up camp as you sit by watching, he will not let you exhaust yourself. Though the trip can be shortened by magic, his mother forbade it and told him to fetch the supplies on his own (this is a lie but he will not admit his plans to capture your court mage). Traveling by horse and limited supplies that can last the journey.

“Their sons will not be coming home.” Spoken without care or remorse.

“They will defeat you.” You say quickly yet there is no faith in those words… “No matter how many you put to the sword, hope will keep them fighting.”

“Oh, I did not believe you were still this naive, dearest.”

You sneer at him.

“Hope is laughable and gets anyone killed.” The red knight slicks back his hair, a glamor spell to change his hair and eye color as white hair and his infamous single red eye is known by all.

The tent was made with a magic seal on it. You recognize it as the druid showed you Tents of Comfort. It allows the tent to be bigger on the inside and some use it to connect to a room. Leave home but not luxury. It is popular with merchants, performers, and pleasure seekers.

“Hope keeps me alive.”

“Revenge keeps you alive and entertaining, little prince. Hope made you a fool.” Now making a fire, “Do not let it make you boring.”

The moment there is a spark of fire, you kick dirt over it and the knight before going into the tent in your silence rage.

You went to bed without dinner or changing. The magic of the tent created is a decent bedchamber, not that you care about exploring. The medicine, a few vials Mordred gave you, was taken right before bed. You usually take it with food to not have the side effects affect you immediately. You do not care and take medicine then lay down.

The collar's magic cannot stop you as you are not harming yourself. You simply want to disappear for a while.

In dreams you can escape the horror of the dark knight. In dreams, you can be with your mother in the precious memories of her love and light. In dreams, you are safe to smile, weep, and swear as your mother consoles you.

The combination of a sleeping potion you put in the medicine is used to help you sleep easier given your sickness has started to happen during the night. Sleep has become a form of escapism, a temporary peace.

The downside is waking up, waking up to warmth holding you and the scent of a monster greeting you. Worse are the nights when the dark knight decides to make use of your peaceful form, when takes you for his own pleasure. Often he does not leave his cum within you as he instead cums on you, a sick way of marking his territory you guess given what he has done to you so far.

It is tiring, you hate him and the drive for justice is there, but you are tired of this. You can only hope once you find a way to your mage, you can escape Mordred.

Chapter Text

After three days of traveling, you watch the sky before going to rest. Each night closer to the moon's fullness, the skies become clearer until there is no single cloud in the dark sky.

You slip away with the excuse of bathing in a nearby lake, the dark knight questions you until you snap at him for being disgusting with your body. He backed off when you were ready to duel him to get his foul cum off of you from earlier.

You are counting your blessings that he is not as hostile as he was in the beginning, yet it puts you on edge about his tempered behavior. Your anxiety is high as you find the perfect spot to hide, where the moon is in clear sight.

The full moon is high above the clear night sky with stars sparkling in celestial splendor, the air is warm as the summer is beginning here in the western lands. Fireflies dance around the lake you find along the path to the outer part of the western kingdom. You undress until you are completely naked, the water is not warm but it is not freezing as you step into it until it reaches your waist.

In your hands are your offerings to the Lunar Goddess the druid taught you about. His title is Lunar Phase , he is Her narrator and Her guide, though he seemed close to your father as Seers are sought out for wisdom and visions.

Lunar Phase taught you to carry two offerings and to select the type of offerings to the Moon Goddess depending on your request of her. The offering in your hand is a white candle and a belladonna. The candle is not lit and the nightshade is placed on the water where the moon’s light shines the brightest. You watch it float into the light then hold the candle out towards the moon, a prayer spoken to the Goddess and your request of Her. You wait with closed eyes then you feel the candle become warm then open your eyes to see it lit by a blue flame. She is willing to answer your prayer and your message must be spoken before the candle’s wick runs out.

In the language Lunar Phase taught you, you tell your message quickly and with only the parts necessary for Lunar Phase to know you are alive and where you are going; you do inform him about Mordred and that you are his prisoner at the moment. Your return sickness is mentioned but you gloss it over to not waste any time.

The wick runs out and then disappears in a sparkle of lights, you feel the brush of a hand on your cheek the way a mother soothes her child. It eases your anxiety as She knows your heart weighs heavy.

You bathe with a cleaning soap made by the village’s elder who runs the limited apothecary shop. Most of his blends are made with local ingredients, he does not have the item you needed but he did give you the candle and belladonna. The soap blend is meant to help with physical healing on a minor scale; you know because you made one similar for your father to rest his body when he would return from training or to help him sleep. It comforts you with the pleasant memories as you wash away the muck of the road and pretend you are ridding yourself of the body Mordred enjoys.

The peace of nature and the glow of Her light, you stay here for as long as you can or as long as your soap will last.

Then you see your reflection in the moon illuminated water, this face you know yet do not know.

Your hair is longer, down to your shoulder. Your skin is soft as your mother’s, you feel softer in places you used to be firm. Your nails are growing out yet the callous on them remains as you keep your skills sharp with or without Mordred’s training.

Are you still a man? You feel sick, stomach twisting and turning.  Everyday you lay with the red knight, the harsh words of your father come to mind, yet sleeping alone feels foreign. You find your thoughts clouded by the red knight, hatred and confusion, you dunk your body completely into the water with your eyes shut tight.

A drowned scream let out into the war as you unleash all of emotions where the monster cannot see for his amusement.

In Her light you release your misery, grief, and loneliness.

Are you still the Prince of the Northern Lands?

You get up and take in air into your aching lungs coughing as you cry.

It is said the stars were created from the tears of the Lunar Goddess, weeping for those lost in the darkness of the night. The first tear became the Northern Star, the guide. The others are constellations of stories. Lunar Phase taught you everything he could, teaching about the star charts and stories of the Lunar Goddess. You found your time with him after your mother's passing and the grafting, brought you peace. He was a father when your father had given up on his sickly son.

The summer wind is warm, a smell of forest, then the scurrying of small animals has you quickly turn around to see the red knight at the shore of the lake.

You were gone for too long.

The moon is full, there could be bandits scouting for easy prey. A hungry wolf could become desperate enough to attack a human. You left your rapier in the camp. Mordred saw you look at it then foolishly leave without it.

You were gone for too long .

“Must you bother me in my sole moment of peace?!” You speak with your back facing him as you know your face is puffy from crying and rather not look at him. Yet, you feel his eyes on you, hear his footsteps drawing closer to the water.

You are the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on. The moonlight outlines your body, a body he finds himself so obsessed with he cannot fathom a night of rest without by his side. Mordred dreaming of the day you be by his side covered in blood, surrounded corpses, oblivion finally claiming this realm; he will want to take you right there and you will embrace him.

The more he stares, the way you draw him closer to water like a siren, his hand reaching out and grabbing your shoulders. He does not care about the water in his shoes, or soaked trousers; he cares about how your cheeks are tear stained and eyes puffy from you rubbing them.

“You were crying,” The tone is unsure, “Stop it.”

You roll your eyes trying to pull away but he does not allow you to escape, “Let me bathe in peace.”

“No,” He needs you, something inside of him needs you constantly or he might… Mordred only knows he will become violent. “I want you, my princess.”

“... Do whatever you wish.”

“I want you to want this.”

You look at him not expecting him to hold your face and look into your eyes, his mismatched ones have this strange depth to them as if his soul is trying to convey something he possibly has… No… “No!” That would be impossible! Pushing him away into the water and running off back to shore, grabbing your clothes and leaving him soaked in the lake.

It is hours before he returns to camp, his clothes wet and bloodied; you dare not ask why. You came out of the tent only to make tea for yourself as you need to ease your racing mind.

Mordred standing looking up at the sky with his arms crossed. The horses are sleeping, frogs croaking, crickets chirping, and the moon overlooks this all.

“Do you love me?” You need to hear it even if it breaks the silence suddenly.

“Would saying that I did change anything?” Rolling his eyes but not turning to face you.

“Mordred, do you love me?” Asking with a firm tone.

“Your hole is satisfying and your cock amusing to suck,” Turning his head slightly to see your reaction, “Love is not needed to bed a man.”

“So you are simply into sodomy.”

“Dear princess, did you think yourself special enough to change my heart? Haha!” Laughing then stops when you start laughing with him.

“Not at all. Monsters are like starved wolves, they will eat their own. Love is beyond your kind .” You sit down and begin preparing yourself tea. A few herbs you found will help with your mind and unsettled stomach.

Mordred raises an eyebrow, “My kind ?”

“Traitors. Oathbreakers .”

That gets you a hearty laugh, “Many oaths are broken out of love, princess.” Turning around to face you, “Lancelot and Guinevere for one.”

You know the story, infidelity along with the betrayal of trust, many romanticize the affair but it was wrong. “You are avoiding my question,” If you let him, he will have you questioning yourself! “Do you love me?!”

“Do you?” Approaching you slowly with a slight swagger of arrogance, “Have you fallen for your father's killer?” Standing right in front of you, “The one who burned to the ground your home. Do you think your father would give his blessings to court you?” Mordred is trying to get you to fight him, goading you by hitting nerves, and it nearly works as you get up with your hand clenched into a fist to punch him.

“...” Eyes narrowing then you shove your shoulder into his. Mordred expected you to at least punch him but you walked away.

“Rest well, my beloved princess.” Calling out to you.

Chapter Text

“Do you love me?”

Mordred sleeps outside the tent as the journey north goes on, he sharpens his sword or spars with him. He does not speak to you in the morning nor invite you to train with him, instead, he will surprise attack you when his sword is in hand. You have been beaten more than twice, both because of his skill and because your sickness is limiting you. Mordred did show mercy when your chest started to hurt and your lungs burned, his pushing to the point of landing a nearly dangerous hit. You had laid there shaking both bleeding and trying to breathe. The bastard made you wait long enough for you to think you were going to die, he gave you the potion mouth-to-mouth.

“Do you love me? ”

This is a reminder you are alive because he wants you alive, you need him so it is time you accept that, and that he will harm you if necessary.

“ Beloved princess .”

Mordred would glimpse into the tent as you slept and when you were changing clothes. His wandering of course as there is no physical trace of him on you unless he starts beating you like some child bully. The cut was unintentional across your upper chest, he did not stop himself in time; though when you turn around as you grab your tunic, he is prideful seeing whatever mark on your flesh he can.

“ My beloved princess .”

Love is dangerous, it can build or destroy, it feeds on everything, and rarely gives back. Lancelot and Guinevere had both built and destroyed the Silver King, the red knight had to only expose secrets into the light. The Spirit of the Lake was a fool to think the Silver King would walk completely away from Guinevere, there was too much between them. Mordred had laughed in the King's face after killing Guinevere and then driving Lancelot into a spell-driven madness to attack his friend and king.

Excalibur used to kill a friend , and then slay a son .

“He is mine. ”

The possibility of you somehow enchanting him to the point he finds him in this position currently—Standing in front of the tent unsure if he wants to fight you or take you— Is unexpected. The princess before you, though she did not inspire him to fight her, he felt this yearning when he could not touch her. Bedding her whenever he could, marking her, he had kept her clothes when she died.

Clothes you were wearing during your time in the castle.

“ Do you love me? ”

No, Mordred simply wants to possess you to the point your reason to live is for him. With the tip of his sword, a beautifully crafted sword of his mother's sharp cold heart, he goes into the tent believing you are asleep only to find you in bed shirtless and kicking off the fur blanket.

“M-Mordred…” You did not expect him to come into the tent given the past few days of him sleeping outside.

“Where's your medicine?” Looking around with his head turning to see if you placed it anywhere in the tent.

“Ran… Out..” Out of breath and shivering, “I will,” A quick intake of air, “Be fine.”

“You lie.” Idiot! Of course, you ran out by now! And only one of the items was found in the outer capital of the kingdom. “Prideful enough not to beg for help, I see.”

You glare at him as you sit up only for him to use his sword to stop you from moving from your spot.

“Beg.”

You press your lips together until they are thin, eyes and head turned away.

“Or die of sickness and break your promise to kill me in revenge for disgracing your father's body.” Pushing the sword so the tip of it presses onto your chest, an uncomfortable feeling but not cutting into your skin.

“Please.”

“Hm, you will have to speak up, beloved princess.”

Your head hangs down as you raise your voice, “Please… Help me.”

The sword is tossed on the floor, his blouse tossed off, you lay back down as he crawls onto the bed.

“You need me, never forget this, princess.” His eyes locked on your face, “I will carve it into your skin.”

It is terrifying, yet he has done this before countless times, and your body has always responded. Most days, it is easier to give in than fight, easier to pretend you are somewhere else.

The second his lips meet yours, the moment his hands are touching your chest— Toying with your nipples the way you heard some Kingsguard talk about when laying with a woman— The way the dark knight has you gripping the bedsheet and back arching towards him.

“Do you love me, Mordred? ” You wonder.

The kingdom here is full of sunflowers! The sun shines the brightest here, and you will miss it.

You have learned that this kingdom is run by the princess of the king, who currently slumbers due to a curse placed by a Sorcerer—No, Morgan Le Fay did not curse him. It was his friend, and court mage. who cursed him.

They have a tradition of burning old scarecrows.

This land is where the golden knight of the Roundtable is from, this Mordred told you.

Your nights with the red knight have become him holding you, sharing his inhuman body heat. By morning, you are well enough to travel by horse. There is no more camping at night. It seems the dark knight is taking your sickness seriously. You ride with him, your body lying against him as he guides the horse to remain on the path to the next place to find your herbs.

Without breaks during the night, it has become difficult for you to communicate with the Lunar Phase. You get only a few minutes for water breaks, maybe, but even then the red knight is watching. However, your court mage found a one-sided way to communicate with you by the Cresent's Eye.

The Crescent’s Eye occurs when the moon is in the crescent phase. Messages are limited but disappear once you step into the shadows. It is a one-way message, meaning you can receive them but cannot send a message back to him until the next full moon.

And the red knight cannot see you perform the ritual.

“Mordred.”

There is no response, but the arm around your waist squeezes you. His breath warms your cheek. You feel small like this, though you both are not small— You are not some fragile maiden in need of comfort! You are just sick. Nothing more and nothing meriting this.

“…” You could not work up the nerve to try a plan in your head. You could never, you know he will catch on, there has to be another way. The hold you have on his arm, to stop it from moving any further if Mordred decides to try anything, tightens.

“ Do you love me? ”

You have to risk it.

“I want you.”

The horse is brought to a halt.

Chapter Text

“There will be no going back, princess.” The Red Knight is impatient, the second those words slipped from your mouth, he started touching you.

“Mordred, we have too—” You grip the pommel as the horse starts moving again, “Not here!” You hiss as you feel his claws scratching against the fabric of your tights, lowering your head as you can feel the outside air on your exposed lower stomach.

“Should have considered the consequences before confessing your desires, princess.” You shiver as his voice is low, “You will be around my cock.”

The Red Knight's hands are everywhere— Not his hands as they still hold the reins— It is magic touching you!?

“You are mine.”

You are his… His until you can pierce steel through his heart!

The horse kept moving along the empty road while Mordred took what he could in this position.

You curse under your breath as Mordred's lips are on your neck or shoulders— The magic invisible hands parting enough of your blouse for him to taste your skin. You had to stop the moan you almost let out when his cock rubbed against your ass. The gallop of the horse's pace makes it easier for the damn knight to rub against you. One hand lets go of the reins to grope your crotch, a chuckle against your shoulder as he feels how hard you are.

“Seems it was not a telltale, I have broken you in. My princess, my little harlot.” Mordred wants more, touches more to have you falling against him trembling like a leaf. However, he hasn't completely lost his self control yet— Or so you had hoped foolishly. A magic hand slips to your backside, you are pushed to lay forward by Mordred's weight, you try to relax expecting fingers inside of you. You hear a chuckle as your ass is parted and squeezed but not fingers in your hole.

Is he teasing you?! Gods, this bastard.

The only thing keeping you from being mounted on this poor horse is there is an inn along this road. A small one from what a person pointed on the map days ago.

Though you are damn near close to be fucked.

“Please, Mordred…” You need him. Your body is traitorous for wanting his touch, but it can be used to your advantage… If you do this right. “It hurts… How much I need—”

“Silence.” Breathing hard, “Vixen.” He loosens the strings of your trousers. Grinning as you tremble, as you beg under your breath as the hand on your ass presses a finger against your hole yet nothing more. Your cock springing free, you hate how you did not wear smalls… You planned this.

“I should punish you by impaling you on my cock without preparation.” Growling as you arch your back towards him, “Fuck you as if you can bear me a child.” His fingers rubbing the weeping tip of your cock, once his hand is wet with your precum, his hand completely wraps around it and starts—

“Ah! Nhh!” You could not stop your voice from coming out.

“Princess.” Mordred is grinding against your ass, “There will be no stopping me once we find the tavern.”

Mordred carries you like a bride into the inn room, holding you so gingerly as if you will break if he is not careful. Partly right as the sickness has you shivering and clinging to him. Thankfully, horribly, the knight did not wait until the inn was within sight; the knight had taken you for a moment at the side of the worn out road. It actually helped, a mystery as to why it seems to help when he has you is something you need to ask Lunar Phase.

The bed is well, a bed. It isn't comfortable but not as uncomfortable as riding all day (it both ways). Body sore, you want a bath as the bastard's seed is dried up and still inside of you. However, you are too tired and weak to complain, as if Mordred purposefully made sure you are in orgasmic daze by the time the inn was reached.

A kiss on your lips. He is undressing you then himself. The bed creaks from age, his arms gathering you then places you on his lap. You barely can sit up, barely can slap him for laughing at you, or stop him when he impales you on his cock… Again!

"Insatiable." Could this deliver you into madness? You are so cold yet when he starts moving, you feel warm. Grinding into you, his hand on your cock as if you can get him anything more after your cum started to become less cloudy.

"Never will I have enough of you, princess. Never will you seek another— If you did will could not they give you want you need." This man is delusional!

You have to hold yourself up as his hips lift you with each upward thrust, your hands wander his chest, one hand grabs his throat. A feral grin on the red knight's face as he grabs your wrist encouraging you to tighten your grip.

“Yes!” Slightly choking out his shout as you put your weight into the hold, his other hand grabs your ass cheeks digging his nails into it, you hiss at the way it cuts deep enough to cause some minor bleeding. “More, more, ah!” Your pace is not as brutal or fast as his, you are slow and trying to find the right way to make this comfortable.

Who starts and who ends? Why is this a salve for the pain you have endured for years? You are losing yourself, maybe you lost yourself when he had taken your dignity, your home, your father.

When the Red Knight finally lets you rest, his body holding you close keeping your body warm, you fear he will win his conquest of you by breaking your body first then your mind will follow. You won't let him! This will end!

Slipping out of his arms was surprisingly easy but suspect. Has he exhausted himself too with all this sex? You hate how you wobble, how the cum drips down your thighs, or way his marks of teeth and claws sting. Mordred will pay for this disgrace!