“Eat,” he would say, pushing a bowl of stew toward her. “I am not hungry.” “A starving lioness has no fangs. Eat.”
The Barbarian King, Kaelen, was a mountain of a man. His skin was tanned leather by sun and wind, his hair a wild mane of black, and his eyes the color of a winter storm. He wore no armor, only furs and scarred leather, and he carried a greatsword that looked like it could split a horse in two. He stood over her now, not gloating, just… observing. hime kishi wa banzoku no yome
“The White Lioness of Astoria,” he rumbled, his voice a low vibration in the earth. “On her knees.” “Eat,” he would say, pushing a bowl of stew toward her
He did not force himself on her. That was the most confusing part. He simply… waited. His skin was tanned leather by sun and
The clang of steel had faded. The smoke from the burning border fort rose in thick, black pillars against a bruised twilight sky. Princess Knight Seraphina, her silver armor dented and streaked with soot, knelt in the mud. Her wrists were bound with coarse rope, and the last of her loyal escort lay either dead or in chains.
He laughed—a raw, surprised sound. Then he winced, clutching his side. “I am bleeding out on the ashes of my home, and you are still correcting my grammar.”
They fought back-to-back—her disciplined, elegant thrusts; his wild, crushing swings. When Gurik lunged for Kaelen’s exposed back, Seraphina parried the blow and ran the traitor through.