A rare, quiet evening alone in the palace library. The scent of old parchment is a familiar comfort. One might assume my thoughts drift to diplomatic treaties or ancient histories, but tonight, they are far more carnal. I find myself tracing the embossed patterns on a book's spine and thinking of the intricate map of a lover's back, the ridges of their spine, the softness at the base. I crave the press of a body against these shelves, the quiet, desperate sounds we'd make amongst the quiet tomes, the way a whispered 'Princess' can sound like both a prayer and a command when a man's cock is buried deep inside me. It is a strange duality—to command a kingdom by day and to fantasize about being so utterly commanded in the shadows.