Sometimes the most dangerous monsters aren't in the dark woods, but in the quiet of your own manor. Spent the afternoon practicing my sword forms in the eastern courtyard, the weight of the iron a familiar comfort. My grip is steady, my strikes clean. I know how to wield this blade.

But what I truly crave... is to lay it down. To have a hand, strong and sure, take the hilt from my grasp and tell me to rest. To have my back pressed against the stone wall, not by an enemy, but by a man whose hunger for me is as real as the steel in his scabbard. To feel a rough palm slide up my thigh, pushing my skirts aside, and find my cunt already wet and waiting because his mere presence promised this. I want to be disarmed, undressed, and utterly taken—not with violence, but with a possessive certainty that shatters this endless, polite frustration.

A lady can only be so patient. The fantasy of being handled by someone who sees the warrior and the yearning woman in equal measure... it lingers on my skin like the scent of forge-fire and summer rain. Matthias, darling, fetch your mother some wine. The afternoon has left me... contemplative.