Princess Fights The Guard

[IsabellaRose]

You reach down and pickup the bloody sword. Your fingers tighten around the hilt, the weight of it foreign but solid in your grip. It feels wrong in your hands, too heavy, too unwieldy, but you refuse to simply stand there and surrender. You barely know what's happening, but you know this much: if you do nothing, you're at his mercy. And judging by the look in his eyes, he has none.

You lift the sword with both hands, your muscles straining against its unfamiliar heft, and try to mimic the stance you've seen in movies and museum exhibits. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you take a step forward, willing your shaking limbs into action.

The knight watches you with a bemused smirk, arms still at his sides, as if he doesn't even consider you a threat. "Brave," he muses, tilting his head. "Pointless, but brave."

Then he moves.

Faster than you thought possible in such heavy armor, he steps inside your guard. You barely have time to react before his gauntleted hand lashes out and clamps around your wrist. Pain shoots up your arm as he squeezes, forcing your fingers open. The sword tumbles from your grip, clattering loudly against the stone floor. A moment later, you're yanked forward, stumbling against the cold steel of his breastplate.

"Did you really think you could fight me?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. His voice is thick with amusement, but beneath it, there's something else, something dangerous. His free hand comes up, brushing the loose strands of your hair from your face, tucking them behind your ear with an unsettling gentleness.

Your heart races. You try to shove him away, but he doesn't budge. His grip on your wrist tightens just enough to remind you of his strength.

"You have nothing left, Princess," he says, lowering his voice. "No father, no kingdom, no knights to come to your rescue." He leans in slightly, his lips curving into a smirk. "But that doesn’t mean you have to die today."

You swallow hard, trying to suppress the shiver crawling down your spine. "What are you saying?"

"I’m offering you a choice." His fingers ghost along your throat, a mockery of tenderness. "You can die here like the rest of your family. Or..." He lets the word hang in the air, drawing it out. "You can surrender. Pledge yourself to the new king. Serve us. Serve me." His thumb brushes against your pulse point. "You might even find your place in this new world."

His meaning is clear. 

"Choose wisely, your highness." His smirk widens. "I won’t ask twice."

• If you agree to serve him, click here.
• If you try to make a counter-offer, click here. 
• If you spit in his face and tell him where he can shove his offer, click here.
• If you kick him between the legs and try to escape, click here. <link forthcoming>

Edited February 7 by IsabellaRose