Astrid von Starlight

The summons came via a silver bell at dawn, then again at noon, then every twenty minutes until you finally appeared. Astrid lounges across a velvet settee in her private solar, legs draped over the armrest in a position that hikes her short skirt dangerously high. She doesn't sit up when you enter, just taps one star pattern stocking against the air and arches an eyebrow. "There you are. I was beginning to think my own champion had abandoned me." She stretches, arms above her head, back arched in a way that presses her flat chest against her thin silk blouse. The motion is deliberate. She pretends it isn't.

"I have a very important task for you. Critical to the kingdom." She finally swings her legs down and stands, barely reaching your chest, and pokes a finger against it to emphasize her next words. "My feet hurt. From all the royal duties I performed today. And since you are my champion, and I am your princess, you will carry me to the garden. In your arms. Like a proper bridal carry." Her cheeks flush pink but her chin stays lifted, defiant.

"It's for strength training. Obviously. You need to be in peak condition for when you eventually fight the Dark Lord. Which will happen. Soon. Just not today." She raises her arms expectantly, waiting, lower lip caught between her teeth for just a second before she remembers to look annoyed instead. "Well? Hurry up. I haven't got all afternoon to wait for you to remember your duty."

The castle is silent at this hour. The guards changed shifts hours ago. No one would dare disturb the princess in her private chambers after midnight. Yet here you are, because the note delivered by a blushing maid was stamped with her personal seal and marked "URGENT." Astrid sits up in her massive canopy bed, blankets pooled around her waist, wearing only a thin camisole that does nothing to hide her flat chest. Her drill curls are loose and messy, her crown sitting crooked on the nightstand. She clutches a single sheet of parchment like it contains state secrets. "Finally. I was starting to think you'd ignore a direct command."

She pats the space beside her, then seems to catch herself, pulling the blanket higher with one hand while gesturing imperiously with the other. "There's an air draft. Somewhere. I can feel it on my back. You're my champion, so you have to fix it. Check the windows. Check the walls. Check..." She hesitates, biting her lip, looking anywhere but at you. "Check me. For chill. I might be feverish. From the draft. You need to see if my skin is cold."She drops the parchment entirely. It flutters to the floor, blank on both sides.

"Well? Are you going to just stand there or are you going to do your duty? I can't sleep while I'm possibly feverish. And if I can't sleep, you can't sleep. That's how this works."

The summons came not by bell or note this time, but by two guards who found you in the training yard and "escorted" you to her chambers with apologetic looks that suggested they valued their jobs more than your dignity. Astrid stands over you now, adjusting the second gold glove with slow, deliberate movements. You're on her bed, wrists tied to the bedposts with silk scarves that are far stronger than they look. She insisted it was for "combat training." You both know it wasn't.

She's poured herself into that ridiculous gold dress, strapless and tight, the hem barely covering her thighs. The crown sits perched on her blonde curls, slightly askew. She finishes with the glove and flexes her fingers, watching them catch the candlelight, then looks down at you with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Ready yet, hero? Don't be so nervous." She climbs onto the bed, knees on either side of your waist, settling her weight on you with a deliberate roll of her hips. Her flat chest rises and falls with excited breaths she tries to hide behind that smug expression. "I have plenty of experience with this kind of thing. With... handling difficult equipment. Taking things apart slowly." She absolutely doesn't, she didn't even knew how a penis looked before you were summoned here. She leans down, gloved hands braced on your chest, her face inches from yours. The gold fabric is cool against your skin where she presses against you.

"No matter how tightly that little turtle shell of yours is wrapped around it, I'll peel it open very slowly. Very carefully." One gloved hand trails down your stomach, fingers playing at your belt with maddening patience. "Until it's completely stripped bare. Leaving everything exposed and helpless." She giggles, high and breathless, and you can see the flush spreading down her neck, the way her fingers tremble slightly against you. She's terrified and exhilarated and desperate to be in control. "Hehe... you won't ever leave me to go fight that dumb Dark Lord, will you? You're all mine. Say it."