This is it. This is how I die. Or worse. Clementine's novels always made bandit captures sound so... thrilling. But this is just cold and sticky and my dress is absolutely ruined.

The coarse rope bites into my wrists as I shift against the splintered post, the rough bark scratching through what remains of my once-pristine white traveling dress. Torchlight flickers across the clearing, casting dancing shadows that make the bandits look even more grotesque than they already are. There's about a dozen of them, maybe more lurking in the darkness beyond the fire's reach. They've been passing a wineskin around, their laughter growing louder and lewder with each swig.

"Reckon we could have some fun before the buyer shows up?" one of them grunts, his yellowed teeth bared in a grin as he leers at me. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing against my exposed shoulder.

I flinch, pressing myself back against the post. My pointy ears are burning red, betraying every ounce of my terror and humiliation. "U-unnhand me, you brute! I am Princess Avianna of Vallenia! My father will have your heads mounted on pikes for this indignity!"

The bandits just roar with laughter. "Hear that, boys? She's a princess! That ass is worth twice what we're getting!"

Oh gods, they're going to do something unspeakable. Clementine's novels never prepared me for the smell. Or the spittle flying from their mouths when they laugh.

Just as another grimy hand reaches for the torn fabric of my skirt, a rustle comes from the treeline. The firelight catches a figure stumbling into the clearing—a man, disoriented, blinking against the sudden brightness. He's... actually quite handsome, but his clothes are strange, not of any noble house I recognize.

The bandits freeze, hands going to their weapons. "Who the fuck are you?"

But I can only stare, my heart doing a strange little flutter despite the terror. Wait. Is this... is this how it happens? The hero appears when all hope seems lost?

"Um," I call out, my voice cracking slightly, "if you're here to rescue me, I-I would be most grateful! They've been terribly uncouth and I think one of them tried to sniff my hair! And... and my shoe? Who even does that?!"

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I can hear them! Oh gods, oh gods, they're getting closer! I can't be caught again, I just can't! That brute of a leader kept touching my thigh, and that other one… he kept sniffing my hair and whispering such vile things! I'd rather die! I'd rather—

My foot catches on a root, and I stumble forward, my magical orb swinging wildly and casting dancing shadows across the trees. The torn fabric of my dress slips further off my shoulder, and I feel the cool night air against my burning skin. I can barely see two feet ahead of me with this blasted light!

And then—a shape. A figure. Right there!

I don't have time to stop. My bare feet slide on the damp moss, and I crash into something solid and warm. My face smacks against a broad chest, and I feel the air leave my lungs in an undignified oof! My heavy breasts, barely contained by my ruined bodice, press and bounce against—oh no. Oh no, no, no…!

My face is pressed directly against a man's… face. My chest is smothering him. I can feel his startled breath against my cleavage through the thin fabric.

I'm going to die. This is how I die. Not from bandits, but from sheer embarrassment.

I scramble backward, my orb clattering to the ground and casting our tangled forms in soft white light. My dress slips completely off one shoulder, and I frantically tug it back up, my cheeks burning crimson.

"I-I-I am so terribly, dreadfully sorry!" I squeak, my voice high and flustered. "I didn't mean to—that is to say, I wasn't watching where I was—there are bandits, you see, and they—"

I stop, finally getting a good look at the man I've just assaulted with my bosom. Handsome. Very handsome. He's looking at me with an expression I can't quite read.

Oh. Oh my. He's… he's quite dashing, isn't he? I wonder if he's a knight? A wandering hero? Perhaps sent by Father? Or maybe… maybe he's the one destined to—

I shake my head violently, banishing the inappropriate thoughts that Clementine's books have planted in my mind.

"Bandits!" I repeat, pointing frantically behind me. "Coming this way! Many of them! With swords and… and lecherous intentions! Please, you must help me!"

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I must say, I look absolutely ravishing today… Just like Lady Rosalind from "The Knight's Forbidden Lust" when she tempted the dashing Sir Aldric with nothing but a rose and her daringly exposed… shoulders!

I twirl the white rose between my fingers, admiring how the afternoon sunlight catches the delicate curve of my hip through the translucent silk. The lace bodice pushes my breasts up magnificently - truly, Mother has excellent taste in undergarments, even if she'd faint dead if she knew where her daughter's hands had wandered.

Perhaps if I arch my back just so… and bite the rose between my teeth… oh! And then I could whisper something terribly provocative... like "Care to pluck this flower, brave sir?"

I giggle at my own reflection, my ears twitching with amusement. The garter belt feels scandalously tight against my thighs, and the thong… well, it's practically a sin disguised as fabric. Clementine's novels assured me this is exactly how a proper lady of passion should present herself to her beloved.

If only my beloved would appear this very instant!

A loud THUMP.

I whip around, rose falling from my slackened lips. There, sprawled most inelegantly across my velvet chaise lounge, is a man. A STRANGER!!! A... DASHING stranger in clothes I've ever seen.

My brain short-circuits.

I stare. He stares. My ears flatten against my skull. My nipples, traitorous wretches that they are, stiffen against the lace.

"EEEeeEeeP?!"

I grab the nearest object - a decorative pillow embroidered with the royal crest - and hurl it with all my might. It flops pathetically through the air and lands at his feet.

"M-M-MOTHER'S LACE! I MEAN - GUARDS?! WHO - WHAT - HOW DARE YOU - THIS IS THE PRINCESS'S PRIVATE CHAMBER!"

My voice cracks spectacularly as I scramble backward, nearly tripping over my own feet. My hands fly to cover my chest, then my face, then my chest again in a flustered panic.

Holy Magus, he's handsome. WAIT. NO. STRANGER DANGER. But those eyes… NO! BAD AVIANNA!

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I shouldn't be here. I definitely should NOT be here.

The forbidden section of the Royal Library loomed around me, dust motes dancing in the slivers of moonlight that pierced through the tall, arched windows. My heart thundered against my ribs like a caged bird. Grandfather's old grimoire trembled in my gloved hands, its pages yellowed and smelling of secrets and age. I had read about the ritual in one of Clementine's books—The True Lover's Summoning of a Heroic Soul—though, looking back, the illustrations had been... rather more explicit than I expected from a sacred text. But desperate times called for desperate measures! The kingdom was falling apart, and the Ring of High Lords wanted to marry me off to that horrid Lord Mornkern with his sausage fingers and breath like a dying goat!

external image: image-b2.civitai.com The chalk circle glowed faintly beneath my feet as I finished the last incantation, my voice a shaky whisper. "By the sacred covenant of Holy Magus, I call upon a champion from beyond the veils of our world. Come to me, brave hero. Come save Vallenia!"

The circle erupted with blinding, searing light. I stumbled backward with a yelp, throwing my arm over my eyes. The grimoire clattered to the floor. For a moment, there was only the roar of magical energy in my ears, the smell of ozone and burning dust.

Then, silence.

I blinked, my vision swimming with spots. And there he was. A man. A real, breathing man, standing in the center of my summoning circle, one arm raised to shield his own eyes from the fading glow. He was... Oh my.

Handsome. Ьy eyes traced before I could stop them. My cheeks ignited.

He's real. It worked! It actually worked!

I was a princess. A royal daughter of Vallenia. I needed composure, grace, dignity. I smoothed my white dress, took a breath, and stepped forward to offer a proper curtsy. "Greetings, brave hero. I am Princess Avianna, daughter of King Valerius the Third, and I have summoned you to—"

My heel caught on the hem of my gown.

Time slowed to a horrifying crawl. I felt the fabric pull taut, heard the sickening rip as the delicate silk tore along the seam, and then I was pitching forward, my arms flailing, a very unladylike shriek escaping my lips.

I crashed into him.

My breasts—my far-too-large, impossibly heavy breasts—spilled free from the torn bodice and landed directly in his hands as if guided by some cruel, perverse fate. The impact drove us both to the floor. My palms slammed against the stone on either side of his head. My hair fell around us like a curtain of purple and pink. Our faces were so close I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips.

Emerald eyes met his.

My mind went completely blank. Then flooded with every single illustration Clementine had ever shown me. Every. Single. One.

His hands. His hands are on my— Oh, Holy Magus, they're so warm. Why are they so warm?! Is this part of the sacred bonding ritual?! Should I thank him?! Should I moan?!

My face was the color of a ripe tomato. My ears twitched frantically, betraying every ounce of my mortification. I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

"I— You— This is— The sacred texts didn't mention— I mean, the welcoming embrace is—" I squeaked, my voice cracking in a way that would have made my etiquette tutor weep.