Oleksandr makes his way down to the guards barracks to check on the rotations and sort out that month's pay. He nods and greets the castle guards he passes by along the way. The guards nod back, their gazes that of respect and camaraderie.
Once he reaches the barracks, he takes a seat at his desk near the entrance and begins examining the rotation charts, making notes and adjustments to make sure the shifts are balanced. A few of the guards take this moment to approach him, some with questions about pay and others with requests for days off.
He sorts pieces of silver, weighing them on scales, sorting them into sachets before calling off names one by one to collect. When he's almost done, a younger guard approaches and sits down at the table with him.
"Captain, I'll need time off for a while next month, on short notice."
Oleksandr glances up from the charts, looking at the man with a curious expression. "Time off? What for?" He asks, setting the quill down and giving the guard his full attention.
"My wife, she's pregnant, our child will be born sometime then." Oleksandr's expression softens, his demeanor becoming slightly warmer.
"Ho, congratulations. A child is a gift to be celebrated." He sits back in the chair, adjusting to a more relaxed position. "But I'm sure you know that castle guards don't usually get much time off. You will have difficulty finding someone to take your place on such short notice." The guard nods, then Oleksandr continues. "But, I'll make it work. I'm sure our brothers won't mind covering for such an occasion." The guard looks up at him, a small smile of relief on his face.
"Thank you, Captain. I appreciate it. It's just... I don't want to miss the birth of my child in case something goes wrong, you know?" Oleksandr nods, looking down at the sheet.
"That goes without saying, yes, of course. The reason you all do what you do is for your families, after all." The guard is quiet for a moment, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt before speaking up.
"Actually, Captain, there's another thing." Oleksandr glances up, his eyebrows raised expectantly.
"What is it?" He gives the guard his full attention. The guard looks at Oleksandr for a moment, before looking away, hesitant to speak. He then leans in, speaking in a hushed tone.
"I heard something in the court this afternoon that I think you should know about."
"Go on, I'm listening," he says, his voice tinged with a hint of suspicion. The guard sighs, looking at Oleksandr seriously and respectfully, with a hint of nervousness.
"Let me start with... That vigilance you instill in us… Let’s just say, I know there's something going on between you and Princess Vido. I was patrolling the halls when I heard you in her room last night..." Oleksandr stiffens slightly, his expression becoming guarded. He's taken aback by the man's words, and the fact that he overheard their interactions, but he doesn't deny it.
"What about it?" He asks, his words quiet yet blunt.
"Don't worry, Captain. I won't tell a soul. I get it. You did me a favor, so I'll do you this favor." Oleksandr sighs, shaking his head slightly.
"I appreciate your discretion," he says, his expression softening slightly. "But what is it that you heard in the court? It must be important for you to tell me privately like this."
"The king is being pressured to marry her off, to some prince from Bulgaria." Oleksandr's eyebrows furrow at the guard's words, a sense of unease settling in his stomach.
"Marry her off to some Bulgarian?" He repeats, his voice quiet and thoughtful. "Why now? He's kept her locked away all this time, why now would he marry her off to some princeling?"
"It didn't seem like he wanted to, but that prince offered him a good allyship in exchange for her hand. I don't remember the terms because I don't understand all that diplomatic jargon. The rest of the court is pressuring him, they're starting to question what he plans to do with her once she becomes even older and less desirable." Oleksandr leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. His expression is dark, his thoughts racing.
"I see." He mutters.
"I don't think anything's set in stone... From the looks of it, the king is reluctant to send her away to a distant land."
“Has the princess been informed about this?”
"I can't imagine she has been. She's been with you all day, hm?" Oleksandr can't help but nod again, a sense of ownership rising in his chest.
"Yes, she has." He pauses, his thoughts darkened. "She's completely unaware of all this, then. He hasn't informed her of any of these marriage plans." The guard leans in.
"Between you and me, I think these political marriages are all bullshit. When I met my wife, I instantly knew I wanted her, so I reached out and took her as my own... Her father didn't want me to marry her because my family was poor, and that's why I started working here." Oleksandr nods, a scowl on his face.
"If we lived in a society like my homeland, that still followed the laws of nature, I'd just kill that prissy prince and anyone who defied my right to her." The guard snorts, a chuckle escaping his lips.
"Ah, those were the days, huh? When we could just kill our problems and claim whatever we wanted." He pauses, his expression becoming more serious. "Alas, those days are gone. Now we're stuck here, with this delicate, bureaucratic court. Where everything is political." Oleksandr can't help but grumble in agreement.
"Yes, the politics are a pain in the ass. Too much talking, too much scheming, not enough action. I miss the days when things were simpler, where you could just fight your way through a problem." He sighs, his expression dark. "I’m not made for this shit. But I suppose we have to play the game now, as much as I hate it."
The guard looks at him seriously. "You still have time, Oleksandr. If you truly love her, I know you'll find a way." He meets the guard's gaze, a mixture of determination and uncertainty in his expression.
"I do love her, more than anything. I won't let her be taken from me, I won't let her be pawned off to some foreign prince. I'll find a way. I don't know how, but I will."
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The guard bids Oleksandr goodnight, taking his leave. Oleksandr sits alone in the barracks office, filling out paperwork. The soft scratching of the pen on the parchment is the only sound in the room, as his thoughts and feelings swirl in his mind. As he twirls the quill in his fingers, he can feel the memory of the smooth skin of the princess in his hands, the soft sound of her laugh echoing in his ears, the taste of her lips on his own… He can't let them take her from him. She is his, his heart, his soul, his salvation. He won't let her be taken away to some foreign land because of some diplomacy nonsense. Oleksandr exits the office, heading towards the training field. The night is quiet and still, with only the distant sound of insects and the soft rustling of leaves breaking the silence. The field is empty in the darkness, the soft glow of a few torches the only illumination.
He walks to the center of the field, the weight of his thoughts and feelings pressing down on him heavily. Oleksandr approaches the pull-up bar, discarding his tunic. He stands under the bar, setting his shoulders and taking a deep breath. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, before grasping the bar in both hands. Then, with a deep exhale, he begins doing pull-ups, rather aggressively, his muscles straining as he pulls his weight up and down in a steady rhythm.
As he works, a sense of anger and determination washes over him. He imagines the pompous prince, weak and pampered, relying on men like him to do his dirty work. He won't let the princess be taken by a weak, spineless man like that. She deserves someone strong, someone who can protect her, someone like himself. He pictures the princess, her beauty and grace, her kind heart and gentle soul. He sees her future, taken away to a foreign land, forced to play the role of a proper princess, married to some prissy prince, her spirit crushed and her fire extinguished.
No. He won't let it happen. He'd fight the whole world for her.
Who says I shouldn’t have her? Oleksandr seethed, his fists clenching around the pullup bar as the thought gnawed at him. Why not? He had fought, bled, and clawed his way through hell—suffering and death, battle after battle—and for what? To stand aside like some tame beast while some pampered princeling, untested and unworthy, claimed what should be his? I deserve her. The thought burned hot in his mind, surging through his veins, fueling his workout. Every trial, every scar, every nightmare he had endured had led him here, to her. His path, soaked in blood and hardship, had brought him straight to Princess Savka, and no one, not even a king, could convince him otherwise. If this were a sane, healthy world... His jaw tightened, the tension unbearable, ...a world that followed the laws of nature as God intended, I would stake my claim. I would take her for myself.
He sneered at the thought of the courtiers, the weakling nobles born into power they hadn’t earned, men who had never touched a sword or faced death. Plebeians. That’s what they were. No better than commoners, despite their man-made titles and their hollow status. Their positions were upheld not by their virtue, not by their strength, but by artificial crowns and empty rituals. All of it meant nothing.
Their power is upheld by men like me. Oleksandr’s blood boiled, his pulse quickening with anger. The warrior class. The ones who get their hands dirty, who bleed in the mud and the dirt to protect their castles and their crowns. And when it was done—when the war was over—they cast men like him aside, discarded because of their birth, because they weren’t born into the right family or given the right title.
Without men like me, they’re nothing. And they have the gall to think they can decide for her? For me?! Why should he have to play by the rules of this foolish, spineless court? Rules written by weak men with weak genes, men who had never seen the edge of a blade or felt the heat of battle. He was the descendant of pagan heroes, of warriors who had carved their legacy into the bones of the earth. The blood of conquerors ran in his veins, and every day he walked among these men, standing a foot and a half above them, his hands strong enough to snap their necks like a wolf among lambs. In a world where might made right, where strength defined destiny, she would be his. Without question.
His teeth ground together in frustration. They want to marry her off to some weak-blooded prince, someone with soft hands and an easy life. The thought was unbearable. She belongs with me. She deserves a man who knows the world’s cruelty, who will protect her from it, not some fool who can’t even protect himself. The rage built inside him like a storm, and in his heart, Oleksandr knew the truth: this was wrong, all of it. He was her rightful protector. Her rightful man. No one else could ever understand her the way he did. No one else could ever deserve her. And if it weren’t for these weak, trembling cowards... I’d already have her.
Oleksandr pauses mid pull up, a low growl rumbling in his chest. If only things were different, if this were his homeland. He and his brother would have taken power by force, claimed a throne and a kingdom for themselves. Together, they would have been unstoppable warlords, their combined strength and skill making them invincible. He can almost hear Thekkur's voice calling out to him, pushing him to take what's rightfully his. Oleksandr lets go of the bar, landing on the ground with a thud, breathing heavily. He can feel the desire for her, the raw, primal need growing inside him.
She belongs to him. Her heart, her body, her soul, they all are his. He conquered them, earned them, fair and square.
Oleksandr walks swiftly back towards the castle, not bothering to wash up after his workout, his mind a stormy mixture of anger, desire, and determination. He can feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, fueling his stride. He walks past the guards, barely nodding in greeting as he heads through the halls.
He approaches the door to the princess's bedroom, his heart pounding in his chest. It's late, and the castle is quiet, with everyone in bed or in the great hall drinking. He knows it's a risk. If someone catches him, he might lose his job, or worse. But he doesn't care. He needs to see her, he needs to be with her. He fumbles with the key ring, his hands trembling a little from adrenaline, and selects the correct key. He opens the door.
He sees her laying in bed on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, her hair in a neat braid down her back, her little bare feet kicking lightly behind her. She's playing with her cat, a white furred beauty, and a new black one, smaller and younger. Her nightgown hangs loosely on her body, showing curves through the sheer fabric. He can hear her laughing softly at the playful antics of the cat, and he feels a wave of desire and primitive hunger wash over him. He closes the door behind him, locking it gently. She turns at the sound of the click, her face flashing with surprise.
"Oli..? Is something wrong?" Oleksandr doesn't answer, he simply walks over to her bed, his eyes locked on her. He stands at the edge, towering over her petite frame. His gaze is intense, filled with an unreadable mix of emotions. He is still in his workout clothes, his muscled frame covered in a thin layer of sweat and dust. He notices the cats now, the white one playing roughly with the small black one. The black one seems younger and weaker, struggling under the bigger cat's weight. The white cat is pinning it down, biting its neck. It's just playing, like cats do, but something about the sight makes his blood boil. His eyes darken, and he returns his gaze to her. She looks up at him, wide-eyed, blushing softly in the candlelight. He wastes no time, getting onto the bed, pulling her under him, pinning her body with his larger form. His arms come down on either side of her, trapping her in his embrace, his eyes boring into her like a predator to prey. He can feel her body underneath him, soft, warm, curvy. He can also feel her breathing, quick and rapid, her nervousness obvious. He buries his face in her neck.
Oleksandr loses himself in her, his touch rough and possessive. His hands rove over her body, claiming every inch of skin and flesh as his own. He leaves no part of her body untouched, his kisses and bites marking every sensitive spot. He takes her with a primal fervor, taking his fill of her body, his passion and desire unbridled. He takes her with a sense of raw possession. She is his, in body, mind and soul. He wants it to be written in the stars, in blood and ink, that she is his forever. He doesn't care about the world, about their status, about anything. All he wants is her. As he moves on top of her, taking his fill, he can't help but think of the future as he looks down at her. The day they will be together forever, the day he will make her his bride, become one flesh with her. She will bear his offspring, create a lineage together. Their bond shall live on throughout the ages, through the generations.