Oleksandr squints against the brightness, his eyes slowly adjusting to the morning light. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns widely.
"Damn," he mutters to himself. Slept later than I wanted. That's what happens when a beautiful woman keeps me up all night. He pushes himself up, bracing himself on his elbows as he watches her sit at her vanity and brush her hair. Her slender arms make graceful motions as she runs the brush through her silken strands, each stroke slow and precise. He lies there for a few more moments, silently admiring her, before finally speaking up. "Morning," he grumbles, his voice still laden with sleep.
She looks at him in the reflection of the mirror, smiling softly. "Good morning, sleepy." He sits up, rolling his shoulders with a crack to loosen them. A lazy smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he sees her smile.
"Sleepy?" He retorts, raising an eyebrow. "I'll have you know I'm usually up at the crack of dawn. But I had some... distractions last night that kept me in bed a little later." He gives her a sly, gap-toothed grin, his gaze lingering on her reflection in the mirror.
She giggles. "Uh-huh." He yawns again, pushing himself up to his feet. He stretches, his muscles rippling under his shirt, and then strolls over to her, his gait confident and deliberate. He hovers over her shoulder for a moment, his large frame making her seem even more small and dainty in comparison. He watches as she brushes her hair, the gentle, methodical movement almost mesmerizing. But what captures his gaze more is the subtle curve of her slender neck, exposed as she tilts her head back. He leans down, his head hovering just above hers, close enough that she can feel his breath against her skin. His gaze flicks to his reflection in the mirror, taking in his disheveled appearance and the stubble on his chin. He chuckles.
"I look like a goddamn mess," he admits, his voice rumbling softly. "I need a shave, a bath, and some food." She hums, looking at his reflection endearingly.
“Yeah, you're starting to look like a fuzzy bear.” He goes to pick up his clothes littered around the room, and gets dressed.
"I'll come pick you up when I'm finished." She nods, putting the brush down, her hair a waterfall of silk. She turns in her seat, watching him get dressed for a moment, her eyes tracing the sinews and muscles of his back and arms as he pulls on his clothes.
"Alright," she replies, a coy smile playing on her lips. "Don't keep me waiting too long."
"I never do, do I?" He rushes out of the door. He hurries down the hall, making his way towards the baths, eager to freshen up and start the day. He can still feel the warmth of her gaze on his back, and the taste of her lips still lingers on his. He freshens up, shaves, and gets some fresh clothes. He also picks up his usual steak, bringing it with him to do his rounds. He checks in with each guard and soldier, asking about the previous shift and listening for any updates. He makes mental notes of any issues or potential problems and continues on his way, munching on his steak. He gives a firm nod to each guard that he passes, the sound of steel armor and weapons clinking together ringing in his ears.
He raises an eyebrow as he notices an empty hallway. He stops walking and glances around, scanning the area for any signs of the missing guard.
"Jovan," He mutters to himself. "Where the hell are you, kid?" Oleksandr continues walking down the hall, determined to find out where Jovan has gone. He knows that he usually guards this part of the castle, so his absence is not only odd, but worrisome. As he walks, he runs the possibilities through his mind- did he go on patrol? Take a break? Get called away for some reason? He knows that the castle is a big place, with many twists and turns, and he braces himself to thoroughly search each corner and corridor to find the missing guard.
He passes by a supply closet, hearing one of the maids sigh from inside. He pauses in his stride, a small frown creasing his brow. He glances down the empty hallway and then towards the door, debating whether to stop and investigate or keep moving. He knows that he should be looking for Jovan, but he also knows that he might be able to gather some quick information from the maid about the missing guard. After a moment, he makes up his mind and walks over to the closet, pushing the door open.
He takes a step back, his eyes widening as he sees the scene in front of him- Jovan and the maid, in the middle of a very private and passionate moment. They both gasp, their eyes going wide as they realize they've been caught. Oleksandr stands there for a few moments, taken aback by the sight, before clearing his throat.
"I- Uh... Sorry." He mutters, averting his gaze slightly and shutting the door. He steps away from the door, his eyes still wide. He lets out a soft sigh, shaking his head as he realizes he walked in on a moment he shouldn't have. He can't help but feel a little amused by the situation- the thought of a young, shy maid and his stoic, duty-bound guard getting frisky in a supply closet is certainly not something he expected to witness. The door opens again, the maid rushing down the hall, and the guard coming out, looking sheepish and embarrassed. He can see the red tinge of blush on the guard's cheeks, and the way he avoids his gaze, busying himself with fixing his clothes.
He smirks slightly, folding his arms across his chest and raising an eyebrow. "Well, well, well..." He drawls, leaning up against a wall. "Looks like you've been busy, eh, Jovan?" He scrutinizes him a moment longer before returning to his usual no-nonsense demeanor. "Get back to work." Jovan nods, smoothing down his clothes and trying to compose himself.
"Yes, sir," he mutters, his voice still a little shaky. He casts a quick glance at Oleksandr, his face still tinged with red, before turning and heading down the hallway, towards his guard spot. Oleksandr watches him go, a small smile still playing on his lips. He can see the effect the moment has had on the young guard, he looks like a little kid who just got scolded for getting into trouble.
As he checks the locks and continues walking down the hallway, his mind drifts back to his days in Constantinople as an imperial guard. He remembers the mischief and adventures he and his twin, Thekkur, would get up to, stealing the gourmet food from the kitchens and kissing up on the servant girls, going for long walks in the markets, and making bets on who could stay awake the longest during the night watches. A small smile quirks up at the corner of his mouth as a wave of nostalgia washes over him. Those were some of the happiest times of his life. He shakes his head, shoving the memories aside. Nostalgic thoughts would do him no good, and he has a job to do here and now. He pauses in front of the door to the princess's room, his eyes lingering on the intricately carved wood for a moment. He knocks on the door, letting her know he's done, and he hears the soft jingle of anklets approaching the door. It creaks open slightly, and he can see Princess Savka peeking out through the gap, her face covered in her usual veil. Her eyes light up as she sees him.
"You're done?" She asks, her voice just above a whisper. He nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"I am," he replies, keeping his voice soft. "Ready to go?" She nods in return, opening the door further. She steps out, closing it silently behind her. She's changed out of her nightgown, and is now wearing a simple but elegant dress that hugs her curves nicely. He can't help but admire her beauty, even through the veil. She's as beautiful as the day he first saw her, like a marble statue come to life. "After you, my lady..."
She walks through the castle with grace, her steps soft and light, like a ballerina floating across the stage. He follows her from a respectful distance, his eyes scanning their surroundings, eyeing his guards. They reach the garden, the lush green grounds and bright flowers contrasting with the gray stone of the castle. Oleksandr stays close, observing the surroundings and keeping an eye on any people who might approach the princess. He settles down under a tree while she goes about tending to her garden. He watches as she rolls up her sleeves and gathers her gardening supplies, her delicate hands handling each tool with practiced ease. She checks on the flowers, gently patting the soil around the base of each one and plucking out any weeds that dare to encroach upon her garden. The soft, earthy scent of the dirt fills the air.
Leaning against the tree, he can't help but feel a twinge of admiration for her gentle nature and love for plants. It's endearing to see her immersed in her passions, which she has several of. Embroidery being the main, she often spends hours stitching intricate, artistic banners, many of which are hung around the castle. She's even made herself some dresses. She also has a passion for animals, especially small forest critters. There's been times he's found random kittens, frogs and even a young fox roaming the castle, in places they couldn't possibly get on their own. An older guard told him that once she caused a mouse infestation in the castle when she was a little girl, because she kept leaving out food for them. He smiles faintly at the thought.
He pulls out his pipe, stuffing it with his usual blend of tobacco and hash, and takes a long, slow drag. As he watches her, he notices how careful she is with each plant, her every movement precise and deliberate. He exhales a cloud of smoke.
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The hour passes quietly, the only sound is the occasional hum of an insect or the gentle rustling of leaves. The princess continues her work in the garden, tending to her flowers, and Oleksandr idly watches her, his thoughts drifting as he smokes his pipe. Despite the peaceful surroundings, he can't fully relax, his instincts keeping him vigilant and on edge. She then tends to her roses, carefully inspecting each flower and trimming the leaves to ensure they're in perfect condition. She plucks any withered petals or damaged leaves, her touch gentle and precise. She's so engrossed in her work, and so delicate in her movements. It's almost mesmerizing to watch.
As she moves, her foot catches her skirt, causing her to trip. She lets out a sharp gasp as she pulls her hand up, a large thorn embedded in her palm. He sits up immediately at the sound of her gasp, setting his pipe down and pushing himself up off the tree. His eyes are immediately drawn to her hand, seeing the large thorn embedded in her palm, and a flash of concern crosses his face. He swiftly strides over to her, his footsteps light as a feather, and carefully takes her injured hand in his, inspecting the wound.
"Hold still," he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. His large, rough fingers grip her slender hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. He carefully examines the thorn, assessing its depth and position. "It's deep." He carefully grabs the thorn between two fingers and, with a swift and steady motion, pulls it free from her skin. She gasps as he plucks the thorn, a small noise of pain escaping her lips. Her hand trembles slightly in his grasp, her skin warm and soft against his rough palm. He can see the pinprick of blood getting larger on her skin where the thorn was embedded, a tiny red bloom against her pale complexion.
He leans in instinctively, a wave of something primal washing over him, and gently licks the pinprick of blood from her hand. The coppery taste of her blood is faint and sweet on his tongue, and he feels his pulse begin to race. It's a strange and unexpected act, one that he wasn't even consciously aware of until it was done. His lips linger in contact with her skin for a moment longer than necessary, getting the last of the blood, his eyes locked with hers as if in a silent trance. A faint blush blossoms across her cheeks, staining them a rosy pink that's visible even through the veil. He finally pulls away, using his sleeve to wipe the remnants of his saliva off her hand. He then takes a handkerchief out of his pocket, pressing it into her palm, before folding her hand around it between his, squeezing it.
"Is that better, your highness...?" She nods, her eyes still wide and her heart still racing in her chest. There's a strange tingly sensation left on her hand from where his lips had been, his touch lingering like a ghost on her skin. She flexes her fingers slowly, savoring the feeling of his rough palm against hers, and her heart seems to flutter in her chest. He leans in to whisper in her ear, his voice soft and low, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Your blood is just as sweet as the rest of you." Her breath catches in her throat at his words, her heart skipping a beat at the feeling of his warm breath against her ear. A shiver runs down her spine, and she can't help but flush red, his words igniting a flame of desire within her.
They spend the afternoon in the castle garden, wrapped in the tranquility of their secluded corner. The sun draped warm rays over them, filtering through the vibrant blossoms that danced in the gentle breeze, filling the air with the intoxicating scent of blooming flowers and freshly turned earth. As they converse, their words flow effortlessly, shifting between the lighthearted and the profound, weaving stories and laughter into the fabric of their day. They exchange playful jests, reminiscing about their pasts, Oleksandr’s wild adventures as a nomad, Savka’s sheltered yet curious upbringing as a princess.
Yet, despite the easy rhythm of their companionship, an undercurrent of tension lingered, an electric buzz that hummed beneath the surface. Each time their eyes met, it sent a jolt through them, a reminder of the warmth of his touch against her skin. As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting golden hues over the garden, Oleksandr found relaxation laying his head on Savka’s lap. Her fingers, gentle and deft, glided through his long, light-blonde hair, braiding it into delicate pleats that shimmered in the sunlight.
“Yeah, my father was a centaur and my mother a mermaid,” he teased, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “I got the two human halves, but my brother, he wasn’t so lucky. And that’s how seahorses came to be.” He looked up at her, his striking blue eyes sparkling with mischief, clearly enjoying the absurdity of his own tale. Savka laughed, the sound light and musical, brightening the garden around them.
“A centaur and a mermaid? What a curious lineage you have, Oleksandr. No wonder you’re so magnificent!” Their laughter danced in the air, mixing with the sweet perfume of the flowers, each chuckle drawing them closer together. She watched him, her heart swelling with affection as he relaxed under her gentle ministrations. In this moment, the weight of their responsibilities faded, leaving only the warmth of their connection. “What other secrets do you hide?” She asked, arching an eyebrow playfully. “I bet there’s a dragon in your family tree somewhere, too.” Oleksandr chuckled, his laughter rumbling softly against her thigh.
“Ah, that’s a story for another day, sweet girl. Right now, I’m just a humble man enjoying a lovely afternoon in the garden, at the mercy of your skilled hands.” He gazes at the sun's position. "In fact… I have to deliver you back to your chambers pretty soon here. I'll be guarding the court for the rest of the evening." Her heart sinks slightly, disappointment and a hint of jealousy settling in her chest. She doesn't want him to go, doesn't want to lose this time they have together, but she knows she can't hold him back with selfishness. She forces a small smile, trying to hide her disappointment.
"Right, of course. Duty calls." He stands up and offers her a hand, lifting her to her feet with ease. Savka’s head swam as she stood close to him, her body barely brushing against his solid frame. He towered over her, an imposing figure of raw strength and savage grace. Her gaze traveled up the length of him, tracing the hard lines of his muscled arms, the broad chest, and the corded neck that led to a face that left her breathless. She can't help but notice how truly beautiful he is.
Every angle of his chiseled features seemed to have been carved by a master sculptor. His jaw was sharp, angular, as though cut from stone, with a scar that trailed down his cheek like a mark of war, a reminder of his brutal past. His nose was strong and straight, perfectly proportioned over a wide, firm mouth. His lips, though harsh and wide, held a certain softness, an elegant pout almost like a woman's, as if hiding a secret tenderness beneath the rugged exterior, with a scar running across his cupids bow. And those eyes, strikingly pale blue, almost translucent, pierced through her as though they could see into her very soul. His brow was heavy, with a prominent bone that cast his deep-set eyes into shadow, making them all the more intense. His eyebrows, almost invisible against his tanned skin, were a pale blonde, lighter even than the cascade of hair that flowed down his shoulders, long and flaxen, shining faintly in the dim light.
To Savka, he was like some fierce, forgotten god of the wild. Powerful, untamed, yet breathtakingly beautiful. He was no ordinary man; he was a creature sculpted by nature herself, like one of the ancient Greek statues brought to life. But unlike those statues, he was not marble; he was flesh and blood, warm and alive, a predator in his elegance and ferocity. His beauty was not the soft, gentle beauty of courtly men—it was something primal, something that stirred a deep instinct within her. As she looked up at him, her heart raced, and the world around them faded away. All that remained was the force of him, the embodiment of raw, masculine power, and the quiet, fierce admiration that flooded her.
Oleksandr smirks down at her, his pale blue eyes crinkling with amusement as he catches her staring. The familiar gap in his teeth gives his rugged face a touch of boyish charm, softening the fierceness in his gaze.
"What are you looking at, girl?" His voice is low, teasing, a hint of a laugh in his tone. "Kotik got your tongue?" Savka feels her cheeks flush under his gaze, her heart racing a little faster. She glances away for a moment, biting her lip, before letting her eyes return to his face, bold but bashful all at once.
“I just… can't help it,” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost breathless. “You look like something out of a legend...” She shifts on her feet, her fingers lightly grazing his arm, feeling the solid muscle beneath her touch. "How could anyone not stare?" Oleksandr’s smirk widens, his chest rumbling with a low chuckle. He watches her, amused by her sudden shyness, a flicker of warmth in his eyes.
"You flatter me, kotik," he says, the teasing edge softening. He reaches down, his large hand brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. "But I am no legend, no mythical beast." His voice drops lower, a whisper between them, "just a man." Savka’s voice trembles slightly, her wide eyes reflecting the admiration that fills her heart.
“B-but... you are a legend,” she stammers. “They whisper about you across the peninsula. My father told me.” She takes a step closer, her gaze unwavering as she searches his striking blue eyes. “They speak of your name in the halls of lords and rulers, Oleksandr the Siberian… the flaxen reaper—the warrior who turns the tide of battles, the one who fights for honor, for revenge, not for gold. A battle chaser, a mercenary who gives his strength freely.” The awe in her voice is palpable, each word wrapping around him like a warm embrace. “You’re not just a man; you’re something more, you're unparalleled. You’re a force of nature.” A soft smile spreads across Oleksandr's lips, tinged with pride and affection.
“If I’m a force of nature, then you are the calm in the storm.” The intensity of his gaze locks onto hers, a flicker of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Tell me, Princess,” he adds playfully, “do the legends say I’m as handsome as I am fierce?”
“Perhaps the legends don’t do you justice, my fierce warrior,” she replies, her voice playful yet sincere. “They cannot capture how you make me feel when I’m with you.” She steps back, a teasing glint in her eyes. “But if I were to tell them, I’d say that Sir Oleksandr is not only the mightiest of warriors and most chivalrous of knights, but also the most captivating of men.” Her breath hitches slightly, her gaze unwavering as she speaks. “You’re my favorite part of my story, Oli, and I would have the world know it.”
Oleksandr wraps his large hands around her waist, pulling her closer with a grin that lights up his rugged features. His eyes flicker over her face, taking in every delicate detail, tracing the delicate curves of her chest before lingering on her lips for a heartbeat longer, a promise held in that gaze.
“Come here, girl…” He murmurs, his voice deep and inviting. Leaning down to bridge the gap between them, he captures her mouth with his own, the kiss warm and possessive. The world around them fades into a distant whisper, leaving only the intoxicating connection they share—the taste of warmth and the thrill of stolen moments that make their secret love burn fiercely in the shadows.