The small dining table, usually set for small snacks and sunny afternoons, was now lit softly with two golden candelabras at its center, their flickering flames reflected in the polished dark oak surface. The table was stripped of excess decoration, save for a crystal pitcher of chilled berry wine, two fine porcelain plates with gold trimming, and a covered silver dish that released gentle curls of steam from its vent.
Ben had arranged it all himself. No other servant was permitted near—he had brought each item with care, polishing every utensil and napkin fold until they were worthy of Rosalee's touch. He had changed into his cleanest uniform, one tailored just slightly tighter around his arms and waist than he remembered, and his chestnut-brown hair was neatly combed back, a single strand rebelliously falling over his temple.
When they entered onto the balcony, Rosalee's presence seemed to make the candles burn brighter.
Draped in a soft red gown that clung gently to their slender frame and glimmered like dusk-warmed wine, Rosalee seemed impossibly elegant. Their long braid hung down one shoulder, pinned with small red rose ornaments that sparkled like garnets. A delicate dusting of color brought warmth to their cheeks and eyelids, while their lips were a tender pink, as if they'd just bitten into a sugared plum.
Ben stood when they approached and pulled the chair out for them. Rosalee took the seat gracefully, their movements effortless and regal. For a moment, neither spoke.
The silence was comfortable.
Ben finally took his own seat and lifted the silver lid from the platter, revealing roasted duck glazed in plum wine, herbed potatoes, and lightly buttered asparagus. He had memorized Rosalee's preferences without consciously realizing it—no cream-heavy sauces, no overly bitter greens, and just the faintest sweetness to the meat.
"You truly went all out…"
Rosalee said with an appreciative smile, eyes glimmering.
"Benny, you spoil me."
Ben nearly choked on the soft bread roll he had just picked up.
"It's only what you deserve, my lady."
He managed, voice low.
Rosalee tilted their head, watching him.
"You didn't always speak like that, you know."
"No?"
"No. You used to avoid me like I was cursed."
Ben's shoulders stiffened.
"I was instructed to watch, not interfere."
Rosalee leaned in slightly, resting their elbow on the table and their chin in their palm.
"And now?"
Ben met their gaze and, for the first time, didn't look away.
"Now I interfere."
The words were heavier than he intended. Rosalee smiled slowly—soft and dangerous like silk sliding over a blade.
"Is that so?"
Ben cleared his throat, eyes flicking down to their plate.
"Eat before it gets cold."
They began to eat in a companionable rhythm. Ben served Rosalee more wine when their glass lowered. Rosalee casually offered him the sweetest slices of the plum-glazed duck. Between sips of wine and small bites of roasted pear, something in the air changed.
Ben found himself watching Rosalee's hands—how they delicately handled the utensils, how their fingers curled around the stem of the wineglass, how one hand absentmindedly traced the petals of the nearest rose hairpin they had pulled out and set on the table.
There was silence again, until Rosalee broke it.
"I never understood what it meant to be cherished…"
They said lightly, as if commenting on the weather.
"Not really. Everything in this house... It's survival, not affection. Lies, not love."
Ben's jaw tightened.
"You shouldn't have to feel that way."
"I don't mind anymore…"
Rosalee replied with a soft exhale.
"I have plans. I have pretty things. I have you."
Ben looked up sharply.
"I mean…"
Rosalee continued, teasing but not cruel.
"I have you to bring me dinner and walk me through hidden staircases and wrap me in warm coats like a knight. It's lovely."
A blush crept up Ben's neck again, and this time he didn't try to hide it.
They finished dinner slowly. As Rosalee dabbed their lips with a napkin, they rose and extended a hand toward Ben.
"Escort me back into my room, Benny?"
He stood, nodded, and took their hand—gentle, reverent. The walk back was merely a few steps, but charged with unspoken words. When they arrived back inside, they didn't stop until they stood in front of Rosalee's bedroom door, Ben turned, expecting them to walk away.
Instead, Rosalee stepped closer, lips parted like they were about to whisper a secret.
"You're better than most of them in this house, Benny. I see it. Don't ever forget that."
Ben opened his mouth, but no words came. His heart pounded—terrifyingly warm, terrifyingly fast.
And then Rosalee turned and entered their bathroom, the door closing with a soft click behind them.
Ben stood frozen for a long moment, fingers curling at his sides, trying to memorize the warmth of Rosalee's hand in his. The faint smell of roses lingered on his coat.
He didn't return to his quarters immediately.
He simply leaned against the wall, eyes closed, heart full and confused, asking himself one simple question:
'When did I stop being their watcher... and start wanting to be their protector?'
***
Rosalee stirred with a small stretch, the light filtering in through the parted curtains casting a warm gold across their bedsheets. Their long legs shifted beneath the blankets, and a faint soreness along their inner thighs and arms reminded them of yesterday's training. Despite the soothing soak in a rose-scented bath the night before, their muscles still hummed with the echo of effort.
They didn't mind.
A little pain now was far better than waking up someday soft and out of shape.
'Flabby and puffed up like an overripe duchess!'
Rosalee thought with a smirk as they sat up, sweeping their hair over one shoulder.
They got ready with determination, brushing out the waves in their hair and braiding it tightly down their back. This time, their outfit was carefully chosen:
A darker blouse of soft black linen with slightly tighter sleeves but still bellowy at the waist, cinched just enough to enhance the curve of their frame without clinging indecently. They slipped into a pair of snug brown breeches, tugging them over their hips, and pulled on tall knee-high boots that hugged their calves.
No makeup. No perfume. Just themselves, clean and poised.
They had just turned to leave when a knock sounded at the door—prompt, but gentle.
"Rosalee?"
Ben's voice filtered through.
"May I come in?"
Rosalee blinked in surprise.
'So early?'
They stepped over and opened the door—and there stood Ben, with a gleaming breakfast cart between his hands. The silver domes still steaming, fresh bread in a basket, and a carafe of warm citrus tea sat waiting beside a bowl of sugared pears and cured meats.
Rosalee arched a brow, charmed but curious.
"You've brought the dining hall to me this time?"
Ben bowed his head slightly, his voice unusually warm.
"I thought… since your family is gathered together this morning, you might prefer something more peaceful. I worried you might feel… left out."
A beat passed.
Rosalee stared at him. The usually stoic, tight-lipped butler had not only taken initiative but had offered—of his own accord—a breakfast date? Back-to-back?
'Benny…'
They thought, amused.
'Are you falling faster than I planned?'
But aloud, they offered only a gracious smile.
"What a thoughtful gesture. Well then, since it's already here, you might as well come in."
Ben rolled the cart inside, trying not to let the triumphant flutter in his chest show. Rosalee motioned toward the open balcony doors, where morning sunlight spilled onto the table by the railing, casting the potted roses in a warm glow.
They sat together, side by side, the breeze ruffling Rosalee's braid as they poured tea and sliced bread with soft clinks of silverware. The world outside was quiet—just birdsong, distant laughter from the estate grounds, and the occasional rustling of rose leaves. It felt too delicate to break with noise, and so neither of them spoke for the first few minutes.
It was… intimate. Not like the candlelit dinner the night before, but in its own quiet, domestic way.
Ben watched Rosalee sip their tea, their lips barely touching the cup, the braid falling over their shoulder like a silken rope. The way the light caught their lashes, the faint crease between their brows when they chose between pastries—everything felt too vivid. Too near.
"I wish I could keep you here longer."
Ben said quietly, not realizing he had spoken until Rosalee turned their head.
"Oh?"
Ben looked away, cheeks coloring faintly.
"Just… It's nice. Having you like this. Calm. Not being watched."
Rosalee tilted their head.
"You mean, not being watched by anyone else…"
A slight smirk.
"Don't think I haven't noticed your eyes, Benny."
Ben went stiff, but Rosalee only laughed—a warm, breathy sound that didn't mock, just teased.
"I don't mind it. I've always liked being looked at. And you're not nearly as perverse about it as the others."
Ben choked on his tea slightly.
"I'm—! I wasn't—!"
Rosalee rose from their chair, smoothing down the front of their blouse.
"Unfortunately, this darling moment has to end. I have a very muscular man waiting to stretch me out again."
Ben turned an alarming shade of red.
"Y-you mean training."
"Mmhm..."
Rosalee purred as they walked toward the door.
"Don't wait up, Benny."
Ben followed, hovering, trying to think of any possible excuse to keep them a second longer.
"If you feel any lingering soreness, perhaps I could—arrange a massage session?"
"Is that you volunteering?"
Rosalee asked, stepping into the hallway.
"I—I could arrange it properly!"
Ben sputtered.
They winked.
"Rain check."
Ben stood stunned in the doorway, watching Rosalee's figure stride confidently down the corridor, braid swaying like a tail behind them. His hands were still clutching the empty tea cups when he realized Rosalee'd never even finished their toast.
***
Rosalee's boots clicked softly against the worn stone paths as they made their way through the estate toward the training grounds. The morning sun hung low and warm, casting slanted gold over the tiled roofs and trimmed hedges. Their braid, neat and purposeful, swayed behind them as they moved with the deliberate stride of someone with a plan—not a lady heading to flirt with idle knights, but a viper slinking into a den of lions already half-tamed.
Today's outfit was just cautious enough. The darker blouse, still soft and open near the chest but with tighter sleeves, clung delicately to Rosalee's frame. With the cooler air and their control over their own body, they were confident the material wouldn't turn sheer as easily, but it still outlined their narrow waist and softly rising chest just enough to inspire curiosity. Rosalee smirked inwardly.
'Let them ache for me. Just a little at a time.'
When they arrived, the entrance to the training grounds was… unusually crowded.
Dozens of knights-in-training loitered near the front—many of whom had no business being there so early. Some leaned against pillars, others faked casual stretches or sparring movements, but their eyes were all clearly fixed on the approaching figure of Rosalee. Their presence hung in the air like thick smoke, heavy with testosterone and unspoken lust.
From a raised distance, Axmel Dorrell narrowed his eyes.
The handsome knight stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest, sunlight glinting off the sweat-slick caramel of his sun-kissed skin. His close-cropped navy-blue hair was tousled from his own early drills, and his eyes—dark ocean blue, stormy and unreadable—tracked every movement Rosalee made.
"Tch!"
He clicked his tongue.
'Savages. Can't even control their dicks for five minutes.'
Axmel turned to one of the older guards beside him and muttered.
"I'll talk to the quartermaster. We need to schedule more brothel leave. These brutes are turning into beasts."
Still, even as he scowled, his eyes returned to Rosalee.
There was something deliberate in the way the noble second moved—something far too comfortable in the spotlight. It was almost as if Rosalee *welcomed* the gazes, thrived under the weight of so many hungry stares.
"...Hmph."
Axmel straightened his posture, suddenly unsure if this delicate noble was as innocent as he had first believed.
He descended the stairs with broad, fluid strides and gestured for Rosalee to follow. The crowd parted—albeit reluctantly—and Rosalee floated through them like a rose petal drifting through smoke.
"I've set up a more private space for you…"
Axmel said shortly, though his tone was still respectful.
"Let me show you."
Rosalee gave him a small smile that didn't quite reach their eyes.
"You're too kind, Ser Dorrell."
Behind them, the gawking continued, but the moment Axmel sent a slow, glacier-cold glare across the courtyard, a hush rippled through the crowd. The knights froze, cowed and guilt-stricken, and dared not follow any farther.
Rosalee, mildly disappointed, inwardly mourned the loss of a dozen sets of adoring eyes, but soon shrugged it off.
'No rush. I'll have them crawling one by one eventually.'
They entered a shaded section of the grounds with a soft dirt floor, a weapons rack still untouched, and open space perfect for training.
Rosalee immediately began their stretches, repeating the ones Axmel had taught them the day before with grace and surprising earnestness. They were sweating after a short while, pushing their muscles and breathing with quiet determination. It wasn't just about looking pretty anymore—Rosalee had a goal.
'No more flab. Need stamina, stamina, stamina! Huff, huah—'
Axmel watched them, arms crossed once again. Though he tried to keep his thoughts professional, he couldn't help how his eyes traced the lines of Rosalee's spine as they bent forward, or the curve of their thighs as they lunged.
'They're serious about this…'
He thought, only for his throat to catch when Rosalee arched into a low twisting stretch, their soft exhale escaping like a breathy moan.
He blinked. Cleared his throat. And took a very deliberate step back.
"Focus."
He muttered under his breath.
That was when a young squire ran up, panting and waving a message scroll.
"Ser Dorrell! There's a duel breaking out by the south yard! Captain wants your eyes on it, sir!"
Axmel hesitated, glancing toward Rosalee—who had moved into a yoga-like pose with one leg extended and back arched, completely unaware of how seductive they looked.
After a brief pause, he sighed and turned.
"Lady Florenzia…"
He said, his tone almost too formal.
"I'm needed elsewhere for a brief moment. Please continue your warm-ups, and when I return, we'll start your hunting weapon training."
Rosalee gave a polite nod.
"Of course. I'll be waiting here. All by my lonesome."
'That's what I'm afraid of.'
Axmel thought grimly as he walked off, his spine tingling with the feeling of Rosalee's curious eyes following him.
As soon as he was out of sight, two knights who had been lingering closer than the others took the opportunity to approach.
One of them had deep green hair pulled into a half-tail, and pale yellow eyes that glinted under his dark lashes. His strong jaw and sculpted arms suggested years of mercenary work.
The other was slightly shorter and broader, with dusty orange-toned hair that curled slightly at the edges and striking light blue eyes like the edge of a glacier. He had a long scar across one collarbone and a crooked smirk on his lips as he watched Rosalee with clear interest.
They were, respectively, Sir Halrick Vire-Yorne and Sir Caelen Vire-Yorne—both respected knights with a reputation for breaking hearts and rules alike as brothers.
"Pardon us, my Lady…"
Caelen said, bowing his head slightly, though his eyes lingered on the braid cascading over Rosalee's shoulder.
"Didn't mean to interrupt your training."
"We were just… inspired…"
Halrick added with a grin.
"Seeing someone as graceful as you take your exercises so seriously."
Rosalee straightened from their stretch, brushing back a few damp strands of hair from their brow, and offered the two men a smile that was equal parts curiosity and danger.
"Is that so?"
They purred.
"Well, I don't mind admirers… so long as they're polite."
The knights exchanged a glance—interested, impressed, and slightly daunted.
And just like that, Rosalee added two new pawns to their growing board.
Rosalee bent low again, shifting into a deep lunge that curved their back just enough to lift the swell of their hips. They deliberately tilted their weight too far forward, letting out a soft huff of breath, fingers splaying for balance.
"Ah!"
Predictably, the two knights hovering nearby sprang forward like hungry dogs tossed a bone.
"Careful, my Lady."
Caelen murmured, stepping in behind and sliding a strong hand to steady Rosalee's waist. His palm lingered just a moment too long, fingers brushing the edge of the bellowy blouse now damp with sweat.
"Your center of gravity is off."
Halrick said, dropping into a crouch to guide Rosalee's thigh forward. His fingertips traced from knee to inner thigh in a faux correction, his pale yellow eyes flicking up with poorly hidden hunger.
Rosalee let out a small gasp, just enough to tighten the air around them, and bit down softly on their lower lip. The subtle moan that escaped drew both men closer like moths to flame. Their gazes dropped—first to the curve of Rosalee's sweat-slick throat, then to the blouse, now clinging tightly to their body.
The shape of Rosalee's breasts pushed lightly against the dark fabric, nipples faintly outlined beneath the wet cotton. The very slight swell of them—neither flat nor overly large—was just enough to drive a man wild with imagining what lay beneath.
"Ah—my apologies…"
Rosalee murmured, tilting their head to glance at Halrick with an innocent expression.
"I always seem to get this one wrong."
"It's no trouble at all, my Lady."
Halrick replied, voice slightly hoarse, as he adjusted Rosalee's spine with another lingering touch.
"Perhaps…"
Caelen began, clearing his throat.
"We could take you somewhere quieter. We could… assist you more thoroughly. In private."
Rosalee straightened just slightly, arching their back in a way that made both knights' jaws clench.
But just before Rosalee could answer—whether coyly or otherwise—the low, thunderous voice of Axmel Dorrell rang out behind them.
"What exactly are you two doing?"
The knights froze like guilty children caught with their hands in the sugar bowl.
Rosalee turned lazily, still on the ground, and caught sight of Axmel standing tall at the edge of the clearing. His rugged face was unreadable, jaw tense, arms crossed. The heat in his ocean-blue eyes could've been mistaken for fury—but it was something more complicated.
"Captain!"
Halrick straightened up immediately, his voice cracking slightly.
"We were only… offering guidance while you were away."
"On my grounds…"
Axmel said, the edge in his voice sharp as a drawn blade.
"You wait for my orders."
Without another word, Halrick and Caelen retreated, shooting one last regretful glance toward Rosalee before slinking out of view, mumbling excuses to save face.
Rosalee sighed quietly, brushing sweaty strands away from their flushed cheeks, clearly disappointed at the loss of attention and potential pawns.
"Back already?"
They asked Axmel lightly, tilting their head up with a sweat-damp glow.
"Didn't expect you so soon."
Axmel approached, slowly. His eyes, try as he might to avert them, kept returning to the blouse—soaked now, sheering and clinging to Rosalee's every curve. The pointed tips of their breasts stood out, unmistakable beneath the dark cotton, the faint pink visible in the right light. His throat bobbed in a swallow.
"The duel ended faster than expected…"
He said gruffly, forcing himself to look away.
"They were idiots. Both suspended."
When he finally reached Rosalee, he didn't speak about their appearance. He didn't chastise or scold. He merely pulled a small cloth from his belt and handed it over.
"Here…"
He said.
"Wipe your face. I'll go select a few weapons for a noble lady like you to pick from."
Rosalee blinked in surprise, accepting the towel.
"You're not going to scold me for being indecent-looking?"
They asked, half-joking, dabbing sweat from their temples.
Axmel didn't answer. His eyes drifted once more over their body—then darted away sharply.
"I… I'd find you those weapons now. I'll be right back."
Rosalee watched him go, and then smiled to themselves, privately amused.
'So much restraint for someone who was eyeing my chest like a starving man.'
When Axmel returned, Rosalee perked up.
"Would that happen to be a bow and arrows?"
They asked sweetly, hope blooming in their voice.
'I used to do archery, in school so I'm most familiar with that.'
Axmel paused. His mind blanked for a moment as Rosalee's flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes gazed up at him—pure eagerness, no seduction this time.
"Yes…"
He answered, the word slipping from his mouth before he realized it.
"I'll train you myself."
Rosalee lit up like sunrise.
"Really? Thank you, Ser Dorrell!"
They beamed at him, so genuinely delighted that Axmel almost forgot the danger they represented.
A few feet away, hidden in the shade of a weapons rack, Halrick and Caelen stood watching. Their expressions soured.
"Looks like the Captain's already fallen for the Lady. Better forget her, Cael."
Halrick murmured, gaze fixed on Rosalee's swaying braid and elegant posture.
"Tch!"
Caelen muttered.
"We'll see how long that lasts, Hal. A rose with thorns like that? Everyone bleeds eventually. Just promise I get her first."
"...Okay."