I woke up that morning prepared for anything.
Bandits? Yes.
Ambush? Absolutely.
A surprise resurgence of dark magic? Wouldn't blink.
What I was not prepared for… Was Lady Seraphine emerging from her room in what could only be described as…
A crime against fabric. In warrior clothing...very odd, if you asked me.
The tunic was so tight it declared war on its seams. Her leggings were clinging to her like they had signed a life oath.
Her boots—gods have mercy—were bending under the pressure like overworked soldiers about to beg for retirement.
Coffi, her maid, was sweating buckets trying to stuff her inside the carriage.
At some point I considered helping, but then remembered I value my spine.
And then—
She turned.
Saw me.
And smiled. Oh Heaven! Help me! Not a ladylike, soft maiden smile.
No. Absolutely not. She smiled like a wolf spotting a particularly tender lamb chop. Like she was about to devour me whole. I shivered from my spine, down to my toes.
Her eyes went straight to my bicep.
My bicep.
Not my face. Hell no! Not my armor.
No.
My bicep.
I felt… exposed. Violated. Objectified.
Shivered down to my bones. "What the hell is wrong with her?" I muttered under my breath.
Sir Rowan came riding up beside me. "Sir, you're pale. Are you ill?"
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just… caught off guard."
"By the Duke's daughter?"
"Yes," I hissed. "She looked at me like… like I'm dessert."
"She does seem hungry, sir."
"That is NOT amusing, Rowan!"
Finally they got her inside the carriage with the force of three grown adults and possibly divine intervention.
We rode out.
Everything was peaceful—until her carriage rolled up beside my horse and her head popped out the window like an excited puppy with dangerous motivations.
"Sir Alex!" she called sweetly.
Every knight in the convoy stiffened.
I felt all blood drain from my soul.
"Yes… my lady?" I replied cautiously.
And then—
THEN—
She had the audacity to say: "Your butt muscles are impressive."
My horse stumbled.
She continued cheerfully, as if discussing the weather, "And your legs too. Very… sturdy."
I choked on my own breath.
Rowan, beside me, was biting his knuckles trying not to laugh.
Another knight behind us whispered, "Sir Alex is being harassed."
"I think this is emotional damage," someone else said.
I ignored all of them. Because I can't lose composure over such mundane things. Focused on surviving the moment.
Then lady Seraphine narrowed her silver eyes dreamily and said: "Your thighs are like thunder—your steps like rainfall on longing earth."
I whipped my head around so fast I nearly dislocated something. "That— That's— Where did you hear that?"
She just winked.
Winked.
Gods save me.
That was a line from the poem I wrote years ago—the one nobody knew except the King and the royal archivist. "How— How do you know that verse?" I demanded.
She rested her chin on her hand, looking smug as a cat in a cream cellar.
"Oh, I'm a woman of culture. I know things."
I suddenly felt my soul leave my body. But one thing I'm sure of, the woman wanted to eat me! And it scared the hell out of me.
Behind me, my knights were losing composure.
"Sir Alex is BLUSHING."
"No way."
"Yes way."
"He's turning red—like a tomato in armor."
"Should we intervene? Is he being seduced?"
"I think he's being hunted."
I gripped my reins so hard the leather squeaked.
Never, in all my years of service, had I prayed so desperately.
"Please," I whispered to the sky, "grant me strength… or deafness."
Meanwhile Seraphine kept leaning out of the carriage, smiling, humming, saying things like:
"So, Sir Alex…
Tell me…
Are all your muscles evenly sculpted?
Purely for research purposes."
I nearly fell off my horse.
And that was the beginning of the longest ride of my life.
A ride where the biggest monster wasn't a wraith or a cursed mine—
but a magic-less lady with too much confidence, too-tight clothing,
and enough sass to bring a knight to his knees.
*****
A few hours later. There was something deeply, profoundly wrong with this woman.
Not in the "she is cursed" sense.
Not in the "she is dangerous" sense.
No.
In the "she is having fun" sense. Because even though she was stuffed inside that carriage like an overfilled pastry—and I could hear the wood creaking in fear—her eyes…
Her eyes were laughing.
Sparkling.
Almost… delighted.
Like she was watching her favorite performer. Like I was her favorite performer. And gods help me, she stared at me the same way I stare at the finest paintings in the royal gallery.
The same way I look at Princess Milabuella when she isn't looking.
The same way I look at a perfectly sculpted statue of a heroic knight.
Admiration.
Warmth.
Excitement. It was unnerving.
Seraphine stared at me like I was her personal constellation. I didn't know whether to feel flattered or threatened.
A few hours later, the land changed drastically. Greenery everywhere. The air was fresh. Leaves rustling. Fresh air.
A drizzle so light it felt like the sky was sighing. Birds chirping like they were paid to.
A wolf even howled in the distance—not in warning, but like a greeting.
A welcome.
Which made no sense.
This territory used to be a wasteland of decay and death.
If anything, I was expecting:
monster ambushes,corrupted beasts,sick villagers,at least one cursed spirit trying to gnaw on my armor.
But the road was… peaceful. Almost too peaceful. Like it was welcoming someone, someone more powerful than the gods.
The dirt path looked like it was inviting us, softening under the rain, looking alive.
My men were whispering behind me. "This is unnatural."
"I feel like I'm being hugged by nature. I don't like it."
"Should we be worried?"
"Sir Alex will handle it."
"No, he's busy being harassed."
I ignored them.
Mostly.
Around afternoon, Seraphine poked her head out of the carriage window again—
already making me tense—and announced cheerfully,
"We're almost at the mine!"
She said it with such glee you'd think she was announcing a picnic, not the mouth of cursed history.
That's when I saw it.
Something swirling behind the carriage.
A shadow.
No—multiple shadows.
Swirling.
Drifting.
Following.
Creeping like smoke, forming shapes I didn't want to identify:
tiny round blobsstubby limbschubby outlines like small creatureseyes that blinked from inside the darkness
They moved like little demons playing tag around the wheels.
My entire spine froze. It looked like wraith, but not like this. I know wraith, they dont look cute and chubby. Was I hallucinating?
I tugged my reins so hard my horse snorted in protest. "Does anyone else—see that?" I whispered.
My knights looked around. "S-see what, sir?"
"There's nothing there."
"Sir, are you sleep deprived?"
I stared.
Eyes wide. What the hell was it? AM I getting crazy?
Heart hammering.
Dark magic. Shadows. Spirits.
But right as I focused—
Seraphine yawned. A small, lazy, not so adorable yawn.
And every single shadow—
POOF—vanished.
Like they were sucked into the air.
Or swallowed by the earth. Or told to behave.
Gone.
Just like that.
I trembled.
"What in the seven hells…?"
Seraphine blinked at me sleepily, then gave me a tiny smile like I was cute for being scared.
It was offensive.
And terrifying. And confusing.
I forced myself to look away. To breathe. To regain dignity.
But the truth hit me hard:
Something about this woman…didn't make sense.
She was magic-less.
Mana-less.
Soft.
Harmless.
And yet… She yawned—and the darkness ran away. I gripped my reins, trying to calm the pounding in my chest. "I swear," I muttered, "the Duke's daughter is going to be the death of me."