Princess Eléonore had a secret.
Every third night, when the palace slept and the guards changed shifts, she slipped out of her chambers and made her way to the old archery range behind the stables. There, in the moonlight, she practiced with the bow her late mother had given her—a weapon no proper princess should even touch, let alone master.
But Eléonore had never been a proper princess.
Ethan had known about her midnight excursions for months. He'd watched from the shadows as she loosed arrow after arrow into the straw targets, her form perfect, her focus absolute. She was good. Better than most of the king's guard.
Tonight, he decided to stop watching.
The princess drew back her bowstring, sighting down the shaft at the target fifty paces distant. Her dark hair was bound in a simple braid, and she wore men's clothing—breeches and a loose shirt that allowed freedom of movement.
She released. The arrow flew true, striking dead center.
"Impressive."
Eléonore spun, arrow already nocked and drawn, aimed directly at Ethan's chest. Her eyes were wide with shock, but her hands remained steady.
"Who's there? Show yourself!"
Ethan stepped out of the shadows, hands raised peacefully. "Easy, Your Highness. I'm not here to cause trouble."
Recognition flickered across her face. "Ethan? The king's servant?" She lowered the bow slightly but didn't relax the string. "What are you doing here? If you've come to report me to my father—"
"I haven't." He moved closer slowly, watching her track him with the arrow. "I've known about your practice sessions for months and never said a word. Why would I start now?"
She studied him suspiciously. "Then why are you here?"
"Because watching you from the shadows was getting boring." He smiled. "And because I wanted to see if you're as good as you appear to be."
"I don't need validation from a servant."
"Don't you?" Ethan gestured to the targets. "Why else would you sneak out here night after night, risking discovery, if not because no one acknowledges what you can do? Your father wants you to be a proper princess—docile, marriageable, decorative. But that's not who you are, is it?"
Eléonore finally lowered the bow completely. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know you're engaged to Prince Marcus of Meridia, a man you've never met and already despise based on the reports. I know you'd rather fight than dance. I know you feel trapped in silks and jewels when you'd prefer leather and steel." He paused. "And I know you're desperately lonely because no one in this palace sees the real you."
Something flickered in her eyes—vulnerability, quickly masked. "Why would you care about any of that?"
"Because I see you, Eléonore. Not the princess. Not the political pawn. You."
She laughed, but it was bitter. "What do you want? Gold? Favors? Are you going to blackmail me with this knowledge?"
"No." Ethan reached the edge of the range, still keeping a respectful distance. "I want to help you."
"Help me? How?"
"By being honest with you. By treating you like a person instead of a trophy." He gestured to her bow. "And maybe by giving you a real challenge. You're good with that bow, but you've never shot at a moving target, have you?"
Her eyes narrowed. "What are you suggesting?"
"A game. I'll run the course—" he pointed to the path that wound between the targets "—and you try to hit me."
"Are you insane? I could kill you."
"You could. But you won't. Because you're too good for that." He grinned. "Unless you're afraid you might miss?"
Pride flashed across her face. "I never miss."
"Prove it."
Ten minutes later, Ethan was running the obstacle course while Eléonore loosed arrows at him with devastating accuracy.
She didn't aim to kill—instead, she placed arrows inches from his feet, forcing him to dodge and weave. One arrow pinned his sleeve to a post. Another parted his hair. She was playing with him, and they both knew it.
When he finally completed the course, breathing hard and grinning, she was smiling too—the first genuine smile he'd seen from her.
"Satisfied, Your Highness?"
"That was..." She paused, searching for words. "That was the most fun I've had in months."
"See? I told you I could help." He approached her, noting how she didn't back away this time. "You need someone who challenges you. Someone who sees your strength instead of trying to suppress it."
"And you think you're that person?" Her tone was skeptical but curious.
"I know I am."
Eléonore bit her lip, studying him. "You're not like the others. The servants, the nobles... they all treat me like I'm made of glass. But you..."
"I treat you like you can handle the truth. Like you're strong enough to make your own choices."
"I am strong enough."
"Then prove it." Ethan took another step closer. "Make a choice right now. Tell me to leave, and I'll go. You'll never see me here again. Or..."
"Or what?"
"Or admit that you're curious. That you want to know what it would be like to stop pretending. To stop being the perfect princess for one night."
Her breathing had quickened. "What are you suggesting?"
"Nothing you don't want. I'm simply offering you the same thing I offered with the archery—a challenge. A chance to feel alive instead of trapped."
"This is madness. You're a servant. I'm engaged. If anyone found out—"
"No one will find out. Just like no one's found out about your midnight archery practice." He reached out slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I keep secrets very well, Eléonore."
She shivered at his touch but didn't retreat. "Why me? Why now?"
"Because I've wanted you since the first time I saw you refuse to cry when your father announced your engagement. You stood there, silent and proud, while inside you were screaming. I saw it. And I've wanted to give you a place where you don't have to pretend ever since."
"This is insane," she whispered, but her eyes had darkened with something other than anger.
"The best things usually are." His hand slid to her neck, thumb resting against her pulse point. He could feel it racing. "Tell me what you want, Princess. Not what you should want. What you actually want."
The words came out in a rush. "I want to feel like myself. I want someone to see me as more than a bargaining chip. I want..." She met his eyes. "I want to stop being alone."
"Then let me give you that." Ethan leaned in, his lips barely brushing her ear. "Let me show you what it's like when someone wants you for who you are, not what you represent."
"If I say yes..." Her voice trembled slightly. "What happens then?"
"Then you're in control. You tell me what you want, what you need, what you're comfortable with. I'm here to give you freedom, not take it away."
Eléonore pulled back enough to look him in the eyes. "You're saying I'm in control?"
"Always. This only happens if you want it. And it stops the moment you say stop."
She considered this, her sharp mind weighing the risks against the temptation. Finally, she made her decision.
"Kiss me."
It wasn't a question. It was a command.
Ethan smiled. "Yes, Your Highness."
The kiss started careful, testing. But when Eléonore made a soft sound and pulled him closer, Ethan deepened it, one hand tangling in her braid while the other settled on her waist.
She kissed like she did everything else—with fierce determination and no hesitation once she'd made up her mind.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, her eyes were bright with desire and something else—relief.
"I've never..." she started.
"I know."
"But I want to. With you. Now."
"Are you certain?" Ethan searched her face. "There's no rush, Eléonore. We can take this slow—"
"I don't want slow. I want to feel something real before I'm shipped off to marry a stranger." She grabbed his shirt, pulling him back. "I want this. I want you. Don't make me beg."
"I would never make you beg unless you wanted to." He kissed her again, harder this time. "But I need to hear you say it clearly. Tell me what you want."
"I want you to fuck me." The crude word sounded strange in her refined accent, but the desire behind it was unmistakable. "I want to know what it feels like. I want to choose this for myself, just once."
"Then I'm yours to command, Princess."
He guided her to the small storage shed at the edge of the range, spreading his cloak on the ground inside. It wasn't a palace bedchamber, but Eléonore didn't seem to care.
She was already unlacing her shirt with shaking fingers.
"Let me." Ethan stilled her hands, then slowly, deliberately, finished unlacing the shirt and helped her out of it. "We do this at your pace. You're in control. Understand?"
"I understand." She reached for his shirt, yanking it over his head with less finesse but equal enthusiasm. "God, I've thought about this. Watching you in the palace, wondering what you'd look like, what you'd feel like..."
"You've thought about me?" Ethan kissed down her throat, making her gasp.
"More than I should have. More than was proper." Her hands explored his chest, his shoulders, learning him. "I thought I was going mad."
"You're not mad. You're just honest." He cupped her breasts through the binding she wore, feeling her arch into his touch. "And I love your honesty."
"Then honestly..." She looked up at him, vulnerable and determined all at once. "I'm nervous. But I still want this."
"Then we'll make sure you enjoy every moment of it."
Ethan took his time, despite her impatience. He mapped every inch of her skin with his hands and mouth, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan, what made her clutch at him desperately.
When he finally settled between her legs, she was trembling with anticipation.
"This might hurt at first," he warned, positioning himself. "If it's too much, tell me. We stop immediately."
"I know. I trust you." She pulled him down for a kiss. "Please, Ethan. I'm ready."
He entered her slowly, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. She winced initially, her body tensing, but when he stilled, giving her time to adjust, she gradually relaxed.
"Okay?" he murmured against her lips.
"Okay. Move. Please move."
He did, setting a gentle rhythm that gradually built as her body accommodated him. The discomfort on her face transformed into pleasure, her initial gasps becoming moans.
"God," she breathed. "This is... I never imagined..."
"Good?"
"Better than good. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
Ethan shifted angles, and her back arched off the cloak. "There?"
"Yes! Right there, oh God—"
He maintained that angle, one hand sliding between them to find the sensitive bundle of nerves that made her cry out. The combination was overwhelming for someone experiencing it for the first time.
"Ethan, I think I'm going to—"
"Let go. I've got you."
Her climax hit her like a storm, her whole body convulsing around him. Ethan worked her through it, extending the pleasure until she was gasping his name like a prayer.
Only then did he allow himself to follow, pulling out at the last moment to spill on her stomach rather than risk pregnancy.
They collapsed together, both breathing hard, her body still trembling with aftershocks.
"That was..." Eléonore started, then laughed. "I don't have words."
"Good is enough." Ethan grabbed his discarded shirt, gently cleaning her off. "Are you alright? No regrets?"
She considered this seriously. "No regrets. This was my choice. My decision." She touched his face. "Thank you for giving me that. For letting me choose."
"Always." He kissed her palm. "This is your secret, Eléonore. Yours to keep or share as you wish."
"I want to do this again." She said it firmly, without hesitation. "Before I'm married off. Before I lose the chance to choose for myself. Will you... would you be willing?"
"Whenever you want. However you want." Ethan helped her dress, his touch gentle and respectful. "You're in control here. Always."
"I like that." She finished lacing her shirt, her smile confident now. "I like being in control. Maybe next time..."
"Next time?"
A mischievous glint entered her eyes. "Maybe next time I want to be on top."
Ethan grinned. "Your Highness, that sounds like an excellent plan."
Later, as Ethan made his way back to the servants' quarters, he cataloged his progress.
Dame Celine—devoted and eager. Queen Isadora—desperate and willing. Princess Eléonore—curious and now awakened.
Three women. Three different approaches. Three complete successes.
And this was only the beginning.
The palace was full of women trapped in roles they never chose, starving for connection, for passion, for someone who saw them as more than their titles.
Ethan would give them exactly what they needed.
And in return, they would give him everything.
End of Chapter 3
Next: Chapter 4 - Weaving the Web