My entire life had been dedicated to the protection of the crown, to the sovereignty of Lidania. I loved my country with every breath in me; I felt blessed by God to be born there. But even in the highest position of honor, a stalwart protector of the king's demesne, duty was not without boredom.
"Hot in there?" the cooing call of Queen Isabelle nearly scared me out of my mithril plates, "Of course you are, it must be hot enough for two."
The castle was merry with music and laughter, the smell of roasted meat filtering through every cobblestone crack and entryway; why did she wander the halls alone? Truth be told, I wasn't exactly surprised. King Yaedon had married Queen Isabelle at his father's request when they were both much younger: he was seventeen and she fifteen, their union forged only by family politics and a fledgling sense of duty. It didn't take long before her passions flared into wantonness—the pair quickly consummated their marriage. For twenty long years, the kingdom had waited for an heir.
"No, of course not, my queen," I answered as calmly as possible while stifling a chuckle, "there is no discomfort in duty, only honor."
That made her laugh, a dark giggle tinged with inebriation, "Oh, my brave captain! Don't make yourself too uncomfortable!" It was instinctive for me to bow with her approach; the lowering of my gaze, the bend of a knee, an amusing sight for a wall of sharp edges and tempered mail to buckle under Isabelle's diminutive form. Sapphire eyes, as cold as Lidania's winters, looked down upon me with drunken predation. "I don't believe we've met, formally, at least. You must be the praetorian replacing Sir Gideon. What do you say we find a comfortable place and get truly acquainted?"
"I... I can't..." I stammered.
"Why not?" Her voice dropped into a husky whisper; I could barely hear her above the clamor of celebration in the halls below. "I wonder, what lies beneath that helmet of yours." The sweet, sour smell of red wine clung to Queen Isabelle and teased my senses. Time had not been cruel to the usually stoic woman, and barring the nascent wrinkles that so imperceptibly lined the corners of those cerulean pools, Isabelle still had a youthful face, untouched by age or hardship. Still smooth and soft like ripe fruit; just looking upon her beauty caused a wave of heat to creep up from within me.
"O' promising initiate," she crooned, "I am drunk on your humility. I know well the affections of the nobler sex, though it has been quite some time since I've experienced them; queenship is not without its burdens." Manicured digits, white as snow and as pointed as spear tips, traced the silk-laden curves of her chest and abdomen before settling just above her navel.
My deceiving eyes were fixed upon the gesture, betraying the stock and honor of my upbringing. This was my queen! The lady regent of my oath-sworn king! I trembled in my full-faced suit, made weak by the hypnotic sway of Queen Isabelle's motherly hips; full, soft, swaying with the looseness of liquor and lust.
"Oh, let me have you then," purred Queen Isabelle, "my love for you is deeper than any ocean; your body must be a treasure trove for me." She kissed me lightly on the cheek, her lips moist against the cold steel armor of my face. "A moment of weakness."
"You mustn't..." The words came out hoarse, muffled between my teeth, but there would be no more convincing, only the paralyzing touch of her caress upon my faceplate. "Do you think me barren? Perhaps I am, now, Gods know my bedchambers have been frigid for years, but the King still expects and heir, and o' how we tried in the beginning." Clarity came to her for a moment then, a brief reprise from drunken lustiness. There was pain my queen's eyes, a deep seeded sense of longing, failure and shame. I wished for nothing more than to ease my lady's suffering yet struggled to contain the wanton passions she stoked within.
The kiss was so soft, so tender; she placed a palm upon each of my cheeks and tilted her head gently forward, like a parent might to an errant child; I couldn't look away.
"You could do your kingdom a invaluable service, praetorian. Do not see the dishonor in it." Her voice carried through the corridor in quiet whispers that filled me with a feeling far removed from lust or affection: guilt. "I am not barren, I know this in my soul. Give your people hope. Restore your king's dream. Make me a mother." The last statement came in a whisper, like water running over polished glass and sheering the senses in its rawness. "Come with me, to my chambers."
A part of me wanted to cry out and run from the castle, from all of Lidania for that matter. Yet, if there ever was one time when duty called for more than honor, more than pride, more than sacrifice, this was surely the moment. It would be easy enough, as long as I didn't think too hard about the fact that I would be violating every principle I held dear, leaving myself open for betrayal and scandal beyond the imagining of most men. This was madness! This was sin and self-indulgence against everything good and right. But somehow my body disobeyed my mind and obeyed the call of my queen's invitation. We crept together along shadowy hallways, down flights of stairs to a private chamber near the bottommost floor.