The woman gazed into the mirror with an expression of deep, almost aching relief—as though shedding her masculine illusion had released more than magic.
It had unburdened her soul.
Gone was the taut posture of the knight known as Lioran. In its place stood a figure more at ease in her own skin, no longer compressed into a mold.
I remained motionless in the darkness of the tapestry, concealed beneath the musty ancient hanging, yet the stench and coarse threads against my skin had suddenly vanished from my awareness. Instead, I was transfixed by the sight before me. And while my mind screamed to act—grab her, demand answers, unearth her purpose here—my body betrayed me, rooted in place by something beyond reason.
Why didn't I move? Why didn't I demand to know who she was and why she was here? My loyalty to Arthur should have propelled me; yet instead, a different force pulled at my heart—a longing as undeniable as the forbidden allure before me.
A myriad of emotions twisted within me. Betrayal mingled with desire, confusion interlaced with curiosity. And yet every thought I had that yelled at me to take action burned to ash as I watched her.
Her shoulders dropped with a soft exhale, the tension that had knotted itself into every muscle now melting away. I continued to stand there frozen, watching as she lifted her hand to her collarbone, fingertips brushing lightly over skin newly freed.
As she looked at herself in the mirror, she brought her hands to her breasts and caressed them slowly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Those rosebud nipples soon pebbled under her fingers, growing hard. Her palms cupped the weight of her breasts, thumbs brushing across nipples that continued to harden at her touch. There was something almost reverent in the way she touched herself, as though she were reacquainting herself with a body she'd missed. She closed her eyes as she stood up and settled against her bed, both of her hands still touching her breasts.
When she opened her eyes once more, she spread her legs, and I was suddenly overcome with gratitude that she had shifted positions because now I had a much better view. When her fingers began exploring between her thighs more deliberately, heat flooded my face and rushed south through my body, my cock growing even harder against the confines of my braies. Each circular motion of her fingertips seemed to mirror the tightening coil of tension within me. This was no quick moment of self-caress but deliberate, purposeful pleasure-seeking—a private ritual I'd stumbled upon like a thief in the night.
Her movements grew more focused, more rhythmic, her breathing changing to match the cadence of her fingers. The soft gasps escaping her lips were the most intoxicating sound I'd ever heard. More shocking still was when she closed her eyes, herhead tilting back to expose the vulnerable column of her throat, and her lips parted to whisper.
"Lance," she moaned in a voice husky with desire, the single syllable carrying more weight than any title or honor ever bestowed on me.
The sound hung in the air between us, though she remained blissfully unaware of my presence, lost in whatever fantasy had conjured my image behind her closed eyelids.
I wanted nothing more than to go to her, to touch her wetness, to hear her whisper my name as I thrust myself into her heat. But, of course, I couldn't do that. Not when so much hung in the balance. Instead, I continued to watch.
The light caught the sheen of sweat forming on her skin, making her glow like some goddess in the flesh rather than the deceptive knight she truly was. No, not a knight at all—a woman in disguise.
This is madness!I yelled at myself.You should be rushing from this hiding place and arresting her on the spot, turning her over to Arthur!
She was, after all, an enemy. At least, I was somewhat certain that was the case—what other business would she have in Camelot, dressed as a knight and attempting to become a member of Arthur's most esteemed?
But I couldn't bring myself to move. My fingers dug into the stone of the wall, the rock threatening to shred my skin as I fought to control my breathing.
I'd witnessed numerous battles, faced death more times than I could count, yet nothing had prepared me for the torment of watching this particular woman pleasure herself while she whispered my name. The tension in my body bordered on pain as I strained to see more while simultaneously berating myself for this dishonorable act. I, who had built my entire reputation on chivalry and honor, was reduced to a common peeping Tom,desperate for a better angle of this woman who had infiltrated our ranks with such perfect deception that even I had failed to sense the truth.
Yet, none of that mattered at this particular moment. All that did matter was watching her titillate herself.
"Lance," she whispered again, her breathing coming harder as her fingers worked her sex even faster.
The sound of my name on her lips caused my cock to grow even larger, pushing painfully against the fabric separating it from the air. That this woman—easily the most stunning creature I had ever beheld—harbored desire for me that matched my own for her thrilled me in a way I had trouble understanding.
My blood surged hot through my veins, a primal response I hadn't felt in years of meaningless conquests. There was something dangerously intoxicating about her—not just her beauty, which was considerable, but the forbidden nature of her presence here, the audacity of her deception, the raw vulnerability she displayed in this private moment. The fact that I thought I knew her and yet realized I knew nothing.
I found myself entranced by the graceful arch of her back, the flush spreading across her skin, the way her lips parted with each shallow breath she took. The bedchamber suddenly felt stifling, too small to contain the magnitude of my desire for her. I, who had bedded countless women across the kingdom without a second thought, now stood transfixed, utterly captivated by this mysterious intruder who dared whisper my name as she pleasured herself.
My body responded involuntarily, my breathing becoming shallow and urgent. As she brought herself to climax, whispering my name again with unmistakable longing, my own arousal became painful.
Shame and desire battled within me as I found myself reaching down to caress my erection over my braies, my cock needing attention. Visions of striding away from the tapestry and slaking myself within her tight wetness continued to plague me, but I fought them. I needed time to think this through, to think with a logical mind—one not overwhelmed by the vision of a stunning beauty with her finger deep inside her quim.
She called my name in a loud whisper once more as her eyes clenched and her back arched at an angle that appeared almost painful as her body spasmed and she fell against the bed. When she pulled her fingers out from herself, I could see the cream of her pleasure coating them.
I wanted nothing more than to take those fingers into my mouth so I could taste the inside of her.
My hand over my cock stilled instantly, my breath catching as her focus shifted away from her pleasure. I pressed myself deeper into the shadows behind the tapestry, the heavy fabric barely concealing the thunderous beating of my heart. Sweat beaded along my brow as I contemplated discovery—how would I explain my presence, my voyeurism, my obvious arousal?
Before I could decide what action to take, salvation came in the form of the distant dinner bell, its deep, resonant tones echoing through Camelot’s ancient corridors. The familiar call to the evening meal meant that Arthur would soon expect his knights to gather in formation—sharp, composed, and present. No absence would go unnoticed.
The woman sighed, and the sound carried a note of genuine disappointment that stirred something unsettling within me—an echo of loss I didn’t understand.
