She rose from the bed with the same fluid grace that had defined her every motion, her bare form catching the slant of moonlight that filtered through the narrow window.
My breath hitched. I knew I should look away. Yet, I didn’t. I couldn't. She was just so completely… irresistible.
Gods, you are done for,I thought to myself.
With deliberate care, she raised her hands and began to move her fingers through the air in a series of gestures as she closed her eyes. And then she changed.
The transformation was flawless and immediate.
The white-haired woman with violet eyes faded like a dream, and in her place stood Sir Lioran once more. Every detail of the illusion returned with uncanny accuracy—the broad shoulders, the firm set of the jaw, the understated masculine poise.
Where moments ago there had been vulnerability and sensuality, now stood the composed knight once again.
I could hardly believe I’d witnessed it. Yet I had.
The newly reformed Lioran fastened his clothing with swift, methodical movements—crisp and precise. He paused only once, glancing around the chamber with an inscrutable expression, neither rushed nor reflective. And then, without a word, he turned and walked out, disappearing down the hallway like any other knight headed to supper.
But the room did not feel empty.
The scent of magic lingered in the air—warm, wild, intimate—intertwined with something else. Something human. Something I couldn’t name. And as I stood alone in the silence behind the tapestry, one truth rang louder than the dinner bell had: the beautiful woman had not vanished.
She'd only disappeared behind a mask of someone I had thought I knew.
I remained hidden several minutes longer, my legs too unsteady to trust, ensuring she had truly gone before emerging from behind the tapestry.
The stone floor sounded loud beneath my feet as I finally stepped out, my breath still coming in uneven bursts. When Imoved to sit on the edge of the bed she had recently occupied, the mattress still held the indentation of her body, a phantom reminder of what had transpired here.
My hands still trembled uncontrollably, fingers flexing and unfurling as though trying to grasp something that had already slipped away, and my cock still raged against my breeches with an insistence that shamed me.
The chamber felt oppressively quiet now, her absence a hollowness that echoed louder than any sound could. And yet, she lingered—her presence clung to the air like mist after a storm. It pressed against my skin with invisible fingers, insistent and heavy. I didn’t think—couldn’tthink. My body moved on instinct, as though drawn by a force I could neither name nor resist. I stepped toward the bed, knelt beside it, and lowered my face to the linens, breathing in. Hoping—desperately, shamefully—for a trace of her scent left behind.
And there it was.
Warmth. Lavender. A whisper of something otherworldly. It was subtle but unmistakable. I closed my eyes, inhaling again, as if the faint remnants of her could explain what no logic could. As if they could fill the aching space her truth had carved open inside me.
The sheets held the mingled fragrance of her skin, sweat, and that undefinable essence of a woman's sex—a heady combination of salt, musk, and something uniquely hers. The scent hit me with such force that my body responded instantly, a visceral reaction I couldn't control. With hands that still trembled, I freed my cock from the cumbersome fabric holding it back, the relief immediate as it sprang forth, hard and aching.
I settled myself more firmly on the edge of the bed where she had lain, running my fingers over the depression her body had left in the mattress. Then I began to stroke myself, slowly atfirst, my callused palm rough against sensitive skin as I closed my eyes and let the phantom memory of her wash over me.
Yes, I fully realized Lioran—or whatever the beauty's true name was—could return at any moment. But I couldn't say I cared. The urgency pulsing through me had overtaken all reason, all sense of propriety or caution. I couldn't leave this room without relieving myself—that much was certain.
I reached out with trembling fingers and ran them across the still-warm depression where she had pleasured herself, the dampness not yet evaporated from the linens. I was desperate to capture something of her essence, to transfer it to my skin. When I brought my fingers to my nose, there was the unmistakable faint scent of her wetness, of her cunt—delicate yet raw.
My eyes closed involuntarily as I breathed in again, deeper this time, letting the intoxicating scent of her flood my senses completely. Some distant part of my mind registered the shame of it all—a knight of my standing, behaving like a rutting animal, sniffing bedsheets like a common stable boy. Yet there was little I could do to stop myself. My need for her had transcended mere physical desire; it had become something elemental, a hunger that demanded satisfaction.
It didn't take long before my cock erupted with my orgasm, as ropy cum coated my hands and shot onto the floor in powerful spurts. My knees nearly buckled with the force of my release, pleasure crashing through me in waves that seemed to last an eternity.
I bit down on my lower lip to stifle the groan that threatened to escape. When it was over, I sat there with cum leaking from my tip and through my fingers. And blast it all to hell, I hadn't thought to look for a rag of some sort. The evidence of my weakness lay splattered across the stone floor, a damning testament to how thoroughly I wanted her, this Lioran imposter.
Grabbing a stray piece of clothing the woman had left beside her bed, I cleaned my cock and my hand, watching as the fabric absorbed the evidence of my shameful weakness. Then I bent down to sop up the mess I'd made on the stone floor, careful not to miss a single drop that might betray my presence. The cool air against my skin reminded me of my vulnerability, standing half-dressed in another's chamber like a spy.
The clothing, which turned out to be a tunic, bore the faint scent of her—that same intoxicating aroma that had driven me to this madness in the first place. I wadded it up tightly, palming it as I straightened to my full height. My fingers clenched around the fabric, knuckles whitening with the force of my grip.
Clearly, I couldn't leave it here—not with the evidence of my arousal soaked into its fibers, a damning testimony to my trespass. Lioran—no, this woman masquerading as Lioran—would just have to think the servants had confused the tunic for someone else's and that it had gone missing. A convenient explanation that would never lead back to me, found skulking and spilling seed in a recruit's chambers like some untrained youth.
I wadded up the tunic and thrust it beneath my arm, concealing it as best I could. Then I pulled my braies up once more and, tying them, took a deep breath. Pressing my ear to the door, I waited—listening for any sound that might betray another’s approach. Hearing none, I slipped into the corridor and hurried away, my steps quick and silent.
A tempest of emotion crashed over me with each stride: relief—raw and startling—that my desire had not, in the end, been for a man. But that comfort was immediately swallowed by anger—anger at being deceived so thoroughly, made to feel a fool in my own keep. And beneath that, the worst of them all:desire. Persistent, undiminished, even heightened by the truth now bared. Her deception should have soured whatever feelingsI harbored for her, and yet… it hadn’t. If anything, the fire burned hotter now, its heat impossible to ignore.
