Roland felt blood trickling down his cheek. His damp hair, covered in sweat. His chest, heaving. His hand, gripping a sword. His left, carrying a shield. Roland didn't want to give up this duel this easily. His armor, however, felt like an oven, frying him. He struck back his opponent, who was vulnerable for a second on his side. The latter fell, and Roland knocked his sword away. Baileywick stood bye, and clapped at Roland's victory. "Thanks Baileywick. Do you mind taking my sword and shield?" "Not at all Your Majesty. And your wife told me to tell you for you to meet her in your bedroom." King Roland put his iron hand on the steward's shoulder. "Thanks again Baileywick." He said. Roland then ran to his room.
Roland soon areived at his room. His beautiful wife was sitting on the loveseat and rose to greet her husband. "Roland! What happened to your cheek?" She asked, gently placing a hand over his wound. Roland kissed his bride passionatly on the lips and replied, " Nothing, just a little scratch from sword practice. Miranda pulled a handkerchief from her dresser and carefully wiped some blood from his wound. Roland gazed at his beloved, lost in her beauty. He winced slightly, as she went over the fresh cut. "There, all clean. She said. Roland looked taller, stronger, and a little more handsome in his armor. Miranda smiled up at him and he smiled back. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She lay her head on his shoulder and purred slightly in his ear. Roland smiled.
