Dark Souls: Gods, Men and the Plan that Made Everything Worse

by Supreme Gamer

If there was ever one thing one wouldn't want to do, its pissing off the Goddess of Sin herself. So how is it that one no name human manages to make it to the top of her list in one night? More importantly, how is it that one human could turn the entire city of Anor Londo on its head? Gods will be bamboozled, shenanigans will unfold and cheeks will be clapped in this epic tale.

15. Chapter 15-Grace and the Fire Beneath

FOOLS! THE TIME HAS COME AND SO HAVE I!

Ladies and Gents, boys and girls, I listened to the reviews and this time I put some elbow grease into this chapter! really added the secret sauce and tried my hand at taking things up a notch!

But before we get into it, I'm touch on a few...

Reviews that caught my eye

Soulbow109 - Kaylen really has to learn to keep his temper under control. I can understand why he keeps getting frustrated but he really does keep making things worse for himself. Yeah its annoying to have the Duke look down on him but being sarcastic like that doesn't help his situation. He should really know by now to not annoy people in powerful positions.

It was interesting to see how Gwynevere sees the greeting and a bit of insight in to why she finds Kaylen so interesting. A noble princess tired of seeing the perfect superficial world she lives in and wants to see or have something more real and genuine.

Also very cute how Velka feels around Kaylen and how much she cares to make a good impression on him despite what she tells herself. Makes me want to hug her. Even with her stench lol.

Didn't expect an attack like this while at the Manor. Ornstein hasn't shown up yet either. Those mercs are going to have a bad time huh. Also nice to get some confirmation on how much Ornstein is invested in making Kaylen a good knight. Never saw him like I remember Kaylen thinking he is but still nice to know Ornstein does care for him in his own way.

Look forward to how Gywn thinks of Kaylen when Gwynevere ends up keeping him around longer then other passing fancies. At least for now it doesn't seem like she will leave him alone any time soon.

My Response- That's for the solid feedback, my man. I gotta say, your review in particular kick started the writing process for this chapter and really helped me with putting it together. Hope it shows well enough through the writing. :)

Dariory- I'm pretty sure some time ago I might've been a dick and talked trash about this. Or maybe I didn't idk I forget stuff easily. Point is I know for a fact I was unreasonably angy at this story because some of the tropes it touches make me uncomfortable and I think I realized why. The whole walking on eggshells thing Kaylen has to do because everyone around him can randomly decide he's little more than some kind of cockroach and killing him not out of hate but just because they can kind of reminds me of my own life at points so I guess I got mad at seeing even just a fanfic character going through the same shit. Point is I feel bad about being a dick (whether I did send the comment or not) so I just wanna say your story is actually good and if anyone comes around saying dumb shit you forward them to me because I have some spare time and I sometimes find amusement in making people go apemode because I don't agree with them. TL;DR story good (imagine I used a thumbs up emoji here)

My Response-No worries at all, my man. Stories touch people in different ways and I can't go getting my underwear in a bunch if someone didn't particularly like the story or the troupes within it. Glad to hear to ended up coming around in the end and there is absolutely no hard feelings, bro.

Terracotta Tortilla- Ah, nice. Some cannon fodder has been introduced, a pity they don't seem to understand what Flan is the God of. Oil and fire to be used against a God of Fire. Really?

These brigands sure are dumb, unless you've decided to make her would-be canon husband (after anor londo fell) decide to sell her and be in on their plan. In which case, they're still dumb. Gwyn will crush them like ants, any God would. Even the weakest of them is still at peak human everything just by default of being alive, without training they are above these brigands, Gwynevere might just hit them with a sun beam if they go through with this plan and Velka/Ciara's troops don't end them first.
Your story is good, I'm suspending my disbelief despite the nerd raging in my mind. Please continue writing.

My Response- Firstly, I your reviews have legitimately gotten a good laugh out of me, both this one and the previous one speaking on the feel of the story. Both the criticism and positive feedback are much appreciated. (And really entertaining.)

Secondly, oh, hold your role there, my friend. I still got plenty up my sleeve in regards to the brigands and the threat hat's going to be posed. Suspension of disbelief not needed. Believe me, I got you covered. :)

Th3Alien- Great read in general, nice to finally see some proper exploration of everyone's characters of which we had very little of in game or lore.

Little nitpicky tidbit is that the bits of Kaylen bullying got repetitive by this point, and since Guinevere's character and mindset have been handily demonstrated beforehand, it's just gotten pointless seeing Kaylen bossed around.

Velka and Ornstein's interactions with him seem well thought out though, a nice balance of crack, human abuse and actual usage of Velka and Ornstein's positions of Goddess/Judge and Knight, I like the honor that Ornstein has.

My response- I have been nitpicked! Slightly besmirched! Show displeasure of a mild variety! Thus I take this as a personal challenge and must redeem my writing of Gwynevere's charecter.

But seriously, thanks for the feedback on things, bro. The honesty is definitely appreciated. :)

MarkPevlon- bro does the author have a humilation fetish? Cuz the amount of scenarios doesn't lie

My response- You can prove nothing! *THROWS POCKETS SAND IN YOUR EYES*

Alright, ladies and gents. Thanks all I got to response to this time around. Hope you all enjoy the newest chapter of the story.

Warning: Due to the scandalous accusations by MarkPevlon, Supreme Gamer will now take action against all kink shamers shall now be taken to court and prosecuted by an tiny kitten dressed as a judge. The proceeding will be adorable and the verdict is always 'too cute to handle.' You have been warned.

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"We like what we like, we feel what we feel and no matter how hard one tries to go against the grain or our instincts…it always seems that our nature wins out in the end."

Ciaran's words of their kind rang out in Velka's mind. Only now, did she truly understand the meaning behind them.

She stood before Kaylen, her hands gripping the chain of sorcery she had so rashly wrapped around his neck. Inside, a storm of frustration raged. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" she berated herself, her eyes narrowing as she fought to maintain the aggressive facade. She had come here with the intention of talking, of exploring this strange, confusing attraction she felt towards him. She had planned it out, considering different approaches, different ways to open the conversation, but all of that had gone out the window because of her impulsiveness. Instead of speaking, instead of trying to understand these feelings, she had let her anger dictate her actions, and now here she was—standing over him, binding him like a criminal.

"What in the gods' name am I doing?" she thought, her frustration mounting. She had always known she had a temper, that she was quick to anger, but this... this was different. This was foolish, reckless. She had come to talk, to understand, but instead, she had let her fury take control. The moment had escalated needlessly because of her, and she knew it. A part of her, deep down, was frustrated with herself, with her inability to just get out of her own way and have a simple conversation.

Her eyes flicked to the chain, then back to Kaylen. For a moment, she felt the weight of her rashness, the gnawing frustration of knowing she had once again let her temper get the best of her. She had wanted to approach this differently, to be more measured, but now… now she was standing here, her pride demanding she see this through, even as a small voice in the back of her mind told her she was making a mistake.

"Why can't I just talk to him?" she wondered, her frustration deepening. She had thought of a dozen ways to begin, had imagined different scenarios in her mind, but the moment she was face to face with him, all of that had crumbled under the weight of her temper. Now, instead of conversation, she was left with chains and anger. She could feel the tension in her own body, the familiar heat of her temper threatening to boil over, and it only made her more frustrated. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Her grip on the chain loosened slightly as she wrestled with her emotions. For a brief moment, she considered letting go, undoing her rash actions and starting over….

…But then her eyes locked onto his, and she saw something that made her frustration twist into something else—he wasn't afraid.

He didn't cower, didn't beg or plead for mercy. He stood there, defiant and composed, meeting her gaze without a hint of fear. He was facing her, a goddess, with an unyielding resolve that both shocked and infuriated her.

A jolt of something primal, something fierce, shot through her. "...He isn't afraid." The realization hit her like a spark igniting a flame. This man, this human, was standing before her without fear, without the reverence she was accustomed to.

How dare he? How dare he stand there as if her anger, her power, meant nothing?

Her frustration began to morph, to reshape itself into something she knew far better—anger. Pure, unfiltered, righteous anger. She could feel her pride swelling, pushing back against the self-reproach that had momentarily threatened to take hold. Why should she be the one to feel guilty? Why should she stifle her fury? Why should she hold her tongue?

If he couldn't handle her temper, if he couldn't understand that this was who she was, then he wasn't worth her time anyway!

"Fuck this guy…"

The thought came unbidden, raw and honest. It wasn't the refined, noble language expected of someone of her status, but it was what came to mind, and it perfectly captured the feelings bubbling within her.

"Fuck this guy!" the thought came more intensely this time as her gaze hardened more fiercely. It wasn't just about his audacity anymore. As she stood there, the memories of their past interactions began to surface, reminding her not just of the confusing attraction she felt toward him, but also of the reasons she loathed him. This was the man who had tricked her, who had humiliated her. The man who had been a thorn in her side, who had made her feel things she had never wanted to feel. The anger bubbled up slowly, a deep, seething resentment that simmered just below the surface.

Her fingers tightened around the chain, her grip no longer hesitant but firm, unyielding. The fire within her, now fully reignited, demanded release, demanded action. She felt the last remnants of her doubt burn away, leaving only the fierce, proud goddess she had always been. There was no room for weakness here, no space for uncertainty. If Kaylen wanted to stand before her, unafraid, then she would show him exactly what that meant.

The flames of her anger surged within her, and Velka made a decision. She wouldn't restrain herself any longer. She wouldn't hold back—not for him, not for anyone.

She would let her anger and pride guide her, and if Kaylen couldn't handle that, then he didn't deserve her.

"I'm sick of you…" Velka's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. The words dripped with venom, each syllable laced with the authority of a goddess who tolerated no defiance.

Kaylen opened his mouth to retort, his frustration boiling over. "Then what the hell did you come here f—"

"You didn't hear me…" Velka hissed, her tone dropping to a dangerous whisper that commanded silence. With a swift, almost violent motion, she grabbed the ethereal chain and yanked it hard, pulling Kaylen sharply towards her. Their bodies collided with a force that sent a shockwave of tension between them—dangerous, electric, and undeniably intimate. Her chest pressed against his, and she leaned in close, her face mere inches from his, the heat of her breath brushing against his lips. "I said I am sick of you, you insolent wretch."

Kaylen's breath hitched, a flash of anger igniting in his eyes. But it wasn't just anger—there was a moment of stunned surprise, a fleeting recognition of just how fiercely beautiful she was up close.

But he buried such thoughts and met her glare with one of his own, "Velka, you—"

But before he could get another word out, Velka tightened her grip on the chain, yanking him closer still. Their noses almost touched, her breath hot against his lips as she spat her words. "Do you honestly think you can stand here and speak to me as if you have any right? As if you are anything but a pathetic human—a speck of dust in the grand design?" Her voice was a low, threatening whisper, yet the proximity of their bodies made the interaction deeply personal, each word vibrating through him as if it were a physical touch.

Kaylen's expression darkened, his jaw clenching tightly. She could feel the anger radiating off him, a palpable storm brewing behind his eyes, but instead of backing down, Velka found herself leaning into it, daring him to push back, to prove that he was worth the fury she felt.

"You have no idea how much I loathe you," she continued, her voice low and venomous, but there was an intensity in her gaze that belied the words—a spark of something deeper, something personal. "Not a single clue of just how much I want to tear you limb from limb!" Her tone was full of contempt, each word meant to wound, but beneath the surface, there was an unspoken challenge—a dare for him to stand his ground, to show that he could match her intensity.

She pressed her body harder against his, the curves of her form dominating the space between them, making the air thick with tension. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, rapid and strong, and for a brief moment, she saw the surprise flicker in his eyes before the anger returned, more focused, more resolute. The contempt in her gaze remained, unwavering, but the proximity of their bodies, the way their breaths mingled in the scant space between them, added a layer of raw intimacy to the moment that neither could ignore.

Velka's eyes glinted with determination as she refused to relent. This was her element - commanding, in control, setting the pace and drawing the lines. She reveled in the sense of purpose and control in facing things head on. This direct approach was where she thrived, far more suited to it than playing games of hesitation and self-doubt.

This is who she is. A fire burning fiercely and brightly.

She leaned in further, her lips so close to his ear that her whispered words were like a caress, sharp and teasing all at once. "Why should I take it easy on you? Why should I not put you in chains and make you feel as infuriated as I do?" Her voice was fierce, but the closeness, the undeniable pull between them, made her words feel like a dangerous game—one she was more than willing to play.

Kaylen's silence was defiant, his anger simmering just beneath the surface, but it only fueled Velka's fire. The intensity of their proximity, the heat radiating between them, was almost too much to bear.

"Well?!" she demanded, her voice cutting through the charged air like a blade. "I asked you a question!"

Finally, Kaylen spoke, his voice low and simmering with barely restrained fury. "Are you done?"

The defiance he showed was short and simple…but effective. She knew because it did well in making her blood boil just a bit further. But instead of backing down, Velka leaned in closer still, her lips brushing lightly against his ear as she whispered, "Not even close." Her tone was sultry, confident, and utterly unapologetic.

Velka didn't second-guess her actions or the way she delivered her words; she was fully committed to letting the ferocity and intensity of her personality shine as it wished, embracing every ounce of her fiery nature without reservation.

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, her gaze intense, challenging, daring him to make a move. "You're lucky I'm in a generous mood," she said, her voice tinged with amusement, yet there was no softness in her words. "Otherwise, I'd have your head for that."

For a moment, they stood locked in that dangerous, electric closeness. The heat between them was palpable, but it was more than just physical tension—it was a clash of wills, a test of who would flinch first.

Kaylen didn't back down. Instead, with a sudden, forceful movement, he wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her even closer, their bodies now fully pressed together. It was a bold, assertive move, matching her dominance with his own, but Velka didn't pull away. Instead, she stayed exactly where she was, her body taut with tension, her breath steady despite the proximity. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, but she remained unflinching, her fierce gaze never leaving his.

Their breaths mingled, their hearts racing, locked in a silent battle for control. Kaylen's hold on her was firm, but as the seconds ticked by, she noticed the shift in his expression—a flicker of confusion that broke through his anger. It was subtle, but there, in the way his brow furrowed and his grip loosened just slightly, as if he was starting to question the intensity of the moment.

"What… what is even happening right now, Velka?" he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration and bewilderment. "You throw me out of your room, blow me up with pyromancy, and now you chain me up by my neck while telling me you hate me, before whispering in my ear like you don't?" His eyes flicked to where their bodies pressed together before meeting hers again, the confusion evident. "Is this your idea of dropping hints? Am I'm supposed to fawn over you just because you're beautiful?"

Velka's lips twitched in the barest hint of a smirk. "If you're not, you're doing a poor job of showing it," she shot back, her voice direct and fierce. Her gaze remained locked on his, unyielding and fiery. "And I've told you before, I don't need your flattery, so why the hell are you calling me beautiful?"

"You're blushing a lot for someone who doesn't like flattery," Kaylen retorted, his tone defiant, matching her intensity.

"And you're awfully comfortable holding a woman who's blown you up and put a chain around your neck," Velka scoffed, her eyes narrowing with challenge.

"I acted without thinking, obviously!" Kaylen shot back, earning a particularly fierce glare from Velka.

"So did I, you goddamn idiot!" Velka's said as her eyes flashed with fury at his audacity. The sheer boldness of his words only made her more determined to push him further. She wasn't about to let him think he could talk to her like that without consequence. "You think I planned any of this? You think I sat there and thought, 'Let's blow him up, chain him down, and see what happens'? No. I just acted, Kaylen. That's who I am—I'm brash, I'm quick to temper, and I'm just as likely to set you on fire as I am to say I want to talk!"

Her hand shot up, grabbing his chin with force, her grip unyielding as she locked his gaze with hers. "You got "nice" when we first met and you tricked me But now? I'm not apologizing for being who I am," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom, yet beneath it, a thread of something more raw and honest. "but…I admit, I've been harsh with you—maybe more than what was justified. So consider this little hug my way of making up for it." Her words were edged with aggression, but there was a sincerity beneath the surface—an admission, in her own way, that this wasn't just about fury.

She released his chin, her gaze never wavering as she stepped back slightly, though their proximity remained close enough to maintain an intimate atmosphere for their conversation. "You just held the Goddess of Sin in your arms and you're currently not a charred corpse. You're welcome." she said, her voice low and firm. "But don't mistake my actions for weakness, Kaylen. Try to take hold of me again without consent and there will be hell to pay."

With that, she let go of the chain, willed it away and took a step back, her wings fluttering slightly as she regained her space. Despite the tense and charged energy between them, Velka stood tall and proud, her fiery nature unbroken. This was not a surrender, and she refused to let him in too much too soon.

She would handle this on her own terms, and he would have to prove himself worthy of any further levels of kindness.

"How do you possibly manage to apologize and threaten me at the same time? You couldn't be more impossible if you tried." Kaylen said plainly, not shying away from the direction of the conversation and actively choosing not to mention that she was the one who pressed against him in the first place. "And for the record, I actually like that you're quick to temper. If you want to just talk for a bit, you could have just said so instead of going full lunatic about it."

Velka's eyes blazed, her expression unyielding. "How about you make up your mind?!" refusing to allow her blush at the compliment show on her face. "Do you like my temper, or are do you not want me to not go "full lunatic" about it?"

"Wow. So it's either like the learn to love the crazy or back out?" Kaylen said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"You're damn straight! So make a choice!" Velka said firmly with a huff. The blush that crept into her cheeks infuriated her, but she couldn't stop it. She hated how easily he could get under her skin, hated that he saw through her anger, through her fire.

But damn it, this felt right. She wasn't going to let him have the upper hand, but she could admit, to herself at least, that this was what she wanted—a challenge, someone who wouldn't back down, someone who could meet her fire with fire.

She was pleased with the tone of this conversation between them. They were talking things out, it was going well, and she had found her footing. She didn't have to hold her tongue or dance around this; just meet it head on as she did with everything else in her life.

This was nice. She wasn't going to cut him any slack, but Velka liked that it was going this well.

Unfortunately, a certain redhead was less than pleased with what she was seeing.

From a distance, Gwynevere's gaze locked onto Kaylen and Velka, and the sight ignited a fierce, unwelcome anger deep within her. The two stood close, engrossed in conversation, their bodies leaning toward each other in a way that sent a sharp, searing heat through Gwynevere's chest. Her usual serene expression was nearly shattered by the anger threatening to curl her lips into a scowl as she watched them. She could hardly believe what she was seeing—the audacity of it, the sheer nerve.

Kaylen was hers.

That was the truth of it, a fact so self-evident that it made the scene before her almost incomprehensible. She had chosen him, singled him out from the drudgery of his ordinary life to serve her, to entertain her. He was her plaything, her toy, meant to be wholly devoted to her and her alone. And yet here he was, giving his attention to another—worse, to Velka. The thought was a bitter pill, one that refused to go down smoothly, and it twisted something inside her that had never been touched before.

Who does Velka think she is, standing so close, speaking so intimately? It was as though she were encroaching on something sacred, something that belonged solely to Gwynevere. Kaylen wasn't special, he wasn't extraordinary, but he was hers. He had been chosen, claimed, and the idea that someone else, especially Velka, might think they could just take what was hers—what she had so generously allowed him to be—was intolerable.

Gwynevere's gaze sharpened, her eyes narrowing with a fury that threatened to boil over. Every movement Velka made, every subtle gesture that drew Kaylen's attention, grated on her like sandpaper against her skin. The way Velka leaned in, the way Kaylen's eyes seemed to follow her, was nothing short of infuriating. He was supposed to be captivated by Gwynevere, enthralled by her beauty, her presence—not distracted by some lesser goddess. The mere idea that Kaylen might look at someone else with anything other than complete devotion to her was an insult of the highest order.

"How dare he?"

The thought simmered, a boiling rage barely contained beneath the surface of her polished exterior. Kaylen should know better—he should understand his place. His attention, his loyalty, his every thought should be focused solely on her. He was meant to serve her desires, not entertain the whims of someone else. Not Velka, of all people. The very notion that she could be sidelined for anyone, let alone her, was unacceptable.

As Gwynevere continued to watch, the heat in her chest grew into a roaring inferno. This wasn't irritation—this was something far deeper, something far more visceral. It was a sensation she had never known before, and she despised it. Kaylen was supposed to be hers, his attention meant only for her. She had always commanded the room, always been the one to whom others gravitated. Kaylen's attention should have been no different, no matter who else was before him.

"This charade has gone on long enough." she decided, her frustration sharpening into a dangerous edge. The fact that she was even experiencing these feelings, that Velka's presence had the power to unsettle her so, was an affront to everything she believed about herself. It was unacceptable, intolerable, and she would not stand for it any longer.

With a regal stride, Gwynevere began to approach, her towering presence casting a long shadow over Kaylen as she approached him from behind. Each step was deliberate, her gown flowing with the grace of a goddess, but there was an intensity in her eyes that betrayed the storm brewing within. As she came up behind Kaylen, her hands settled on his shoulders, not with the usual gentle touch she reserved for her plaything, but with a firm, possessive grip that made it clear who he belonged to. Her fingers curled slightly, digging into his shoulders just enough to ensure he felt her presence, her dominance.

"Velka," Gwynevere began, her voice as sweet as honey, yet there was an underlying sharpness that Kaylen couldn't ignore. "I am truly sorry to interrupt, but I believe Kaylen's place is currently here, accompanying me today. It would be a shame to neglect those responsibilities."

Velka, unfazed by the goddess's imposing presence, met Gwynevere's gaze with calm defiance. "Kaylen and I were in the middle of a discussion," she replied, her voice steady and unwavering. "I need to speak with him regarding an investigation, as well as a debt he owes." She emphasized her point by subtly shaking the two jugs held aloft by her sorcery. "He won't be long, and as we've already discussed, you have duties of your own."

Gwynevere's smile remained fixed, but her hands on Kaylen's shoulders tightened ever so slightly—a silent, possessive reminder of her claim. She didn't need to raise her voice or alter her expression; her will was as clear as the unspoken command in her touch. "Of course," she agreed, her tone still pleasant. "But as I said, he has responsibilities—to me. I need him at mine side this day. Go ahead and ask him; I'm certain Kaylen knows where his priorities lie." She gently tapped his cheek with her hand, as if petting him. "Don't you, Kaylen?"

"Uh, well, I-" Kaylen started nervously.

"I will not be made to wait." Velka's voice was cool, but her words were pointed. Her gaze flicked briefly to where Gwynevere loomed over Kaylen, her presence almost stifling. "This matter between us has been delayed long enough. I'm sure he can manage to be away from you for a few minutes, Gwynevere."

The challenge was subtle but unmistakable, and Gwynevere's eyes narrowed slightly. The unfamiliar tightness in her chest grew stronger, a sensation that was both infuriating and beneath her. But her smile never wavered, even as her fingers began to knead Kaylen's shoulders with a possessiveness that bordered on the aggressive, like she was reclaiming what was hers.

"Perhaps," Gwynevere conceded, though her voice had lost some of its earlier warmth, replaced by a hard edge. "But I wouldn't want to overburden him. After all, as he was brought here at my word, he is my responsibility. And by how I hath seen thee treat him, I think it unwise to simply allow thee to take him. Besides, I'm certain he finds my company far more enjoyable than yours. Isn't that right, Kaylen?"

A shiver ran down Kaylen's spine at her words—not from fear, but from the weight of expectation they carried. There was a possessiveness in her tone, a quiet demand for affirmation that left him feeling as though he were treading on dangerous ground.

Maybe we should all calm—" Kaylen began, his voice tentative.

"Enough of this," Velka interrupted, her patience clearly wearing thin. "Gwynevere, what exactly are you doing? You don't need him for anything here, and you have actual duties to handle with Duke Flann."

"And I am trying to return to them," Gwynevere retorted, her voice losing some of its veneer of sweetness. "But I feel safer, more secure, with Kaylen by my side." There was a slight, almost imperceptible falter in her tone, as if she couldn't fully reconcile the intensity of her own words. ""You, on the other hand, have come all this way merely to accost him. What of thy duties and responsibilities?"

At this, Velka merely sighed with slight frustration and shook her head at the Princess; It was a gesture reminiscent of an adult dealing with the immaturity of a teenager.

Gwynevere's irritation flared at the action, her fingers tightening on Kaylen's shoulders. The condescension in Velka's demeanor, the way she seemed to effortlessly dismissed her authority, was infuriating. Yet, even as the tension crackled in the air between them, Gwynevere's outward composure remained, her smile fixed.

"MMMHM! She's got a tight grip!" Kaylen thought to himself as Gwynevere grip on his shoulders tightened harshly. If no one else was aware that she was pissed, he knew without a doubt.

It was then that Velka then turned her attention to the human in question and spoke calmly.

"Don't worry, Kaylen. Gwynevere's attachments are as fickle as they are shallow. This little charade of wanting you at her side will pass in a few days, at best." Velka exclaimed nonchalantly. The words were a deliberate strike, and they hit their mark. Gwynevere's smile feel into a look of indignation, her eyes narrowing as a flush of anger crept up her neck. For a moment, she was speechless, struggling to find a retort that wouldn't betray the depth of her fury. "Unfortunately, this childishness has never been something she's grown out of, so I apologize that you've gotten caught up in it."

At this, Kaylen could feel the tension between Gwynevere and Velka mounting, the air thick with the weight of their unspoken rivalry. He wasn't blind to the dynamics at play—he knew that if this confrontation continued unchecked, it would only be a matter of time before Gwynevere's growing frustration turned on him.

"Not on my watch! I just got back on her good side and I'm not getting screwed over this time."

Realizing he needed to take control of the situation before it spiraled out of his grasp, Kaylen spoke up, his voice cutting through the tension with unexpected firmness. "Velka," he began, addressing the goddess directly, "Should you really be talking about her like that?"

The words hung in the air, their impact immediate.

Velka and Gwynevere both stared at him, both taken aback by the declaration. It wasn't often that a mere human stood between two goddesses, let alone one who dared to speak up on behalf of one against the other. The sheer audacity of it caught them both off guard, and for a moment, the tension seemed to pause, waiting to see what else he would say.

"This was a horrible idea!" Kaylen immediately thought to himself.

"What?" Velka question, with a clear warning in her tone.

Kaylen pressed on, knowing he had to play this carefully. "*Ahem* It's just…Gwynevere isn't childish at all—far from it. She takes her responsibilities seriously, and she handles them better than most people give her credit for." he continued steadily. "Honestly, I can't think of anyone more dignified and mature."

Gwynevere's reaction was immediate. Her grip on his shoulders loosened, her face transforming from annoyance to unbridled joy. A victorious grin stretched across her lips as she leaned forward, enveloping Kaylen in a possessive embrace from behind. She pressed her body against his confidently, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she spoke

"Kaylen, thou really does understand me, don't thee? It's so refreshing to know that someone acknowledges my efforts." She said happily as eyes shifted to Velka, a sly smirk now appearing on her face. The princess was positively basking in triumph, her previous irritation now replaced with smug satisfaction. Kaylen's unexpected defense had given her exactly what she wanted—a show of loyalty that she could rub in Velka's face.

Although, in truth, Kaylen's words of praise didn't really amount to much in Gwynevere's eyes. Compliments like these were nothing new to her; she had heard them all her life, from countless suitors and admirers who sought her favor, each trying to outdo the last in their flattery. To her, Kaylen's words were just another set to be tossed onto the pile, barely worth noting. After all, when you've been told you're the most beautiful woman in the kingdom more times than you can count, the words lose their meaning.

But Kaylen wasn't done. He knew that if he was going to stay on Gwynevere's good side—especially after Velka's remarks—he needed to make her feel truly special, to say something that would stand out from the usual chorus of praises she was used to hearing. There was a fine line to walk, though. He couldn't come off as too desperate or sycophantic; that would just irritate her. Instead, he decided to keep his tone casual, with just the right amount of sincerity, as if he were speaking from a place of genuine admiration, rather than just trying to butter her up.

"You know, Gwynevere, I've always found it kind of crazy that some people don't see how mature you really are," he began, his voice steady and just a touch softer. "I mean, you're constantly balancing the weight of being royalty, managing your responsibilities, and still somehow keeping everything together like it's second nature. Most people would be overwhelmed just trying to keep up."

He paused, watching her reaction carefully, noting the subtle shifts in her expression. "It's impressive, really. I don't think most people give you enough credit for how much you actually handle. It's like they're too busy being caught up by your beauty to notice the poise and maturity behind it."

"Hey…" Velka said lowly, taking notice that such words were a bit too fresh for polite company.

Gwynevere's smile stayed in place, but there was a slight change in her posture, a subtle shift as if his words had caught her off guard. The usual confident comeback didn't come as quickly this time, and she hesitated before speaking. "O-Oh….Well, yes, I suppose that's true. And know with certainty that it is harder than I make it look, without question." she replied, her tone still confident but with a slight hesitation. "Now imagine how frustrating when people don't see that and have the nerve to call me childish?"

Kaylen noticed the subtle change in Gwynevere's demeanor, the slight hesitation that crept into her voice. It was a rare thing to see—Gwynevere, usually so poised and unshakable, was caught off guard. He could sense that this was an opportunity, a chance to push the boundaries just a little further.

"Well, those people clearly aren't paying attention," Kaylen said, his voice dipping into a lower, more intimate tone. "Because anyone who really looks at you would know there's nothing childish about you. In fact… I'd say you've got a maturity that's... let's just say, captivating."

Gwynevere's eyes flicked to his, her smile faltering slightly as she processed his words. Kaylen leaned in just a bit, his gaze never leaving hers. "And honestly," he continued, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "if those people can't see the strength it takes to be you, then they're blind. Because from where I'm standing, it's pretty damn obvious that you're more than just a pretty face or a title. Honestly, it's something I…kind've admire about you."

Gwynevere blinked, the blush that had begun to fade now returning in full force, warming her cheeks in a way that felt almost foreign to her.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Gwynevere found herself at a loss for words. The usual sharp retort or confident dismissal didn't come. Instead, something odd stirred in her chest—a flutter, like a stray breeze had slipped into her heart. The sensation was so strange, so foreign, that it nearly startled her. She blinked again, as if trying to make sense of it, her blush deepening.

It was bewildering. Her. Of all people.

She had been complimented countless times, admired by princes and kings, men of great stature and wealth. She was used to being fawned over, adored, worshipped even—but never had she felt anything like this strange, almost ticklish sensation, like something light and airy had nestled itself where it didn't belong.

A flutter.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat, and she quickly closed it again, her blush deepening as she glanced away for the briefest of moments. It was as if her own body was betraying her, reacting in ways that defied her usual control.

"Well, I…" Gwynevere began, her voice faltering as she tried to find the right words. When she finally spoke, her usual confidence had softened into something almost shy. "That's... quite forward of you, Kaylen," she admitted, though her tone lacked its usual certainty, as if she was grappling with the unfamiliarity of her own emotions.

Kaylen offered a small, genuine smile, his tone still relaxed, but with a touch of warmth. "Maybe it is," he said, "but I figure someone as impressive as you deserves to hear it. And if it makes you a little uncomfortable, well... maybe that's because you're not used to hearing the truth."

Gwynevere paused and blinked with a look that bordered on bewilderment. As her eyes stayed locked with his that flutter—small, absurd, and completely foreign—made itself known again, causing her to lose her words again.

It was the oddest thing, like her own body was playing tricks on her.

Before Gwynevere could say anything further, Velka abruptly stepped forward, grabbed Kaylen by the collar of his butler suit, and yanked him away from her grasp, forcing him to face her with a scowl that could make a dragon think twice.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" Velka asked, her voice sharp and dripping with irritation.

"Okay, I challenge you to tell me this is my fault." Kaylen said plainly, with a look that said he wasn't as fazed as one would expect at her anger.

"Do you just enjoy making things worse on yourself? Read my lips; You will watch the way you speak with those of royal blood. Show proper respect and know your place." Velka said harshly as she lowered her voice a bit. "Do I really have to tell you how suicidal it is for you to say things like that to her?"

Before Kaylen could even think to respond, Gwynevere huffed and pulled him back towards her by his shoulders, her touch firm but more graceful in contrast to Velka's. "He's being perfectly respectful, Velka," Gwynevere said with a saccharine smile, though there was an unmistakable edge in her tone. "Perhaps thou should learn to appreciate his politeness rather than act so brash."

Velka wasn't having it. She yanked him back once again, her eyes glaring daggers at the princess. "Politeness? Is that what you call it? Well, I call it not addressing the royal family with due courtesy."

"Oh, are you going to reprimand him for simply speaking kindly to me then?" Gwynevere scoffed, pulling Kaylen back toward her with surprising strength.

The tug-of-war began in earnest, with Kaylen being jerked back and forth between them, each goddess determined not to lose the upper hand. Velka tugged him back, her fingers gripping the collar of his suit with more force than necessary, while Gwynevere yanked him toward her with increasing intensity, her hold on his shoulders like iron.

Back and forth he went, as if he were no more than a ragdoll caught between two determined forces of nature. Kaylen barely had time to regain his balance each time before being pulled in the opposite direction.

"Can we—" Kaylen started, only to be cut off as Velka yanked him back with a muttered growl of frustration.

"Seriously, this is—" he tried again, but Gwynevere quickly pulled him toward her once more.

Before the situation could escalate further, a smooth, measured voice finally broke through the tension.

"Ladies, please," Duke Flann interjected, stepping forward from where he had been observing the entire exchange with a carefully composed expression. His movements were deliberate, his tone deferential despite being on his own estate. "It seems we have an unexpected situation on our hands, but perhaps I can be of some assistance."

Both women turned to face the Duke, their silent rivalry momentarily put on pause, though the irritation in their eyes still burned brightly. Flann, ever the diplomat, met their gazes with a respectful incline of his head, carefully masking the shrewd calculations ticking through his mind. Gwynevere and Velka—two of the most powerful and beautiful figures in the kingdom—were not to be trifled with. Even for a man of his considerable influence, one wrong move could cost him dearly.

But Duke Flann was not a man who let opportunity slip through his fingers.

The tension between the two goddesses was almost tangible, and though Gwynevere had shown little more than polite disinterest during their meeting thus far, perhaps the unexpected arrival of this human, Kaylen, had opened the door to a more intriguing dynamic. Flann saw potential—potential to gain insight, to subtly turn this situation to his advantage.

"Lady Velka," Flann began smoothly, his voice warm and inviting, "it is indeed an unexpected honor to have you here today. Though your presence was not foreseen, I would be remiss if I did not extend my hospitality. I have already been graced with Princess Gwynevere's esteemed company, but I would be equally honored if you would join us for the remainder of our meeting."

Velka's eyes flickered, her expression cool and guarded. She saw through him immediately. The Duke's sudden eagerness for her to remain wasn't lost on her—his motives were as transparent as glass. It was one thing to offer courtesy to someone like Gwynevere—a princess—but to extend such an invitation to her? Most of her kind people wouldn't dare to even look her in the eye, let alone invite her to their homes.

He wasn't merely being courteous. No, he saw an opportunity to glean something from the tension between her and Gwynevere. He wanted to observe, to analyze, to extract as much information as possible from the situation unfolding before him.

Still, Velka had to acknowledge the boldness of his move.

The Duke understood the stakes well enough—he couldn't afford to offend either goddess. But by offering her a seat at the table, he was hedging his bets, hoping to remain on both their good sides while quietly capitalizing on the situation.

He played the game well.

Velka's gaze lingered on Flann, assessing his intentions with the same sharpness that had carried her through many intricate encounters. But then, the lingering scent of the concoction Kaylen had doused her with reminded her of her current state, and she inwardly cursed the embarrassing circumstances that had brought her here.

"Duke Flann, while your offer is… generous, I'm afraid my current condition may not be suitable for such an engagement," Velka replied, her tone laced with irony as she referred to the foul-smelling concoction still clinging to her.

Sensing an opportunity to finally remove Velka from the equation, Gwynevere didn't hesitate. "Indeed, Duke Flann," she began, her sweet smile barely masking the irritation that simmered beneath. "As much as I value Lady Velka's… contributions, I do believe it may be best if she attends to her own matters first. The smell, after all—"

The Duke, ever the diplomat, raised a hand with the gentlest of gestures, cutting her off before she could say more. His smile remained serene, yet his eyes held a sharpness, a readiness to maneuver through whatever objections were thrown his way. "A mere inconvenience, Princess. It would be no trouble at all for Lady Velka to freshen up. My estate boasts the finest bathhouse in Anor Londo, complete with all the necessary amenities. And, of course, if she wishes, I can provide a dress that befits her stature. Truly, it would be a privilege to ensure your comfort during your stay."

Velka raised a brow, unimpressed but curious. "And you just happen to keep a collection of women's dresses on hand?" she asked, her voice carrying just the slightest edge of skepticism.

The Duke chuckled lightly, offering a gracious bow. "In my line of work, Lady Velka, one learns to be prepared for all manner of guests. A well-placed gift can go a long way in securing goodwill. Like now, for instance."

Velka's sharp eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Flann's intentions were clear—he was cleverly using this situation to ingratiate himself with both her and Gwynevere, angling for as much information as he could gather. But even she had to admit, his offer was poised just right—respectful without overstepping, polite without groveling. A well-executed maneuver, indeed.

After a long, deliberate pause, Velka nodded slowly. "Very well, Duke Flann. I accept your offer." Her voice was cool, measured, but there was a touch of respect in the way she inclined her head. "I'll take you up on the bath and your hospitality, if only because I have business to finish with this human," she said, casting a glance at Kaylen, "and I'd rather not be distracted by... other matters."

Duke Flann bowed his head slightly, his smile never wavering. "Of course, Lady Velka. Your presence is a privilege, and I am merely here to serve."

Duke Flann's smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Of course, Lady Velka. Your presence is a privilege, and I am here to serve."

He turned smoothly toward one of his servants, standing dutifully nearby with a platter in hand. "You heard Lady Velka," Flann said with his characteristic poise. "Escort her to the bathhouse and provide her with whatever she requires. Ensure a selection of dresses is available for her to choose from, and have her current attire better be washed, dried, and folded before her departure."

As the servant bowed low and prepared to escort Velka, Flann's gaze shifted to Kaylen. "And you, Kaylen," he began, his tone remaining deferential, though there was a slight shift in his demeanor as he addressed the human who stood between the two goddesses. "You're already dressed handsomely, but if you wish, I could arrange for a more fitting suit. After all, standing in the presence of two of the most beautiful women in the kingdom is no small privilege. Consider it a gesture of goodwill. and, if you wish, perhaps I could give you a few a pointers on how to properly navigate the nuances of royal company."

Kaylen blinked, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected offer, though he quickly realized this was all part of the Duke's careful show—keeping up appearances, placating the goddesses, and maintaining control of the situation. But to hell with it. He was already in too deep to do anything but play along, so he might as well get a free suit out of the deal.

"That's very generous of you, Duke Flann," Kaylen replied with a polite smile, masking his caution. "I appreciate the gesture."

Flann nodded, clearly pleased with how smoothly things were progressing. "Then it's settled. I'll have my tailor see to it immediately."

Velka, now trailing behind the attendant, cast a brief glance over her shoulder toward Kaylen. Her expression was difficult to read, her eyes holding a mixture of emotions that flickered too quickly to be pinned down. For a moment, their gazes locked, and an unspoken understanding passed between them.

Kaylen felt the weight of that silent exchange, remembering the "debt" he owed her in making the vinegar bath, and for a fleeting second, he wondered if she would call on that debt now, here at Duke's estate. The thought lingered in his mind as her gaze seemed to ask a question he couldn't quite decipher.

For a split second, something akin to longing, or perhaps consideration, danced behind Velka's eyes. But just as quickly, the moment passed. Without uttering a word, Velka broke the gaze and turned away, continuing down the estate's path with her white dress swaying in her wake, leaving the matter unresolved.

The exchange was brief but lasting in his mind, and as Velka disappeared from sight, Kaylen felt a wish to follow her and see what it was all about.

Gwynevere, who had been watching the entire interaction from just behind Kaylen, had not missed the silent look they had shared. Her smile remained firmly in place, but there was a notable shift in her posture, her fingers curling slightly where they rested. The flutter she had felt in her chest earlier transformed into something far fiercer, like a sudden flame igniting and spreading through her veins. The calm warmth that had once made her heart skip now flared into something much more intense—fiery, possessive, and uncontainable.

Her lips pressed into a tight, thin line, and though she quickly masked her displeasure with the same practiced smile, the weight of this discontent simmered just below the surface, gnawing at her composure. The idea that Kaylen had dared to share a moment, however small, with Velka—Velka of all people—was enough to send ripples of fury coursing through her.

Before the silence could stretch too long, Duke Flann, ever the consummate host, stepped forward with a gracious smile. "Please, Kaylen, Princess Gwynevere, allow me to escort you both inside," he offered, his tone smooth and inviting. "I assure you, the accommodations are prepared to ensure your utmost comfort."

Gwynevere's gaze lingered on Kaylen for a beat longer, the heat in her chest refusing to subside, though she masked it with her regal smile. There was an unmistakable sharpness in her eyes, an irritation that simmered just beneath her poised demeanor. "Of course, Duke Flann," she replied, her voice carrying its usual grace but with a frosty undertone. "Lead the way."

With that, they all made their way across the front yard and towards the estate; with the two Princess Guards following behind like silent shadows ready to protect their charge at a moments notice.

As they stepped into the grand entrance of Duke Flann's estate, the wealth and refinement were on full display, more akin to a palace than anything else. The floors gleamed with polished marble, and the high ceilings were adorned with chandeliers that bathed the room in a soft golden glow. Tapestries depicting noble achievements and historic victories hung from the walls, each detail a testament to Flann's status and influence.

Gwynevere's gaze passed over the lavish surroundings, but she wasn't truly seeing any of it. Despite the grandeur around her, her focus remained inward, locked on the heat that still simmered in her chest. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly, her usual grace marred by a rigidity in her posture, her fingers tapping lightly against her gown as if trying to release some of the tension that refused to fade.

Kaylen, walking beside her, picked up on the subtle cues—her lips pressed together tightly, the faint tap of her fingers, the slight tension in her shoulders. She wasn't openly showing her frustration, but he could feel it, the silent storm brewing just beneath her composed exterior. The earlier conversation with Velka had clearly left its mark, and the lavishness of the Duke's estate did little to soothe whatever had sparked that fire.

Duke Flann, ever the astute host, led them through the entrance hall, gesturing towards various points of interest with a practiced ease. "This estate has been in my family for generations," he began, his tone light and conversational. "The tapestries you see here were commissioned by my great-grandfather, and the chandeliers—imported from the finest artisans in Carim—were a gift from the royal court."

He paused, glancing at Gwynevere to gauge her reaction. But her eyes barely lingered on the artwork, drifting past the grandeur with a disinterest that was hard to miss. The faint drumming of her fingers against her gown continued, and her expression remained distant. She was holding on to something—something that no amount of opulence could distract her from.

Recognizing that he was losing her, swiftly recalculated. It was clear to him that pressing on with a tour or conversation about his estate would only deepen her disinterest, perhaps even annoy her further. He had to change tactics—quickly. Lingering too long in this fruitless endeavor would do more harm than good, potentially damaging his future chances with the Princess.

With a graceful pivot in his approach, Duke Flann offered a slight, understanding smile. "But of course, Princess, you must be weary from your travels," he said, his tone now softer, more considerate. "I wouldn't want to keep you from the comfort of a quiet moment with your companion. Perhaps it would be best for you and Kaylen to have some time to speak privately. We can reconvene for a hot meal once Lady Velka has finished her bath."

Gwynevere's gaze finally focused on the Duke, her irritation easing slightly at his tactful suggestion. Her eyes softened, and she gave a small, approving nod, her expression relaxing just a fraction. "That would be appreciated, Duke Flann. Thank you."

The Duke bowed his head slightly, a gesture of polite deference. "It is my pleasure, Princess," he replied smoothly. "Please, allow me to show you to a comfortable waiting area."

With that, Duke Flann gestured for one of his servants to lead the way. The servant, dressed in impeccable attire, guided them through a set of grand double doors and down a quiet, softly lit corridor. The gentle hum of hushed conversation and distant music faded as they moved deeper into the estate, until they arrived at a smaller, more intimate sitting room.

The room itself was a contrast to the grandiosity of the estate—cozy yet still elegant, with plush chairs and sofas carefully arranged around a low, intricately carved table. A soft, warm glow emanated from the crackling fireplace, casting flickering shadows across the room and filling it with an inviting heat. The scent of fresh linens and faint lavender hung in the air, adding to the tranquil ambiance. Richly woven tapestries adorned the walls, though they were subtler in design, meant to soothe rather than impress.

"This room is at your disposal," the Duke said with a respectful bow, stepping aside as Gwynevere and Kaylen made their way inside. "Please make yourselves comfortable. I will ensure that dinner is coming along well and send a servant when it is ready."

Gwynevere's expression remained calm, though her eyes flicked over the inviting surroundings with little interest. The warmth of the fire and the plushness of the chairs did little to soften the tension that still simmered within her. The anger she had been suppressing still gnawed at her, and even in this supposed haven of comfort, she found no relief. The heat of the room felt stifling, almost as if it mirrored the heat still simmering in her chest.

"Thank you," she said tersely, her voice as poised as ever, but devoid of warmth. She offered no further acknowledgment, her gaze briefly settling on the fire, though the flickering flames did nothing to calm the storm within her.

Duke Flann, ever perceptive, noticed the stiffness in her posture, the sharpness that lingered in her otherwise composed expression. With another graceful bow, he excused himself, his footsteps fading softly as he departed. He made note of her unresolved tension, silently approving of his decision to leave her with Kaylen. Space and privacy, he knew, might allow things to settle-there will be chance enough to leave an impression once the Princess calms down.

Besides, it's not as if the human is of any real consequence.

The two Princess Guards, knowing the drill already, closed the entrance to the room and stood guard outside as the silent sentries that they are.

As the doors closed behind them, the shift in the atmosphere was palpable. The grandeur and pomp of the estate were left behind, replaced by the crackling of the fireplace and the soft glow of firelight that filled the room. Yet, despite the warmth and comfort, Kaylen could sense the storm brewing beneath the surface. Gwynevere's earlier irritation had not dissipated; if anything, it had festered, growing more intense as they were left alone.

She moved with an almost regal grace, settling into one of the plush chairs with her back straight, arms crossing tightly over her chest. Her expression remained poised, but the slight narrowing of her eyes and the tightness in her jaw betrayed the simmering fury she was barely containing.

Kaylen hesitated for a moment before taking a seat across from her, his posture tense as he tried to gauge her mood. He wasn't oblivious—he knew this wasn't going to be a calm conversation. The weight of the silence pressed against him, the quiet crackling of the fireplace doing nothing to ease the building tension between them.

Gwynevere's eyes flicked up to meet his, and when she spoke, her voice was low, controlled, but laced with a sharp edge that cut through the quiet of the room. "So… thou must think you have quite the silver tongue, don't you?"

Kaylen blinked, unsure how to respond as the intensity in her gaze pinned him to the spot. She didn't give him a chance to answer.

"Thou thinks you can just say all those sweet words to me," she continued, her tone tightening with each word, "and then turn around and... drool over Velka? Like I'm some fool to be placated with shallow compliments?"

Kaylen opened his mouth, instinctively ready to defend himself, but the sharp, cutting glare she shot his way silenced him immediately. She leaned forward, her body shifting closer, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. Her voice dropped, each word delivered with a chilling precision.

"Art thou truly that foolish to misunderstand what's happening here? To forget thy place and embarrassed me like that?" she questioned harshly. "You are mine to command, Kaylen! Mine to enjoy, and yet you think you can just… stray?"

The weight of her possessiveness hung in the air as she stood up slowly, deliberately. Every movement was controlled, yet each step brought with it the unmistakable fury she was holding back, as if she were reigning in the full force of her temper. She closed the distance between them, her towering presence casting a long shadow over him.

Kaylen could feel her anger like a physical force—palpable, oppressive. Her words pressed down on him with the weight of her divine entitlement. "I have graced you with my presence, with my favor, and this is how you repay me? By daring to look at her?" Her voice was laced with disbelief, as if she couldn't comprehend the audacity.

"Gwynevere—" Kaylen began, trying to placate her, but she cut him off before he could get more than her name out.

"Don't 'Gwynevere' me!" She snapped, her voice sharp as she stepped forward, closing the last bit of space between them. Her hand reached out, gentle yet firm as her fingers cupped his chin, tilting his face upward so their eyes met. Her touch was deceptively soft, but the power behind it was unmistakable—there was no room for resistance.

Her eyes locked onto his, burning with a possessive intensity. "You don't get to look at anyone else with that same adoration," she whispered, her tone both dangerous and intimate, sending a chill down his spine. "You are mine. Mine. Every smile, every word, every lingering look—you belong to me, and no one else." She leaned in closer, her breath brushing against his skin as her eyes bore into his. "Do you understand?"

At this, Kaylen's instinct was to push back... but he knew better. Biting back the frustration bubbling inside him, he kept his composure. There was no reasoning with that level of entitlement, only navigating it carefully. Defying her outright wouldn't get him anywhere—Gwynevere was far too proud and accustomed to having her way for that. He needed to take a different approach, something that might appeal to her massive ego.

Kaylen sighed inwardly, knowing this was going to be tricky.

"Gwynevere," he started, keeping his tone casual, despite the delicate fingers still gripping his chin, "why do you even care if I look at Velka? I mean, you've got Duke Flann practically groveling at your feet, and he can give you way more than I ever could."

Gwynevere's eyes flashed dangerously, her irritation intensifying as she leaned in closer, her grip on his chin tightening. "That's not the point, Kaylen," she hissed, her voice dripping with authority. "It doesn't matter what Duke Flann can give me. It doesn't matter what anyone else can offer me. I get what I want, and right now, what I want is you."

Kaylen resisted the urge to pull away from her invasive hold. The pressure of her fingers, meant to keep him focused on her, was clearly meant to assert dominance, but he ignored it, treating it as though it were inconsequential.

He arched an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "You've seen me flirting with Velka before in the bath, you even thought it was entertaining."

"That was before and this is now!" Gwynevere retorted simply.

Kaylen chuckled with a little bemusement. "So you're telling me that you, the most beautiful, perfect goddess in the kingdom, can have anyone you want, and you're hung up on... me? A nobody?" He said with a smirk on his lips, "Heh, even when you've got guys like Duke Flann lining up to worship the ground you walk on?"

For a brief moment, Gwynevere's composure slipped, the faintest flush of pink creeping up her cheeks—a rare, fleeting sign of embarrassment that she quickly masked with an indignant glare. "Yes, Kaylen," she shot back, her voice firm but not quite as steady as before. "That's exactly what I'm saying. Because it doesn't matter if thou art a nobody or if Duke Flann has everything. What matters is that I want thee, and that's the end of it."

At this, Kaylen's gave her a look that clearly said, "Really?" without needing words. His skepticism was written all over his face, and for a split second, Gwynevere's resolve wavered. She realized how absurd she must have sounded saying this to a human, and the flush on her cheeks deepened. She quickly turned her head slightly, as if trying to escape his scrutinizing gaze, but it was a losing battle.

But she quickly recovered, her fingers tightening on his chin once more, forcing him to look directly at her. "Don't look at me like that," she snapped, her voice tinged with frustration. "It doesn't have to make sense to you. I have what I want, and that's all that matters."

Kaylen chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension and not shying away from her gaze. "Heh, you know, if I actually had a shot at being with someone like you, this would probably be a dream come true."

Her eyes immediately narrowed, a sharp look flashing across her face as she scrutinized him. "And what is that supposed to mean?" she questioned, her voice clipped, suspicion creeping into her tone.

"It means," Kaylen began, choosing his words carefully, "I understand that you're a god and I'm just a human toy to you. And this—" he gestured between them, "—is just you throwing a tantrum because someone is touching your toy."

Her grip on him tightened, and the air seemed to crackle with the weight of her possessiveness. Gwynevere's expression shifted, her eyes narrowing with an icy intensity. "The problem isn't just that she is coming after my toy," she said coolly, her words laced with disdain. "It's that my toy entertains her efforts, when he should know better. She's nothing compared to me, and yet still thou strayed."

Kaylen sighed, meeting the princess's intense gaze with a look of dry acknowledgment. He knew he had to tread carefully, but he also understood that this was a rare moment of having her full attention. He'd regret not taking advantage of it. "You're not this starved for attention, Gwynevere. You've got Duke Flann and all of Anor Londo ready to praise you at a moment's notice. I'm sure you can't go a single day without someone telling you you're the most beautiful woman in the kingdom or how you're stunning beyond words."

Her eyes narrowed, a flash of warning in them, but Kaylen pressed on. "If there's one thing you're not lacking, it's people reminding you how great you are. So what's this really about?"

For a brief moment, Gwynevere's grip on his chin tightened, her eyes narrowing with indignation as if to silence him. But then, something shifted. Her fingers slipped from his chin, her hand falling to her side as she turned away from him with a frustrated sigh. She took a few slow steps towards the fireplace, the orange glow of the flames casting a flickering light over her figure. The soft crackle of the fire filled the brief silence between them, yet it did nothing to calm the storm of emotions that seemed to be building inside her.

Gwynevere stood before the hearth, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she gazed into the flames. Her posture was rigid, her fingers tapping impatiently against her forearm as if she was wrestling with something she couldn't quite bring herself to say. The warmth of the fire should have been soothing, but there was a sharpness in her movements—a growing tension that Kaylen could feel from across the room.

Without looking at him, Gwynevere spoke, her voice tight and simmering with anger. "Why were you drooling over Velka like that?" she asked, the accusation hanging in the air, heavy with meaning.

Kaylen remained seated, his gaze following her as she paced in front of the fireplace, her steps deliberate, as if each one was helping her organize the torrent of thoughts in her mind. He leaned back slightly, trying to read the situation and taking note that she dropped the fancy talk she usually speaks with.

"Maybe because she's a goddess, and I wouldn't mind trying my chances with her?" he replied lightly, though the tension in the room made the joke fall flat.

Gwynevere spun around, her expression shifting from frustration to outright anger as she crossed the distance between them with quick, purposeful steps. "Well, you don't treat me with the same interest," she snapped, standing close enough now that Kaylen could feel the heat radiating off her. Her words were edged with accusation, her eyes flashing as she glared down at him.

Kaylen tilted his head, keeping his tone steady. "Maybe that's because you're the princess of an entire kingdom, and I'm just a human nobody. It's not exactly a secret that you're out of my league, Gwynevere. Anything we do together is because you're having fun."

"That's not what I mean!" she burst out, her frustration breaking through the surface as she turned away from him again. This time, her pacing was faster, more intense, her steps filling the room with the weight of her emotions. The firelight flickered wildly in her wake as if reflecting the storm raging inside her. "Velka insults you, belittles you, and yet when you speak to her, it's like you actually mean what you say." Her voice wavered with barely contained rage. "When she walks away, you look like you want to follow her."

She stopped pacing abruptly, whirling around to face him, her eyes ablaze with anger. "When you speak to me, when you compliment me, it feels far less genuine. With me, you say things because they mean nothing. But with Velka, you speak with meaning! Why is that?! I'm better than her in every regard. My hair flows better, my hips are more pronounced, I have more nobility, more dignity, more class—everything! Yet, you and everyone else look at me like I'm childish or insecure!"

Her breathing was heavy, her chest rising and falling with the force of her words. Her movements were restless, as if standing still would make her frustration consume her. Kaylen could feel the intensity of her emotions as she vented grievances that had likely been buried beneath her composed facade for years.

"Gwynevere, I don't think you're childish or—"

"Yes, you do!" she interrupted, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and something much deeper, something far more vulnerable. She stormed back toward him, stopping just inches away, her breath hot with fury as she glared down at him. "That's why you say those things to me without a second thought—because you think I'm just an idiot who needs to hear nice words to be placated! That's why you don't speak to Velka the way you do to me, even though you've spent far more time with me!"

The room seemed to shrink around them as she stood over him, her presence overwhelming, her emotions laid bare. For the first time, Kaylen saw the cracks in her armor, the insecurity that she had tried so hard to hide behind her entitled, regal persona. And though she was angry, there was something deeply personal in the way she looked at him now.

However, as he looked upon her and heard her words, Kaylen merely stared at her for a moment, and then, to Gwynevere's astonishment, he chuckled lightly.

Gwynevere's eyes narrowed dangerously, her hands curling into fists at her sides, a fiery glare taking over her usual composure. "What's so funny?" she demanded, her voice sharp and crackling with barely contained irritation.

Kaylen shook his head, still chuckling as he tried to compose himself. "And here I was thinking you didn't have a doubt in the world about yourself. But I guess perfect Princess Gwynevere has her own troubles too that no one notices."

That did it.

Her face twisted into a hard mask, her lips tightening as she fought to keep her composure. "Of course, I do," she said, the admission barely a whisper, as if pulling the words out pained her.

The last shred of her patience snapped. She whirled away from him, her jaw clenched so tight it felt like it might break, her hands trembling with the sheer force of her frustration. Her chest rose and fell with quick breaths, and Kaylen could see that he had touched a nerve, one she had clearly been holding onto for a long, long time. Her gaze flickered to the fireplace, the orange flames casting a faint glow over her face, emphasizing the barely restrained fury in her eyes. The silence stretched thin, taut like a bowstring—until, finally, it broke.

"Everyone.." she spat, her voice low, sharp, trembling with barely suppressed rage, "Everyone looks at me like I'm this flawless, unattainable thing. They see the princess, the goddess, the beauty—but they don't see me. They don't care to see me."

Her words came fast, spilling out as if they had been bottled up for years—because they had. She had never voiced these thoughts before, had never allowed herself to reveal the bitterness that had been gnawing at her heart. But now, with Kaylen standing there, watching her unravel, she couldn't stop.

"No one gives a damn about what I want, about what I feel. They never ask about me. All they care about is what I represent—a prize, a title, something to flaunt." she continued, her voice rising with the weight of her frustration. "And Velka? Velka, she's always so damn superior. Always looking down on me, always thinking she's better. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to prove myself, she never respects me! Never!"!"

Her fingers gripped the edge of her gown, twisting the fabric in her hands as if she could wring her emotions out through the silk. She turned back to Kaylen, the firelight casting harsh shadows on her face as her eyes bore into his.

"And then there's Duke Flann and all those other suitors." she continued, her voice venomous now. " Do you think any of them care about me? About what I think, what I want? No! I'm just a trophy to them. Something they can parade around as proof of their status, their power. To them, I'm nothing more than a…glorified baby maker!"

Her voice wavered, the anger beneath it sharper now, tinged with something deeper—something darker. "And then they have the nerve—the audacity—to call me shallow?" She laughed bitterly, a harsh, humorless sound. "Me? They're the ones who are shallow! They look at me and see my breast, my hips, my face—everything that makes me 'desirable.' But when it comes to what I think, what I want? No one even asks. No one cares."

Her voice cracked, a subtle tremor betraying the vulnerability that lay beneath her anger, but she pressed on, unable to stop now. "All these gifts, all these compliments. But do you know how many people have ever asked me what I like? What I enjoy? What I dream about?"

Her hands fell to her sides, trembling slightly, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. Gwynevere's voice dropped, softer now, the anger still present but tempered by something rawer, more human. "No one," she said quietly, bitterly. "Not a single one."

Kaylen's laughter had long since faded, replaced by a deep, empathetic silence as he listened to her pour out her heart. He hadn't expected this—hadn't expected Gwynevere, of all people, to be so… human.

"Gwynevere," he said softly, leaning forward slightly from where he sat on the plush couch, his expression gentle. "I didn't know…"

"Of course you didn't." She turned sharply, standing near the fireplace, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The vulnerability she had exposed was raw, and she hated that he could see it. Her voice grew colder, harsher, as if trying to shield herself from further exposure. "You're just a human I deigned to grace with my presence. You knowing anything about me makes no difference. I don't even know why I'm bothering."

The bitterness in her tone cut through the room like a blade. She crossed her arms over her chest, her posture rigid as she stared into the flames, trying to gather herself. But her shoulders trembled slightly, betraying the effort it took to hold it all together. Kaylen could see her struggling, her pride wrestling with the feelings she had just let slip through the cracks.

The air between them hung heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. For a moment, he thought about saying something to comfort her, but he knew that wouldn't work. Gwynevere didn't want comfort; she wanted to reclaim control.

So, instead, he chose a different tactic.

"Gwynevere," Kaylen began again, his tone softer, almost casual, "what's your favorite color?"

The question hit her like a splash of cold water. Gwynevere blinked, her brow furrowing as she turned to look at him, confusion flickering across her face. "What?" Her voice was sharp, defensive, as if she suspected he was mocking her.

"Your favorite color," Kaylen repeated, leaning back into the couch, his posture calm but watchful. "You said no one ever tries to get to know you, so I'm asking—what's your favorite color?"

Gwynevere stared at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to gauge whether he was serious. For a moment, she seemed ready to brush off the question, dismiss it as another trivial attempt to placate her. But something about his tone, the simplicity of the question, caught her off guard.

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. She glanced back toward the fire, her expression conflicted. "Why does that matter?" she muttered, more to herself than to him, her voice still guarded.

"Because maybe you're right," Kaylen said, his voice steady but without the usual jest. "Maybe no one asks because they think they already know everything about you. But I don't, and I'd like to."

Her eyes flicked back to him, studying his face for any hint of insincerity. She found none. The weight of his gaze wasn't heavy or expectant—it was patient, genuine. The question wasn't a ploy or a strategy; it was a real attempt to connect.

For the first time, Gwynevere hesitated, truly unsure how to respond. She wasn't used to this—wasn't used to people trying to see beyond the surface. Part of her wanted to scoff, to dismiss him as just another fool trying to win her favor. But another part, deeper and more vulnerable, felt the small crack that his words had opened.

After a moment, she sighed softly, her shoulders loosening just a fraction. "It's blue," she admitted, her voice quieter now, more subdued. "A deep, rich blue… like the sky just before nightfall."

Kaylen smiled gently, nodding. "That's a beautiful choice," he said sincerely. "It suits you."

Gwynevere huffed slightly, turning away from him as if the compliment meant nothing, but there was a faint warmth beneath her usual haughty tone. "Of course it does," she replied, trying to mask the unease creeping into her voice as she walked over to the chair across from him. "I have impeccable taste."

She sat down slowly, crossing her legs with deliberate poise, trying to appear unaffected, though the tension in her posture betrayed her. Kaylen watched her closely, noting the slight fidget in her hands as she smoothed the fabric of her gown. She was trying to recompose herself, to rebuild the walls she had let down in her outburst.

But the simple question had shaken her more than she expected. She glanced at him briefly, her eyes still sharp but softer than before. The fire crackled in the background, casting a warm glow over the room, but the tension between them remained, quieter now, but still present.

"I'm gonna be honest, I was almost certain you were gonna say it was gold," Kaylen remarked with a slight grin.

Gwynevere let out a soft, dismissive huff, though the corner of her lips curled up into the faintest hint of a smile. "Gold is so obvious. It's what everyone expects a princess to like—shiny, opulent, and gaudy." She waved a hand, as if dismissing the thought entirely. "But blue… blue is different. It's subtle but unpredictable. One moment the sky is clear and serene, and the next, it's wild and stormy. I like that—it's never the same, never boring."

She paused for a moment, her gaze briefly flicking to him, as if realizing she was oversharing somehow. Her confidence faltered just for an instant before she straightened her posture, letting the brief crack in her composure seal over.

"So, now you know my favorite color," she said, her tone light but still carrying that air of superiority. "What about you, Kaylen? Surely you have something trivial to share."

Kaylen caught the shift in her tone but didn't push it. Instead, he offered a relaxed grin, playing along with her feigned indifference. "Well, I've always been partial to green," he replied easily. "Reminds me of the forests, where things were simpler, quieter... definitely not as glamorous as all this." He gestured vaguely around them, acknowledging the grandeur of the estate.

Gwynevere smirked, leaning back in her chair, her gaze appraising him with the usual air of superiority. "Green, huh? I suppose that suits you. Uncomplicated, earthy… a bit simple, perhaps?"

Kaylen chuckled softly, not rising to the bait. "Maybe. But I've found that it's the small, uncomplicated things that bring the most peace. Don't you?"

Gwynevere's smirk faltered slightly as she thought about his words. "Peace is overrated," she said, though her tone lacked its usual bite. "My life has been nothing but peaceful—perfect, even. And do you know what that's like, Kaylen?"

He shook his head, his gaze remaining steady on her. "I can't say I do."

Gwynevere's eyes flickered, a mixture of frustration and something deeper boiling just beneath the surface. "It's boring," she said, the words spilling out with an edge of resentment. "Everything is always in its place. Every day exactly how it should be. It's like living in a perfectly crafted, beautiful prison. That's why I seek out things that are different. Unexpected."

Kaylen nodded thoughtfully, leaning forward just a little. "It always comes back to whether somethings exciting or unexpected. Sounds to me like you're always looking for something that feels… real."

Her gaze locked onto his, and for a moment, she seemed take in the insight sincerely. Slowly, she nodded as if thinking she liked the sound of that. "Yes. Real. Something that makes me feel alive, not just like I'm existing this perfect little cage all my life or that I am just this doll of a princess."

There was a moment of silence as Kaylen absorbed what she had said, seeing a side of her that was rarely, if ever, shown to anyone. "What else?" he asked gently. "What else do you like? Or, you know… what makes you feel alive?"

Gwynevere's gaze flicked toward the fire, her expression softening as she pretended to consider his question, though the answer had been at the edge of her thoughts. "I enjoy painting," she said, her voice almost casual, though there was a subtle edge to it. "Not that I'm particularly skilled at it. But there's something about creating something from nothing that appeals to me."

Kaylen tilted his head, genuinely interested. "Painting? I wouldn't have guessed."

"Of course you wouldn't have," she responded, her tone carrying a playful note, the huff more teasing than defensive. "It's not something I share with just anyone. But there's something deeply satisfying to me about creating a mess of colors, a chaotic explosion of hues and strokes that seem to dance and swirl together. It's like being able to capture the rawness and unpredictability of life itself on a canvas." She let out a soft sigh, as if basking in the thrill of it all. "It's imperfect, unpredictable...and I like that." The mischievous glint in her eye only added to the allure of her words, hinting at the wild spirit that lay beneath her calm exterior.

Kaylen nodded, appreciating the deeper meaning behind her words. "I can see why you'd enjoy it. There's a certain freedom in creating something just for yourself, without worrying about whether it's perfect."

She turned her eyes back to him, surprised by how easily he seemed to understand. "Yes… exactly," she said, her tone softer now. "It's one of the few things that doesn't need to be perfect. Whatever you create, it can be perfect so long as you believe it so. That's what makes it… interesting."

For a moment, the air between them seemed to shift, a quiet understanding settling into the space they shared. It was rare for Gwynevere to let someone see beyond the mask of royalty, but here, with Kaylen, she found herself doing just that—revealing a piece of her true self. The vulnerability lingered, but so did a sense of connection, one that neither of them had expected to find.

Kaylen smiled, and for the first time since they entered the room, a comfortable silence settled between them. The tension had faded, replaced by something more genuine, more personal.

Gwynevere's gaze softened as she looked at him, her usual air of superiority absent. In its place was a quiet, almost fond expression, one that caught Kaylen off guard. Without the weight of her title or the regal mask she wore for the world, her true beauty—her divine, effortless beauty—shone through. The firelight played across her features, highlighting the delicate curves of her face, the soft glow in her eyes, and the faint smile on her lips.

In that moment, she wasn't the goddess everyone admired from a distance or the princess bound by duty and expectation. She was simply Gwynevere, a radiant figure whose presence felt like something more than mortal.

Kaylen's breath caught as he realized how breathtaking she truly was. It wasn't the polished allure of royalty or the carefully crafted charm she often wielded. This was something deeper, more real. The unguarded way she looked at him, free from expectation or pretense, stirred something within him. His heart raced as he took in the sight before him—her beauty, in its purest form, was undeniable.

Gwynevere noticed the change in him, the way his gaze lingered, and a soft chuckle escaped her lips. She could sense the effect she had, but this time, it wasn't about her power or control. It was simply her, in the raw, divine beauty of her truest self.

"Heh, heh, are you blushing, Kaylen?" Gwynevere teased, her tone light, playful, yet laced with curiosity. There was no mocking edge to her words, only a soft amusement, as if this moment was as unfamiliar to her as it was to him.

Kaylen cleared his throat, struggling to regain his composure, his eyes darting away from her. "I, uh... yeah," he stammered, his voice catching slightly. "You're... a lot different when you're just being yourself."

Her smile deepened, a quiet spark of delight dancing in her eyes. The air between them seemed to change, growing warmer, closer, as if the room itself was shrinking, pulling them together. In the way she looked at him now—soft, unguarded, and completely real—it was as though she was letting him glimpse something precious, something she rarely showed anyone.

It wasn't seduction. It wasn't manipulation. It was simply her, in her most honest form.

Kaylen couldn't tear his eyes away. There was something captivating, almost entrancing, in her presence. He had seen Gwynevere in many forms—regal, commanding, teasing—but this was different. This was her, without the barriers, without the need to impress or dominate. And in that simplicity, in that quiet vulnerability, she was more breathtaking than ever.

Her beauty, divine in its essence, seemed to radiate from her in waves, like a spell weaving itself around him, pulling him in. The flicker of the firelight caught the gentle curves of her face, the strands of her hair glowing like threads of gold. Kaylen's heart raced, his pulse pounding in his ears, as he found himself completely lost in her. Every detail—the softness of her gaze, the delicate arch of her lips, the way her presence seemed to fill the room with a warmth that was both comforting and overwhelming—drew him in deeper, as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

Gwynevere noticed the change in him, the way his gaze lingered on her with awe, and felt a quiet satisfaction. But this wasn't the usual triumph of having someone fall under her spell. This was different. It was deeper, more genuine, as though she was seeing herself through his eyes for the first time.

"Am I that different when I'm just... myself?" she asked softly, the question almost rhetorical, her voice carrying a tenderness that made the moment feel even more intimate.

Kaylen finally met her gaze again, his blush deepening as he nodded slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I…Well…You know…"

He felt like an idiot saying that, but Gwynevere didn't seem to mind.

Her teasing amusement melted into something gentler, her gaze softening as she studied him. For a brief moment, her usual guardedness fell away entirely, and the connection between them felt real, raw, and undeniable.

The way she looked at him then, with that subtle warmth, made Kaylen's breath hitch. The power of her beauty, so effortless and so overwhelming, filled the room like a silent melody that only he could hear. His heart beat faster, and the quiet intensity of the moment pressed down on him, making him look away, his cheeks flushing under the weight of her gaze.

Gwynevere's lips curled into the faintest of smiles, her heart fluttering as she watched him struggle to maintain his composure. She could see the effect she had on him, and for once, it wasn't about control. It was something far more personal. Far more real.

Gwynevere noticed the shift in Kaylen, a soft, playful laugh bubbling from her lips. It was light, almost teasing, but there was something affectionate in it—something that made the moment feel closer, more intimate. With a graceful motion, she shifted in her seat, crossing her legs in that effortless way only she could. The fabric of her gown draped elegantly over her, but the motion felt less about grandeur now and more about simply being at ease.

"What's the matter, Kaylen?" she teased, her voice filled with amusement. "Am I too much for you?"

Kaylen felt the warmth rising in his cheeks, and his lips quirked up into a shy smile. He tried to avoid her gaze, glancing to the side as if that would help him regain his composure. But there was no hiding the flush that spread across his face. "You, uh… you're a lot different when you're just being yourself," he admitted, his voice soft but sincere.

Gwynevere's smile widened just a little, her eyes twinkling with a playful delight. It wasn't the usual royal superiority that made her smile this time—there was something sweeter, something almost... genuine in the way she looked at him. "Different, huh?" she mused, leaning back slightly, her posture more relaxed. "I'll take that as a compliment."

There was something in the way she looked at him now—something that felt lighter, more personal, as if she was enjoying their interaction just as much as he was. Kaylen, for his part, was captivated. He'd seen Gwynevere in all her grand, royal splendor before, but this was different. This was her, unguarded, just being herself. And in that simplicity, she was... adorable.

He blinked at the realization, his heart skipping a beat as he noticed the way her eyes softened, the gentle curve of her smile. It wasn't the kind of beauty that commanded attention in a grand hall; it was the kind that made you want to sit a little closer, to linger in the quiet moments just a little longer.

Gwynevere, sensing his gaze, raised an eyebrow, her tone teasing as she tilted her head slightly. "You're staring, Kaylen," she said, though there was no bite in her words. In fact, it almost sounded like she didn't mind at all.

Kaylen quickly looked away, laughing under his breath as he scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry," he murmured, his cheeks flushed a deeper red. "It's just… you're kind of hard to ignore right now."

Her laughter, soft and genuine, filled the room again, and she leaned forward ever so slightly. "Well, I'm not complaining," she said, her tone lighter, almost playful. "It's nice to know I can leave an impression without all the pomp and circumstance."

He chuckled, the tension between them replaced by a quiet warmth. "I don't think you need any of that," he admitted. "Honestly, you're kind of… cute when you're just being yourself."

Gwynevere's eyes widened, just a fraction, and for a moment, she seemed genuinely caught off guard by his words. A blush touched her cheeks, faint but unmistakable, and she gave him a look that was half amusement, half disbelief. "Cute? Heh, heh." Gwynevere chuckled. "I'm a goddess, Kaylen. Cute is hardly the word I'd use."

"Maybe not," he said, smiling at her. "But that's what I see right now."

Gwynevere blinked, the blush deepening ever so slightly as she looked away, her expression trying to hold onto its regal composure but faltering just enough to let something softer shine through. "Hm. I think I can see why Velka's little worked up about him." she murmured, more to herself than to him.

The fire crackled softly in the background as the moment settled into a peaceful quiet between them. Kaylen, still a little flustered, found himself smiling at the silence, feeling closer to Gwynevere than he had ever thought possible. There was no grand gesture, no need for elaborate words—just a quiet understanding that, for the first time, they were seeing each other not as princess and human, but as two people simply enjoying each other's company.

And for Gwynevere, seeing him flustered yet genuine in his admiration was a different kind of satisfaction. It wasn't about power, control, or grandeur. It was about something smaller, something real—something she found herself cherishing more than she had expected.

She leaned back, her eyes still sparkling with that playful fondness, but there was a gentleness now, a warmth that lingered between them, making the moment feel intimate, personal.

"Well," she said, her voice soft and teasing, "if this is how you act around me when I'm being myself, maybe I should do it more often."

Kaylen couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and easy, as if they had shared something special. "I wouldn't mind that at all," he replied, his eyes meeting hers with a sincerity that made her smile just a little wider.

As the fire crackled softly and the room settled into a peaceful quiet once more, the connection between them felt deeper, more genuine than it ever had before. Neither of them needed to say anything else—there was an unspoken understanding now, a bond that had quietly formed between them.

And for the first time, it wasn't about titles or expectations. It was just them.

---

The shadows were their allies, wrapping around their forms like a second skin as the two Lord's Blades moved through the corridors of Duke Flann's estate. Their breathing was slow, controlled, barely a whisper as they glided across the polished marble floors with the grace of phantoms. Each step was deliberate, their footfalls so light they might as well have been walking on air. The calmness of their movements was a testament to their training; their bodies, honed to perfection, responded without hesitation.

They slipped through the grand hallways, becoming part of the darkness itself, unseen and unheard by anyone. But as they moved deeper into the estate, the air seemed to shift. There was something—something that pricked at the edges of their awareness, like a whisper just out of reach.

One of the Blades paused at the threshold of a corridor, her breath steady as she observed a group of servants. They moved with what seemed to be purpose, but there was a stiffness to their actions, a clumsiness that caught her trained eye. A tray of goblets wobbled in a servant's grasp, almost toppling before he awkwardly corrected it. Another servant seemed to hesitate as he adjusted a vase, his fingers fumbling with the delicate porcelain.

Her eyes narrowed, the shadows clinging tighter to her as she remained motionless, watching. There was an unsettling lack of the fluid elegance she expected from the staff of a high-class noble like Duke Flann. These were the servants of one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, yet they moved with the awkwardness of those unfamiliar with their roles.

A subtle hand sign, almost imperceptible in the dim light, conveyed her thoughts to her companion. "Unusual. Keep watching."

They continued to move, their bodies seamlessly blending with the shadows as they slipped past the servants, unseen. Every movement was instinctive, their training guiding them through the estate with a predator's grace. But as they ventured further, more inconsistencies began to reveal themselves.

Another servant passed them, his uniform slightly askew, the hem frayed and uneven. It was a small detail, easily missed by an untrained eye, but to the Lord's Blades, it was a glaring inconsistency. The servants of a noble household were expected to present themselves with immaculate precision, yet here was another crack in the façade.

They exchanged another series of hand signs. "Observe more."

Moving deeper into the estate, they noticed a servant struggling with a tray of food. The presentation was sloppy, the dishes mismatched, and as he walked, the tray wobbled precariously in his unsteady hands. The Lord's Blades remained still, their breathing calm, their hearts steady, but their eyes keenly tracking every movement.

A servant in the corner was polishing silverware, but his grip was all wrong. The way he handled the utensils was clumsy, his hands rough and calloused—details that were out of place for someone in such a refined environment. This was not the work of a practiced servant; this was the work of someone unaccustomed to the delicate tasks of a high-class household.

Another hand sign. "Untrained. Odd for this estate."

They moved onward, still cloaked in the protective embrace of the shadows. Each step was as silent as the last, their senses heightened as they took note of every discrepancy. A servant with a bandaged hand passed by, the wrapping poorly done, as if in haste. The bandages were dirty, the bloodstains still fresh—a stark contrast to the pristine surroundings of the estate.

Recent injury? one of them signed, a brief flick of the fingers. "Strange."

They continued on, the unease growing between them, though neither allowed it to show in their movements. The servants were becoming more suspicious by the moment. None of them seemed to possess the grace and refinement that should be second nature to those serving in such an esteemed household. The discrepancies were too numerous to ignore, yet the Lord's Blades remained cautious, refusing to jump to conclusions.

"Eye's up. Gather more intel", came the next silent hand signed command.

They proceeded with even greater care, their senses attuned to the slightest disturbance. Every oddity, every inconsistency, was cataloged and analyzed in the silent communication between them. The further they went, the more out of place these so-called servants seemed.

A subtle tension began to be made in the back of their minds—instinct telling them that something wasn't right. The estate, which should have been a model of order and elegance, was tainted by these anomalies. The two Lord's Blades moved silently, their senses on high alert as they continued deeper into the estate. They exchanged a final set of hand signals—"Proceed with caution"—before slipping into a side corridor that led to one of the private study rooms, a place where they hoped to gather the information they had been sent to find.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a flickering candle on a desk cluttered with documents and ledgers. The shadows embraced them as they entered, the door closing softly behind them. Their breathing was steady, their footsteps light as they began to move toward the desk, eyes scanning the room for anything that might be of use.

One of them reached out, gloved fingers brushing over the edge of a parchment, when suddenly, they both froze. A faint sound—so soft it was almost imperceptible—caught their attention. The subtle shift of air, the whisper of fabric brushing against itself, alerted them to another presence in the room.

Just as they both turned on a heel, a figure stepped out of the shadows.

It was another Lord's Blade, her face half-hidden by her porcelain mask and hood, but there was no mistaking the emblem on her cloak, the silent grace with which she moved.

The two Blades hesitated, their hands hovering near the hilts of their daggers. There it was again; the sense that something was off. Lord's Blades always worked in pairs—never alone. The appearance of a third Blade, especially unannounced and unexpected in a place like this, was unusual.

They exchanged a quick, questioning glance, their unease growing.

The newcomer tilted her head slightly, her eyes glinting in the dim light as she regarded them with an expression that was unreadable. "What are you doing here?" she signed quickly, her movements sharp and precise, though her tone remained calm and composed.

The newly arrived Blade didn't respond immediately. She seemed to be assessing the situation, her gaze shifting between the two Blades, taking in every detail. There was something unsettling about the way she moved—too hesitant, too calculated. She hadn't expected to see anyone from their order here, and the surprise was evident, though she masked it well.

"Orders," she signed back slowly, her movements deliberate. "Ciaran sent me."

The two Blades exchanged another glance, confusion etched into their expressions. "We were sent by Ciaran as well," one of them signed, the uncertainty clear in her movements. "Why are you alone? Where is your other half?"

The question hung in the air, tension crackling like electricity between them. The newcomer's eyes narrowed slightly, a shadow passing over her features as she considered her response. There was a pause—barely a heartbeat long—before she replied, her movements smooth and controlled. "I was separated from my partner. The mission couldn't wait. But now that you're here, we can proceed together."

The unease in the room deepened. There was something in her tone, something in the way she held herself that didn't quite sit right with the two Blades. But they pushed the feeling aside. She was one of them—part of the same order. There was no reason to doubt her.

"We've noticed strange behavior among the servants," one of them signed, detailing the anomalies they had observed. "Something is off."

The other Blade nodded, as if considering their words carefully. "I've noticed it too. The situation in the estate is more delicate than we anticipated." She gestured subtly, her eyes flicking to the documents on the desk. "Let's spread out and gather what we need. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can all leave this place and report back."

The two Blades nodded slowly, the unease still gnawing at them but not enough to question her further. They turned back to their task, their movements fluid and silent as they began to sift through the papers, still alert to any signs of danger.

But danger was already in the room with them.

The lone Blade watched them for a moment, her eyes narrowing as her fingers subtly took hold of one of her hidden daggers. The closest Blade barely had time to register the danger before the blade plunged into her back, the steel sinking deep through her heart and spine with a sickening thud. The force of the blow forced her a step forward, her mouth opening in a silent gasp of pain and shock as she crumpled to the floor, the light in her eyes going out in seconds.

The second Blade spun around, her eyes wide with disbelief, but she was too slow. The traitor was already upon her, her dagger slicing through the air with brutal efficiency. The blade slashed across her throat, the cut deep and lethal.

The second Blade staggered, her hands instinctively reaching up to her neck, clutching at her throat as blood spilled through her fingers. Her eyes, filled with confusion and betrayal, locked onto the traitor's as she stumbled back until she collapsed against a wall, sliding down it as the strength drained from her limbs. Her breaths came in bloody, choking gasps as she struggled to comprehend what had just happened.

She could hear the traitor's voice, low and cold, as the darkness closed in around her.

"Sorry, sister…but I can't have the two of you interfering here." the traitor said calmly. "You would have made my task far harder than it needed to be."

The dying Blade's thoughts swirled in confusion and horror. She wanted to scream, to warn someone, but all that escaped her was a gurgle of blood. Her life ebbed away, her vision darkening, but the traitor's words echoed in her mind as the final shred of consciousness slipped away.

The traitor stood over the bodies of her fallen sisters, her breath steady, her expression a mask of cold resolve. She wiped her blade clean with a practiced motion, her eyes flicking to the door as she listened for any approaching footsteps. There were none. The estate was quiet.

She glanced at the fallen Blades with a mix of annoyance and calculation, as if considering the weight of this new development.

"First Velka… now you two," the traitor muttered, her voice tinged with frustration. "Things are becoming more complicated by the minute."

Without another glance at the bodies, the traitor turned and left the room, silent as a whisper. As she moved through the shadowed corridors, her thoughts were a storm of frustration and calculation.

"Damned humans," she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with contempt. "I practically cleared the way for them, and they're taking this long to do their damned part and die."

She slipped through the darkened hallways with ease, her mind already moving ahead to the next steps of her plan. The bandits outside were meant to serve a purpose, and their delay was an annoyance she could ill afford. Everything hinged on the timing, on the chaos they would unleash. But with these new complications, she knew she had to adjust quickly.

Her eyes flickered with cold determination as she continued on her way, the estate still eerily quiet around her. Soon enough, the bandits would make their move, and then—only then—could she move on Gwynevere.

The traitor's thoughts were a whirlwind of plans and contingencies, but one thing was certain: no one would stop what was to come.

---

IT'S DOOOOOOOOONE!

BUT WAIT A GOSH DARN MINUTE, I GOT THINGS TO SAY!

Okay, FIRSTLY, I want to say that this was my attempt at trying to actually try to move forward with the charecter relationships. A lot of reviews and PM's I've received have brought up that its starting to feel like things are getting a bit repetitive with certain characters, so I wanted to try my hand at delving into things on a bit more oof a serious note.

Secondly, GODDAMMIT, I was initially planning to make this a "KaylenXVelka" chapter, but before I knew it I ended up writing with Gwynevere and Kaylen. I was going to have Kaylen maybe follow Velka to the bath and fulfill his "debt" inn making the vinegar bath for her to finally fix the smell, but then I started to think that the setting of a bath can only be used so many times before it becomes repetitive, and it probably wouldn't make sense for velka to invite Kaylen to bath her when in someone like the Dukes estate.

So I ended up just having Kaylen go with Gwynevere.

Thirdly, I hope you guys enjoyed the portrayal of Gwynevere here and I'm really excited to hear what you guys thought. I knew I wanted to move forward with her charecter and her relationship with Kaylen, as it felt a little shallow, but it is a tricky situation of trying to give her some depth, but not have it come off as too much at once. So I just played off of the cards I'd already set up with her insecurities, and try to make her feel a little more "human" and imperfect.

After all, she's a god. She can be as contradictory, emotional and bipolar as she wants, right? Especially when its just a human like Kaylen. I followed my gut on her and Kaylen to make their conversation feel a little personal and cute by the end, but I'll leave it up to you guys to say if things played out well or not.

And lastly, Yes, the two lords Blades that were following Kaylen are dead and there is a new player in this game. Did you guys think just a few brigands and bandits with Occult weapons were all I had up my sleeve?! FOOLS! I got big plans moving forwards and believe me, we're setting up for a big fallout! So I hope you guys are ready!

But anyways, that's all I have to say this time around, ladies and gents.

As always, feel free to leave a review and tell me what you guys thought about this chapter of the story. Was Velka embracing her prideful and fiery nature a solid move or did it feel like she's just being a jerk? Should Kaylen have been a bit more angry at how he was being treated by both women or was he right to play their game his way? Did Kaylen and Gwynevere's conversation play out well or did it feel a little forced?

Honest opinions are always appreciated as I'm always looking to improve my style of writing to make this story a bit more interesting for you guys. so don't be shy in telling me your thoughts about how things are going so far. Outside opinions will have a huge effect on how this story will play out.

This is Supreme Gamer, Signing out.

P.S. I swear to god, I am just using all my best material on writing cute moment for GWYNEVERE, when this is supposed to a story with VELKA as the love interest! God dangit!