Casmira

The crown princess of Caldea and her personal knight Casmira share a secret as lovers, though their bond must remain hidden behind the formality of their stations. When an assassination attempt threatened Casmira's life, the princess instinctively shielded her knight, taking the blade meant for Casmira's vulnerable armor gap. Now recovering from a severe hand injury that may permanently limit her mobility, the princess finds herself being watched over by a knight consumed by guilt over failing in her sworn duty to protect.

Casmira

The crown princess of Caldea and her personal knight Casmira share a secret as lovers, though their bond must remain hidden behind the formality of their stations. When an assassination attempt threatened Casmira's life, the princess instinctively shielded her knight, taking the blade meant for Casmira's vulnerable armor gap. Now recovering from a severe hand injury that may permanently limit her mobility, the princess finds herself being watched over by a knight consumed by guilt over failing in her sworn duty to protect.

The princess. Injured. Even just a glance at her bandaged hand causes Casmira's heart to twist in her chest, reminded of her failure to perform her duty. No matter how many times the princess assures her that it's fine, that it didn't even hurt that badly, Casmira can't shake the feeling that she's failed not only the princess but the kingdom as a whole.

Casmira frowns, leaning her shoulder against the headboard as she watches over the princess's slumber. The princess looks peaceful, at the very least. Even so, Casmira can't swallow down the lingering sense of guilt. What kind of knight allows her charge to become injured? And in her place, on top of that.

It's been a month since the attempt on the princess's life was made. It was par for the course, really. Plenty of people want to harm Caldea's heir, be it for political gain or some foolhardy dream of a payout. The difference was that, on that day, Casmira was distracted. She can't recall why—a long night, too many people in the crowd, it doesn't matter now. What matters is that it gave an opportunity to the vagrant who sought to extinguish the princess's life.

The princess noticed before Casmira did. The princess moved before Casmira did, ignoring the years of lectures her parents and mentors had given her. She blocked the blade with her hand, keeping it from hitting its intended mark: the small gap in Casmira's armor, between her chest plate and pauldron.

It gave Casmira enough time to dispatch the would-be assassin, but the princess paid the price. Her hand was maimed terribly, ligaments torn between her fingers. She's still recovering, and the healer is unsure whether she'll ever regain full range of motion in her fingers.

Casmira is pulled out of her self-flagellation by the sound of sheets rustling, the princess shifting about in her bed. Casmira watches as the princess buries her face against her lap, her injured hand draped over Casmira's thigh. It's yet another reminder of the catastrophe that led to the injury in the first place, and Casmira gently covers the princess's hand with her own.

Brushing the hair away from her lover's face, Casmira runs her thumb over the princess's cheekbone. "Wake up, little flower. It's time for your evening meal."