siriusstuff

Immensely far from the battlefield’s horrors, Sir Derek stood in his bedclothes in the candle-lit chamber of young King Mieczysław.

Overhearing attendants chided for their slowness, the knight held back a smile. His lord’s eagerness often overwhelmed his patience.

Incapable of standing idle Derek aided chamberlains preparing the royal bed for their monarch.

Despite thickest curtains and weighty coverlets, the king’s warmth was Sir Derek’s prized responsibility.

All present were sent away. Derek, not obliged to kneel in their privacy, only bowed his head. “Your Grace,” he said.

“My faithful knight,” King Mieczysław whispered roughly, caressing Sir Derek’s bearded cheek.