The road to the Royal Guard was paved in blood, sweat, and tears. Training began before the break of dawn and pushed long past dusk. The knights of Nyarlothep honed their bodies and minds into perfect weapons, praying to Saoirse that they would one day receive the call to join the ranks of the Guard.

Which is why only three months after Espada had joined the ranks of the knight’s order, her summons to meet with the queen was hailed with frustrated murmurs and narrowed sideways glances.

However, those who were present bearing witness to Espada’s chivalric deeds knew the truth of it: there was no one more deserving. Throughout many taverns in Nyarlothep, songs both true and—more than slightly—embellished were wailed and belted at all hours of the night about the warrior who feared nothing.

Espada battled every Defiled that threatened the kingdom straight on, greatsword in hand and a wicked smile on her lips. Every scar was worn as a trophy. Every day she still lived a victory. A particularly ravenous Defiled took a bite from one of her ears. Another dug rivers of blood into her face. How she’d lost a portion of her tail was still up to debate amongst muses—some claimed a Defiled with a scythe, others believe she cut it off herself.

Regardless, a single fact remained: Espada belonged in the Royal Guard.

As she approached the castle flanked by two of the Queen’s Own, Espada maintained a perfectly straight posture and drank in her surroundings. Ivory towers soared through the clouds, bedecked with stained glass windows and sculptures of Saoirse and her devout welcoming all who would enter. Knights of the Order were rarely invited into the queen’s presence for matters outside of promotion. It was the first time Espada had ever seen the castle, or its queen, up close.

The gates of the main entrance were thrown wide to welcome her. Women of all ages in regal attire fanned themselves in the main hall, their conversations suddenly halting at the appearance of the Queen’s Own and the newcomer. Espada held her chin high, maintaining even strides down the lush carpet leading to the steps of the dais. When they reached the bottom step, she kneeled.

“Your Majesty,” Espada greeted, daring to steal a glance at Nyarlea’s ruler. For the first time in her life, Espada’s heart skipped.

Queen Melasia rose from the throne, silencing her subjects with a single glance. Her long white hair was braided back in intricate plaits complimented by streaks of blue as they twisted into a tight bun. Her eyes were a clear grey-blue and her skin white as snow. Her appearance was as if glass had decided to take a conscious form. Her lavish dress reflected a similar aesthetic, subtly shifting from white to pale blues and greens depending on the angle of the light. Even the fur of her ears and tail shimmered in patterns that suggested that Queen Melasia didn’t harness a single, solid color, but rather a glowing palette. That should the sun vanish, so would she.

It was only meant to be a glance, but Espada couldn’t take her eyes away.

Queen Melasia lifted her thick skirts and gracefully descended the steps in clear heels. Glass? Melasia’s stare never wavered from the members of the court, her chin held high and shoulders perfectly straight. The train of her dress dripped over the steps, descending like a waterfall.

Espada remembered her place and dropped her head, focusing on a handful of individual threads of gold woven through the rug beneath her.

“Lady Espada. Tales of your bravery have reached mine ears.” Queen Melasia’s silken voice carried throughout the hall with ease. It was clearly a practiced skill, but it surprised Espada all the same to hear such authority from her petite form. “Your peers speak most highly of your accomplishments.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Espada replied.

“I would see your face.” Cool fingers caressed Espada’s cheek and a hushed murmur washed over the royals.

Goosebumps prickled on the back of Espada’s neck as she allowed her queen to lift her chin. Melasia’s eyes pierced hers as if reading the depths of her soul page by page. The sensation was more terrifying than any Defiled she’d ever faced.

Queen Melasia’s lips drew into a slow smile and she lowered her voice like they were sharing a secret. “Perchance you do not know, but you saved my life.”

Espada’s eyebrows raised, her mouth suddenly dry. She wracked her memories for any encounters that had been near the castle at all, or Defiled that had managed to slide past the borders, but emerged fruitless. “My deepest regrets, but you are correct, Your Majesty. I do not recall.”

Melasia’s smile widened, her fingers lingered a moment longer, then returned to her side. “I would regale you with my story in more polite company. Pray allow me to invite you into the ranks of the Royal Guard?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Espada’s heart pounded against her chest. She was certain she could hear the sound echoing against the walls.

One of the members of Queen Melasia’s court brought her a glittering scabbard, and the queen unsheathed it with ease. She rested the edge of the glittering sword on Espada’s left shoulder. “Espada of Nyarlothep, beneath the eyes of Saoirse and unto the ears of those present, do you solemnly swear to serve and protect your queen and country to your dying breath?”

“I do so swear,” Espada replied.

“Do you swear to respect and regard your peers and superiors as equals, present fair and honest counsel, and uphold the laws and customs of Nyarlea wherever your travels may take you?”

“I do so swear.”

Melasia raised the sword and rested the point against Espada’s face, just below her left eye. “Let this be the final wound you receive without swift and just recourse.” The queen flicked her wrist, drawing a sharp, thin cut down Espada’s cheek. It would heal into the narrow, unmistakable scar shared by all in the Royal Guard.

Blood trickled down Espada’s jaw, but she didn’t flinch. In the myriad battles she’d experienced and wounds she’d suffered, this was nothing.

“Let it be known by all that I, Queen Melasia of Nyarlea, raise Espada of Nyarlothep to the rank of Royal Guard by virtue of her honor, loyalty, valor, and skill at arms.” Melasia tapped the blade against each of her shoulders. “Rise, Royal Guard Espada.”

Espada stood, pride swelling in her chest. It was only then that she realized she stood nearly a head taller than the queen. But the way Melasia carried herself would never suggest a modicum of inferiority to any in the room.

“Your captain will have your assignment for you on the morrow. For the evening, I pray you carry yourself with pride and celebrate as you see fit.” A mischievous smile played at Melasia’s mouth. Espada wondered if it was a trick of the light, or if perhaps she was reading too deeply. “You are dismissed.”

The Queen’s Own escorted Espada from the castle, releasing her to the cheers and praise of her fellow knights and Royal Guard. The ale flowed free in the tavern that night, allowing multiple musicians to serenade them. Many royals joined in the festivities and the feast was unparalleled.

Late into the evening, a kitten weaved through the crowds and found Espada deep in her cups.

“U-um, my lady.” The kitten tugged Espada’s sleeve. “I’ve a message for you.”

A short, perfect script lacking a name requested Espada’s presence at an unfamiliar address. Seeing as most of the attendants had left or passed out around the tavern, Espada tossed the girl a few Bells and secured her sword. She’d never allow herself to be so drunk that she couldn’t fight, so if someone with ill intent awaited her, they’d have another thing coming.

However, when Espada arrived at a cabin offset from the city and surrounded by lush, night-blooming gardens, it didn’t appear to be the scene of a potential crime. She closed the wooden door behind her, eyes adjusting to the dim candlelight, when a form rounded the corner.

“I am glad you decided to come,” Melasia’s luxurious voice filled the room.

“Your Majesty!” Espada gasped and dropped to her knee. “Why are you— How did you—” she stammered, unable to complete a sentence.

“Please, stand. And call me Melasia?” Melasia moved to the table and poured two glasses of deep red wine from a waiting decanter. “This place is, how shall I call it, a retreat? My refuge?” She hummed and took a seat at the table.

Espada slowly rose to her feet but stood stalwart. Was this a test? Was one of the Queen’s Own waiting outside to slit her throat if she failed?

“Won’t you sit with me?” Melasia beckoned to the chair across from her.

“Your Majesty—”

“Melasia,” she corrected patiently.

“M-Melasia. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve a private audience. If I’ve offended you in any way, please accept my sincerest apologies.”

“No. Quite the opposite, really. Come, sit. You are not in danger.”

Espada walked stiff-legged to the table, pulling away one of the chairs and sitting on its edge.

Melasia had loosened her hair, one long braid trailing over her shoulder. She wore a deep blue dress that hugged her shoulders, held in place by a black corset. The candlelight wove yellow, red, and orange hues into her hair and fur, flickering as if reflected in a mirror.

“How did you leave the castle unnoticed?” Espada asked. “I know it’s late, but there are still a lot of people out there.”

Melasia smirked and took a drink of wine. After replacing the wine glass, she raised one hand to her forehead and closed her eyes, murmuring a string of unintelligible words. When she reached for her wine again, it was as a different person entirely. A tan young woman with short red hair and dark tattoos patterning one arm. But her eyes remained the same pools of translucent blue.

Espada felt the color drain from her face. Enchantments were far from unheard of, but she— this girl— “Selene?”

Selene—no, Melasia—grinned. “I still feel terrible about your tail.”

Espada snagged the glass of wine and drained it. Images flooded her in quick succession. The armored Defiled whose arms formed two enormous swords. The red-headed woman that insisted she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shoving the lost stranger out of the way only to have her tail cut in twain. Selene reappearing after its defeat and personally tending to Espada’s injury. Selene’s lips on hers.

Grabbing the bottle of wine, Espada poured more and drained a second cup.

“Espada, I truly am sorry. I understand I committed the gravest of deceit.” The Enchantment dissipated and Melasia returned to her true features. “I could not find an opportunity to tell you.”

If Espada found comfort in nothing else, the sudden attachment she’d experienced during the ceremony made sense. She chuckled, if a little incredulous. “I thought I’d seen that smile before.”

Melasia laughed. “I will tell you that this was the earliest my council would allow your raising to a Royal Guard. And I wish to have you as one of the Queen’s Own if you will accept.”

Espada ran a hand through her cropped hair. “Is such a quick promotion wise? They may think you’ve gone mad.”

“Perhaps I have.” Melasia stood and rounded the table, her footfalls making no sound against the wood. She took a seat in Espada’s lap and locked her gaze.

Espada’s breathing hitched in the back of her throat.

“I can think of no one I would trust more at my side,” Melasia whispered, tracing the line of Espada’s collarbone. “Please?”

Espada cupped Melasia’s face in her palm and captured her kiss. Melasia hummed her satisfaction and slid her hands beneath Espada’s tunic.

Espada gasped.

“Please?” Melasia repeated against her mouth, tracing the lines of her abdomen with a feather-light touch.

“Yes,” Espada breathed, reaching for Melasia’s corset strings. “Yes.”

When the announcement came of Espada’s quick ascension, it caught the attention of more than Royal Guards and the Royal Council. And even Nyarlothep’s most well-regarded [Crusader] could not turn the eyes of her Queen away from a man.