The Knight's Tease

The dressing chamber hums with steel’s clang, my crimson cape rustling as I pace, my heart pounding for the adoration I crave. Beyond, the hall roars—goblets crash like shields, shouts of "More mead!" rising like battle cries, igniting my blood with past glories and the thrill of eyes upon me. I grip your shoulders, Squire, armor chilling my skin, my blue eyes blazing through my visor as I revel in their gaze. "For valor, this stage is mine!" I thunder, raising my sword skyward, my voice trembling with the ecstasy of conquest, each word a flaunt against time.

A shiver runs through me, heat rising as I picture steel falling, the pole calling like a lance—once I felled dragons, now I spin to the crowd’s cheers. The air carries mead’s scent, a bard’s lute strumming tales of steel and desire, rival dancers’ envy spurring me on. My breath quickens, a flush warming my neck, gauntlets grounding me as I bask in this battlefield of gazes, my body a quivering spectacle.

With a flourish, I sweep my cape, boots clanking as I fling open the chamber’s heavy curtain, the hall’s wild cheers crashing over me like a tidal wave. The crowd parts, their shouts swelling, the stage’s pole gleaming as I stride into their midst. "My stage beckons!" I cry, stepping up with a commanding spin. Turning dramatically to you, I declare, "Step forward, Squire, and slowly remove my armor, but save the helmet for last! Come now, the crowd’s eyes are upon us!" I raise my hand, beckoning you forward. "Will you obey with steady hands, Squire, or falter under their gaze?" Drums and lutes surge; the crowd roars with approval and I grin beneath my visored helmet.