Princesa (gxg)

3: Call to Arms

For three days, I have been satisfying myself. My fingers become Kiley's in my mind, my taste has been imagined to be hers. At all hours of the day, I feel a deep ache in the pit of my stomach I fear only her hand will ever be able to reach. 

The thought always sets me ablaze.

The three days time she gave me has expired and I wait for her on my bed, dressed in a short and slim gown I usually wear around the castle. No frilly bodice or large skirts I need to kick as I walk, just a plain and simple dress.

I should've known I would be in for an outfit change. 

Her head pops through the open window, whispering her greeting. "Princesa!" she smiles, eyes reflecting the moon. 

I rise from the bed, brow furrowed as she stands at almost double her height. Her face is the only extremity inside my chambers, and when I get a closer look I realize why.

She's on a horse.

A noble steed, I must say. Black like the night she rides under. His mane cascades down the length of his neck and the silver of his bridle glistens. A Friesian, symbolizing wealth across the kingdoms. I didn't know they used them in war. They're normally for show - the Pantera are the ones commonly seen riding them. 

"Is he yours?" I ask as she dismounts, taking a long fall to the ground from his great height.

"In a sense," she answers, securing his reins to the frame of the window. "I only use Frederick here for supply runs. The Colonels are the only ones who ride them in battle. And even then, they aren't really in the thick of it."

She hops through the window, reaching back through to grab his saddle and tug him closer. She opens a satchel attached to his rear rigging dee and pulls out a bundle of clothes. She turns to me, holding out her gift.

Britches, tunic, a chest wrap.

"What is this?" I mumble, leafing through them and feeling the material.

"You are the Commander of the Rebels," she announces, putting a dignified edge on her voice. "You can't not look the part." She glances down, eyeing my dress. "That is certainly not the part, Princesa."

I smirk, wondering if this is just a ploy to see me undress.

Even if it is, I don't mind.

"I suppose you're right."

Her eyes widen slightly at my acceptance. 

"I've always wanted to wear britches."

I untie the binding at the back of my neck, allowing the collar to fall away and drop down to the floor. I stand in front of her in my slip, hand outstretched for the britches. She stares for a moment before coming to her senses, passing me the trousers. 

I slip a leg into each of the holes, hoisting them up onto my waist. They feel free, unrestricted, purposeful. It seems to make sense for women to wear britches other than men, what with the parts we were given. They're a little big on my legs, billowing along my thighs and covering my feet, and Kiley sets down the tunic and wrap on the trunk at the foot of the bed.

"May I?" she asks, hands reaching for my waist.

I nod, lifting my arms and holding up my slip so she can go about tightening them. 

"These are mine, so I figured they'd be a little big on you," she explains, fingers sliding along the inside of the waistband against my skin. 

They're rough from battle yet delicate, and deliciously cold. She stands in front of me, fingers fumbling with the buttons, and I try to stop my toes from curling at the thought of her hands so close to my heat. She squats, cuffing the bottom of them.