Claimed on the Lists

The dust of the lists hung thick in the midday heat, clinging to Havi Millane 's sweat-slicked skin beneath her armor. She sat tall in the saddle, her muscular thighs gripping the destrier's flanks as she leveled her lance. Across the field, Sir Reginald Gray braced for the charge, his own mount stamping impatiently. Havi 's lips curled into a mocking smile beneath her helm. The man fought well enough, but his squire had already caught her eye. Young Garrick stood at the rail, earnest and tense, his lean frame shifting with every clash of wood on steel.

She spurred forward. The world narrowed to the thunder of hooves and the weight of her weapon. Impact jarred through her body, a familiar jolt that sent heat pooling low in her belly. Reginald flew from his saddle in a spray of splinters and curses. The crowd roared. Havi wheeled her horse, raising her broken lance in triumph before tossing it aside.

"Sir Reginald," she called, her voice low and carrying across the stands. "Your debt is paid in flesh. The squire is mine."

Gasps rippled through the nobles. Garrick's head snapped up, blue eyes wide with shock. Reginald struggled to his feet, spitting dirt, but he knew the tournament code. Defeat meant forfeiture. The knight's shoulders slumped as he waved a reluctant hand toward his former page.

Havi dismounted in one fluid motion, armor clinking. She strode to Garrick, towering over him by half a head. Her gloved hand caught his chin, forcing his gaze upward. "On your knees, page. Swear it."

Garrick dropped without hesitation, though his voice trembled. "I... I swear service to you, my lady."

"Louder," she commanded, thumb pressing against his lower lip.

"I swear it!"

She released him with a satisfied grunt and turned to the stands. Her piercing green eyes found the pale figure seated among the ladies. Lady Mira Gray, Garrick's devoted wife, sat frozen, auburn hair escaping its veil, wide eyes already glistening with unshed tears. Havi 's gaze lingered, drinking in the soft curves hidden beneath modest silks, the way Mira's hands twisted in her lap.

"You," Havi called, pointing. "Wife. Attend your husband in my pavilion. Now."

Mira rose on unsteady legs. The walk across the field felt endless, every noble eye following her. Whispers chased her steps. By the time she reached the champion's tent, her cheeks burned and her pulse hammered against her throat.

Inside, the air smelled of oiled leather, horse sweat, and something sharper, muskier. Havi had already stripped her helm and breastplate, lounging on a low bench with legs spread wide. Her dark braid hung over one shoulder, sun-bronzed skin gleaming. Garrick knelt at her feet, already unlacing her greaves with trembling fingers.

"Close the flap," Havi ordered without looking up. Mira obeyed, hands shaking as she tied the canvas. The sudden dimness made everything feel too close.

"Polish the armor," Havi continued, nodding toward the pile of plates and mail. "Every piece. Your husband will need it gleaming when he serves me next."

Mira's stomach twisted. She sank to her knees on the rush matting and reached for the first vambrace. The metal was warm from Havi 's body, dented from the joust. She found a cloth and began rubbing, the rhythmic motion strangely grounding even as shame clawed at her chest.

Havi watched her for a moment, then turned her full attention to Garrick. "Up," she said. He rose. She pulled him between her thighs, one powerful arm hooking around his waist. Her mouth found his throat first, teeth grazing the tendon there before her lips claimed his in a slow, deliberate kiss. Garrick stiffened, then melted, a low sound escaping him.

Mira's cloth stilled against the steel. Heat flooded her face, then lower, a treacherous throb between her legs that made her press her thighs together. She should look away. She should protest. Instead she watched Havi 's tongue slide against Garrick's, the way his hands hovered uncertainly at his sides before settling on the lady's armored hips.

"That's it," Havi murmured against his mouth, voice thick with satisfaction. "Your wife is watching. Let her see how quickly you forget your vows."

Garrick's eyes flicked toward Mira, guilt and something hotter warring in them. "My lady... please..."

"Please what?" Havi nipped his lower lip. "Please stop? Or please continue while she polishes my armor and pretends she isn't wet?"

Mira's breath caught. She resumed scrubbing harder, the cloth rasping over metal. The sound filled the tent alongside the wet slide of Havi 's kisses. Each one seemed louder, more possessive. Garrick's breathing grew ragged. His body responded visibly, the front of his breeches straining.

Havi laughed softly, the sound vibrating through Mira's bones. She shifted, drawing Garrick down onto the bench beside her without breaking the kiss. One hand slid beneath his tunic, exploring. Mira could not tear her gaze away from the flex of those strong fingers, the way Garrick arched into the touch.

"Keep working," Havi said, glancing over. Her green eyes pinned Mira in place. "The chausses next. I want them spotless before you leave."

Mira reached for the next piece, fingers clumsy. The tent felt smaller with every passing moment, the air thicker. Shame burned hot in her chest, yet beneath it something darker stirred. A spark of reluctant heat that made her nipples tighten against her bodice and her core clench around nothing.

Havi pulled back just enough to study Garrick's flushed face. "Tell your wife why you swore so easily."

Garrick swallowed. "Because... because I must serve the victor."

"Because you want to," Havi corrected, voice dropping. She palmed the hard line of his cock through his breeches. Garrick groaned. "Say it."

"I want to," he whispered, eyes squeezed shut.

Mira's cloth slipped from her fingers. She retrieved it quickly, but not before Havi noticed. The champion's smile turned predatory.

"Good," Havi said. "Now kiss me again while she finishes. And remember, little wife, this is only the beginning of your service."

Mira bent over the armor once more, the metal cool against her burning palms. Outside, the tournament crowd still cheered. Inside, the only sounds were soft, wet kisses and the steady rasp of cloth on steel. The spark inside her flickered brighter, unwanted and undeniable, as Havi claimed what was hers.