Threatening Dashington

“I do not believe you,” you say disbelievingly. “You have but one chance to confess your true intentions and my true identity, or I shall shoot you with the projectile section of this most versatile weapon!”

The Duke’s face, if possible, grows even paler, but if you are adept at reading faces – as it appears you are – it is with guilt, not fear.

“Your Highness,” he declares. “I am repentant! You see, you are not my fiancée at all, but Xanastasia Zuera Francel, Princess of the House of Dorg. You were set upon by the mercenaries of the infamous Silver Marauder, and I daringly rescued your unconscious body from your damaged personal flyer!”

At his words, your memory returns to you, and you grasp at your neck, seeking the pendant of priceless rubyonium that usually hangs there! At last, you suspect you have an answer for what lies in that case!

“I beg you to forgive me, Princess!” the Duke cries, falling gracefully to his knees. “Though I shall understand entirely if you do not, for I am a perfidious wretch. For many years, I have struggled to uphold the traditions and responsibilities of the Dashington space-duchy despite the serious abrogation of the privileges that once were considered the due of my bloodline. In my frustration, I must admit that I have oft blamed your illustrious parents and their sweeping – and, I have just realized, entirely just – reforms of our galactic class system. When I was informed by my medibot that you were suffering from amnesia, I am ashamed to tell you that I saw an opportunity to gain leverage against the House of Dorg that I could not resist.”

This impressive speech concluded, the Duke kneels, gasping, upon the carpet for a moment, recovering both his composure and his breath. Graciously, you wait for him to continue, though you keep a tight grip on the zathwop blade even as your fingers ache to brush back the jet-black curls that have fallen forward rakishly across his eyepatch.

“But now, Princess,” Dashington says, at length, “now that I have had the signal honor of standing – and kneeling – in your presence while you are fully conscious, I realize how truly wrong my course thus far has been. I see no alternative but to throw myself upon your mercy, and beg that you forgive my past sins against you.”

You are moved despite yourself, and lower your zathwop bladearm. “You have it, sir,” you murmur.

“I have been terribly, terribly bad,” he admits, lowering his single, dark, smouldering eye. “If you were to… punish me, I should quite deserve it.

Goodness gracious me! What an invitation! However shall you respond?

1) You did receive top marks for the Theory of Practical Bondage, Discipline And Lovemaking at the Royal Riadorfan Academy For Young Ladies Of Quality And Distinction. Perhaps it is time to put theory to practice?

2) The Duke does look wonderful on his knees, but you will not indulge upon the moment.

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