Service, Humility, and Grace

And so, with a deep breath, he sheathed the sword. This was not the time. He would send message to the King and petition him for relief.

"That will not be necessary, your Highness. I accept your gift with all the gratitude it deserves." He bowed, then moved to leave.

"Before you go," she said, sliding back into her chair at her desk, "I just want you to know that anything that happens to you is your responsibility. I can reverse the changes at any time. But you must tell me so, and you must say, with full throated vigour, that your honour is forfeit."

The corner of his eye twitched. "Is that all?"

"Yes. Send Vikka in if you see her, but you are dismissed."

***

His first thought, at least after the font of expletives shouted into the wind on one of the castle's walls, was that he would simply resist the effects of the gem. He was a Knight, after all. A bastion against the darkness. A living emblem of virtuous masculinity. What did he have to fear from some conjuration? So for the next few weeks, he continued as normal. And as the sole Knight in charge of protection of the Princess and, to a lesser extent, the rest of her retinue, Lennox kept himself busy making sure the drafty ruin they inhabited was as secure as possible.

The Winter Court was, charitably, still a castle. There were several stone walls, technically, and they all connected, again technically. It had been the capital of one of a long ago dispatched rival to the Kingdom's hegemony, and still marked by the scars of battle. The only intact building was the keep in which all were housed, its ancient stones kept warm by vigilantly maintained hearthfires that roared in most of the larger rooms and in the royal apartment. The rest of the outbuildings, as well as the walls, were pocked with the evidence of siege warfare. The walls in particular had gaps large enough to wheel the Royal Carriage through, the product of either mundane or magical explosive damage.

It was on the patrol of one of these shattered walls, one week into having the pink pommel, that he noticed the cold more than he should. Rationalizing it momentarily as having lost track of time spent in the brisk wind, he shuffled back in to warm up against the fire in the meeting hall. Despite being close to the roaring flames, he couldn't get the warmth back into his bones. He shucked his armour to let it dry, only to find that his body hair was coming out in tufts as he doffed his garments. Not the hair on his head. If anything, that had gotten thicker. But the short, curly hair on his arms. It fluttered away at the slightest contact, leaving a soft peach fuzz behind, if anything.

As the night grew colder and winter crept into the walls more and more, staying warm proved to be more challenging that ever before. He withstood the discomfort without complaint of course, but the chattering of his teeth was unavoidable. His men noticed this, and began to be more liberal with their offers of taking longer shifts on the wall. All the while their eyes drifted to his sword's pommel, and its strange, ethereal glow.

Early into the third week of holding fast against his blade's corruption, and he could no longer deny that the magic was having an effect. He couldn't afford a mirror, of course. Few could. But the polished shine of his armour revealed more than he wished it would. And before him, bent in the convex reflection of his helmet, was a body not his own. Before he sported abdominal muscles of wrought iron. Now, his stomach had concealed itself beneath growing curves. Soft, supple, and practically squeezable in places.

But despite the indignities of losing his carefully sculpted and cultivated physique, he refused to let it compromise his ability to perform his duties. He trained twice as hard, fighting back with every ounce of his strength as he hacked away with a practice sword or cut cord upon cord of firewood, excusing the servant who usually did such taskings until his arms felt like they would literally fall off.

It was after one of these intense workout sessions that he found himself in the keep's one prominent luxury: the hot springs bathhouse. A respite from both the unpleasant chill as well as the soreness of well worked muscles, it had proved to be a haven for Lennox during his current ordeal.

But even here, amidst the magically heated waters, he found little sanctuary. Floating naked in the copper basin of the inlaid tub, the extent that his cursed blade was changed him clear. On his chest, clear as day, were a pair of breasts. Small, surely, but their sight was unmistakable. He could wrap his shirt tight to hide them for now, but...

"Damnation," he swore. What was he going to do? This couldn't go on for much longer. His entreaties to the King had not been responded to. Either his phrasing had not made the seriousness of the matter clear enough, or he just didn't care.

He closed his eyes. It wasn't for a sovereign to care about the inconvenience of a single Knight. He knew that. He KNEW that. But every day his body changed, warped into this soft, pleasant thing.

And it was pleasant...at least to look at. Though as a Knight, he was bound to be of the utmost gentleman when it came to showing affection, he nevertheless had the same urges of many under his command. But the nature of his position meant that simply slinking off to a bawdyhouse was not available. And the more his form resembled the desirable shapes he preferred in a partner...

With eyes still firmly shut, his sword hand trailed down the side of his body, feeling the length of his form. Despite losing some of his height to the curse, he was still tall. And that height translated into having long, luxurious legs. And with his body hair either thin enough to be invisible or depilated altogether, in the dim light of the bathhouse, amidst the gentle roil of the water, it was easy enough to imagine these parts belonged to an attractive, athletic...

The building arousal he felt from his own altered form proved too much to deny altogether. Though his faith didn't prohibit masturbation, it was still something that indicated a lack of self control. But rather than dive straight for his cock, he explored the rest of his body. And as distressing as it was to have one's form be changed by factors outside of your control, he could not deny how good roving hands felt along the curve of his hips. Sliding down his stomach. And to his breasts where he-

"Ahh!~" he cried, then instantly shut down. Merely brushing a thumb against his nipple had made him cry out like some lady of the evening!

Lennox played with himself on and off, aware that this was a public space open to anyone in need of a warm soak. In between stolen glances toward the entrances, he charted new erogenous zones he hadn't even imagined before. None more potent than his blossoming breasts.

As he teased and twisted his new anatomy, a devious thought arose. Nobody could read his thoughts, they were safe to explore his real feelings. He could get a measure of revenge by indulging in some truly dishonourable conduct.

Princess Katerina. She was attractive, of course she was attractive. But her personality, gods! She was like a viper in fine silk. Truly, she deserved to be put in her place. To be pressed against the wall and made to quiver, to be made to understand...

He tried to picture his charge as a submissive, but it didn't work. It was out of tune with who he knew she was. She was many things, but she wouldn't yield to him. The Princess would know him, see through his soul to the core of who he was. The fantasy shifted. No longer was she the one against the wall. She had used her spells to bind him, keeping him chained to arcane fetters while she tugged down his breaches...

"Oh! Excuse me, madam. I-"

Lennox thrashed out of the lust-addled stupor, springing up and out of the bath and revealing his blossoming, feminine form. Standing in the doorway with her own nakedness concealed by a towel was Crys: the guard he often saw during his patrols.

"Apologies are mine!" he said in a voice so clipped the sentence blended into a single word. He gathered his underclothes and hurried off to the changing room.

As he towelled and dressed, he found it difficult to hold leash on his emotions. This damn feminine frailty! He cursed his fate, cursed his weakness, and thrice cursed that damn, spoiled brat who...who...

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Despite the damp heat of the air, a cold chill filled him.

"Madam, I hold no judgment in my heart. Our hours are long, chance for amorous encounters few and far between."

A confusing duality of relief and embarrassment suffused him. Relief, for she'd somehow not recognised him! But that meant that she had thought he was...a woman. And unless he wanted to give away the game...

He coughed, trying to speak in a higher register. To his horror, he found it easier than he would have liked.

"Thank you...I would appreciate it if you kept this...to yourself."

Crys snorted. "I'd be in all kinds of trouble if Knight Lennox knew how often I got in similar situations. Just...try to keep it to your own quarters. And if you can't...well, my shift ends at dusk most days. Come find me in the mess hall, perhaps we can help eachother out."

Without further explanation, she left to go about her own abulutions, leaving Lennox to dress quickly and flee with as much dignity as possible. Driving off a posse of highwaymen was one thing, but being propositioned...by a subordinate?

Lennox hurried back to his own room. He was still dripping water when he slammed the door shut. Once again he was thankful for his position, and the overall free space available in the keep, that he was able to have his own room. To be among his men during this...transfiguration would have been too much.

It was already too much. As he wrung the excess moisture from his hair, he acknowledged that he'd gotten in far above his head. Even now, the solution was readily at hand. All he had to do was give up and acquiesce to the Princess' demands.

And yet, all Lennox could think about was masturbating. These damnable urges! The confused mix of feeling had his mind trapped in a cocoon, making clear thought impossible. He tried again. Pantaloons down, hand around cock, beating off like he had countless times as a younger man.

But try as he might, his cock refused to cooperate. He tried the old standbys, the images that had gotten him through his days as a lonely squire. But though the spirit was willing, and if anything the images conjured were more vivid and salacious than ever, his flesh failed him!

That was until he pressed against the door, and gasped! Lennox's rear had not only inflated, but touching it now felt good. A little too good. One hand drifted from his crotch to his ass, creeping along the curve...the changes had increased the sensitivity to his body, and this included...

His hand froze. No! Sex was an act of domination, of exerting his control over another. In the same way as a fight. One was the dominant, the other submissive. And he was a man! Authority sprung from his flesh as did blood and seed.

But...he wasn't totally in control. He never was. As a Knight, he was bound by oath and loyalty to his liege, and by extension his accursed spawn. He wondered if it was just stubbornness and his sense of honour that was keeping him from giving her what she wanted. Why was he putting himself through this pointless, frustrating, embarrassing, humiliating, and degrading hardship?

"Because," he whispered, "A part of me...enjoys following orders..."

Before he could stop himself, his fingers had reached his hole. The imaginary Katerina returned to torment him, but instead of chained to the wall, she pressed against his back. Captive. Ensnared. A pressure against his sally port. He whimpered...then yielded.

"My Knight," the fantasy whispered into his ear, "My special Knight."

In moments, he shot a shameful load all over his hand. The delirium of arousal removed, shame shot into his every fibre. He stared at the puddle of submissive seed, and saw a terrible fate befalling him. Not just bound by oath, but bound by desire. For a woman he could never have, trapped in a stranger's body. He had to stop this...no matter the cost.

***

Before he gripped the handle to Katerina's quarters, Lennox paused. His hand hovered there as he fought with himself. He had to give in, to end this charade and return to his old body, his old life!

There was a part of him that resisted. A single hope. If he could show His Majesty the sheer magnitude of his spawn's depravity and carelessness, her whole world would come crashing down. Shipped off as a bride to some unimportant house, and him reassigned to someone worthy of being protected.

He straightened. Yes, he would endure, as he would have if he'd been shot with a crossbow bolt for his liege. This new body, these new feelings...they would be borne out of pure spite. Once the King interfered, he would be returned to his old form, and everything would be back the way it ought to be.

So with that idea lingering in the back of his mind, he entered the Princess' room once again. This time, she was in a state of near undress. Only wearing a form-fitting dress and stockings, she was practically naked. Vikka was helping another woman, a stout lady on the other end of middle age who served as Katerina's personal seamstress. Taking measurements around the bust line, Lennox couldn't help but stare at his feet.

"Oh come now, Knight Lennox, I would hope you'd feel comfortable enough around me by now. Lift your eyes."

The Knight did so, though reluctantly; the fantasy of her lecherous dominance still fresh in his mind. "I simply don't wish to imply any dishonour on your royal personage," he offered meekly. In the strain, his voice actually cracked, raising a register to reach a height it hadn't ever since puberty.

That made her crack a smile. "Rest assured, I have no fear of that. What with you being more aligned with the fairer sex these days than not."

Blushing, Lennox looked between the two other women. Neither reacted, their focus entirely on the exacting task of measuring the Princess down to the smallest unit of measurement. Nevertheless, he struggled to voice his feelings in their presence.

"That's...not exactly...I'm still a man, in all ways that matter," he said, though without as much force as he might have liked.

"Of course, of course. I hear you've been training doubly hard to maintain your musculature. An admirable level of devotion to your assignment! But all that extra effort in addition to your duties as my Houseguard must be so exhausting. You can put an end to all this, you know. All I need to hear is, well, you know what I want to hear."

"And you know my response," he replied, steel returning to his voice.

She smiled. "I suppose I do. Which brings me to why I requested your presence. As the head of security, you ought to be informed that I've been invited to attend a ball in two weeks' time. It's the Orialchum Jubilee of the Butterfly Queen, ugh, and I've been offered an invitation. Strictly those of the feminine persuasion only, of course. You know how the Astrals are. It'll be all conspiracies and canapes, but I can't NOT be seen on premises."

He blinked. "The Astral Synodyne is another continent away. How are we going to get there in two weeks?"

"The Magisters of Thrast are kindly providing me a temporary portal for myself and a single attendant."

"You can't be serious!" he said, a little louder than normal. He dropped his voice down and continued: "I...I won't allow you to go to another Kingdom without protection."

"I'm glad you agree! Therefore, I'll be bringing you along as my handmaiden as well as my bodyguard."

The two attendants measuring her stopped, looked at one another, then back at Lennox. The Knight, for his part, couldn't help but flush at the suggestion. He grasped for the words to express his outrage, but outright denial conflicted with his role and station.

"Your Highness, with all due respect, I doubt anyone would be fooled by such transparent mummary. I may have undergone some changes, but-"

Katerina stepped away from the motionless forms of Vikka and the seamstress and strode over to the enormous, full body mirror they were using for the fitting. She tilted it toward Lennox, and for the first time he saw in full clarity just how far the transformation had extended.

Lennox was not a woman, something he had to tell himself emphatically as he stared into the reflection. He could see the imperfections: too tall, jaw too sharply formed, shoulders too broad. He wasn't, he wasn't! And yet...he had breasts. Small, meagre handfuls, but their curve even underneath his clothing was undeniable. His hips had increased as his waist had shrunk. A pair of powerful thighs nevertheless looked like they belonged in feminine stockings more than masculine hose.

"As you can see," Katerina said with not an insignificant amount of smugness, "We won't have a problem helping you pass as a member of the feminine persuasion. Especially not after we get you in a gorgeous dress!"

As flustered as he was by this inference, his denial felt pointless. He was still tall...for a woman. And he was still muscular...for a woman. But the raw truth of the matter was that the sword's curse had taken its toll.

With a deep, body-shuddering sigh, he turned full body toward the three women. Eyes locked on the Princess, he genuflected.

"Please, your Highness...this has gone on too far. Whatever I have done to offend you-"

She batted away his heartfelt apology with a whip of her wrist. "Yes yes you are dreadfully sorry. We're past that now. You're no longer my object of petty torment, you're my project. My experiment. One of my passing hobbies is alchemy, I'm sure you've seen my various potions and concoctions scattered around. At the core of that study is the desire to transform one thing, wholly and completely, into another."

Katerina strode over until she loomed over the Knight, her domineering force of will bending focus around her until it looked like she was the only thing in the room besides him.

"Say the words I want to hear and this stops," she continued. "Else we keep going, together, and I make you into someone new."

Lennox froze. Her presence, her demeanour, it was all so dominant. He's seen shades of her like this, but the veneer of a petulant heir was flaking off, revealing a core of iron underneath. He faltered.

"I...I cannot."

"Then rise. I dub you Dame Lenna, and you shall address yourself as such until we return from the ball. I will have others take over your duties while we prepare you to be my handmaiden. Is that understood?"

Lennox...Lenna...rose and nodded. "I do not understand, but I obey."

Katerina smiled. "That is all I need for now. Cheer up! We shall turn you into a strong, powerful woman. And in the end, I think, you will thank me."

***

"This is...unacceptable."

Lenna stared at the two offered dresses in Vikkas hands. One a scandalously revealing gown in the Western fashion, with areas where bare shoulders were clearly visible for all to see. The other was more modest...up until the knee. Then, some mad tailor decided to give up, leaving the skirt half finished and exposing bare calf like some streetwalker plying her trade. Neither outfit spoke of a woman of dignity, of class and rank.

Of course, none of this should have mattered. Lennox, Houseguard Knight of the Realm, wouldn't have cared if his arms or legs were revealed. But now that she was presenting, at least for now, in a feminine fashion, there were certain expectations. And for Lenna's first appearance in public to be in such...debauched vestments.

"I'm SORRY," Vikka screamed, tears welling in her eyes, "But your PROPORTIONS are VERY DISSIMILAR to my Mistress. These were the ONLY TWO DRESSES I found that would fit, and they still require SEVERAL ADJUSTMENTS before you can wear them in public to HIDE ANY ANATOMIC DISCREPENCIES!"