Catgirls And Dungeons (Yuri)

Even as my heart pounds in my chest—faster than it has in a long, long time—I keep my composure.

I must. I am a princess, after all.

No matter how dazzling she looks in the golden light.

No matter how much the sight of her blurs the rest of the world like morning sun piercing through fog.

"Morvena," I say slowly, letting her name linger in the air. My voice rings with solid, imperial authority. "Do you understand the consequences of defying me?"

"Yes," she replies calmly, her voice as steady as ever. "I am fully aware, Your Highness."

"Very good."

Step.

Step Step.

I walk closer.

She remains bowed, her head lowered, her posture perfect—respectful and controlled.

But no, I don't want her to bow.

I want to see her.

I want to see that face.

Thus, I reach out and gently lift her chin with my gloved fingers, gazed down at it like a goddess from above.

"Then look at me, Morvena," I say, my voice a touch quieter, a breath closer. "And answer my question."

Even though my tone is measured, my insides are chaos.

Badump. Badump. Badump!

My heartbeat thrums like thunder.

As I now have a closer look, her face steals my breaths even more.

So pretty… so pure…

Like a princess…

No, an angel, sculpted from moonlight and dreams.

And she makes me wonder for a moment.

How can someone—someone who isn't me—be this breathtaking?

"Yes… Your Highness?" Morvena replies, her voice soft, steady…

And her eyes… those glistening blue eyes meet mine—wide, clear, perhaps a little surprised, but not afraid.

They reflect my own gaze back at me. That terrifying, commanding smile—

The one that makes nobles bow.

Makes generals flinch.

Makes people submit without a word.

But Morvena?

She just stares.

Calm.

Unmoving.

Like water in a still lake.

I lean in closer, so close, just inches away.

Close enough that her breath catches.

Close enough that the air between us thickens like tension before a storm.

She swallows hard.

A single bead of sweat rolls slowly down her cheek, trailing along the edge of my glove.

Just then, her scent reaches me, a floral, clean and refreshing scent, like freshly bloomed lilies after a rain.

And then, as the wind blows past, strands of her hair, as blue as the clearest sky, flutter against my wrist, soft as silk, smoother than the finest velvet I've ever touched.

"I wonder," I murmur, my lips nearly brushing hers, close enough to steal a kiss if I wanted. "Are you truly that brave… or just incredibly foolish?"

But even with that pressure…

She still does not tremble.

No flicker of panic in her expression, no fear in her scent, not even the slightest shift.

And then, she speaks, smooth and resolute.

"I believe I'm neither, Your Highness. What I did was, without doubt, an offense to your royal authority, and I accept whatever punishment you deem fit. But I could not—would not—stand idle while my friend was executed before my eyes. I acted knowing the risk."

She pauses… then continues, softer:

"And more than that… if you had gone through with it, your reputation, which is already maligned enough, would've suffered even further. I am your subject, Your Highness. And even if you choose to end me here and now… I would still rather die trying to protect your name… than live regretting that I did nothing."

…

…

And just like that, for a long moment, I say nothing, let the silence stretches.

Because I can't.

Because something impossible, something wrong, is stirring in my chest.

A sharp, alien twinge. It coils in my ribs. Claws at my throat.

I'm stunned.

Oh, how I'm utterly and completely stunned!

First—her words.

They are so clean, so precise, not a single stutter, not even a tremble.

And second, more impossible than anything else—

I can feel she means it.

There's no hatred in her voice that I can hear, no resentment in her scent that I smell, no defiance hiding behind a well-practiced bow that I can see.

Even though she dared interrupt me, even though she defied me in front of an entire crowd earlier…

I can tell… that she doesn't hate me.

She's not challenging me.

But instead… she's… trying to protect me.

Ha!

Me?

ME?!

The CURSED PRINCESS?!

Oh damn!

My brain reels.

The idea… it's so absurd that I almost laugh.

A girl like her, so pure and poised, trying to protect me?

It's like a mouse standing between the jaws of a lion, trying to shield the very creature that could devour her without effort, without mercy!!!

And yet… she stands tall.

Unshaken, and unflinching.

Wow…

…

I don't understand. I simply can't.

After all, why would someone like her care about me?

The Cursed Princess. The monster everyone fears. The stain on the royal name.

It doesn't make any sense.

Is it me?

Am I going crazy?

Or the world around me had secretly flipped today?

Well, not that I give a damn fuck about my reputation or what not to begin with.

Let them gossip. Let them call me a demon. I've lived with it long enough to wear their curses like a crown.

But this?

This unbelievable girl…

Morvena Lysanthir d'Aurelle… a girl I've never seen before, this elegant little noble with sapphire eyes and a voice like moonlight… dares to step forward, to stand up, to risk her life—not for praise, not for attention—but out of some twisted sense of duty, loyalty, and devotion?

Oh my…

How utterly… fascinating!!!

But of course, as a princess—no, as the princess—I can't simply let such defiance slide without consequence, can I?

After all… there must be order.

There must be control.

There must be repercussion.

So, I straighten my spine, slow and regal, lifting my hand.

"Sword," I command.

This time, the reaction is immediate.

A nearby knight rushes forward, bowing deeply as he presents his blade to me with trembling hands. His head remains bowed, his eyes locked on the ground—as they should be.

I take the weapon with delicate fingers, feeling the weight of it settle naturally in my grip. Balanced. Sharp. Freshly polished. Likely his prized blade.

Too bad.

With a half-smile curling at the edge of my lips, I lower the blade… slowly… deliberately…

Until it rests against Morvena's shoulder—

Inches from her throat.

One twitch.

One breath.

That's all it would take.

A single, effortless movement, and her pretty little head would roll onto the paved stone.

…Not that I have any intention of doing that.

Not yet.

But she doesn't need to know that.

"Answer my questions," I say, eyes narrowing as my voice drops to a cold whisper. "And I will decide your fate."