Forbidden Desires: Conquering Kingdoms And Women In a Fantasy World!-Chapter 28: Unexpected Visitors

Why did I always seem to catch the attention of girls who were far too young? It wasn’t that I minded being admired—what thirteen-year-old boy would?—but the age gap made everything awkward and complicated.

I suppose I couldn’t really complain, given that I was still quite young myself. Thirteen years old, to be exact, though I was much older in my mind. I mean when I did I was twenty three.

But here, in a few years, I’d be considered a man by most standards, but that felt like an eternity away. The waiting was maddening.

More than anything, I wished I could skip ahead to where I truly belonged—that comfortable space where I wouldn’t have to navigate these strange social dynamics, where I could simply be myself without worrying about whether someone was too young or too old for my friendship.

"She’s quite talented, isn’t she?" Lisa’s voice interrupted my brooding as she approached.

I looked up to see her gesturing toward where Zoey sat hunched over her needlework near Martha’s old spinning wheel. The girl’s concentration was absolute, her tongue poking slightly from the corner of her mouth as she guided the thread through the fabric with surprising precision for someone her age.

"Yeah, she really is," I agreed, watching Zoey’s careful stitches. "Though I’d say it’ll probably take her ten years before she reaches Martha’s level of skill."

Lisa’s eyebrows shot up, and she gave me a look that could have frozen summer ale. "Aren’t you severely underestimating my grandmother’s abilities?"

I couldn’t help but grin at her indignant expression.

"You’re absolutely right," I said, raising my hands in mock surrender. "Martha would probably beat me senseless with her walking cane if she were here and overheard that comment."

Lisa let out a musical giggle at that. "She definitely would. And she’d enjoy every second of it too."

As if sensing our attention, Zoey lifted her gaze toward me with the shy, hesitant manner that had become so familiar. Her light brown eyes met mine for just a moment before she quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing pink as she returned her focus to her sewing needle with renewed intensity.

"It looks like you’ve gained another admirer, Harold," Lisa muttered, though there was something sharp in her tone as she watched Zoey’s reaction.

I studied Lisa’s face, noting the slight tightness around her eyes that she probably thought she was hiding well. "She’s far too young for my taste," I said carefully, then added with casualness, "but are you perhaps feeling a bit jealous?"

Lisa’s response was to shrug with elaborate indifference, but the gesture was too quick, too dismissive to be genuine. She started to turn away, but I wasn’t about to let her escape that easily. My hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her slender wrist and pulling her back toward me.

The momentum brought her closer than either of us had expected. Suddenly we were standing mere inches apart, close enough that I could see the flecks of blue in her blue eyes and feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

"I hope you haven’t forgotten," I said softly, my voice lower than usual as I lifted my free hand to her face.

My thumb traced the curve of her lower lip, marveling at how soft her skin felt beneath my touch. The simple contact sent electricity through my fingertips and up my arm. Lisa’s lips parted slightly, trembling under my gentle caress, and a delicate flush spread across her cheekbones like watercolor bleeding across paper.

For several heartbeats, we stayed frozen in that moment. Then, as if suddenly remembering where we were and who might be watching, Lisa pulled back forcefully. She spun around without a word, her long hair whipping behind her as she strode away with quick steps.

Riley, who had been quietly observing the entire exchange from his position near the doorway, stood there looking completely bewildered. His bow hung forgotten in his grip as he glanced between Lisa’s retreating figure and my face, clearly trying to piece together what had just happened. After a moment of confusion, he hurried after Lisa, his footsteps echoing as he disappeared out of the house.

I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile before turning my attention to Zoey, who had been pretending to focus on her needlework while obviously listening to every word of our conversation.

"Are you planning to stay here for the rest of the afternoon?" I asked her.

Zoey’s hands stilled on her fabric, and she looked up at me with those wide, earnest eyes. "I... I’m not sure. Where are you heading, Harold? Would it be alright if I came with you?"

"I was just going to find the Princess and ask her some questions," I said. "You’re welcome to come along if you’d like."

Zoey’s face brightened considerably, and she quickly set aside her sewing tools, folding the fabric with more care than speed. "I’d like that very much."

As we prepared to leave, I held the door open for her, noticing how she stayed close to my side as we walked. Her nervousness was quite visible—the way she glanced around at familiar faces as if they were strangers, how her shoulders tensed whenever someone called out a greeting. It was clear she hadn’t yet found her footing in our small community.

"Where could she have gone..." I muttered, scanning the village square for any sign of Princess Judith.

She had been right here just five minutes ago, engaged in animated conversation with several of the villagers. Had she already departed with Aldan?

I was about to suggest checking Aldan’s house when something made me pause. There was a sensation, subtle but insistent, like a whisper at the edge of my consciousness. Something was approaching from outside the village—something significant.

My instincts, honed by months of training were screaming that we had visitors coming. A lot of them, by the feel of it.

A cold dread settled in my stomach. Please don’t let it be Arlos returning with reinforcements, I thought grimly.

"Stay close," I told Zoey, my tone suddenly serious enough that her eyes widened with alarm.

I broke into a run, heading toward the village outskirts with Zoey struggling to keep pace behind me.

As we reached the edge of the village, I could see them clearly now—a procession moving along the main road. But as they drew closer, relief flooded through me like cool water on a hot day. These weren’t bandits.

The approaching group was composed of soldiers in gleaming armor that caught the afternoon sunlight like mirrors. Their formation was disciplined, professional—nothing like the ragtag band of cutthroats that followed Arlos. Behind them rolled an ornate carriage, its sides decorated with intricate metalwork and pulled by four magnificent horses whose coats shone with careful grooming.

Whoever these people were, they represented serious wealth and power.

As the procession drew near enough for me to make out individual faces, one of the mounted soldiers broke away from the group. He dismounted his horse, removing his helmet to reveal blond hair. Everything about him screamed nobility—from his perfect posture to the quality of his equipment to the way he carried himself with absolute confidence.

He appeared to be in his twenties, with the kind of build that spoke of years of combat training. His armor was immaculate but showed the subtle signs of actual use rather than mere ceremony. This was a man who knew how to handle himself in a fight.

"You there, boy," he called out. "You’d better speak quickly and truthfully. Where is Her Highness?"

Oh, I see.

Princess Judith—they were looking for Princess Judith.

So they had found us before we could reach out to them. Princess Judith was quite fortunate, I supposed—though I wasn’t sure any of us would feel lucky once this conversation was over.

"Welcome to Millbrook," came a familiar voice from behind me.

I saw Tom approaching. I guess it would be better if an actual adult speak to them.

But the blond knight’s expression remained as cold as winter steel, his eyes scanning our small group with undisguised suspicion and barely contained hostility.

"Our Princess has been kidnapped," he announced. "We’ve tracked her trail directly to this location. I trust you have some explanation for this?"

What? D

id they seriously believe that we—a tiny farming village barely large enough to warrant a name on most maps—had somehow orchestrated the kidnapping of a royal princess? The very idea was so absurd it would have been laughable if not for the deadly serious expressions on the faces of a dozen armed soldiers.

"I believe there’s been a significant misunderstanding," Tom said with a diplomatic chuckle, though I could see the tension in his shoulders. "Princess Judith has indeed been—"

"Do not speak of Her Royal Highness so informally!" The knight snapped, cutting Tom off mid-sentence with such vehemence that several nearby soldiers instinctively shifted their hands toward their weapons.

Tom’s face flushed with embarrassment and confusion. "I—I sincerely apologize. I’m not well-versed in matters of court etiquette..."

The sight of Tom—this good, decent man who had shown me nothing but kindness and patience—being humiliated by this arrogant noble made quite annoyed to say the least.

Tom had taught me everything I knew about hunting, had spent countless hours sharing his knowledge and experience, had treated me like his other sons. He was trying his absolute best to handle an impossible situation, and these pompous knights were treating him like dirt beneath their boots.

"Wait, Uncle," I said, stepping forward before I could think better of it. "Let me handle this, since I was the one who actually found Judith."

The blond knight’s cold gaze snapped to me, and his expression somehow managed to become even more hostile. "Boy, you will mind your tongue when speaking of a royal Princess. And for the sake of your entire village, I hope she hasn’t suffered so much as a scratch while in your... care."

"Can you just shut up already?" I snapped back at him.

A collective intake of breath came from the assembled soldiers. The blond knight’s eyes widened in shock before his face twisted with rage. Clearly, no one had spoken to him like that in quite some time—possibly ever.

"I apologize for the boy," Tom said quickly, moving to place himself protectively between me and the furious knight. "He’s young and doesn’t understand—"

"No, Uncle," I said, gently but firmly moving past Tom to face the blond bastard directly. There was no backing down now, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

"You see," I continued, looking the knight straight in the eye, "I saved your precious Princess from a group of bandits who had kidnapped her. If it wasn’t for me, she would have been sold off to the highest bidder. And judging from her pretty face and royal status, that price would have been quite high—probably to some perverted noble with more gold than decency. So how about showing a little gratitude instead of threatening the people who risked their lives to help her?"

I tilted my head slightly, adding just enough insolence to my expression to make it clear I wasn’t intimidated by his threats or his pretty armor.

"Enough!" The knight roared.

In one fluid motion, he drew his sword—though he kept it sheathed, I noticed. He stalked toward me with the controlled fury of a trained warrior, clearly intending to teach me a lesson about respecting my betters. Obviously, he wasn’t planning to kill me but he certainly wanted to give me a beating I wouldn’t soon forget.

Actually, I probably had gone a bit too far with my comments. Nobility and court etiquette had never been my strong suit, and I’d always had trouble keeping my mouth shut when I was annoyed by something.

I smiled slightly and dropped into a fighting stance, my bare fists raised.

I wanted to test myself against a royal knight.

The blond knight stopped dead in his tracks, staring at me as if I’d just sprouted a second head. Behind him, his fellow soldiers exchanged bewildered glances, clearly unable to process what they were seeing. A thirteen-year-old farm boy challenging a trained knight to combat was so far outside their experience that they seemed genuinely at a loss for how to respond.

For just a moment, I caught a glimpse of movement at the carriage window—a pale face peering out through the curtains—but I didn’t have time to focus on it.

"You will regret this, boy," the knight said, his voice deadly quiet.

"W—Wait, Harold. Sir, he’s just a child—" Tom started to protest.

"Uncle Tom, please step back," I said without taking my eyes off my opponent. "Don’t worry about me."

Tom looked at me for a long moment, conflict clear in his weathered features. He’d observed me during our hunting expeditions, had seen hints of my unusual strength and speed. Maybe he was curious to see what I was truly capable of. Or maybe he simply recognized that I’d already committed to this course of action and there was no talking me out of it.

After what felt like an eternity, he reluctantly stepped back, though he remained close enough to intervene if things went too far.

Time to show this royal knight my enhanced version of Krav Maga.

I settled into my preferred stance, feeling the familiar calm that came over me before a fight. My muscles were loose but ready, my breathing steady and controlled. Every lesson I’d learned, every technique I’d practiced, every instinct I’d honed—it all came together in this moment.

The blond knight’s anger seemed to reach a new peak as he realized I was serious about this confrontation. With a disgusted expression, he released his grip on his scabbard, apparently deciding that beating a child with a weapon—even a sheathed one—would be excessive even by his standards.

So he was going to fight me bare-handed as well. Perfect. That would make this much more interesting.

"Come on then, Royal Knight," I said, beckoning him forward with a casual wave of my hand, as if inviting him to dance rather than fight.

The gesture clearly infuriated him beyond measure. His face flushed red beneath his perfectly groomed hair, and he let out a derisive snort that spoke volumes about what he thought of peasant boys who dared challenge their betters. Without any further hesitation, he launched himself forward with the explosive speed of a trained warrior.

He was fast—I had to give him that. His approach was textbook perfect, the kind of direct assault that had probably ended countless sparring matches in the royal training yards. He was clearly banking on ending this embarrassing confrontation with a single, devastating blow that would put the uppity farm boy in his place and restore the natural order of things.

His fist came at me like a cannonball, aimed directly at my face with the kind of precision that spoke of years of combat training. Most opponents would have been overwhelmed by the sheer speed and power of the attack. Most thirteen-year-old boys would have been knocked unconscious before they even realized what was happening.

But I wasn’t most thirteen-year-old boys.

Time seemed to slow as my enhanced reflexes kicked in. I could see every detail of his approach—the slight telegraph in his shoulder, the way his weight shifted onto his front foot, the confident smirk that was already spreading across his face in anticipation of victory. He probably thought this would be over in seconds.

He was right about that, just not in the way he expected.

At the last possible moment, I tilted my head just enough to let his fist whistle past my ear. The wind from his punch actually stirred my hair, that’s how close it came. But close only counted in horseshoes and hand grenades, as they used to say in my previous life.

As his momentum carried him past his intended target, I struck with the fluid precision of a technique I’d spent countless hours perfecting. My hand shot out like a snake, fingers wrapping around his extended arm and using his own forward motion against him. It was a classic Krav Maga counter—redirect the attacker’s energy and turn their strength into your advantage.

Before he could even process what was happening, I shifted my body weight and launched myself upward, using his arm as an anchor point. My legs came up in a perfect arc, and my boot connected with his temple with a satisfying crack that echoed across the village square like a gunshot.

The impact sent shockwaves up through my leg and into my spine—this knight was definitely tougher than the average opponent. But the technique was flawless, and the result was immediate and devastating.

CRACK!

The sound of the impact seemed to hang in the air for an eternal moment. The knight’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow, his perfect posture crumbling as his body tried to process what had just happened to it. His eyes went wide with shock, confusion, and something that might have been the first hint of respect—or possibly just concussion.

Complete silence fell over the scene like a heavy blanket. Even the horses seemed to sense the gravity of what had just occurred, their ears pricked forward and their heads raised in alert attention. The other knights stood frozen in place, their mouths hanging open as they stared at their companion who was now swaying slightly on his feet.

I used the moment of stunned silence to spring backward, landing in a defensive crouch several feet away from my opponent.

"Hmm," I said with a casual tone, allowing a mocking smile to spread across my face as I straightened up. "If it had been a real fight to the finish, I would have won against a Royal Knight, wouldn’t I?"

I could now practically feel the collective shock radiating from the assembled soldiers.

There was something intoxicating about moments like these—when pompous, self-important people who thought they were better than everyone else suddenly found themselves flat on their backs, metaphorically speaking. It was a rush I remembered well from my previous life as James Trevills, when I’d made a career out of humbling arrogant corporate executives and corrupt politicians who thought their money and connections made them untouchable.

Some things never changed, no matter what world you found yourself in. Bullies were bullies, whether they wore expensive suits or shining armor. And there was nothing I enjoyed more than watching the look of shocked realization spread across their faces when they discovered that their victim wasn’t quite as helpless as they’d assumed. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

The blond knight was still standing, but barely. He blinked several times in rapid succession, clearly trying to clear his vision and make sense of what had just happened to him. A thin trickle of blood ran down from where my boot had connected with his temple, stark red against his pale skin.