Forbidden Desires: Conquering Kingdoms And Women In a Fantasy World!-Chapter 33: The Most Dangerous Weapon

After Olivia had finished preparing our meal with the skill of a seasoned chef, the camp transformed into something resembling a small court in the wilderness. Ornate folding chairs were produced from the baggage carriages—delicate things of carved wood and rich velvet that seemed almost absurdly luxurious in our forest clearing. These were arranged in a perfect semicircle around the crackling campfire, positioned to catch the maximum warmth while maintaining proper royal protocol.

Queen Emma settled into her chair with grace, the firelight catching the golden threads woven through her traveling cloak. Even in this remote setting, even dressed in the practical clothes of a traveler rather than her usual royal regalia, she attracted easily attention.

Princess Judith took her place beside her mother. She’d exchanged her formal gown for a simple wool dress and warm cloak, but nothing could diminish the inherent nobility in her bearing as well.

As for me? I found myself perched on a fallen log that had been dragged over to complete our dining circle. The rough bark pressed against my legs, and I could feel the slight dampness of evening dew beginning to settle. But honestly, I wasn’t complaining in the slightest.

After spending the last thirteen years of this life sleeping on floors made of packed earth before I’d finally learned enough magic to construct proper house, a tree log felt positively luxurious. I’d known true hardship, real deprivation on Earth—this was merely a reminder of social hierarchy, nothing more.

Besides, Olivia’s cooking was more than making up for any discomfort in seating arrangements.

"This is absolutely delicious," I said, taking another bite and allowing genuine appreciation to color my voice.

And it truly was. Considering she’d prepared this meal outdoors, in the growing cold of evening, using nothing but portable supplies and a handful of heated stones as her cooking surface, the result was nothing short of remarkable. The chicken was perfectly seasoned and cooked through, the meat tender and juicy despite the challenging conditions. Accompanying it was something that reminded me of a fusion between tomatoes and sausage—a local delicacy, perhaps—that provided a rich, savory complement to the fowl.

I glanced around, hoping to catch Olivia’s eye and convey my appreciation for her culinary efforts, but she was nowhere to be seen among those gathered around the fire. Like Oliver and the other knights, she had melted back into the protective perimeter they maintained around our small gathering. I could occasionally catch glimpses of armored figures moving between the trees, silent sentinels ensuring our safety through the dark hours ahead.

It was simultaneously reassuring and weird. The knowledge that trained warriors were constantly vigilant on our behalf provided a sense of security, but it was just strange.

"She’s not here," Judith said, noticing my searching gaze. She delicately speared a piece of chicken with her fork, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "Olivia is responsible for our safety along with Sir Oliver. They take their duties very seriously."

Both the Queen and Princess had indeed changed from their more formal attire into practical traveling clothes. Gone were the elaborate gowns and jeweled accessories, replaced by well-made wool and leather designed for comfort and mobility. Heavy cloaks wrapped around their shoulders provided protection against the night’s growing chill. Yet even dressed down, Queen Emma’s captivating beauty remained undiminished—if anything, the simpler clothes seemed to highlight her natural elegance rather than mask it.

As I watched her in the firelight, an unbidden thought crossed my mind: I wonder if I have a chance with her?

The notion was absurd, of course. Currently, I was nothing more than a child in her eyes—a thirteen-year-old boy who’d helped save her daughter, worthy of gratitude but hardly romantic consideration. Even with whatever maturity I might display, even with the memories and experience of my previous life, the gap between us was insurmountable at this stage of my existence.

Queen Emma was infinitely more complex than Isabella had been. With Isabella, I’d had years to carefully cultivate my image, to slowly build the foundation of attraction that would eventually blossomed into love. I’d been patient, strategic, understanding exactly what she needed and positioning myself to provide it. But with a Queen? The dynamics were entirely different. The social barriers alone were staggering, never mind the practical considerations.

If I were still James Trevills—confident, wealthy, experienced in the games of power and seduction—I might have had a fighting chance, though even then it would have been challenging. A queen from a fantasy realm would require a completely different approach than the socialites and businesswomen I’d pursued in my previous life.

Perhaps in a few years, when this body had matured and I’d established myself more firmly in this world, the possibility might exist. After all, having a relationship with royalty would certainly benefit my long-term goals and security. But for now, it remained nothing more than idle speculation.

"Your Majesty," I said after we’d eaten in comfortable silence for several minutes, the crackling fire providing a soothing backdrop to our meal. "May I ask you a question?"

Queen Emma set down her goblet and nodded with queenly grace. "You may."

I chose my words carefully, not wanting to seem critical of her choices while still satisfying my genuine curiosity. "It’s about Olivia and Sir Oliver. I can see that they’re both skilled and capable, truly impressive warriors for their age. But aren’t they rather young to be your only escorts in a foreign kingdom? I would have expected to see some grizzled veteran accompanying you—you know, the stereotypical old knight who’s served the royal family for three generations and has battle scars to prove his experience."

The question seemed to amuse her. Queen Emma’s lips curved in a knowing smile, and she took a slow sip from her goblet before responding. When she looked up, her eyes were fixed on the dancing flames before us, as if the fire held answers to questions I hadn’t even thought to ask.

"Tell me, boy," she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone, "do you know what the most lethal and dangerous weapon in all the world truly is?"

I shook my head, intrigued despite myself. Something in her tone suggested this wasn’t going to be a straightforward answer about swords or magic.

"Treachery," Queen Emma said, and suddenly her voice carried a chill that had nothing to do with the night air around us.

"Treachery?" I repeated, though as soon as the word left my lips, I began to understand where she was leading.

She nodded slowly, her gaze still fixed on the flames. "Even the strongest warrior, wielding the most powerful magic blade and blessed with incredible magical abilities, will fall if he is betrayed by someone he thought he could trust. Betrayals are unpredictable, devastatingly effective, and in most cases, you never see them coming until it’s far too late. That’s what makes them so absolutely lethal."

Her words carried the weight of personal experience, and I found myself leaning forward slightly, drawn in by the gravity of her tone.

"Even if you think you have no friends, no one you depend upon, anyone could potentially betray you and lead you to your death," she continued, her voice growing softer but somehow more intense. "It could be your most trusted advisor, the maid who’s served your family for decades, even a simple gardener you’ve exchanged pleasant greetings with for years. Anyone and everyone represents a potential threat. And when that moment comes—when you realize someone you trusted has orchestrated your downfall—you’re left with nothing but the bitter knowledge of your own naivety. How could you have been so stupid? How could you have trusted them? Why didn’t you see the signs?"

Her words resonated with me on a level that was almost painful in its accuracy. The memories of my previous life came flooding back with crystal clarity—Ashley.

The way she’d gotten close to me even though I was pretty well hidden. The bodyguards who were supposed to protect me instead delivering me directly into the hands of my enemies.

I had lived this lesson in the most brutal way possible.

"That is... absolutely true," I found myself saying, a bitter smile creeping across my lips as I nodded in acknowledgment of her words.

The moment the expression crossed my face, I realized my mistake. Both Queen Emma and Princess Judith visibly reacted to something in my demeanor—perhaps the world-weary quality of that smile, or the way I’d spoken as if I’d personally experienced betrayals of the magnitude she described. For a thirteen-year-old village boy, such a response should have been impossible.

I quickly ran a hand through my hair. I needed to be more careful about letting James Trevills’ personality bleed through Harold’s facade. While embracing my previous life’s experience might make certain social situations smoother, it would inevitably cost me the genuine relationships I was building in this new existence—relationships that were becoming increasingly precious to me.

Maybe because I had been acting as Harold too long to blend in my family and inside the village, I had started thinking both Harold’s part of me and James’s part of me as different identities. I don’t know if it was a good thing or not.

"So Olivia, Oliver, and the others..." I said, deliberately shifting the conversation away from dangerous territory.

"Were all carefully selected and thoroughly assessed by me personally," Queen Emma replied. "Each one chosen for their loyalty and trustworthiness above all other considerations."

I glanced around our perimeter, mentally counting the shadowy figures moving between the trees. Including Olivia and Oliver, there were sixteen guards total—not an enormous force, but considering Queen Emma’s emphasis on absolute loyalty and trust, it represented a significant investment in personal security.

"However," the Queen added after a moment’s pause, her voice dropping to a more confidential tone, "even among that carefully curated group, I truly trust only Olivia and Oliver completely."

Well, I supposed two absolutely trustworthy allies were infinitely better than none at all. Her reasoning was becoming clearer now—in her home kingdom, there were undoubtedly stronger warriors, more experienced commanders, veterans with decades of service. But strength and experience meant nothing if they came with divided loyalties or hidden agendas. Queen Emma was truly a remarkable woman, prioritizing absolute fidelity over raw capability.

After we’d finished our meal and the dishes had been quietly cleared away, I found myself with an idea. Gathering portions of the remaining food into two wooden bowls, I made my way toward the edge of our circle where Oliver and Olivia stood at their posts.

The siblings were fascinating to observe. They maintained perfect military bearing, backs straight as sword blades, eyes constantly scanning the darkness beyond our firelight. What struck me as odd was their complete lack of interaction with each other. No quiet conversation, no shared glances, not even the subtle communication that often developed between partners who worked closely together.

Were they simply that disciplined and dutiful, or was there some underlying tension between them?

"Here," I said, appearing before them and extending the bowls filled with Olivia’s excellent chicken and the tomato-sausage mixture.

Oliver’s response was immediate and predictably stern. "We don’t eat during active duty."

Olivia gave me a small but appreciative nod, though she made no move to accept the food.

"I understand the protocol," I replied patiently, "but I also know that an empty stomach reduces both effectiveness and concentration. For someone working in a profession as dangerous as knighting, that slight degradation in performance could literally be the difference between life and death. If a powerful enemy were to appear right now, wouldn’t you want to be operating at full capacity?"

My words seemed to catch both siblings off guard. Oliver looked genuinely stunned, as if the practical considerations had never occurred to him, while Olivia appeared bewildered by the logic. Still, years of ingrained discipline held them back from accepting the food.

Recognizing their dilemma, I raised my voice slightly to address the other guards positioned throughout our perimeter.

"Sir Knights," I called out, making sure my words carried to all fourteen of the other warriors maintaining our security. As they turned their attention toward me, I continued, "Miss Olivia and Sir Oliver require a brief respite—just a few minutes to maintain their strength. Could you heighten your vigilance temporarily to ensure the Queen and Princess remain fully protected during their break?"

A moment of silence followed, and I wondered if I’d overstepped some invisible boundary of military protocol. Then one of the guards—a grizzled man with laugh lines around his eyes—broke into a wide grin.

"Of course we can handle that!" He called back enthusiastically.

"Absolutely, Sir Oliver," another chimed in. "Take all the time you need."

"Count on us," a third added. "We’ve got this covered."

"Lady Olivia!" called yet another voice from the darkness. "The food’s still warm—you should eat while you can!"

One by one, the other knights voiced their agreement and encouragement. The response clearly surprised both Olivia and Oliver, who exchanged a quick glance that spoke volumes about how unusual this situation was.

Olivia was the first to relent, a genuine smile softening her typically stern features as she accepted the bowl from my hands. "Thank you," she said.

Oliver held out a moment longer, clearly struggling with the breach of protocol, but eventually took his bowl as well and began eating with obvious reluctance.

He just couldn’t refuse the knights’s kindness it seems.

"It’s Olivia’s cooking," I mentioned to Oliver. "How do you find it?"

The question seemed to make him uncomfortable, his posture stiffening even as he chewed. Did they really have such an awkward relationship?

"It’s... good," he finally admitted, and I caught the flash of surprise and pleasure that crossed Olivia’s face at the rare compliment.

After they’d finished eating, Oliver and Olivia resumed their posts, but not before implementing a more practical rotation system. They divided the remaining fourteen knights into two groups of seven, allowing one group to eat while the other maintained heightened watch, then switching once the first group was finished. The enthusiasm with which the other guards embraced this arrangement suggested it was indeed the first time such consideration had been shown for their basic needs.

The atmosphere around our camp shifted noticeably after this small act of consideration. Where before I’d sensed a certain wariness from the knights—understandable given my unexpected display of combat prowess against Oliver—now their glances carried a distinctly warmer quality. Perhaps they’d initially seen me as an arrogant child showing off, but this gesture seemed to have convinced them that I was simply a decent person looking out for others.

Though.

I was far from being a "good kid" by any reasonable measure. My thoughts were shaped by my adult experience, my motivations were complex and often self-serving, and there were people in this world—like that bastard Arlos—whom I genuinely wanted to see dead, regardless of any pleas for mercy they might offer.

But I was learning from the mistakes of my previous life. James Trevills had been brilliant but ultimately isolated, trusting no people and making too many enemies. In this new existence, I was determined to cultivate better relationships, to build genuine connections rather than merely transactional alliances.

Of course, my goodwill wasn’t unlimited or unconditional. If Oliver were to become a nuisance to me tomorrow, if he were to do something that truly displeased or threatened me, I wouldn’t hesitate to wish him ill. But based on Queen Emma’s assessment of the siblings’ loyalty and trustworthiness, I was choosing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

It was a calculated gamble, but one that felt increasingly worthwhile as I watched the positive ripple effects of a simple act of kindness spread through our small traveling party.