Arabelle.

Her name whispered through his head, seeking out the hidden corners he had abandoned years ago.  Her figure danced behind his eyes, taunting him as she walked away.  Her auburn hair fell in loose curls to hug her figure as she swayed her hips, her sword moving in time with her strong stride.  She didn’t look back.

You sent her away, remember?  Right, the less distractions, the better.  He fingered his sword hilt, trying to banish her from his thoughts and turn them to the task at hand.  Soon, his troop would be leaving, and he would need all the concentration he could muster.  Instead, all he could think of was running his hands up her curves, her muscled body leaning into his…

“Highness?  Are you even listening?”  His squire shook his head.  “Forgive me, Highness, but shouldn’t we be preparing for war?  Not mooning over some nobody.”

Sighing, Lucas refocused on the maps in front of him.