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Only the finest soldiers could make the ranks, the knights lined up row by row. Months of training, and the new recruits were on display to the kingdom's royals. Armored head to toe, wolves and hares and tigers and beasts of all sorts made up the ordered lines. And Sam was proud to make the front row.

The heavy-built tiger looked older, held himself wiser, than he really was. Just on the cusp of his eighteenth year, he stood tall and proud. He could serve his homeland. He could serve his King, his Queen, and their Royal family. Months of training and this was the moment he would come just a few feet before them, at last.

But there was one issue. One that was weighting heavily on his mind, and his bladder.

Why did it always take so long to get into armor? To polish everything to a reflective shine, to remove every bit of stray hair and fur, to tighten the leather and leave not one loose strap undone. And then the marching, the formations, the warm-up training...

With a day as heavy as this, his mind had been too set on the end goal, he overlooked the more immediately goals. And bodily needs. He swallows, adam's apple bobbing uncomfortably against his helm's neck-protector.

If he just stood by and concentrated, thought about something else, he'll be fine. Sure. Except why must the royals walk at a snail's pace? And all the people before them. Did they invite the whole damned city to parade in front of the knights? Sure, the showing of the new recruits was meant to be a way of showing unity and familiarity, but come on. The armor felt hot, and sweat seeped out between the fur-hairs of his temple.

Maybe if he sweated enough, he wouldn't need to piss so hard. He can only dream, really.

He couldn't fidget. With each shift of his armor came the noisy clatter and clunk of metal on metal and leather creaking under strain. Armor for show was always the noisiest of the lot; everything made to go 'hey, look at me' at the slightest movement. His pawed foot bounces at the heel, only to realize the rhythmic clicking of his leg was getting glances from his neighbors. And so he falls still once again. Alert, at attention.

And another pulse of need at his crotch. He was drinking his own anxious saliva at the rate he was gulping. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe short breaths and keep your chest up. Don't fidget. Don't move. Don't think of rivers, of rain, of urns filling up and swaying to tip, water pushing over the edge of the spout...

"Hn..." Sam's mouth clamps shut to prevent a whined groan. Maybe the others would think it was just a groan of the leather. It's not like he could look around to see if anyone had noticed.

The Royal Guards were walking by, now. Any moment now, the Royal Family would be carried through. He couldn't tell if the sweat on his body, the drips clinging to his sack and dick, were actually sweat... or drips of his own need to piss. His legs clench, armor clicking tight as he "straightened" his stance. The clattering noise earned looks of those passing by, and even a scoff from a high ranking wolf-official. But that didn't matter, he can always survive a day of being scoffed at by a high-official. That was just how they greet people.

But to break down pissing in front of them, he'd never be able to live if down. Breathe in, breathe out. Don't breath in too deeply, don't do anything to push the bulging bladder at the risk of squirting out more drops. He could hold it. He could hold it. His legs shook within the armor under the strain of effort. Just hold it just hold it just hold it. He just has to make this last half hour, and they would be dismissed, and he could bolt to the nearest corner to let it all out. He could just, bolt, and not even bother to find the pages to help him out of armor. He'll figure it out himself somehow, even if that meant he had to piss in his own--

"Who's that one there, Father?"

A light, feminine voice broke his concentration. Yellow cat eyes narrowed in fear as Sam's breath stopped. Eyes adjusting, he stared upon the delicate, painted face of the Princess. A white hare, lips painted a dramatic red, matching heavy-lidded eyes of red irises. Long ears were pulled back, flowing hair reaching down her back. She dressed herself with only the finest silks, flowing down her form in wealthy rivers. She rode atop an ornate chariot crafted with her in mind. The King, meanwhile, stayed in the shadows of the chariot. He needed not to show his face to rule, but to simply be present.

The elder hare spoke in a gruff voice, "Why not ask the new recruit himself, Syona?"

Oh no. No no no no.

Any other day and he'd be over the moon over meeting the princess. Any other time.

He hadn't expected her to look his way. Much less open the chariot's gate, and step down to face him. He had to take in a breath -- holding it for so long wasn't doing him any favors. Breathing that is; he still had to clench everything he had to keep from moving, fidgetting, or flooding his own armor with urine. "P-Princess." Sam bowed his head, in what little movement he could allow.

"Let me see your face." White fingers reached out, and traced along the edge of the helm. A stuttered breath leaves the tiger, as his gold eyes meet hers.

"Something is wrong with you..." She whispered, more to herself in thoughtful observance. "Are you ill...?"

"P-please move along Princess. I, beg of you." He could feel the gold bead carve its path out through his cock, like water eroding stone. Bit, by bit, by bit...

"No one's ever dismissed me before..." That earned a small smile on her part, painted lashes half-lidded. "Are you begging of me, young knight?"

A drip, a second drip. He could smell the musk of his own piss between the cracks of his armor, wafting up at the slightest shift of posture. "I am begging. Please. I-- H'aunn... No, no..." A moan stifles the urge to cuss, as a spurt of piss struck the back of his armored codpiece. His grip had slipped, just for a second, but his whole posture jerked for just that moment. And now he could feel the drops slipping in against his leg, flicking against his sack. Warm and damp and inviting more of his release. His eyes watered under the restraint, "Please!"

And the Princess could only watch, her brow raising high in evident self-satisfied entertainment. With a flick of her wrist, a fan pulls out from an oversized sleeve. "No...? So I don't have to go?"

She leaned in, painted lips whispering to his helm, "... Or do you have to go?" Teases her voice. Her fan flutters, cool breeze filtering in through the taller tiger's helm.

And that contrast of cold air against hot, sweat-soaked skin was the leaf to break the dam. "--Ahh!"

The floodgates parted, and his knees near buckle under the force of his release. Piss flooded the inside of his codpiece, splashing back hold gold fluid against his crotch, his lap, seeping through the cracks of his armor and pouring into his leggings. The hissing tap-tap of fluid thudded against metal like water in a tin can, and he was helpless to it all save to just give into the release. A groan pulls through his form from the very depths of his gut. For a few moments, just a few blind moments, he was in euphoric release.

In front of the Princess and the royal guard.

She stood back, fan slowly flapping by her face, and an approving smirk pulled over her features. She watched as the behemoth of a tiger could only shudder down over himself, and stand in his own impressive pool of steaming piss. He could feel all eyes on him, and his shamed gaze stared off into an unseen distance. This can't be happening. This can't be real. Everything, ruined.

"I want this one, Father."

What?

The mutters of confusion could be heard. But the hare princess Syona stood unrelenting, and without hesitance. "I want this one as my private guard. Can I have him, Father?"

There was a moment of hesitance from within the shadows. But with a gruff sigh of exasperation, the commanding voice spoke. "Bring him to the Royal District. Get him cleaned up. Room him, and find him a tutor to begin his training as a personal guard. He begins tomorrow."

What? What what what? Sam could only stare, and not even the musk of his own piss was enough to shake him out of his shocked state. Everything had to be an absurd dream, by now. But the white hare stepped forward, and, fanning herself, she smiled up to the tiger.

"I'll be seeing you soon, darling..." Her fan snaps shut. And with a shift of silk, she returned to the steps up the chariot, gate closing behind her.

Sam stood alert. Fur damp and slicked down at his legs, drips still dripping between the seams of his armor. His heart threatening to burst out of his chest.

Evidently, this Princess was not who he expected. And she saved him from the ridicule of ever meeting his comrades ever again.

For better or worse.