I nearly drop my phone; I had almost forgotten I was in the dining room.
“It’s just Miles.” I hate lying to Mother, but I’m certain she would disapprove of this whole thing with Aurelia.
She watches me over her wine glass, one eyebrow ticked up. Years of life in court have made her an excellent reader of people. She takes a long, slow sip before saying, “I have not seen you smile like that in many years,mon chou.”
My heart lightens at her use of her childhood nickname for me. Being with Mother always makes me feel like a kid. Not in the way that would feel emasculating or belittled, but full of memories of a time when she would play hide and seek with me in theground-floor parlors or read to me late into the night or sing soft lullabies in French. It feels like safety and love and home. Like a young nanny playing in the park with the children who have become like her own family.
Christmas time sweeps through the palace like a whirlwind. The decorations have been up since the day after the Princess Trials cocktail party. A gargantuan tree fills most of the entrance hall, decorated with baubles in gold and silver and navy blue, of course. Ribbons and lights crisscross among the branches, and empty boxes wrapped in colorful paper are tucked neatly underneath. Garlands twist around each railing and banister, and Christmas flowers brighten every nook and cranny. The tradition of candles in the windows persists from centuries past, though now we use electric candles. How the whole damn palace never burned down before the switch is beyond me.
Even though Aurelia is on holiday break from Merryton, she is staying busy with the Maiers, and I’m making the best of the short visits I get with her. On top of a few clandestine—all too brief—make-out sessions at RC when she was on her way home from work, we’ve managed to catch dinner together once this week with Miles and Trixie in tow. Having chaperones is good for me since I’m struggling to keep my growing desire for her under control so I don’t push her too fast. My mind and my body hate me for it, too,and my masturbatory habits would put teenage me to shame. Not to mention this whole find a princess thing is really grating on me with the constant parade of women through the palace for various events and interviews as the number of prospects was whittled further.
The worst is a formal dinner a week before Christmas with the princess hopefuls. Besides the ladies still in the running in this bachelor game farce, the only other attendees are my parents and me. Whoever thought it was a good idea to shut me in a dining room with fifty ring-obsessed noble ladies and no other men to serve as buffers needs to be put on trial for cruel and unusual punishment.
I get a reprieve from all that garbage as the holidays grow closer. My family normally goes to Switzerland for Christmas, staying a couple of weeks and returning in time to host a huge party at the palace for New Year’s Eve. This year, the doctor advised against Father traveling; we decided to make it a quiet holiday at the palace, and our typical New Year’s Eve bash is now to be a ball for all the princess potentials, which requires minimal effort from Father.
Christmas Mass is held at a small chapel on the Kipton grounds. Built a few years after the palace was completed, the small stone church has served as my family’s private sanctuary for centuries. Dozens of royal babies have been christened in its baptismal font, hundreds of private services held, and even a few weddings for lower-ranked family members have taken place here.
Mass is a small affair, just my parents and siblings, Trixie, and a handful of closer members of the court. We typically go to Mass at Saint Basti’s—the largest cathedral in the country—sitting in the choir loft out of sight of the public and surrounded by our security team. But Christmas is a time for us to be a family, and Kipton Chapel feels intimate and safe, like home.
My chest swells as our voices echo from the lofted ceiling as we sing psalms a cappella, neglecting the songbooks tucked in the pews. It’s well known that we love music, and the palace is often filled with song or instruments, but no one outside this little circle has heard my family sing together. Claus’s baritone blends beautifully with Mother’s soaring soprano. My sisters harmonize with ease, winding their tones around each other and somehow never missing a note. Father’s deep bass holds us all together, the foundation of our song. My eyes prickle and goosebumps rise on my arms, and I’m washed in love for my family and for the Savior to whom we sing. I lose myself in the psalm, words forming without even having to think, and I wonder if there’s anything else in this world that could bring me such happiness.
By next Christmas, there will be a new addition to our holiday celebrations. I try to imagine some of the women from the trials at my side, try to picture them sitting next to me in the pew, playing cards with my family at our chalet in the Alps or singing around the piano late into the night or hiking in the snowy woods. I wonder if any of them aretrulyinterested in being apart of this, to be doted on by Mother, to adore my sisters, to laugh and cry andliveas a part of my messy and meddlesome and loving family.
I’m snapped back to reality by the creaking of the wooden benches as everyone stands to accept Communion and receive an anointing from the priest. I kneel before the Blessed Virgin as the oil drips slowly down my forehead, but I can’t think about what to pray to her. The scriptures tell us that our prayers are heard even when we don’t know what to say, and so I send up all the images in my mind, hoping she gets the idea.
I lay in bed Christmas night, belly still too full from dinner to let me sleep. Also, the pictures I got from Aurelia throughout the day—Darcy and Liam tearing into wrapping paper with smiles that reach their ears, Aurelia in the most hideous Christmas sweater but still looking stunning, her with Dietrich and Rebecca sipping on mulled wine—only served to increase the ache of missing her.
Which is crazy. I’m not supposed to be missing her. This is all for fun; the only thing I should be longing for is her body, that’s the agreement. But the more she lets me in on her life with the Maiers, the selfies with the children, sharing stories from her days, talking through plans for trips and activities, the more my mind wanders to things that are decidedly not all aboutexploring her body. More and more, little children with reddish hair keep making their way into my dreams.
She makes me think about my own mother, how much she loves her children, how much she enjoys being a mother. I remember her shooing away nannies from Claus and Anneliese, caring for them with such tenderness and never letting others attend their needs. She was so involved in all of us, never neglecting her older children when the others were small and needed her more. Even now, with half of her children grown and the other half nearly there themselves, she’s always ready with advice or a comforting touch or simply the peace of her presence. And I just know Aurelia would be such a wonderful mother too.
And now I know I’m fucked in the head because that thought makes my dick swell, and I absolutely should not be masturbating to the thought of Aurelia carrying my children. It’s been so fucking long since I’ve put my cock in anything other than a mouth, but no (partially) straight man forgets the pure ecstasy that is a warm, wet pussy clamped around him as he slides inside. And much sooner than I would care to admit, I’m shooting thick bursts of cum on my stomach as I imagine it going somewhere else instead.
Ew. Since when do I have a breeding kink?All this marriage bullshit must be going to my head.
The chime from my phone makes me jump. It’s late, and my mind always rushes to bad scenarios when someone contacts me this time of night.
But the name on the screen makes my heart leap,and a little heat rises to my face. Logically, I know that she doesn’t know I was just picturing her while jerking off, but I thought Aurelia usually went to bed early, and the timing has me feeling a little ashamed. My phone chimes again with another message, and another before I can unlock it.
Aurelia:
Hey. I don’t know why I’m sending this and you’re probably already asleep. But I was just thinking about what we did after the match a couple weeks ago and how we haven’t really gotten to do that again
Oh god. I shouldn’t have sent that
Any chance I could slip into your house while you sleep and delete these before you wake up
I chuckle as I read her messages.She’s so damn cute. And also, is she propositioning me?My sweet, demure little Nanny Sumner not really asking, but kind of actually asking for another chance to get naked together.
No chance Nanny Sumner
Drat
Haha! Now back to what you were saying initially…
Just forget it. I shouldn’t have even said anything. I’m sorry
Don’t be. But remember. You have to use your words. What exactly is it that you want to do?
Three little dots dance on my screen for a moment before disappearing again. Then appear again. And gone again. I laugh as I picture her getting all flustered, that lovely blush creeping up her cheeks, her eyes wide and chewing on her lower lip like she does when she’s nervous. I know it’s a worrisome tick, but I find it kind of adorable, and I want to kiss that spot every time. I suppose I should help her out a little.
Perhaps it would be easier to ask face to face… What do you say to meeting me at mine day after tomorrow? 8:00? Wear something warm. And probably boots would be a good idea
Gonna give me any hints as to why I need to dress warm?
Nope. Good night, Miss Aurelia
