The garden alcove had been transformed into something from a fever dream—hundreds of tiny lights strung through flowering arbors, their glow creating an intimate constellation against the darkening sky.
Crystal and silver gleamed upon a table set for two, the finest china arranged with obvious care, candles flickering in glass holders that scattered light like scattered diamonds.
Nicholas stood beside this elaborate creation with expression combining pride and nervous anticipation, clearly awaiting my reaction with the vulnerability of someone who had invested considerable effort in a romantic gesture.
"You arranged all this?" I breathed, genuinely touched despite my complicated feelings. "Nicholas, it's extraordinary."
"I wanted our evening to feel special. Removed from court protocol and family observation."
He guided me toward the table with a gentle hand at my back.
"Tonight, we are simply two people enjoying each other's company. No political calculations, no social performance. Just... us."
The sentiment proved unexpectedly moving, and I found warmth blooming in my chest as he held my chair with courtly attention. Whatever conflicts raged within me regarding his sister, Nicholas himself deserved genuine appreciation for such thoughtful effort.
Wine appeared as though by magic, he must have arranged for servants to withdraw after initial preparation, and as the first glass warmed my blood, the evening's tensions began dissolving into something approaching comfortable intimacy.
"You're different away from the palace," I observed, watching candlelight play across his features. "Less guarded. More... yourself, I think."
"Court demands constant performance. Every word weighed for political implication, every gesture analyzed for hidden meaning."
Nicholas refilled my glass with practiced elegance.
"Here, in this moment, I can simply be Nicholas rather than the Crown Prince. The distinction proves rather liberating."
"What does simply Nicholas desire, then? When freed from princely obligation?"
"At this particular moment? To know you better than propriety typically permits.”
His eyes darkened with something that made my pulse quicken despite everything.
“To understand what thoughts occupy that remarkable mind when you believe yourself unobserved. To discover whether your wit proves as sharp in private conversation as it does in public discourse."
"Careful, Your Highness. Such direct inquiry might reveal information you'd prefer remained mysterious."
"I find myself increasingly uninterested in mystery where you're concerned." He leaned forward, candlelight catching the amber flecks in his eyes. "Mystery suggests distance. I should much prefer intimacy."
The word hung between us, heavy with implication that made warmth spread through my limbs—whether from wine or suggestion, I couldn't determine.
Our conversation flowed with increasing ease as courses appeared and disappeared, Nicholas proving unexpectedly charming when freed from formal constraints.
His dry observations about palace absurdities drew genuine laughter, while his compliments grew progressively more personal—remarks about my intelligence giving way to appreciation of my appearance, then to heated observations about how the candlelight transformed my skin to gold.
"You're staring," I observed, emboldened by wine and the evening's intimate atmosphere.
"I am." He made no attempt at denial. "You're extraordinarily beautiful, Beatrice. I find myself rather captivated by the way shadows play across your collarbone, the curve of your neck where your hair has come slightly loose..."
His voice had dropped to registers that resonated through my nervous system with unexpected effectiveness.
I recognized the technique from Theodora's instruction, the deliberate lowering of tone designed to create intimacy, yet knowing the mechanism didn't diminish its impact.
"Such observations seem rather forward for a gentleman of your breeding," I managed, though my voice emerged breathier than intended.
"Perhaps I'm tired of breeding and its constraints." Nicholas rose from his chair, moving around the table with deliberate purpose. "Perhaps I've spent entirely too many weeks maintaining appropriate distance when every instinct demands considerably closer proximity."
He stood beside my chair now, close enough that I could detect his cologne close enough that his proximity made coherent thought increasingly difficult.
"We should wait," I heard myself say, though the protest sounded hollow even to my own ears. "The wedding is merely weeks away—surely propriety demands…"
"Propriety be damned."
The roughness in his voice transformed him into someone I barely recognized—not the careful prince who measured every gesture, but a man whose desire had finally overwhelmed his restraint.
"I cannot endure weeks of wanting you while maintaining gentlemanly distance. Not when you respond to my attention with such obvious enthusiasm. Not when everything about you drives me to distraction."
His arm swept across the table with sudden violence, sending crystal and porcelain crashing to the ground in magnificent destruction.
The moment Nicholas’s hands gripped my waist, hauling me onto the table with a force that sent my skirts flying up around my thighs, I knew there was no turning back.
His lips were on my neck before I could even catch my breath, hot and demanding, sucking hard enough to leave marks that would make the courtiers whisper behind their fans tomorrow.
His hands were everywhere—sliding up my thighs, yanking my drawers aside, his fingers finding my wet pussy with the urgency of a man who’d been starved for weeks.
“Nicholas!” I gasped, but his name came out like a moan, half-protest, half-plead. He didn’t stop. His fingers plunged into me, curling and twisting, working me open with a skill that nearly made me come right there.
“Tell me to wait again,” he hissed, his breath hot against my ear. His cock was a hard fucking line against my leg, throbbing through the fabric of his trousers. “Tell me we shouldn’t do this, and I’ll withdraw immediately.”
But I couldn’t. I was already dripping, my body betraying me in ways that made my brain short-circuit.
“I—” I started, but the words caught in my throat as his mouth found mine, swallowing my half-formed plea in a kiss that was all tongue and teeth and desperation.
Nocholas didn’t wait for more. His hands were at his trousers, fumbling with the buttons until his cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening. I
barely had time to register the size of it before he was lifting my hips, spreading me wide, and sinking into me with a groan that sounded like it’d been ripped from his chest.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “You feel incredible….”
I didn’t have the breath to respond. His cock filled me to the fucking brim, stretching me in ways that made my toes curl and my nails claw at the polished wood of the table.
He pistoned into me with a rhythm that was relentless, each thrust driving the air from my lungs and pushing me closer to the edge.
“You’re so wet,” he muttered, his voice rough, his hands sliding up to cup my tits, pinching my nipples hard enough to make me cry out. “Look at you—spread out on the table like a feast. My feast. My future wife.”
His words were filthy, his hands rougher, his cock a battering ram against my cervix. I could feel the tension coiling in my belly, the heat building with every thrust, every twist of his hips.
“I want to be the first and the last man you come for,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding, and I obeyed without hesitation, my orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave, my pussy clenching around him so hard he groaned, his rhythm faltering for the first time.
But he didn’t stop. He dragged me through it, his thrusts becoming jerkier, his breathing ragged. “Fuck, Beatrice,” he gasped, his hips stuttering as he pulled out and finished in his palm.
When he finally stilled, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath hot and uneven, I felt… detached.
My body was spent, trembling and slick with sweat, but my mind was elsewhere, lingering on the thought of her—Theodora, with her wicked mouth and her knowing hands.
Nicholas’s lips brushed against my temple, his voice soft and reverent. “That exceeded every expectation.”
“Indeed,” I lied, the words thick and sour on my tongue.
He helped me restore appropriate appearance, his touches now gentle where they had been demanding, his manner returning to the considerate prince I had come to know. He seemed utterly content, obviously believing we had shared something profound and bonding.
And perhaps we had.
Perhaps physical intimacy between future spouses constituted exactly the connection marriage required. Perhaps emotional intensity was a luxury I had no right to expect from an arranged union, and I should be grateful for a husband capable of providing competent satisfaction alongside genuine kindness.
Yet as we walked back toward the palace through moonlit gardens, Nicholas's arm warm around my waist, I could not escape the devastating truth that had crystallized amid scattered china and extinguished candles.
My body had participated fully in our encounter. My heart had remained entirely elsewhere.
And somewhere in the palace, Theodora waited—knowing nothing of this evening's events, yet somehow possessing everything that Nicholas's devoted attention could never provide.