One Year Later: The Princess's Plight — Come to My Bedroom at Midnight
Across the continent, countless men call that name in darkened rooms each night as they ease the ache between their legs.
Leticia, youngest princess of Astria.
Her pure, breathtaking naked body stood right before my eyes.
The guest pavilion of the Latvia Kingdom. Inside a cramped, lightless secret passage where cold stone walls pressed in from every side.
I held my breath like a beast, eyes jammed against a brick crack no wider than a needle’s eye. A sour stench rose from the sweat-soaked uniform of a lowly colonial private. Yet my bloodshot gaze stayed locked on the dazzlingly bright bathroom beyond the gap.
Inside a supreme marble tub veiled in pale steam, the woman hailed as the continent’s greatest beauty lounged languidly in the lapping water.
“Your Highness’s skin is pure as white jade. My rough hands feel ashamed every time I wash your precious body.”
The maid whispered in rapture as she smoothed red rose oil over the princess’s sleek shoulders and the deep hollow of her collarbones.
A soft sea sponge glided down the princess’s white nape. When it carefully stroked the valley between her breasts where the water met skin, the princess closed her eyes and released a sweet breath through small red lips.
“Don’t fuss. It’s only because your touch is so careful and gentle.”
A clear, refined voice. The princess offered the maid a languid smile, her gaze affectionate. From head to toe she radiated the perfect poise of royalty everyone looked up to. The maid’s cheeks flushed crimson at that pure smile.
“I’ll get up now. The water’s cooling.”
Splash.
The princess braced her hands on the tub’s rim and rose slowly. Water cascaded like a waterfall, and under the chandelier light the body called the finest on the continent was revealed in full.
I sucked in a breath without meaning to.
The naked form gleaming beneath the clear light was simply overwhelming. Her face was as pure and dignified as a goddess from a sacred painting, yet the flesh unfolding below her throat told an entirely different story.
Two luscious nipples, flushed red from the hot water, stood stiff and wanton. Heavy breasts that seemed ready to spill with every breath. Each time the maids carefully blotted the wetness with large towels, the narrow waist and the full, dizzying curves of the hips beneath it swayed openly, shamelessly.
They were far fuller and heavier than a year ago.
Ordinarily thick imperial dresses and corsets must have locked that figure away tight. But freed from the shackles of clothing, the body radiated the overwhelming carnal heat of a female ripened to the absolute limit.
The maids removed the towels and slipped a single thin, transparent silk slip over the princess’s bare skin. The fabric clung wetly to her. Unconcealable sensual curves stood out lewdly through the translucent silk.
A face like a pure saint, a body overflowing with the color of a fallen whore.
A strange heat, both unpleasant and impossible to look away from, jabbed hard at my lower belly. I wanted to smash through the wall right then and seize that woman’s hair, yet I dared not move rashly.
Gulp.
Dry saliva scraped down my throat.
A Sword Master who had accompanied her as escort was surely right outside the door.
One wrong move and a lowly colonial soldier would be taken for a rutting madman who had sneaked in to rape the pure princess—and become a lump of meat in less than a second.
I swallowed the thirst that made my blood surge backward and endured.
Bath finished, the princess walked toward the ornate table at the center of the bedchamber.
Her steps were elegant without a single misstep. Yet every time her bare feet sank into the plush carpet, the voluptuous buttocks swayed smoothly beneath the thin slip—there was no helping that. The contradiction of refined bearing and a body vulgarly erotic scraped my nerves raw.
On the table lay a single luxurious parchment letter. Red sealing wax stamped with a silver eagle: a missive from Richard, Crown Prince of the Britain Empire.
The princess broke the wax with graceful fingers. As she unfolded the paper her clear eyes curved softly. In a tiny, sweet voice meant for the maids to hear, she began to read the letter aloud.
My one and only light, Leticia. This night you spend in Latvia feels to me as long as eternity.
At my birthday soon to come, I wish to ask you before the eyes of the entire continent. Will you come wearing the Ocean’s Tear I sent ahead, close against your heart? That night I must hear your definite answer to my long-held love.
A man’s aching affection poured from the princess’s red lips. I held my breath.
When she finished reading, the princess pressed the parchment to her breast and closed both eyes. The pose was as beautiful and sacred as a masterpiece painting. She did not even notice how the heavy cleavage sank deep between the thin silk with that elegant motion.
The maids in the room held their breath and stared with envy-filled eyes.
“Oh my goodness. His Highness the Crown Prince finally intends to propose properly.”
“Every woman on the continent must be jealous of Your Highness.”
At the maids’ excited chatter the princess merely blushed shyly. She picked up the quill from the table. Pure white fingers, posture never faltering, began to write a reply across the parchment.
Scratch, scratch.
Only the sound of the pen nib filled the quiet room. At last the princess murmured the words she had written, as if confirming them.
Your Highness Richard. I too find this night unbearably long. The noble jewel you bestowed I shall carry in the place nearest my heart. For body and soul have long belonged to Your Highness alone.
That sweet, poisonous whisper crossed the crack and struck my ear.
My breath caught hard.
“Well done, all of you. Please withdraw. I still have the reply to finish, and I wish to be alone.”
The maids bowed as one and withdrew.
Click.
Only the princess remained in the room, clad in nothing but the thin slip. Now.
With trembling hands I pressed the mechanism in the brick.
Rumble.
The wall revolved like a turnstile and the splendid interior of the bedchamber opened. A thick rose fragrance rushed out.
At the sound the princess before the vanity slowly turned her head. When a mountain of a soldier reeking of sweat suddenly appeared, her clear blue eyes widened in apparent surprise.
“Who are you? This is not a place one may enter freely.”
The surprise lasted only an instant. She neither screamed nor stepped back. Even facing an intruder she did not lose a single scrap of royal dignity. That calm, refined attitude threw me off balance instead.
With every quickened breath her heavy breasts swayed as if ready to burst through the thin slip, forcibly snaring my gaze. Pure face, beastly lewd body. Confronting that grotesque contrast I lunged forward in a fluster.
With thick, rough hands I clamped her mouth shut and drove her slender shoulders against the wall with my heavy forearm.
“Shh! Shut up! Don’t scream!”
A thick male voice like a beast’s growl burst from my mouth. Cold sweat poured down my spine at the thought of knights bursting in from outside.
Yet—
The princess did not tremble in fear. Even gripped in my rough hands, her blue eyes remained endlessly serene.
Her dazzlingly white hand wrapped around my thick wrist. She did not shove with force. With the softest, most elegant motion she simply guided my coarse hand slowly downward. The image of a pitiful woman shaking in terror that I had expected emptied my mind white. She lightly stroked a blue magic stone on the vanity with long fingers.
“The soundproof magic circle is active.
Which means that even if you do whatever you please to me with that large, coarse body of yours, no one outside will hear a thing.”
The content of the words was terrifying, yet her expression remained as pure as a saint’s. I could not hold back and snarled.
“Shameless bitch. How long do you plan to wear my skin and play that disgusting princess act?!”
The thunderous shout that tore from my mouth.
In that instant the fake’s blue eyes, which had been serenely settled, took on a strange light. She slowly looked me up and down—the mountain of a soldier reeking of sweat. Then her red lips curved into a smooth arc.
A hateful yet elegant smile in which pity and subtle mockery mixed to perfection.
The fake stretched out a pure white hand and gently patted the back of my rough one.
“How hard it must have been, trapped in this stinking, lowly man’s body.
Poor, pitiful original Lady Leticia.”
From the very beginning she had known perfectly who I was.
That the true youngest princess of Astria, Leticia, was “me,” locked right now inside this filthy, sweat-soaked soldier’s hideous body.
Rage made the thick male ribcage swell roughly.
“Shut your mouth! Spill it—what trick did you pull a year ago to steal my body?!”
Even under my sharp threat the fake remained utterly leisurely. She sat lightly on the vanity chair and crossed her legs with elegant precision.
Even the act of sitting was textbook perfect. Yet because of that motion the thin slip hem slid slightly above the knee, dazzlingly exposing the full, fleshy bare calves and thighs that had grown plump—there was no helping that. The collision of refined behavior and uncontrollable carnal heat.
That bearing, which dominated “me” more perfectly than the original owner ever had, sent a terrible sense of defeat crawling up from the soles of my feet.
“A trick? What a truly unfair thing to say.”
The fake spoke thus and put on an endlessly pitiful expression.
“I truly did nothing. That day a year ago I simply opened my eyes and found I had become the princess.”
A shameless lie. Something was clearly hidden behind that perfect elegance.
“If I knew the method I would gladly return things to the way they were, but I truly do not know.”
That hateful attitude that maintained purity without a single tremor even while lying. Rage boiled, yet at the same time that perfect poise crushed me and my voice cracked. I had to dig into the bastard’s weakness somehow.
“Then what about His Highness the Crown Prince of Britain? Are you claiming you deceived even the sharp eyes of my lover, His Highness Richard—the one the maids gossip about?”
At my urgent interrogation the fake laughed softly aloud. It was my own most beautiful laugh, like silver beads rolling.
“Deceive? You heard every word of the letter I read just now, didn’t you?”
The fake’s white fingers carefully stroked the Crown Prince’s letter on the table.
“These days His Highness covets and treasures me to madness. He even willingly offered me the imperial treasure Ocean’s Tear—the one he never gave you no matter how desperately you begged. At the birthday banquet I intend to accept his proposal with a joyful heart.”
It felt as though a hammer had struck the back of my skull.
Breath clogged in my throat. I recalled the faint sighs Richard used to let out whenever he looked at me. The blind love I had longed for so desperately—this fake was receiving all of it with my body.
As I hung my head in misery, trembling, the fake approached slowly.
Rustle.
The sound of the light slip hem dragging across the carpet, and a low-spreading rose fragrance covered the tip of my nose. The bastard’s pure white hand gently brushed my rough, sweat-soaked cheek.
“When our bodies switched, I did not simply gain your beautiful shell.”
Cool, smooth fingers traced the coarse stubble and stroked the thick jawline. It was not vulgar seduction. It was the infinitely noble touch of a merciful goddess caressing a lowly beast.
Yet the clothes the owner of that touch wore were a thin silk slip through which everything showed, and right before my eyes her heavy breasts, swollen as if ready to burst, swayed.
The moment that overwhelming poise and carnal heat touched me, the thick male Adam’s apple bobbed hard and every hair on my body stood on end. I wanted to shake it off, yet this lowly male flesh had completely surrendered to the biological stimulus poured out by the continent’s greatest beauty. Reason fled and I heated helplessly.
“I inherited every memory etched into Lady Leticia’s mind—imperial etiquette, even the secret ones—intact.
That is why I can handle this body, which has ripened far more perfectly than yours, so beautifully and elegantly.”
The fake’s hand passed my nape and slowly descended over the hard chest. A feather-light sensation through the thin uniform made my spine crawl. A heart pounding madly. The terrible heat of male hormones that twisted my lower belly into knots.
She looked up at my large frame, rigid with confusion, and whispered. Her expression remained pure, yet the carnal heat that tightened my throat was dizzying enough to steal a man’s soul.
“The key that opens the door of memory is very simple. It lies in the moment when this beast-like male instinct you have desperately suppressed for a year fully awakens.”
My mind flickered white.
Her face overflowed with the poise of a saint, yet inside that perfect body caressing me now lay a fatal poison meant to drag me down into endless male corruption.
“Do you wish to know the secret?
Who knows… if you learn it, we might even be able to switch our bodies back…”
A sweet whisper the continent’s greatest beauty granted to me alone.
“Then come to my bedroom at midnight.”
The fake turned elegantly. Through the thin silk slip her voluptuous buttocks swayed in a perfect, unbroken rhythm. That contradictory harmony was enough to stop the breath. As if she had no further business with this soldier, she walked toward the window showing only her graceful back, and I fled the room as if pursued.
Once more inside the pitch-black secret passage.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The male heart pounded as if it would burst. My fingertips still shook hard.
The silhouette of breasts heavier than mine had been, that breath-stopping poise that overwhelmed me, and the refined yet sticky touch that had stroked my cheek.
This unpleasant, maddening male heat that clung thickly around my lower belly tormented me savagely.
Could I return once more to that pure, dazzling princess?
Or would I fall into the trap of that perfect body packed with poise and carnal heat, and degenerate into a horrible monster who lusted after my original body like a beast?
It did not matter.
Even if at the end a demon’s bed waited with its mouth open to lead me into irreversible pleasure and wretched ruin, I would walk in willingly on both feet.
My body. My life.
To reclaim that flesh of mine that had ripened into the perfect female—I would gladly do any filthy, corrupted deed.