Drinking with the Crown Prince (1)
I found myself unexpectedly led by Maximilian to his private quarters.
The Crown Prince's residence was surprisingly small and cozy compared to the other grand halls of the Imperial Palace, considering it housed the heir to the vast Empire.
Rather than flashy exteriors or ostentatious decorations, it perfectly mirrored his personality—one that prized unyielding practicality above all.
But the real shock was waiting inside.
“…….”
The moment I stepped into the residence, I nearly jumped out of my skin and fled.
In stark contrast to the barren, austere vibe outside, women in scandalously skimpy outfits wandered the corridors and lobby.
Some wore only sheer, translucent silk slips that left their skin practically glowing through; others sported precarious corsets that brazenly hugged every curve; and a few had skirts slit so high that flashes of bare thigh swung free with every step.
They wafted thick perfume as they naturally bowed to Maximilian—and flashed me, the stranger, syrupy, inviting smiles.
……This guy. I figured him for a cold-blooded bureaucrat without a drop of blood or tear in him.
I had no clue where to direct my gaze, so I fixed my eyes on the chandelier overhead, desperately masking my fluster.
Maximilian, meanwhile, strode ahead leisurely, as if this were everyday scenery, guiding me deeper in.
Just then, as we ventured further, a modestly pretty woman with pale brown hair glided out from around the corner.
In sharp contrast to the half-naked hordes around, she was buttoned up to the neck in a drab gray dress.
Her pale, makeup-free face quietly hugged the wall as she spotted us approaching and bowed to Maximilian.
“You've arrived, Your Highness.”
Without breaking stride, Maximilian jerked his chin her way and tossed her introduction at me like an afterthought.
“Ah, my wife. This is Prince Ian from Sterling.”
“I greet the Crown Princess, Your Highness. I am Ian Sterling.”
I bowed deeply, horrified.
Seeing the Crown Princess stroll casually through this den of vice in such plain garb was honestly jarring.
Her dry, unchanging expression offered only a perfunctory nod.
“Pleased to meet you, Prince Ian. I am the Crown Princess.”
“I'm drinking all night with this friend tonight, so head to bed first, wife.”
“Yes, Your Highness. I hope you both enjoy yourselves.”
She replied in clipped, mechanical tones, then slipped away to her room without a backward glance.
Her demeanor—no affection, no respect, not even a flicker of jealousy at the scantily clad women prowling her husband's halls—left me with a profound unease.
But Maximilian seemed utterly oblivious to his wife's reaction, humming a tune as he threw open the door to the reception room.
“Come on in.”
The room inside was a whole other level—a pinnacle of decadence and opulence.
Mahogany cabinets lined the walls, brimming with rare liquors shipped from every corner of the continent, all gleaming like jewels. A vast marble table groaned under gourmet cheeses, ripe fruits, smoked meats—perfect accompaniments.
And tending it all? Women even bolder than those in the hall: flawless, utterly nude beauties.
Dazzling bare forms glided with the elegant precision of well-trained dolls, polishing crystal glasses.
“…….”
I stood there, utterly frozen, mouth hanging open.
Maximilian gestured to a massive, plush velvet armchair smack in the center.
“Make yourself at home.”
As I shuffled toward it, eyes glued to the floor, one of the nude women at my feet stretched out naturally on the carpet.
She looked up at my startled, rigid form and, with both hands, gently cupped her full, rounded breasts, lifting them invitingly.
“Uh, w-what is this…….”
I jolted back in panic, but Maximilian—already lounging comfortably opposite—chuckled.
His own feet were already sunk deep and cozy into another beauty's ample cleavage.
“Never used a woman's tits as a footrest before?”
“……Of course not.”
“Feels better than you'd think. All the stiffness from paperwork all day just melts away. Go on, rest your feet. She's dying for you to.”
True to his word, she stared at my feet with hazy, puppy-like longing, like a pet awaiting its master's touch.
Missing my window to refuse, I hesitantly—ever so carefully—placed both feet on her soft, yielding chest.
This is madness. The texture really is like warm clouds…… but still.
The Crown Prince's brazen tastes made even this softness feel like needles; cold sweat beaded on my brow.
Sunk deep in his leather chair, Maximilian added coolly,
“If any girl here strikes your fancy, don't hold back—grab one, plop her on your lap, have your fun. Take her back to your quarters if you like. Call it my reward for your hard work today.”
“N-no, Your Highness. I'm honored, truly, but I'm not prepared. Thank you, but I must decline.”
I waved frantically, trying to slip my feet free, but the woman clamped my ankles tight with both hands.
Maximilian just shrugged, unperturbed.
“Fine, won't push it. Do whatever suits you.”
He lifted a crystal tumbler of dark amber whiskey poured by a nude maid. I grabbed mine from the table.
“To the endless glory of our mighty Empire…… and your grand debut in the Crown Prince's private chambers. Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
Clink.
We tapped glasses and tossed back the fiery whiskey in one go.
The scorching trail down my throat finally loosened my rigid, flustered nerves a touch.
I rolled the lingering aftertaste on my tongue.
“……Wow. This is incredible stuff.”
Suits your palate? Tell me exactly what you taste.”
“Masterful. Hits with oak and peat right away, then dried fruits, rich dark chocolate, vanilla all linger. Finishes crisp with a spicy wood note. At least twenty years aged—top-shelf whiskey.”
I know my drinks. It was a hobby in my past life, and as a noble here, I've had my share of opportunities.
His eyes sparked from his reclined sprawl.
He bolted upright, beaming with genuine delight.
“Oh ho! You really know your liquor!”
“Pardon?”
“My bureaucrats just chug it down. You're the first to nail its essence. Must be that royal blood—impeccable palate, Ian!”
Ecstatic that someone appreciated his prized bottle, he eagerly waved a nude maid to top off my glass.
He drained his with relish, slammed it down, and fixed me with intrigued eyes.
“But you looked pretty thrown off, Ian. Didn't peg me for a night owl with these habits, huh?”
I nodded without denying it.
“Honestly? Shocked. You outwork everyone on state affairs by day. Never dreamed of…… tastes this primal.”
“Hahaha! Come on, no one lives on scraps of paper alone.”
He burst into merry laughter—with a subtle chill beneath.
“By day, I grind through paperwork as the Empire's Crown Prince, shouldering the weight. But once the sun sets and I'm in this room? Pure indulgence. I unleash my instincts raw, no holds barred. No prying eyes.”
“…….”
“Our great ancestor Uzarat said it best: A hero chasing skirts? No shame at all. Long as he nails his duties, who cares how many he beds at night?”
“……Fair point.”
I took another sip, sizing him up carefully.
A man brutally honest with his desires, who vented daily stresses by reducing others to tools—without a shred of hesitation.
……Now that I think about it, in the original story, the Crown Prince treated the heroine the worst—as pure stress relief.
In the novel I Became the Empire's Imperial Plaything, that's exactly how he used her.
The soft breathing of the woman dutifully serving at my feet only made the whole scene feel increasingly, unnervingly off.