The Anniversary

Chapter 4 Part 1

It had been so long since Anna had last seen so many happy, sunny days in a row. It hammered in the realisation that it was summertime, which she somehow had yet to embrace. Her attire sure did, for as conservative as she tried to be, even she was subject to heat. Despite the temperature, things had to keep going, duties to be kept, chores to see to. Above all, this meant Emilia’s proper upbringing, for as much as the pampered princess might want it, she couldn’t skip her classes forever. If she thought she got away with it yesterday, she was in for a rough lesson.

She made her way to her room with her characteristic brisk pace, the woman capable of far more velocity than one would expect. She’d been up for several hours by now, since before dawn, actually, making sure everything was nice and proper. Emilia could arguably afford a little more sleep, but given how much the girl enjoyed snoozing, Anna took it upon herself to wake her up a couple of hours in advance.

She cleared her throat and opened the door, her familiarity evident in that she didn’t even think of knocking in advance. “Rise and shine, pri— Oh! Ah! Um…” She stood there, so taken aback by what she was seeing that she forgot how to body. “I’m sorry!” she said, closing her door behind her with a bit too much force, given the loud impact sound.

On the other side, she rest her back on the door, staring at the wall, still barely capable of bodying. What… was that, exactly? She spent a few moments trying to protect her mind from the downpour of improper emotions, steeling herself against an unstoppable force, but even with all the blessings in the world, there was no resisting this influence.

The king had been there, in the princess’ room. Why would he be there? His queen had returned, perhaps a bit sooner than expected, but surely such a young couple were still in their honeymoon phase and could hardly be apart for a day, even if she was a little plain for him. The king had been surrounded by some of the sharpest and most elegant ladies growing up, after all, and he was impressive in his own right; it was only natural for his preferences to lean that way. His tutors, his mother, and, above all, his sis—

No no no.

Little Emilia was sleeping on top of him, so small by comparison she looked like a kitten. And, and… she tried not paying much attention to it, but the sheets were drawn down to her buttocks, the crack of their parting noticeable in the company of her two dimples, her back exposed and shining in the sunlight. She was so beautiful, at that tender age between childhood and womanhood, a momentary fragment—blink and you’d miss it. Ah, to be young again…

Wait, her back? Her butt crack?! Where was her nightgown? Did… did she really? Ohmygoodnessohmygoodnessohmygoodnessohmygoodness. Was the king also bare? How could this be? Was it the heat? It was pretty hot, yes, that seemed plausible, it was a normal thing to do, it all added up, there was nothing to see here. But then, why would she be on top of him? Wouldn’t the proximity keep them warm? Why was the king there in the first place?

No, he always had a soft spot for her, and she a million times over; that was reason enough to be together. They cared for each other deeply, as they’ve only had each other for the longest time, especially the princess. A mere marriage couldn’t change that. Sacred as that contract was, it couldn’t match a lifetime, it couldn’t match blood. Emilia must’ve been under a lot of stress, what with the ball and everything, to have so many men staring at her…

Staring at her young body. So perfectly built and exposed in that lascivious dress. She’d undressed her countless times, but only then did she realise how radiant she could be when she tried, when the introverted girl spread her wings. Why, when she first appeared, it was like air had left the room. Even his highness, easily the most composed man she’d known, was left flustered after their dance. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

They couldn’t be, could they?

It was scandalous! It couldn’t be! So thoroughly, utterly, completely, absolutely, entirely, wholly, impossibly, adverbly vulgar, vile beyond words, immoral to the extreme, unclean. He was married! She was his sister! She was ten! Ten! The rumours, oh, it couldn’t be, how could it be, it was too terrible to think.

How would it even work? She was so slender and tiny, she could be sent flying with a gust of wind, and he was so large, not only tall, but large; a wide, powerful man who covered her in his shadow every time she looked up at him to talk. She shuddered to think of the measurements of his privates. He just. Wouldn’t. Fit! It was absurd! She pitied the queen, and she was a grown woman. She had seen Emilia; despite her burgeoning allure, she was decidedly a child. She couldn’t accept a man any more than a baby could! She’d be lucky to fit in a finger.

It didn’t matter how much she loved her brother, if she tried, she would damage her body, her gorgeous body, oh no, it would destroy her, it would rip her apart, she couldn’t, the poor, lovely princess. She was too excitable for her own good, but no girl deserved that, she would do anything to stop it, please, not the princess, she was the jewel of the nation. This was the stuff parents told their unruly children at night to discipline them with fear, stories of barbarian hordes hunting in the night, grabbing anything good and pure and enacting hellish horrors upon it until it was a mockery of its former grandeur.

It was fiction; it couldn’t be real. She would give anything to not have Emilia sullied in that way. Her body, her soul, her life—she would endure anything for all of time if she had to. She couldn’t live in a world where something so delicate could be tarnished in that way. No, that world didn’t deserve to exist; an abortion of the heavens.

What should she do? How should she protect her? She… She… She took a deep breath. Relax, don’t panic, stop hyperventilating. She didn’t look hurt, did she? And why would the king, so kind and modest, and as protective of Emilia as Anna ever think of hurting his own sister? Even if she came to him with an immodest proposition, even if he was drunk out of his mind and desperate for affection, he would never… He’d sooner kill himself than hurt her, she knew it, knew it in her heart, more certain in her conviction than the sky was blue, the king loved his sister.

It was impossible, but… what if? What if she had found a way? She was the best, the brightest, matched only by her brother. Perhaps with her hands, her tongue, or legs… Or using a special ointment, and with enough practice, and with creative thought… Could their bodies be brought together? The clergy would disapprove, the act would be nonreproductive, and Emilia wasn’t fertile anyway, but…

But. But that elfin angel, joined by the heroic warrior, so different and yet the same, the polarity of their bodies bridged by the singularity of their blood. His large hands holding hers, fingers crossing and tongues twisting. Curious about their bodies, about his masculine strength, about her feminine androgyny, eager to explore this exotic world, perhaps for the first time, their passion beyond family and age. And lower, between their legs, their love made fluid, sensual and painful and pleasant and, possibly, potentially, hopefully… inside. A ten-year-old girl and her brother.

She felt every hair on her body stand up, goose bumps up to her eyelids, inflating like a cat. She brought her hands to her cheeks with a slap and left them there, could hear a faint, girly, protracted “ahhh,” and it wasn’t until a dozen seconds later that she realised it was the sound of her squeeing. She stopped. Feeling wet skin brought her back to reality; had she been crying? How long had she stood there for? Her cheeks felt so hot, and even worse, that wasn’t even the only place that felt strange.

She’d let the tabloids and the lewd novels get to her head, she decided. She’d gone on a wild ride through wacky fantasies; she couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t anymore. Look at her, the princess’ caretaker, a royal retainer, a woman of her position, acting like a little fangirl, getting all moody and stuff. She didn’t know what she’d seen. She must have made most of it up. Yes, that was it.

She brought a fist to her palm and resolved to calm herself down. What was it that Emilia said, “All work and no play something something dull maid”? She needed to collect herself. Goodness, people depended on her, she couldn’t allow herself to mess around like that! Even the king kept telling her to be wary of overwork. Alright, she needed some privacy and twenty or so minutes; nobody could be hurt inside her head. She could think of all the prepubescent, blue-eyed, blond princesses she wanted, and pair them up with anyone, even if they were hung like a horse. She started walking, remembering how to body.

Still, if she found herself in that situation for real, what would she do? If the royal family was improper, should she tell someone? Even if it would destabilise the country? No, she didn’t care about that; politics is the mind-killer. That wasn’t the real dilemma.

Could she make Emilia sad?

Marcus neither rose nor shone, but he was roused by something highly excitable and feminine. He didn’t quite feel like opening his eyes yet, knowing the sunshine would blind him given how it peaked even through his eyelids. Whoever it was, they could wait a little bit longer. The bed was nice and warm and soft, and so was the comfortable weight on top of him. He could dream a little bit longer.

“You heard her. Rise and shine, big brother,” Emilia repeated. To ensure he would pay attention, she reached her hands around and under him, grabbing his buttocks and squeezing with moderate force. He groaned, not quite appreciating the gesture. Enjoyable as her touch was, sleep was nice too. After a few seconds, knowing he was still ambivalent, she spread them wide, and then moved her fingers nearer…

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” he announced, not wanting to find out how far she was willing to take it to get her point across.

“You’re such a disappointment. The king sleeping in instead of his baby sister. ‘Absolutely reprehensible behaviour!’” she mocked a prosecutor or a priest or something equally uptight.

“Hmm,” Marcus agreed by exhaling. He put his own hands around Emilia, taking in her softness. Her hair was like a halo around her head in the morning, partially due to how light it was, but also because it was a complete mess. “What… was that?” he asked.

“It sounded like Anna. She miiight have caught a glimpse of my bottom. The poor thing.”

“Will it be alright?” he wondered. Anna probably wasn’t one to rat them out, but he could do some convincing either way.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’ll manage her. I’m sure she isn’t sure herself what she saw exactly.” She giggled, then pushed herself up closer to his face, kissing him on the lips. “I’ll clear up any misunderstanding she might have about us.”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea. She can’t possibly think of what her little girl is planning to use her rear for.” He put his hands on her butt and squeezed in retaliation for earlier. “It would be such a shame if it became unambiguous.” He then spread her flesh, trailing his finger around the ridges of her anus, then lightly probing the entrance until the very end of his index finger was getting warmed by her insides.

“Ah! You lecherous king!” she said. She didn’t expect it, but it didn’t disappoint. Her sphincter twitched around the sudden intruder, both the initial touch and the ensuing pressure of her involuntary motions producing subtle pleasure on her prepubescent rectum, promises of what could be coming. “The way you fondle my buttocks, I wonder if you’d ever touch my cunt again if I put my womb in my intestines,” she whispered.

She flustered him to a halt; he was the one blushing and discomforted for a change. There was something immensely arousing about a ten-year-old being so foul-mouthed. She wouldn’t mind if he played with her for a little while—his fingers alone could bring her to completion—but she knew how one thing could lead to another, given their past couple of experiences.

She gave him a light slap on his face. “Get up, pervert,” she said as she did so herself. She sat on the edge of the bed, raised her hands to her head, and undid her bun, though it was half-ruined already after a full night’s sleep and the mischief that had preceded it. Her blond hair dropped down to her exposed back, shining alongside her skin in the sunrise. Marcus looked at her for a moment, taking in the childish beauty of her petite form.

“Marcus, we’re in my room, you know,” she reminded him. He was confused for moment before realising that yes, indeed, he’d slept with her rather than on his bed. He got up and started scavenging for his discarded clothes; he’d have to get fully dressed in his room.

“If we’re going to do this every night, you could store some of your clothes here,” she said, but got apprehensive as she looked around. “Though I might have to get some of the books and notes out.” It’s been some time since she cleaned her room a little, so this was as good an opportunity as any. In the meantime, she’d put some order on the mess on her head.

“That might make things a little too obvious,” Marcus said.

“So what if it does?” She turned to him with her impish smirk, but her big blue eyes could only hold his attention for so long before his gaze went lower, towards her n*****s. In turn, she looked at the flaccid flesh between his thighs, comically smaller than last night. Figures, she thought; otherwise he could hardly ride a horse comfortably. What was amazing in bed wasn’t always practical in everyday life.

He’d found his pants, and he put them on, before picking up the upper half. When he’d got dressed enough to be able to walk the short distance to the royal chambers with a modicum of modesty, he leaned in to kiss Emilia, first on her cheek, then lower on her neck, and on her collarbone. “I’ll see you at breakfast?”

“Mm. Don’t be late,” she said, placing a hand on his face, and pulling on his earlobe.

“You shouldn’t be worried about me.”

He was right; she was still fumbling about with her hair. She wasn’t going to see the end of it this side of midday at this rate. She’d have to get “creative”. Some moisture, some heat, and a little witchcraft should untangle her bed hair. They sure had untangled her love life. How difficult could it be?