The Anniversary

Chapter 2

As night became day, all that was left in its wake were hangovers and sore muscles. No, that was a lie; Marcus felt the best he had as far as he could remember. Unnaturally so, even. He’d much rather pay back some of his sleep debt today, and nobody would question him, but he ought to put up a good example. That, and he needed something to distract him from… other things.

He hadn’t fully grasped what had transpired last night. He was still considering the possibility that it had all been a hot summer pipe dream, borne of horniness, overactive imagination, and somebody spiking his wine with bad shrooms. It didn’t make a lot of sense, but the less he thought about it, the more he believed it, and that way he didn’t have to confront reality. Thankfully, asking, there was no shortage of inanities to take care of, though it did annoy his entourage a little bit.

Even so, Richard was absolutely gleaming. It was a little disturbing seeing how happy he was. He’d been all smiles and handshakes since the crack of dawn. Marcus bet that if they confined him in a dark room, he’d start producing his own bloody hand-made sunlight, straight out of his skin. He was contemplating it far more seriously than he dared admit, partly out of morbid curiosity, partly because having someone so upbeat around him was disturbing.

It was pissing him off. Eventually, he had to ask, he needed to ask. Every second this mystery remained unsolved, a little kitten died in the suburbs. He cornered him in the afternoon when he was grabbing something to eat.

“All right, what did you do this time?”

“Hm?” Richard replied, aloof in his own little world. “What do you mean?”

“You look like your crush just confessed to you. All twenty of them. Simultaneously.”

“I love my life.” This explained nothing, but perhaps if Marcus stared blankly at him long enough, the awkwardness would summon an explanation. “Did you know, last night, I didn’t hear a single word from anyone?” He started counting with his fingers. “No nobles, no farmers, no merchants, no priests, no distant family nobody’s heard of that’s spontaneously materialized.”

He let him go on, hoping he’d reach a point eventually. “I got to leave early, tuck in early, wake up whenever I damn well pleased, and nobody caught a whiff of it. The royal ball left a royal mess behind, but I wasn’t there to see it, manage it, or clean it up. I went home, nobody died, and I was alone. Not a soul around, while lovebirds whispered sweet nothings into your ear.” He mocked a high pitched voice, saying, “Oh, my liege, I tried sending my herd through the grand cathedral, and now your artisanal ceramic tiling is decorated with manure, something interest rates, taxes, courts, I’ll suck you off if you make it all go aw—” He cut off his sentence with laughter.

“You’re… a little weird, have you noticed that? Has anybody ever told you?” Marcus pointed out, taking a seat beside him. Richard shrugged. “You’re never going to be married if you lead a life as filled with excitement as now.”

“Well, I mean…” He stared blankly at his cup for a few seconds. “If being the king’s bodyguard, the captain of the royal guard, and a military general isn’t exciting enough for a woman, I’m probably better off trying my luck elsewhere. I think stepping outside the insane asylum would be a good start. There are pretty damsels everywhere.”

Marcus started stealing some of Richard’s food while he was rambling, and he didn’t seem to mind it too much. Technically, Marcus was paying for it by proxy of wages, so he had full rights over it in some cryptic sense that convinced no one.

“You better start acting on it, or I’ll have to take matters into my own hands. Do you remember that humanitarian mission—”

“Goodness, why does it always have to come back to that?”

“—and how long it took for you to realize your pretty damsel in distress was packing a little something extra? You would’ve thought this would have given it away,” he rubbed his hand on his chest.

“As if you were any wiser!” He poked Marcus’ shoulder in protestation.

“Was I on the tabloids though? I don’t think so,” he jested musically.

“Oh, is that what you think? That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” Richard reached for his pocket and took out a small piece of paper, a page out of today’s newspapers, the slammed it on the table. “Why, I haven’t seen a front-page so colorful since precisely this day last year.”

“What.”

For some reason, Marcus had thought the ball would be a forgettable experience for its attendants, and come next day, hardly anything would haunt him. In retrospect, that was a terrible assumption. Perhaps if he hadn’t intentionally avoided thinking about the subject all day he would have realized there had been several unforeseen events that had attracted quite the number of eyeballs. It would be weird if people didn’t talk about it.

Naturally, the press was fulminating over Emilia’s scandalous debut, arguably m**********g—the distinction was rarely clear with these things. Certainly, there had been a few people that were feasting on her with their eyes, and Marcus was among them. That some would write out their thoughts on a public forum was the natural extrapolation of last night’s events. What was more surprising were the interpretations people were giving, especially the perceptive few who had caught onto a certain awkwardness during their first dance.

He raised both hands to his face, not fully believing what was going on. Off in the distance, thousands of miles away, he could hear Richard’s chuckles, who was enjoying his suffering far too much.

“This has got to be some overengineered prank,” he said.

“Oh, no, your highness. I assure you, it’s all too real.”

So this was the reason he was so excited all day. He couldn’t wait for the moment to rub it in. The bastard, he’d never let this die down. He’d probably have this written on his tombstone if he could so that nobody would forget that hot summer night and the rampant speculation that it inspired.

Trying to guess who Emilia’s future husband was going to be had become the national sport overnight, to the surprise of no one. Dukes, princes, and kings clashed in the battle royale of public affection. Would it be a vassal? Would it be an ally? Would it be a compatriot? Then there was the crowd favorite within a certain niche that would never go away or shut up: his royal highness, King Marcus, “the Stallion”. Something about the public’s beloved ruler being a little too close to the cute little princess titillated the public imagination. Predictably, when two sensations coincided, they were always coupled to produce an even bigger sensation.

“What’s the line between gossip and blasphemy?” Marcus asked.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, your highness. If you lock them all up, it’ll only get worse, to say nothing of all the conspiracy theories it would feed.” He took a sip from his drink. “Besides, you’ve only yourself to blame. I haven’t seen you this worked up since you proposed to Rebecca.”

Marcus wanted to be outraged, but Richard had too much of a point to protest. He sighed, defeated, and let it all wash over him. The clergy would write a strongly worded letter, and nobody would remember any of it in a month or two at worst. There was also a silver lining: instead of being aghast at the depravity of incestuous p********a, the rumor mill was having a fetishistic circlejerk fantasizing about their king fondling—well, grooming—his little sister. Oh, well. It wasn’t the weirdest fascination he’d seen, and he hadn’t even been paying attention for that long.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, anyway, I’m going to need you to do a little something for me. It needs to be a little discreet, or at least as discreet as you can manage.”

“I was born discreetly.”

“No, I mean, like, for real, though.”

“Look at me, your highness. Is this the face of a man that is ever not for real?”

Marcus looked at Richard, whose comical grimace would put any court jester to shame. He wondered how much it ought to hurt having his face contorted so out of shape, and how much practice it required pulling it off. Why would one practice such a thing? He worried about the answers to these questions, for knowing the true nature of things could drive a man insane.

He put his hesitations aside for a moment, took out a small paper with some names written on it, and slid it over to him. “I’d like you to take these men into custody. I’d also like to keep the papers focused on one thing at a time if that’s possible.”

Richard glanced over, excited at the prospect. “Oh, that’s interesting! It’s been a while since we cleaned up the nobles. But what are we taking them in for? No offense, but we can’t arbitrarily—”

“There was some… inappropriate conduct on the princess last night.”

Richard chuckled. “Marcus, if I were to punish every instance of inappropriate conduct last night, it might be more economical building a wall around the city and call it a prison than making arrests.”

“These three were something special. Trust me, it’s egregious enough to warrant action.”

“All right, if you say so.” Richard had finished eating, so he cleaned his mouth with a piece of cloth. Then he got up, stretched himself, a look of resolution on his face. “I’ve been wanting to get my hands on them for the longest time. Why, when I make it there, all hell will—”

“Richard,” Marcus scolded him.

“—discreetly and uneventfully strip them of freedom, with nobody noticing. Yes.”

And with that, he left.

He didn’t take his newspaper with him. Marcus glanced at the outrageous headline and subheadings, rubbing his forehead and sighing to relieve stress. For goodness’ sake, he wished he could unsee some of the recent events if only to keep his faith in humanity intact. He picked it up and stored it in a pocket so that he wouldn’t have to look at it.

He figured he might as well clean up Richard’s mess, stacking his dish and glass to take them to the kitchen. However, Anna, the maid, who had an almost supernatural affinity for detecting other people trying to do her job for her, wouldn’t allow Marcus to make himself useful, and she darted in his direction to take care of it herself.

“Your highness, please allow me,” she said.

“That really isn’t necessary,” he protested, but he didn’t press the matter further; he knew he wouldn’t win that argument.

After wiping the table and picking up the cutlery, dish, and glass, she tried asking something of him, in her customary demure tone. “Your highness, I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to intrude, but… It’s about her highness again, your sister, I mean. Your highness, she didn’t show up for her classes today, in fact, she hasn’t left her room, and if it wouldn’t be too much to ask, I wonder if you could—”

“It’s quite okay, Anna. I’ll take care of it,” he interrupted her because if he let her go on, her formalities would spin layers of indirection to infinity. “I think I’m partly to blame, anyway.”

“Oh, your highness, you couldn’t have possibly known! I’m sure you did your very best. I sincerely apologize for not looking into the matter further, and…”

Anna droned on, trying to make him feel better, and it took him way too long to parse her verbiage, realizing she was talking about Emilia’s attire last night.

“…and in the grand scheme of things, it truly wasn’t that bad. His holiness may have some objections, but the people truly enjoyed it, and her highness is most gorgeous on the eyes; surely even in yours…” Her voice lowered down to nothing, dragging the last word, realizing she’d been talking for far too long, and that she’d entered the politically incorrect territory.

An awkward silence separated them. Sensing more apologies approaching, Marcus cleared his throat and said, “I’ll go check up on Emilia. Thank you for letting me know.” Anna bowed, thanked him, and headed for the kitchen to clean up. Somehow, he felt like he’d spared himself a marathon of a conversation.

He wondered whether she’d read the papers, or perhaps took part in gossiping circles, and how much that influenced her. She seemed like a sociable young woman, even in her ultra-conservative maid’s attire; he hadn’t had many opportunities to look at her, but she looked about the same age as him, and he was surprisingly young for a king. It made him wonder whether the fans of the salacious royal pairing extended even to within his court, a sort of paranoia that was in equal parts alarming and relieving.

He could guess as to Emilia’s problem even without investigating it. Last night had ended on a bit of a sour note, with Emilia not being able to take him in her rear end, or more specifically she couldn’t take him without risking injury. Her exertion from previous events no doubt didn’t help. Intercourse was far more taxing on her, and despite her surprising intellect and force of will, there were limits to how much her little body could handle. After all, she was merely a child. Nevertheless, she was disappointed in herself, and even though he’d done his best to convince her it wasn’t a big deal, then lulled her to sleep, it appeared her feelings had only grown stronger overnight.

Fully prepared to confront a moody Emilia, he knocked on her door and called out her name.

“No!” she said. She wasn’t rejecting anything in particular, but everything at once.

He knew there would be hell to pay, but he disregarded her and entered, closing the door behind him. Sure enough, she was lying face down on her bed, still wearing her nightgown, covering her head with a pillow. It didn’t look like she had been sleeping, rather, she was trying to isolate herself from the world. Looking around, there were scraps of papers, notes, and open books placed everywhere; clearly, she was trying to figure something out but to the exclusion of actually living her life.

Like the day before, he sat beside her, trying to console her. “Hey, Emilia. How’s it going?”

“Go away!” she snapped, raising and slamming her legs on the bed for noise.

He placed his hand atop hers. “Everybody’s worried sick about you.”

“Please don’t be.”

“We can’t do that. You’re too cute,” he teased her.

“I’m terrible.”

“Why would you say that?” She didn’t respond. She fumbled about, trying to avoid answering. “Come on, you can’t stay like that forever.”

“Yes, I can! I’m very resourceful.”

“If you act like that, I’m going to drop dead stressing about you.”

She let out a protracted groan, struggling with herself, flailing her legs as she did before. Eventually, her legs tired and her better half won out, so she let herself out of her pillow. Her hair was in an even worse state than yesterday, and her blue eyes betrayed her crying and lack of a good night’s sleep. Marcus stroked her arm, which seemed to calm her down a bit.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for?”

She couldn’t keep eye contact. She lowered her head and started rocking her body back and forth. She raised her hands to her face as if they’d be roadblocks to crying, and when that didn’t help, she fell into Marcus’ arms.

“I’m sorry, Marcus! I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking. I was selfish and short-sighted. I’m so sorry.”

Her voice broke at times as she soaked his clothes. Something about it was contagious; he could barely stand seeing her break down like that. Something so cute and beautiful ought to be happy all the time. He hugged her and caressed her, hoping it would make her feel a little bit better. He kept at it until she felt like explaining more, rubbing her face against his chest to wipe herself off.

“I manipulated you into doing something you didn’t want. I was so caught up in it, so excited, I didn’t think about anything else. It was thoughtless and self-centered, and—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Who in their right mind would want to lie with their little sister?!” she blurted out. “I knew you felt lonely and frustrated and excitable, and I took advantage of that to… You’re a man, after all! There’s only so much you can take before you—”

Marcus shushed her. “It’s okay. Calm down. Listen, you didn’t force me to do anything that I didn’t want. Okay? I had s*x with you because I wanted to.”

“B-but…”

He pushed her a little so he could look at her face, then kissed her lightly on her forehead. He considered stroking her long, blond hair, but it was so ruffled that it would probably annoy her more than soothe her.

“You’re beautiful. Everybody loves you, and I’m no exception. You’re my beautiful little sister.”

She stayed silent for a little while to calm down. “I’m sorry about the ball yesterday too,” she said when she felt more stable. She pulled out of his embrace and looked him in the eye, wrapping her hand around his. He felt big and powerful, even with such a simple gesture. “I made a mess out of it. And… for provoking you.”

“You upset me back then,” Marcus admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever been angrier. I was afraid I was going to kill somebody, and that would have been real trouble.“

“I won’t do it again, I promise. I… I was annoyed that you didn’t pick up on… you know. I wanted to take drastic measures!”

“Oh, I picked up on it, all right,” he chuckled. “But I resisted it. I’ve been thinking about how beautiful you are for some time.” He stroked her cheek with his free hand, as Emilia blushed to the compliment. Somehow, she was softer than yesterday.

“Thank you, big brother. I’ll make it up to you for yesterday. I need some time. I still feel a little spent.”

“I told you, it isn’t a problem—”

“No!” she exclaimed, a bit louder than she meant to. “Sorry. If I don’t live up to my promises, then I’m as bad as her.” She turned her head to her books and notes, then back to him. “I think I’m getting the hang of it now. I j-just, I couldn’t focus last night, because of how, um, happy you made me.” She lowered her head as she turned into a tomato. “It felt too good…!”

Marcus rubbed her hand with his thumb. “You made me feel wonderful too. I’ve never felt happier.”

“Listen, Marcus. Um.” She was embarrassed about what she was going to say, and the words only came to her after extreme effort. “If you want to, I could make you… Um. Uh.” Every instinct in her fought against her, but her brother had never laughed at her expense, so she kept going. “I could make you more palatable for your wife’s tastes. Your member, I mean.”

This came out of the left field, so he thought about it for some time. Though it had given him more trouble than not with the ladies, it was his body and didn’t think ill of it. However, it wasn’t only his comfort that would be affected.

“Last night was very rough on you. Would it make it easier? I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“No, I mean, yes, of course, it required effort, but it wasn’t all bad.” Her wording gave her pause as if there was latency in reaching her ears. “Okay, it’s beyond all reason in conventional circumstances, and I went to great lengths to pull it off, but it’s less about the effort than the reward. I think it’s one of your, um, more enviable features. I find it extraordinarily attractive, but if it would make your marriage easier, I could…,” she trailed off.

“Thanks. Maybe you’re right, but I fear disappointing you more than her.”

She didn’t know how relieving hearing that would be until she exhaled. She felt like the burden of the world had been lifted off her shoulders. She was smiling, even though she hadn’t put any conscious effort into it.

“I could tune myself more finely to your tastes, too. If I looked like a different person, a bit less related to you, our coupling would look better in the eyes of the public. Perhaps with more flesh up here,” she gestured in the general area of her chest.

Her line of thought was interrupted by Marcus’ raving laughter. It was a little unsettling how quickly he’d burst and how loud he was. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to catch his breath. He felt like he’d faint from not oxygenating enough. “You haven’t read the news, have you?”

“I’ve been here all day, so no.”

“Listen to this.” He reached for the page that Richard had left earlier and read it to her to relieve her of her quizzed expression. She went through the same ordeal of conflicting emotions as he had, and seeing them painted on her face was almost worth all the drama and uproar that had led up to it.

“As you see, ‘the public’ is quite quirky about it,” he summarised.

By the end of it, she couldn’t contain her laughter either, although hers was far less pronounced. “Okay, I get it. I’ll maintain my pristine childishness that interests you so much.” She winked at him and stretched herself to draw attention to her slender, flat form. “You’ll never have to make love to an adult—or dare I say it, an old hag.”

“Oh, come on, now. You make me sound like a pervert,” Marcus said in mock offense.

“Is that so? Is that why you exchange looks with my classmates? Of course, they like their virile king, but you’re paying too much attention to the next generation for an old man.”

“I’m not even 30 yet!”

“Do you have any friends your age who are into ten-year-olds?”

Marcus thought about how honest he could afford to be, but there was no escaping Emilia’s pervasive gaze. “Not really…”

“Aha!” Emilia shouted out, inappropriately proud for defeating her brother. “I knew it. Admit it, big brother: you like little girls. You’re an old, perverted pedophile with a sister complex.”

“Oh yeah? So what does that make you, hm?”

He had to get back at her somehow. Emilia knew she couldn’t overpower her big brother, so she put up some tepid, token resistance, but ultimately fell back onto the bed, trying her best to shield her sensitive spots.

“Take it back!”

“N-no—ah!” She had trouble articulating anything, laughing as hard as he had earlier, an almost painful glee she had no control over, like a powerful current she couldn’t swim against. “Big brother’s a pedophile! Big brother’s a pedophile!” she sang.

She shielded her armpits with her hands, and he tried pulling them away, but there was little she could do against her assailant; he was simply too big and too strong. She kept going on and on about the things he wanted to do too little girls, and he kept tickling her in response, and the matter escalated endlessly as they wrestled.

They only stopped when, in one of their shifting positions, he was on his knees on the bed, and she was lying on her back with a foot on his shoulder and her gown raised all the way to her hips. Their vaguely erotic stance brought reminiscences of last night, and their wrestling turned awkward.

Marcus was suddenly all too aware of his sister’s skin, and she was reminded of how good it felt to be manhandled in bed. They looked at each other, breathing audibly from the exertion, knowing what each other was thinking but too shy to vocalize it. Still, there was no hiding their mutual interest in each other’s bodies.

Emilia spread her legs as a lover would, giving him a plain view of the underwear that covered her genitals. She placed a hand on them, now free of Marcus’ grasp, and pulled them aside, revealing her slit. She was as puffy and innocent looking as before; no, perhaps more so. Her hairless, smooth vulva was disturbingly prepubescent, practically begging to be touched.

“I’m a virgin again. For you,” she said.

Something about continuously deflowering her despite last night made his heart race; she was so impossibly pure and surrendering herself to his perverse desires.

He lowered a probing thumb to her genitals, rubbing her labia, ever so slightly wet with sweat and arousal. She cooed to the touch; it still amazed him how immaculate she was down there, how sensual the experience of touching her. Oh, the things he wanted to do. To grab her, hold her, kiss her, taste her every part and crevice. She was so cute and attractive, and…

He pulled back and cleared his throat, visibly dissatisfying Emilia. “This isn’t the right time. People are waiting for us,” he said, getting off the bed and allowing her to move freely.

She got up, fixed up her dress a bit, and approached him while stepping on the bed, which made up for their height difference. “I’ll remember that,” she said, the undertone of a threat not escaping him despite her sweet voice. She leaned in for a kiss, as he had before, but she aimed for his lips instead. Parting ways felt like cutting off an arm. “You go on ahead. I need to make my hair a little more acceptable.”

He smiled, nodded, and promptly left. Then the door opened again, and he poked his head inside to say, “I love you.”

She wanted nothing more than to tie him on her bedpost and cuddle forever.