The Mercedes rumbled steadily back toward Berlin, its engine humming beneath the winter sky.
Inside, Karl had already moved on from battleships and steel to the truly important question of the era:
Cat marketing.
He sat with his notebook open on his knees, tongue poking out in concentration, drawing.
"See, Your Highness," he said as he sketched, "this line will be the Royal AngelSand Series for crowned heads. Here: British cats in little red tunics… French cats with tiny kepis… maybe an Italian cat in a Bersaglieri hat…"
On the page, a plump cat in a mock British officer's coat was proudly standing in a golden litter tray, tail high, next to a slogan that read:
> "For Cats of Empire."
Another page had a sleek French cat, lounging arrogantly beside an ornate sand coffer labeled:
> "Litière d'Ange – Pour Chats Nobles."
Karl scribbled notes about pricing tiers, seasonal promotions, and some nonsense about "patriotic feline hygiene."
He was very pleased with himself.
Oskar, on the other hand, wasn't thinking about cats at all.
He was thinking about children.
Not his own for once, but the Krupp family's.
Specifically: the fact that, in the history he remembered, their line eventually… collapsed.
He leaned his head back against the seat and stared at the roof of the car.
Soon enough, he knew, Bertha would marry Gustav Krupp von Bohlen und Halbach. Gustav, as far as future knowledge told him, was a good man—loyal, capable, financially sharp. Under Gustav, the Krupp concern would reach even greater heights. On paper, it was an excellent match.
But the problem wasn't Gustav.
The problem was time.
In the original timeline, the succession went something like this in his memory:
Gustav took over, led the family and company through the Wilhelmine era, two world wars, and the chaos in-between.
His son, Alfried, inherited after him.
And then came Arndt von Bohlen und Halbach, the last male in the line—
sickly, troubled, reportedly infertile.
The great Krupp male line—
builders of giant guns, rails, engines, the "cannon kings" of Europe—
ended with a quiet, painful whimper.
He frowned.
In their world, inheritance flowed like a narrow river: eldest son first, always. It didn't matter how many healthy cousins or younger siblings existed. If the eldest heir was fragile, everything sat on that fragile foundation.
One bad roll of the genetic dice, game over.
In the history he remembered, that was exactly what had happened.
And that was bad for Germany
… and now personally bad for him.
Because the more he tied his plans to Krupp:
guns,
armor,
ship steel,
future engines,
the more he was tying his own fate to a family whose future he knew would crack.
Maybe not for another forty or fifty years.
But still.
If I build half my empire on their steel, he thought, and their line crumbles… what then?
He glanced sideways at Karl, who was humming happily as he drew cats in uniforms.
…Maybe I can change that too.
In the past life, flat-screen documentaries had talked about "inbreeding" and "hereditary illnesses" in Old European dynasties with clinical detachment. Sitting here now, in a real 1905 Mercedes, those abstract facts had names and small, very human faces.
Bertha.
Future Gustav.
Future Alfried.
And poor Arndt—
the last link in the chain.
Oskar exhaled slowly.
Health, he thought. Strength. Fitness. Better medicine. Better food. Less intermarrying if possible. And a gym membership.
He almost snorted at the absurdity of the idea.
Imagine:
the Krupp men doing squats in Pump World,
eating proper high-protein food,
less cigar smoke, more fresh air,
maybe some early genetic awareness if he could nudge the right doctors.
Could all that fix decades of accumulated hereditary strain?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
But it had to be better than doing nothing and watching an entire industrial bloodline slowly collapse from the inside.
He rubbed his jaw, deep in thought.
First, secure the guns.
Then the engines.
Then the navy.
Then the empire.
And somewhere along the way…
maybe keep a few crucial German bloodlines from quietly dying out.
Oskar exhaled, pushing long-term dynastic concerns to the back of his mind.
Next to him, blissfully oblivious to the weight of hereditary collapse, Karl was busy sketching a smug German cat wearing a pickelhaube and sitting proudly on a pristine litter tray.
"Your Highness," Karl announced, "we should make a special advertisement for royal households. Something like: 'For those who rule nations—
and their cats.' What do you think?"
Oskar stared at the ridiculous drawing.
"…I think," he said dryly, "that if your cat marketing doesn't save Germany, it will at least make the apocalypse smell nicer."
Karl beamed with pride.
"Then we're already halfway to victory!"
The Mercedes rumbled along snowy streets.
Inside, the car's warm interior had become a strategy chamber for one of the strangest business empires in Europe.
Not warships.
Not turbines.
Not Krupp contracts.
Cats.
Karl held his ever-present notebook, waiting like a scribe at the court of a deranged emperor.
"So, Karl," Oskar said suddenly, leaning forward as inspiration struck, "we're going to structure our cat products like… DLC."
Karl blinked. "…Deal-see?"
"Downloadable content," Oskar said with confidence.
Karl blinked again.
Oskar sighed. "Expansion packs. Add-ons. Special editions. Limited runs. You sell the base item… then more items… but prettier. More expensive."
Karl gasped like a Victorian child witnessing electricity.
"Ah! Expansion tiers! Yes—yes, I can see it already! Different… levels of prestige!"
"Exactly," Oskar said, jabbing the air. "We start with the Royal Tier. Top tier. Like the secret final boss chest only whales unlock."
Karl had no idea what whales meant, but nodded with the seriousness of a diplomat receiving instructions from the Kaiser.
"So," Oskar continued, "Royal Tier first. Gold inlay. Silk cushions. Litter trays carved like tribute chests from the Forbidden City."
Karl's pencil started moving at dangerous velocity.
"After that," Oskar said, "the Noble Tier. Still luxurious—silver fittings, fine hardwood, clean designs. Perfect for dukes, counts, barons, anyone rich enough to have more cats than children."
Karl scribbled faster.
"Then," Oskar said, counting on his fingers, "the Bourgeois Tier. Fancy—but affordable for the merchant class."
"And the Common Tier!" Karl jumped in. "Simple! Affordable! For the good people! A revolution in feline sanitation!"
"Yes!" Oskar snapped his fingers. "Exactly! We're building a product ladder—for cats."
Karl whispered, awestruck:
"Your Highness… you are inventing an entire… cat-conomy."
Oskar smirked.
"Someone has to."
Karl's sketches exploded in number—British cats in scarlet officer coats, French cats in kepis, Italian cats in plumed Bersaglieri hats. A German cat in a pickelhaube stood atop a regal litter tray shaped like a miniature monument.
The two men talked nonstop the whole ride:
tier lists,
royal marketing,
servant gossip networks,
international cat-diplomacy strategies,
"whale customers,"
prestige-branded sand,
the ethics of gold-plated poop boxes.
The driver had no radio to save him.
By the tenth minute, his brain was full of images of marching feline battalions and cat brushes made of solid gold.
Finally, voice cracking with exhaustion, he cleared his throat:
"…Your Highness… we have arrived."
Both Oskar and Karl snapped back to reality in perfect unison—
as if waking from a fever dream of entrepreneurial madness.
Oskar stepped out of the car—
And froze.
At the entrance to the palace, Tanya and Anna stood waiting.
Tanya looked pale and guilty, hands clasped tightly, eyes darting to him with a mixture of apology and terror.
Anna stood slightly behind her, head bowed, posture small and submissive, as if unsure whether she even deserved to breathe in his direction.
Oskar remembered Karl's earlier words—
about stability,
about taking charge,
about women fearing losing the man, not the man fearing them.
He straightened his back.
For once, he forced himself into the role of Prince Oskar, the man at the top of this fragile triangle.
Before either woman could speak, he addressed them sharply:
"Both of you. To my room. Now."
They both jumped.
"Tanya," he added, his tone firm, "we will discuss your punishment."
"And Anna," he said more softly yet still serious, "we will settle your… discipline as well."
Neither woman hesitated.
Tanya let out a tiny gasp and nearly fell to her knees, then caught herself.
Anna flinched, eyes wide, then bowed her head deeply.
When he pointed toward his private hallway, both hurried away at once—running like frightened deer.
Karl stared after them, horrified.
"W–Wait," Karl whispered, paling. "Who was the other maid? What did she do?"
Oskar sighed.
"That was Anna. The maid who cleans my hallway."
He gave Karl a small, wicked grin.
"And as you know, my little friend—two is better than one."
Karl nearly dropped his notebook, coughed loudly and glanced around, making sure no passing servant was within earshot.
"I—I see. Well… perhaps it would be wise not to let that number grow any further until you are at least of age, Your Highness."
Oskar just laughed.
He genuinely did not know how old he was in this life.
He had not attended his last birthday.
He barely remembered when it was, and frankly, he didn't care.
Birthdays, in his mind, were for children—
not for reincarnated men dealing with battleships, cat empires, and emotional landmines.
He waved Karl forward dismissively.
"Come. We have work to do. Helmets and safety equipment must become mandatory for every company that sends workers into dangerous places. The law won't write itself."
Karl, reassured by Oskar's confident tone, straightened his coat and followed.
Soon enough, Oskar and Karl were seated before Kaiser Wilhelm II in his private study. The room smelled faintly of cigars and ink, old wood and imperial authority.
Wilhelm II's expression tightened the moment Oskar uttered the dangerous phrase:
"Your Majesty… Karl has a suggestion."
"Ah," the Kaiser muttered. "That can only mean trouble for the industrialists."
Oskar smiled disarmingly.
"This will be our gift to the Empire before the New Year," he said. "A promise to our workers. A better tomorrow. We call it: The Imperial Worker Protection Act of 1905."
Karl immediately produced a neatly organized stack of notes—far neater than Oskar could ever manage in German handwriting—and placed them before the Emperor.
The Kaiser leaned forward and began to skim, his brows rising slightly as he encountered each heading.
Imperial Worker Protection Act – Draft Principles:
I. General Duty of Care
Employers must safeguard workers from any foreseeable hazard.
II. Worker's Right to Safe Conditions
Workers may refuse unsafe tasks without punishment.
III. Mandatory Hazard Assessment
Companies must identify all potential dangers in their operations.
IV. Employer Must Provide Safety Equipment
Equipment is provided at the employer's expense, not the worker's.
V. Worker's Right to Request Equipment
Reasonable requests for protection must be addressed, not ignored.
VI. Government Oversight
Inspectors may require additional protections without new legislation.
VII. "Standard of the Time" Clause
As technology improves, employers must adopt the best available protections.
VIII. Penalties
Fines, sanctions, or temporary closure for those who refuse compliance.
The Kaiser tapped the papers thoughtfully.
"This is… bold," Wilhelm II admitted. "And expensive. The industrialists will complain. Loudly."
"Let them complain," Oskar said. "The prices will be fair. The equipment affordable. And workers will stop dying from preventable injuries. Stronger workers mean a stronger Germany."
Karl nodded vigorously.
"Your Majesty, this will not ruin any mines or factories," he added. "It will simply require them to treat their workers like human beings."
The Kaiser leaned back with a long exhale.
"That," he muttered, "may be the greatest change of all."
Silence hung in the study for a moment.
Then Wilhelm II smiled.
"Very well. The monarchy must show leadership. We will refine this draft with the ministers and jurists and bring it before the Reichstag. I suspect"—his mustache twitched—"that the people will approve."
Oskar and Karl rose and bowed in gratitude.
"Thank you, Father," Oskar said quietly.
Once outside the study, the corridor felt strangely lighter.
Karl blew out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and patted his stomach.
"Your Highness," he murmured, "I think this may be the first day in my life I can honestly say we've done a full day's work together like this. Negotiations with Krupp, designing cat products, planning worker laws, international cat diplomacy…"
He rubbed his belly more dramatically.
"…and I have not eaten anything meaningful since breakfast. I'm starving."
Oskar's own stomach growled in agreement.
He thought back over the day:
battleship plans, Krupp, lawmaking, two women waiting in his room, and an entire night of… "relationship management" lying ahead.
He was going to need protein.
"A hard day indeed," Oskar said, chuckling. "Come. Let's find some chicken, eggs, maybe milk. I'll need strength for tonight's exercises."
Karl blinked.
"You mean… more planning?"
"Something like that," Oskar said, eyes glinting.
Karl decided it was safer not to ask.
"Then yes," Karl declared, "let us go feast. We deserve it."
The two of them turned toward the dining hall, already imagining plates piled high. Outside, the winter evening deepened over Berlin.
Tomorrow, there would be more:
girls, battleships, boilers, engines, cats, and gods knew what else.
But for now?
First they would eat.
Then Oskar would make sure everything under his roof—political, industrial, and personal—stayed in line.
After eating and drinking enough to quiet even Karl's growling stomach, the two men finally parted ways — Karl heading to his quarters humming about "royal-tier cat DLC," and Oskar walking alone through the palace corridors.
The winter night pressed against the tall windows, but inside Oskar felt warm — full of meat, milk, ambition, and just enough confidence to feel dangerous.
As he approached the guarded door leading to his private hallway, the same night guard from yesterday straightened sharply.
Oskar grinned.
"Ah, my man," he said warmly.
The guard tried his best to look like a serious military professional, eyes forward, posture rigid — but sweat beaded on his brow the moment Oskar's heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder.
"Just like last night," Oskar murmured, leaning in conspiratorially, "stay right here. Do not worry about… unusual sounds."
The guard swallowed.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"And don't let anyone in," Oskar added. "If someone wants to enter, you come to me first. Otherwise, you heard nothing and saw no one. Understand?"
The guard nodded so quickly his helmet nearly slipped.
Oskar patted his shoulder approvingly.
"Well done. Keep this up and one day I'll reward you handsomely. Big bills, my man."
The guard's eyes widened. "Y-Yes, Your Highness!"
Satisfied, Oskar walked down the private hallway.
His smile widened as he reached his bedroom door.
He opened it—
—and stopped dead.
The central part of his room, between the bed and the windows, had been cleared and covered with a thick mat. On it, Tanya and Anna knelt side by side, head's low.
Two figures in simple maid uniforms…
and yet in his eyes, two very different kinds of beauty.
Tanya, with her golden hair braided neatly down her back, looked small and delicate even when kneeling. Her maid's dress hugged a trim, gentle figure—soft curves, narrow shoulders, slim waist—made from countless hours of work, not pampered idleness. Her hands were clenched on her lap, knuckles white, head bowed so low her cap almost hid her heart shaped face.
Anna as well had a beautiful face, but by contrast, was fuller, older, more womanly. Dark brown hair, thick and wavy, had slipped partly free from its bun, forming loose strands around her cheeks. Her figure—broader hips, fuller bust, a body softened and strengthened by childbearing and hard labor—filled out the maid uniform in a way that would have made any nobleman's gaze linger. Even kneeling, she radiated a quiet, maternal grace, though guilt and embarrassment carved tension into her shoulders.
Both had their heads bowed.
Both trembled slightly.
Both were clearly braced for some terrible verdict.
Tanya looked as if the tiniest word could shatter her—still terrified that a single slap against a prince might cost her everything.
Anna looked like she wanted to sink through the floorboards—still burning with shame over last night, when she had let things happen in the dark and not spoken up.
Yet both women were here.
Waiting for him.
Loving him.
Oskar stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click.
For a moment, he simply took it in.
Then he crossed the room to a high-backed armchair near his tea table, dragged it closer, and set it at an angle beside his enormous bed—like a small throne placed to observe his own private stage.
He sat down lazily, one elbow resting on the arm, legs set apart in relaxed confidence. The lamplight threw soft shadows across his face, making his expression unreadable.
He snapped his fingers.
Both women flinched, heads snapping up.
"On the bed," he said calmly.
There was no protest.
They rose at once.
The mat rustled softly under their stockings as they stood. Tanya smoothed her skirt with trembling hands; Anna swallowed and straightened her spine, trying to steady herself. Together, they climbed onto the edge of the king-sized bed and sat close, side by side, hands folded, eyes flickering nervously between him and each other.
The tension in the room thickened—like charged air before a storm.
Oskar leaned back, steepling his fingers.
"Now," he said, voice low and even, "entertain me."
Both froze.
Tanya's big blue eyes went wide, panic and heat mixing there.
Anna's cheeks flushed a deep, painful red.
Neither dared breathe too loudly.
Oskar tilted his head slightly.
"Don't act so innocent," he said, letting his gaze linger on Anna. "You're the older one here. You know exactly what I mean."
Anna's throat worked as she swallowed.
"This is your punishment," Oskar continued. "For the lying, the confusion, the slap, the disobedience… and for both of you acting without thinking."
Tanya lowered her head again, shame flickering over her face.
Anna bit her lip, then nodded once, accepting the sentence.
"But more importantly," he added, his tone softening just a fraction while his authority remained, "this is a binding exercise."
Two pairs of eyes rose toward him.
"Tanya," he said, "you may be higher in rank than Anna. And Anna," his gaze shifted, "you may be older and more experienced. But here, in this room, you are both mine. Tanya is my first woman. Anna, you are my second. And I…" He touched his own chest lightly. "…sit at the top."
They both sat very still, listening.
"You are not rivals," he said. "You are companions. You will live under the same roof. You will share the same man. You will not tear each other apart. You will support each other."
His eyes sharpened.
"And if I tell you to work together, you will."
Tanya's breath hitched audibly.
Anna's hands trembled where they rested on the bedspread.
"Now," Oskar said, reclining deeper into the chair as if settling in to watch a performance, "I want the two of you to get comfortable with each other. To bond. To show me you can obey." He nodded toward Anna. "You take the lead. Tanya… follow her."
Tanya turned her head slowly.
Anna's blush deepened until it almost reached the tips of her ears.
"…A-Anna?" Tanya whispered, voice very small.
Anna's shoulders rose and fell with a shaky breath.
Then she moved.
Not quickly.
Not confidently.
But she moved.
She shifted closer to Tanya, hesitating like a woman stepping into a ritual she had never imagined performing. Oskar watched, fascinated, as she raised her hands and gently, almost reverently, pressed them to Tanya's shoulders.
With unexpected steadiness, Anna guided Tanya down onto her back, easing her onto the bed and bracing herself above her friend. The smaller woman lay beneath her now, eyes wide, face hot, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
From his armchair, Oskar had an unbroken view:
Tanya's pale face framed by loose strands of golden hair,
Anna's dark hair spilling forward like a curtain,
two different kinds of beauty mirroring each other against the white of the sheets.
"Are… are you ready?" Anna whispered.
Tanya nodded once, tiny and timid.
Anna leaned in slowly, closing the distance between them, soft breasts pressing together as her breath came warm against Tanya's skin, her hair falling forward in a dark curtain that brushed Tanya's cheek.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then Anna's lips found the spot just below Tanya's ear, soft and trembling, barely more than a whisper of a touch.
Tanya gasped—
a tiny, sharp sound she tried to swallow,
her fingers instinctively clutching at Anna's sleeves as her whole body shivered.
Anna froze for a moment, startled by how sensitive Tanya was…
then she steadied herself, letting her forehead rest gently against Tanya's temple, their cheeks brushing, warm and intimate.
Tanya's hands slid upward, hesitant but seeking, resting lightly on Anna's shoulders for balance—
and then pulled her a little closer, as if her body reacted before her mind could catch up.
Their faces were close now.
Too close.
Tanya could feel Anna's breath, warm and uneven, against her jaw.
Anna could feel Tanya's heartbeat fluttering wildly beneath her fingertips.
Their bodies fit together by accident—
soft curves meeting in a warm, unspoken embrace,
the slightest press of warmth against warmth as they shifted shyly on the bed.
Anna swallowed, her lips brushing Tanya's cheek as she whispered,
"Just… tell me if I should stop."
Tanya shook her head without thinking—
eyes half-lidded, breath trembling, her fingers curling softly into the fabric at Anna's back.
"Don't," she whispered.
"Don't stop…"
Anna exhaled shakily, letting her lips trail slowly, gently down the side of Tanya's neck—
each touch feather-light, exploring in cautious wonder.
Tanya's back arched just a little beneath her,
her breath catching,
one hand reaching up to cup Anna's jaw with desperate, frightened affection—
as if needing the touch to steady herself.
Oskar, watching from his chair, felt heat coil low in his stomach.
He'd expected fear.
He'd expected awkward obedience.
He hadn't expected… this.
Two women—his women—wrapped together in a shy, trembling tangle of warmth and breath and hesitant affection, learning each other's closeness under his command.
They were blushing, shaking, overwhelmed…
…and absolutely beautiful.
The way Tanya clung to Anna for balance,
the way Anna held Tanya as if she were something precious,
the way their bodies leaned together, timid and soft, like two petals caught on the same breeze—
It hit Oskar harder than anything else had so far.
This wasn't a fantasy.
This was real.
Alive.
Happening in front of him.
And it was his.
His heart pounded.
Holy shit… I really do have a harem.
He almost laughed.
Almost cried.
Almost slid right out of the chair.
Instead, he shifted his weight, cleared his throat lightly, and forced his features into something resembling calm, approving authority—a monarch watching a ceremony he himself had ordered.
"Yes…" he murmured under his breath.
"Being a prince… really is something else."
On the bed, Tanya and Anna's movements became a little less stiff. The initial shock and fear slowly started melting into something warmer—awkward, shy, but undeniably real. They were still blushing furiously, still stealing quick glances at him, but they didn't pull away from one another.
They stayed close.
Letting the moment and his presence bind them together.
For the first time in this life, Oskar truly felt the surreal, intoxicating pull of the world he now inhabited:
A world where a man like him could bend steel, laws, and even hearts to his will—
and be loved for it.
Anna's lips moved again, slowly, tracing a hesitant path back along Tanya's neck, then up toward her cheek. When their mouths finally met—soft, uncertain, then deepening as their breathing synced—Tanya made a small, startled sound and unconsciously wrapped her arms around Anna, drawing her closer.
It wasn't innocent.
It wasn't small.
It was full of bottled-up fear, relief, devotion, and something deeper neither woman had dared give shape to until now.
Their breaths tangled.
Their hands, still shy, tightened where they rested—gripping shoulders, sleeves, the edge of the sheets—as if they were afraid of slipping away from each other.
Oskar stared.
His jaw dropped.
His heartbeat slammed in his ears.
He had thought he could sit there like some detached prince from an old Chinese drama and just… observe.
He absolutely could not.
"That's enough," he said, voice lower and rougher than intended.
The women broke apart at once, lips flushed, breathing uneven, hair mussed from their closeness.
"Both of you," Oskar continued, rising from the chair, "take off the uniforms."
Tanya's eyes went round.
Anna's blush went from red to scarlet.
But neither protested.
They rose slowly on the bed, as if lifted by the same breath.
Their fingers trembled — not from fear, but from an overwhelming mix of embarrassment and anticipation. They glanced at each other like two accomplices caught between dread and a guilty, breathless thrill.
Tanya's hands went first to the top buttons of her maid dress.
Small, pale fingers fumbled with the first clasp, the fabric pulling taut across her chest before loosening ever so slightly.
She let out a shaky breath.
Anna reached for her own bodice, fingers brushing the smooth front panel of her uniform.
Her hands were steadier, but her cheeks glowed crimson as she slid the first button free.
The rustle of cloth filled the quiet room — soft, intimate, far louder than it should have been in the silence.
Tanya's navy-blue maid dress peeled away from her shoulders inch by inch, exposing the delicate lines of her collarbones, the elegant slope of her neck.
Her golden braid fell over one shoulder, brushing bare skin and making her shiver.
Anna's uniform opened more slowly.
Each loosened button revealed a little more — the curve of her shoulder, the warm tone of her skin, the faint outline of strength beneath softness earned from real labor.
Her uniform hugged her body like it had been tailored for temptation, even though it was only meant for work.
Tanya bit her lip, eyes flicking nervously to Oskar as she eased one sleeve down her arm.
The movement exposed the gentle, feminine line of her upper chest, rising and falling with quick breaths.
Anna swallowed hard as her own dress slipped lower, revealing the subtle hourglass she'd tried so hard to hide beneath layers of fabric — the soft fullness of her hips, the curve of her waist, the quiet, mature grace she carried in her body without ever meaning to.
Their skirts rustled as they loosened at the waist, the fabric pooling a little around their ankles.
Petticoats shifted.
Ribbons fell.
Buttons clicked softly onto the bed.
The lamplight painted warm highlights on their skin as more fabric slid away, outlining curves and shadows in a way no uniform ever had.
Two maids.
Two women.
Two forms, different in shape but equally breathtaking in the soft glow.
They stood there halfway undressed, breathless and flushed, hair tumbling in loose strands, skin warm and glowing under the light—
beautiful in completely different ways.
And Oskar…
He felt the heat climb up his spine as he watched them.
They had never looked more irresistible. Or more his.
Heat surged through Oskar's chest.
"And Anna," he said, steady, "you on the bottom. Tanya, on top. Face to face."
Both nodded, swallowed, and laid down on the large bed—
one lying back, the other leaning over her—
framed by the soft amber glow of the lamps and the heavy curtains that sealed the winter night outside.
Their hair spilled over the pillows in gold and dark brown.
Bare arms brushed.
Bare legs shifted nervously against the sheets.
Oskar pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
His boots thumped onto the floor one after the other, followed by the rest of his clothes in an unceremonious trail. There was nothing princely about the way he undressed—just urgency and heat.
The air in the room felt thicker, warmer, humming with anticipation and something much heavier than simple desire. Tanya and Anna watched him approach like two blushing rabbits staring down a very large, very confident wolf.
"Oh, yes…" he murmured to himself.
He climbed onto the bed.
The bed dipped under his weight, the frame creaked softly, and both women tensed in instinctive reaction, fingers gripping the sheets, lips caught between their teeth. They could feel the heat of him even before he touched them.
Oskar came up behind them, looming like a living wall of warmth and hard manly muscle.
Tanya lay on top of Anna now, smaller frame stretched out over the older woman, golden braid hanging to the side, smooth back exposed in the lamplight. Anna lay beneath her, arms half-wrapped around Tanya's waist as if to steady them both.
His hands descended onto Tanya's sides, large and warm, fingers tracing the line of her waist with deliberate care. Her figure felt delicate under his palms—slender and soft, and now carrying new life he had to protect. He gripped gently, feeling her shiver as his thumbs swept over the curve of her.
He leaned forward, the span of his back casting them in shadow as he bent over both of them.
First, his lips found the slope of Tanya's back, brushing lightly over her shoulder blade and up to the side of her neck. She jumped at the contact, then melted, eyes fluttering closed, a quiet sound escaping her throat.
Then he shifted, angling lower to capture Anna's mouth in a brief, slow kiss. She met him halfway, hesitant and breathless, fingers tightening instinctively on Tanya's hip.
He pulled back just enough to see them together—faces flushed, eyes bright, bodies aligned, breathing fast.
They smelled like soap, warmth, and something sweeter underneath, something that made every instinct in him roar with the simple, primal knowledge:
They're ready.
They're mine.
He smiled.
The bed became a small private world—lamplight, sheets, tangled limbs, whispers, and the heavy, intoxicating presence of three hearts beating far too fast.
The rest of the palace might as well not exist.
Past the closed door.
Down the long, dim hallway.
At the outer post—
The night guard stood like a man carved out of stone and wrapped in a uniform, staring intently at a single spot on the opposite wall as if that stone held the secrets of the universe.
From behind the inner door came a faint sound.
Then another.
Then something that was absolutely, undeniably not in any field drill handbook he had ever read.
The guard's eyelid twitched.
He inhaled slowly through his nose.
The noises grew—blurred words and half-laughter, soft cries swallowed by wood and distance, overlapping voices that his imagination very rudely tried to sharpen.
He did not move.
He did not blink.
He focused on the wall like a monk meditating in front of a cliff.
"…Oh God…" he whispered under his breath.
"…this is going to be another long night…"
He straightened his spine, clenched his jaw, and prayed silently for dawn.