Anna ran through the quiet palace corridors, her heart thudding hard enough to hurt. She had promised Tanya she would find Oskar immediately… but she couldn't leave her friend trembling, weak, and nearly fainting with an empty stomach. Besides—Oskar wasn't even in the palace yet. Searching for him without tending to Tanya first would be pointless.
So she veered toward the kitchens.
The palace kitchens at night were dim and warm, lit only by the deep red glow of dying embers in the great ovens. A scullery boy had fallen asleep at the long wooden table, ladle still in hand, snoring lightly. Anna moved silently, careful not to wake him as she gathered what she could, "fresh bread, a slice of cheese, some cold cuts, a little butter, and greens for a proper sandwich. She even added a large glass bottle of milk—good nourishment for Tanya."
Preparation took far longer than she wished. She wanted the food to be genuinely comforting, and the palace's size made carrying everything back up feel like crossing a small country. By the time she climbed the servant staircase again, the halls felt darker and even more hushed than before.
She slipped quietly into Tanya's room.
The blonde maid lay fast asleep now, breathing steady. The color in her cheeks had returned slightly. Anna placed the plate and milk on the bedside table and set half of the sandwich next to Tanya's pillow. When she woke, she would have food waiting.
Anna brushed back a strand of Tanya's hair with gentle fingers.
"There… you're alright now," she whispered. "Just rest—for the baby's sake. I'll find him. I promise."
Tanya murmured something soft and incoherent in her sleep, a tiny smile flickering over her lips.
Anna couldn't help smiling back.
She slipped out and headed straight for the private corridor that led to Prince Oskar's rooms.
As she approached, the guard stationed before the door stiffened, then relaxed slightly when he recognized her.
"Fräulein Anna," he whispered. "Is Tanja alright? His Highness asked for her earlier—wanted to know where she'd gone. I told him she was resting in her room. Nothing more." His voice dropped. "He didn't seem pleased."
Anna exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Thank you," she said softly. "You did the right thing. There's no need to worry the prince." She dipped her head. "Tanya is alright. I brought her food and milk—she's asleep now."
The guard nodded, relieved. But his expression shifted to caution.
"His Highness only just returned," he warned. "Karl practically shoved him toward his bed—he looked exhausted. So… be careful when entering. The prince can be unpredictable in his sleep." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "More than once I've heard strange noises from his room even at night. Grunting, laughing, even shouting. I think he exercises in his sleep. And what Fräulein Tanja does in there… whatever it is, it's changed him completely."
Anna swallowed hard, nerves creeping up her spine.
Oskar… unpredictable in sleep?
Her hands tightened around her skirts.
"Thank you," she murmured, trying to steady herself.
The guard opened the door for her.
Beyond it stretched the long, narrow hallway leading to Oskar's private suite. Moonlight spilled through the high arched windows, turning the marble floor pale silver. Her abandoned bucket still rested where she had dropped it earlier—towel draped over the rim, water shimmering faintly.
Her footsteps echoed in the darkness as she walked past it.
The closer she came to his door, the tighter her chest felt. Oskar was nearly two meters tall, broad as a soldier, strong enough to lift men with one arm. The thought of him waiting somewhere in the shadows made her stomach flutter with a mix of fear and anticipation.
At the far end, the door to his room stood slightly ajar—almost inviting.
No lamp glow, movement or even sound.
Just a silent door leading into a place she had never entered before.
Maybe he had already returned and fallen asleep, she thought—too afraid to picture the alternative: him standing awake in the dark… or worse, looming like some great bear-shaped silhouette.
Her pulse quickened.
She swallowed once, twice.
Then slowly—carefully—she lifted her hand toward the half-open door, breath trembling in her chest, and stepped closer…
Just before entering the room.
The door to Oskar's chambers creaked softly as Anna tried to slip inside without disturbing him. As always, her curves made stealth impossible—her chest brushed the doorframe, nudging it wider with a soft thump as she squeezed through the narrow gap.
Her heartbeat fluttered wildly in her chest.
She hesitated on the threshold, whispering into the darkness:
"Y–Your Highness…? Are you awake?"
Silence.
Only the faint winter wind brushing against the palace windows and the relentless pounding of her own pulse filled her ears.
She stepped inside, her soft-soled shoes tapping lightly on the cold marble floor.
The chamber swallowed her—dark, chilly, and quiet. The giant bed loomed ahead, veiled in shadow. As her eyes adjusted, she saw him clearly, a broad, powerful silhouette stretched across the vast mattress. One arm folded behind his head, the other resting beside him, absolutely motionless, sort of peaceful.
Asleep, she thought, swallowing hard.
She moved closer, trembling slightly. No matter what—sleeping or not—he needed to know about Tanya. The urgency mattered more than propriety.
Her fingers twisted into the fabric of her skirt as she approached, but every step made her more nervous. The words tangled inside her throat.
"Your Highness… I must speak with you. Please, wake up—there is a matter… a secret you must hear."
Her voice was barely above a breath, afraid the guard outside might overhear something meant only for Oskar.
Still—no reaction.
Not even a twitch.
She exhaled shakily.
Her feet carried her the last steps toward the bed until she stood close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating from his body. With trembling resolve, she leaned forward and reached out a hand to gently touch his shoulder—careful not to startle him.
Her fingers brushed against dense muscle. He felt so solid, so massive, so warm.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
Without thinking, her hand slid slightly, tracing the shape of his chest—firm, sculpted, like carved stone. Even in the darkness she could see the outline of his torso, broad and intimidatingly perfect.
"Jesus Christ… Mother Mary forgive me…" she whispered, completely overwhelmed.
He didn't move or stir.
Just lay there, impossibly large, impossibly peaceful, sleep-softened and handsome—even in the dark.
And her heart thundered as she stood over him, torn between duty and a rush of awe she could neither stop nor explain.
Then suddenly she felt his chest move—slightly, deliberately—and a deep, husky voice spoke in the darkness beside her, asking seductively, "Do you wish to feel more?"
She gasped and instantly without thinking replied, "Oh yes."
The voice answered, "Good girl."
And only then did she realise what she had just said—something wildly inappropriate to the Prince. A sharp gasp escaped her as she tried to correct herself, stuttering, "No—wait, I mean—Your Highness, I—I didn't—!"
But then he moved.
In one smooth, powerful motion, Oskar seized her right wrist and her waist with his other hand, pulling her close. He rolled her onto the bed with a strength that made her gasp—so fast she saw only a blur. Anna let out a startled kyaah—half surprise, half breathless joy—as he spun her beneath him, the world flipping upside down for one dizzying heartbeat.
"Your Highness, I—!" she squeaked.
Before she could form another word, his body pressed warmly over hers, caging her in with effortless dominance. He was heavy as a boulder—unmovable, unstoppable. She felt his breath on her cheek, warm, steady, unmistakably awake.
He wasn't asleep at all.
He had been waiting for her.
"Woman… what took you so long to get in my bed? No, don't answer that. No more talk, baby—let's just do it, my love…" he murmured, voice low, tender, achingly intimate. "Let's make this night spicy hot, okay?"
Her face flared crimson. Her limbs trembled. His weight was overwhelming but not frightening—not when he held her like something precious, as though the entire world had paused for this moment.
But his words—those words—sent her mind into a spiraling panic.
"What? Me? Huh? Y–Your Highness, I… I only came to— I didn't know you were waiting for me!"
He leaned closer, lips hovering just a breath from hers, their noses nearly brushing as his hands moved with growing certainty over her body—down along the curve of her hips, up across her stomach, and then higher.
His fingers found her chest and didn't hesitate.
He squeezed—firm, deliberate—and the sudden pressure drew a soft, helpless moan from her as her body reacted instantly, her chest rising sharply beneath his touch, the movement causing her to shift against him in a way she couldn't control.
"Ah—!"
The sound escaped her before she could stop it, her breath catching as his hands lingered there, shaping her, testing the softness and weight with slow, confident motions that made her tremble.
Her back arched into him.
Her body pressed closer.
And then his hand slid higher, fingers wrapping around her slender neck, not tight, but commanding, holding her there beneath him as his lips hovered just above hers, close enough that she could feel every word before he even spoke.
"Ah, I like that. A little bit of roleplay. Yeah… I can do that," he whispered—words that only confused her further.
Then he kissed her.
Not gently.
He took her mouth fully, pressing her into the mattress as his lips claimed hers, her breath stolen in an instant. Her lips parted without resistance, a soft gasp lost between them as he deepened it, their mouths moving together in a way that left her dizzy, her fingers clutching at him as if she might fall apart otherwise.
She was kissing the Prince.
Actually kissing him.
And her body melted into it—heat flooding through her chest, her thoughts scattering into nothing but sensation.
When he finally pulled back, their lips barely separated, still brushing, still sharing breath, he spoke again—closer than before, voice low and thick:
"You know… ever since I first saw you, I knew I was gonna fill your chimney with my white smoke, baby. Are you ready?"
His lips slid from hers, grazing along her cheek in a slow, deliberate path.
"Mmm… you taste like strawberries…"
She froze—blushing so hard she thought her heart might burst through her ribs, her breath catching as his hands still lingered on her, warm and unyielding. His voice was thick with desire, affectionate, almost desperate, and it made her tremble beneath him.
He was… confessing?
To her? In a way she could never have imagined in a million years?
Her hands shook as she rested against his powerful chest, not pushing him away—but holding on.
"Your Highness… I don't… I don't understand…"
She barely got the words out, before he moved again.
In one fluid motion, he turned her, her breath breaking into a soft gasp as she was rolled onto her front, the sheets shifting beneath her. His body followed immediately, pressing firmly along her back, his weight settling over her, anchoring her in place.
She felt him—solid, warm, inescapably close.
His hand found her waist again, holding her there as his head dipped, his lips brushing the nape of her neck in a slow, deliberate touch that sent a shiver down her spine.
Then his voice came, low and close to her ear, "Are you ready to say hello to my little friend? Final question, baby… are you ready?"
Her breath hitched, her body tensing under him, then softening, yielding despite herself.
"R–ready for what?" she squeaked.
His mouth brushed her ear as he delivered the final, devastatingly stupid line, "Ready to be stuffed like a turkey."
Anna froze—not from fear, but from the sheer mental blue-screen error that detonated inside her skull. She had absolutely no idea what he meant. In fact, she had never heard anyone use the word "turkey" in a romantic context… or any context at all.
But then she glanced backward.
And saw him.
Undressing.
And as he did—she saw it. The infamous third limb the palace maids whispered about behind laundry carts and half-closed doors.
Her brain's last functioning neuron took one look, saluted bravely, screamed, and jumped off a cliff.
Everything went pink.
Gone.
Finished.
Warm air brushed her backside as he stepped closer, and then something solid, unmistakable, pressed against her, sliding once along her and pulling a sharp gasp from her throat. That was it—thinking was over. Her body had already made its decision.
With absolute, pure, innocent sincerity, she blurted out, "I'm yours, Your Highness! Make me your turkey!"
Silence followed. A holy, divine silence. If a choir of angels had appeared with a banner reading WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY?, it would not have improved the moment.
Oskar blinked once.
Then smirked, slow and satisfied, like a man who believed he had just delivered the greatest line in human history instead of something that should have been erased from existence.
Anna, meanwhile, had no idea she had just created a memory that would haunt him forever.
He moved behind her, one hand settling firmly at her waist, steadying her, guiding her without hesitation. Then he shifted—slow, deliberate—and when he finally moved forward, her breath broke instantly, a sharp, startled sound escaping as her body tensed and then gave way all at once.
What came out of her next was not a proper sound. It was something between a gasp, a squeak, a prayer, and a farm animal reconsidering every life decision it had ever made. The kind of noise that suggested her soul had briefly left her body, checked the situation, and decided to hover nearby just in case.
After that—words stopped working.
The room didn't stay quiet for long.
It filled instead with breathless gasps, startled yelps, soft, broken moans, and the increasingly chaotic rhythm of movement that made the bed creak in protest. There were thumps, muffled yelp's, confused half-sentences, and the unmistakable sound of two people completely losing any sense of composure or dignity in the dark.
Down the quiet hallway—far from Oskar's now-closed bedroom doors—the night guard stood stiff as a bayonet, hands folded behind his back, eyes fixed on a very interesting spot on the opposite wall.
He had heard… things.
At first only soft sounds.
Then not-soft sounds.
Then sounds he did not have names for.
A muffled thump.
A surprised gasp.
A squeak that sounded half-delighted, half-something-else.
And then—
…rustling so enthusiastic it could have been two wild animals wrestling inside a silk-covered closet, accompanied by a fast, rhythmic thump-thump-thump that suggested the bed was fighting for its life.
The guard blinked.
"...that… sounds rough," he whispered to himself. "I hope she's alright."
He briefly considered knocking.
Then immediately reconsidered.
No one with a functioning brain knocked on Prince Oskar's door at night. The Fifth Prince had told him once—in Chinese, of all languages—never to interrupt him after midnight.
He hadn't understood the words then. He understood them now.
Very, very clearly.
So the guard straightened, locked his knees, and focused his eyes on the wall like it contained the secrets of the universe.
The noises continued.
He tried humming. He tried counting. He tried reciting infantry regulations.
Nothing helped.
After a particularly energetic BANG–thump–rustle–rustle–THUMP, he sighed in defeat.
"This is going to be another really long night… isn't it?"
Morning came quickly.
The sun rose over Potsdam in gentle golden ribbons, slipping through the palace curtains and crawling across the enormous bed inside Prince Oskar's private suite.
Inside, Oskar groaned and shifted with the heavy satisfaction of a man who had spent the night… very vigorously occupied.
He rubbed his face into the pillow.
"…man, my Jewels are sore," he muttered. "Never thought I'd complain about too much bed exercise…"
His head felt pleasantly foggy. His body warm. His arms heavy around something soft and warm.
Last night… last night had been fire.
He remembered darkness. Breathless heat. A woman's small, trembling voice beneath him. Delicate fingers grabbing at him. A shape—curvier, softer—pressed against him in ways that felt heaven-forbidden.
"Tanya," he murmured fondly.
"Didn't know you were so good at roleplay, my woman… you felt different last night… more curves… more… everything… mm."
He smiled lazily into the pillow, sinking deeper into bliss.
Then, something felt off. The breathing of the woman beside him sounded different, even her scent was different somehow.
Most of all her body, felt different, the weight against his chest was wrong.
He blinked awake slowly, and turned his head, and froze instantly.
His heart stopped.
His soul unplugged itself from his body and threw itself out the third-floor window.
Lying beside him—curled against his arm, head resting on his bare chest, breathing softly—was not Tanya.
It was a woman he'd only faintly recognised from palace corridors.
Soft cheeks. Long dark lashes. Gentle brown hair kissed by the morning light. Completely asleep.
And very much not his girlfriend.
Also very naked under the sheets.
Her maid uniform lay in torn pieces across the floor like the aftermath of a cotton massacre.
Oskar's eyes widened. His throat locked.
"…Huh?"
A full two seconds passed before his brain rebooted.
"…Who… are you?"
The woman snuggled closer with a content sigh.
Oskar glanced around his room in absolute panic.
"Tanya?" he croaked. "TANYA?! Where did you go? …Or wait—were you even here??"
Silence.
Only the tiny sleeping breath of the woman at his side.
A cold realisation slid down his spine like an icicle being dragged by God himself.
Last night… had been dark. He hadn't turned on a lamp. He had assumed, "Oh, scheiße," he whispered, pressing both hands over his face.
His voice climbed in horror, "No, no, no—don't tell me I… forgot to abort in time, and this wasn't even Tanya—?!"
He dragged his hands down his face as if trying to manually erase last night from existence.
"Oh Gott… what did I do…?"
Anna Müller—still asleep—shifted happily, nuzzling into his ribs like a kitten who had found the warmest place on planet Earth.
Oskar stared up at the ceiling in dead silence.
Blank.
Defeated.
Full of existential dread.
"…well," he muttered hollowly, "at least she's beautiful… and… well… two women is better than one, right…? In some countries? Maybe…? I don't know…"
He had absolutely no idea how much chaos this was about to unleash.
But outside the window, the cheerful Potsdam sun continued rising, blissfully unaware of the social catastrophe brewing inside the Prince's suite.
Oskar glanced down slowly with care.
He wrapped an arm around her drifting form—like touching a dangerous, possibly explosive artifact.
She didn't wake or vanish. This was most definitely real, very real.
Then, suddenly, she stirred.
Anna blinked her eyes open, pupils unfocused, brain clearly still parked somewhere in dreamland. She pushed herself a little closer against him, a sleepy smile spreading across her face as she mumbled, "Well good morning there bad boy. Wanna get cleaned up. My O-zones got a suction power rating of over 9 thousand, prepare to be stupified."
Silence.
Oskar's eyes widened as he said, "Oh shit, what did she just say?"
And without knowing why, he hugged her tighter.