Prince Adrian hadn't slept since the throne room ceremony. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his mother's flushed face, heard her breathless responses while Damien's fingers worked inside her. The memory made his stomach churn and his cock betray him with unwanted hardness—a shameful response he didn't understand.
For three days, he'd avoided the royal quarters, taking meals in the servants' hall and sleeping in unused guest chambers. But the images wouldn't leave him alone. His pure, virtuous mother—reduced to a panting whore in front of the entire court.
And now Rosalind was acting strange too.
His fiancée had been distant since the ceremony, claiming headaches when he tried to visit, sending servants with excuses when he requested her company for walks in the gardens. The few times he'd seen her, she seemed flushed and distracted, touching her neck absently as if something were hidden beneath her high collars.
Adrian had never been intimate with a woman—royal protocol demanded he remain pure until marriage—but something about Rosalind's behavior reminded him of his mother's tells. The way she bit her lip when distracted. The slight tremor in her voice when she spoke. The way her thighs pressed together when she thought no one was looking.
The realization hit him like ice water. *No. Not her too.*
He'd spent the morning tracking her movements through the palace, following at a distance as she made excuses to visit the eastern wing. When she disappeared into one of the private chambers near Damien's quarters, Adrian's worst fears crystallized.
His hands shook as he approached the heavy oak door. Muffled sounds came from within—rhythmic creaking, soft gasps, the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh. His virgin ears had never heard such sounds before, but some primal part of him understood exactly what they meant.
*She wouldn't. She's pure. She's mine.*
But even as he denied it, his cock was hardening in his breeches, responding to sounds his innocent mind couldn't fully process. The wet slapping grew louder, accompanied by a woman's voice—*Rosalind's* voice—making noises he'd never heard from her before.
"Oh gods... yes... harder..."
Adrian's world tilted. He grabbed the door handle with trembling fingers and pushed it open.
What he saw destroyed every innocent assumption about love and marriage he'd ever held.
Rosalind was bent over the edge of a mahogany table, her sapphire blue gown—the one he'd complimented just yesterday—bunched around her waist. Her perfect pale ass was exposed, already marked with red handprints, and between her spread thighs...
Damien's cock.
Adrian had never seen another man's member before, had barely looked at his own except to wash, but the thick shaft disappearing repeatedly into Rosalind's body was impossibly large. Her pink pussy lips were stretched wide around the intrusion, glistening with fluids Adrian had never seen a woman produce.
The wet sounds were coming from *there*—from his pure fiancée's most intimate place being invaded by another man's flesh.
"Rosa—" The word died in his throat.
Rosalind's head was thrown back in ecstasy, golden hair cascading down her spine, and her face... Adrian had never seen such an expression on anyone. Her mouth hung open, eyes rolled back, completely lost to sensation. This wasn't the demure lady who blushed at his chaste kisses. This was someone he didn't recognize.
Damien noticed him first, never breaking rhythm as his hips slammed against Rosalind's ass with meaty impacts. "Ah, there you are, little prince." His voice was perfectly calm despite the exertion. "You're just in time for the education."
Adrian's legs felt weak. "What... what are you doing to her?"
"What every woman needs," Damien replied, pulling nearly all the way out so Adrian could see his cock—thick as a man's wrist, covered in clear fluids. "What you never could."
He slammed back in, and Rosalind screamed in pleasure, her whole body convulsing. Adrian watched in horrified fascination as more fluid gushed from where they were joined, running down her inner thighs to pool on the floor.
"She's... she's bleeding," Adrian whispered, seeing the clear liquid.
Damien laughed, a cruel sound. "That's not blood, virgin prince. That's what happens when a woman actually enjoys being fucked." He punctuated the last word with a particularly brutal thrust that made Rosalind cry out and arch her back impossibly.
Adrian's cock was fully hard now, straining against his breeches in a way that made him feel sick with shame. His body was responding to watching his beloved be defiled, and he couldn't understand why.
"Look at her face," Damien commanded, grabbing Rosalind's hair to turn her head toward Adrian. Her eyes were glazed with lust, lips swollen and wet with saliva. "Look at what real pleasure looks like."
"Adrian..." Rosalind's voice was breathless, broken by gasps as Damien continued moving inside her. "I'm sorry... but he... he feels so good..."
The words hit Adrian like physical blows. His pure, innocent fiancée—the woman he'd dreamed of gentle wedding night kisses with—was apologizing for enjoying another man's cock more than she'd ever enjoyed his chaste affections.
"Tell him," Damien growled, speeding up his thrusts. "Tell your virgin prince what you told me about his little pecks on your hand."
Rosalind's face flushed deeper with shame and arousal. "I... I used to wonder if that was all... if marriage would be just..."
"Just what?" Damien's voice was demanding.
"Just boring little kisses forever," she gasped, her body shaking as Damien's cock hit places inside her that made her see stars. "But this... oh gods, this is..."
She couldn't finish the sentence because Damien had found some spot inside her that made her scream and convulse, more of that clear fluid gushing from her stretched opening.
Adrian had never felt so small, so utterly inadequate. His whole worldview—built around romantic love and pure affection—crumbled as he watched his fiancée experience pleasures he couldn't even comprehend, let alone provide.
"Your royal cunt's making quite a mess," Damien said conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "Prince Adrian, get on your knees and clean her up."
The command cut through Adrian's shock. "What?"
"You heard me. Your fiancée is dripping all over my floor. Lick her clean."
The suggestion was so obscene, so unthinkable, that Adrian's mind recoiled. But his eyes were drawn to the fluid coating Rosalind's thighs, to the way it caught the candlelight. Some primitive part of him—the same part making his cock ache—was curious about what she would taste like.
"I won't," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"Then just watch," Damien said with a shrug, pulling Rosalind upright so her back pressed against his chest. His hands came around to cup her breasts through the fabric of her gown, and Adrian saw her nipples had leaked through the silk, dark circles marking her arousal. "Watch how a real man pleasures his woman."
*His woman.* The words cut deep because as Adrian watched Damien's hands roam over Rosalind's body—touching places Adrian had never been permitted to touch—he could see the truth. Rosalind leaned into the touch like she belonged there. Her head fell back against Damien's shoulder with complete trust and surrender.
She had never looked at Adrian like that.
"Please," Adrian's voice cracked. "She's mine. We're to be married."
"Are you?" Damien's hips never stopped moving, his cock sliding in and out of Rosalind with wet sounds that filled the chamber. "Tell him, sweet Rosalind. Tell him whose bed you'll be thinking of on your wedding night."
Rosalind's eyes met Adrian's, and he saw the truth there before she spoke it. "Yours," she whispered to Damien. "Always yours."
Something broke inside Adrian then—not just his heart, but his understanding of the world. The rage came suddenly, overwhelming his shock and hurt. With a cry of fury, he launched himself at Damien.
He'd never been in a real fight before. Court sparring was civilized, controlled. This was pure emotion—clumsy, desperate, and utterly ineffective against a man who'd actually seen battle.
Damien caught Adrian's wild swing easily, twisted his arm behind his back, and sent the prince crashing to the floor with barely any effort. Adrian's elbow cracked against the stone, sending lightning up his arm.
"Pathetic," Damien said, never even pulling out of Rosalind. "Is that how you plan to defend your wife's honor? On your back like a beaten dog?"
Adrian tried to push himself up, but Damien's boot came down on his chest, pinning him. From this angle, Adrian could see everything—the way Rosalind's pussy stretched around Damien's girth, the fluids coating both of them, the obvious size difference that made Adrian's own modest endowment seem childish by comparison.
"Stay down," Damien commanded. "And get educated."
He resumed fucking Rosalind with renewed intensity, each thrust driving her forward slightly before she pushed back for more. The wet sounds grew louder, more obscene. Adrian couldn't look away from the joining of their bodies, from the way Rosalind's face showed nothing but bliss.
"You see this?" Damien reached down to stroke Rosalind's stretched opening with his thumb, making her gasp and clench around him. "This is what your little virgin cock would never do to her. She'd spend her whole marriage wondering what real sex feels like."
"Stop," Adrian whispered, but his voice was weak, broken.
"She's ruined for you now," Damien continued, his thrusts becoming harder, more possessive. "Every time you try to fumble your way through pleasing her, she'll remember this. She'll remember what it feels like to be properly fucked by a real man."
Rosalind was making continuous sounds now—gasps, moans, whimpers of pleasure that built toward something Adrian had never witnessed. Her whole body was trembling, skin flushed pink with exertion and arousal.
"I'm going to..." she panted. "Oh gods, I can't... it's too much..."
"Cum for me," Damien ordered. "Show your virgin prince what he'll never give you."
Rosalind's scream of release was unlike anything Adrian had ever heard. Her body convulsed violently, and a clear fluid sprayed from where Damien's cock filled her, splashing onto the floor in rhythmic pulses. The sound was obscene, the sight incomprehensible to Adrian's innocent eyes.
She was... what? Bleeding? Breaking? The fluid kept coming as her body shook with waves of sensation, and through it all she was crying out Damien's name like a prayer.
"Beautiful," Damien murmured, never stopping his movements even as Rosalind collapsed forward onto the table, overwhelmed. "This is what orgasm looks like, little prince. Remember it, because she'll never have one with you."
Adrian felt tears on his cheeks without realizing he was crying. Everything he'd believed about love, about marriage, about his future with Rosalind, was destroyed. She wasn't just being taken—she was choosing this, begging for it, finding pleasures with Damien that Adrian couldn't even imagine providing.
The door's heavy latch clicked.
Every head in the room turned toward the sound as the oak door began to creak open, revealing a familiar silhouette in the corridor beyond.
King Aldric stood in the doorway, his stern face taking in the scene before him—his son on the floor, his future daughter-in-law bent over a table with another man between her thighs, and the unmistakable evidence of debauchery filling the air.
Time seemed suspended as father and son's eyes met across a room that reeked of sex and shattered innocence.