Lancaster buried half his face in the blanket, only his eyes peeking out. His voice was shaky but firm.
"You don't need to do this. Truly… I'm only ten. I don't even know what to do in a situation like this."
The maid's hands hesitated, then steadied. "That is why I am here, young master. I was told to guide you, step by step."
Lancaster's heartbeat thundered in his ears. Guide me? he thought, panic swirling with confusion.
Her fingers moved to the small clasp at her back. A soft click broke the silence.
"Click?" Lancaster whispered, startled. His eyes widened—then instantly shut as if scorched by the very thought. He turned his head away so sharply the blanket nearly slipped from his grasp.
"By the gods…" he muttered under his breath, cheeks burning hotter than fire. "This cannot be happening simply because I didn't sleep enough, can it?"
The maid gave a quiet, almost teasing laugh at his fluster. "Young master, you truly are too innocent."
Lancaster groaned, pulling the blanket all the way over his head. "And you are far too bold!"
Lancaster peeked out from under the blanket, his face still flushed crimson. "O-okay… okay…" He drew a shaky breath. "If what Father truly needs is proof, then… surely we can give him that without actually doing it."
The maid froze mid-motion, blinking at him in surprise. "Proof… without doing it?"
"Yes!" Lancaster said, sitting up straighter, though his cheeks betrayed him with their color. "Father doesn't need to see anything. He only wants to hear that it was done. A rumor, a gesture—something convincing enough."
The maid tilted her head, her expression softening as she studied him. "Young master… you mean to deceive the lord?"
Lancaster crossed his arms, trying to look firm despite the blanket still clinging to his shoulders. "Deceive? No. Outsmart, perhaps. There is a difference. Besides…" He lowered his eyes, voice quieter, "…I will not cross that line. Not now. Not when I don't even understand it myself."
For a moment, silence lingered between them. Then, to Lancaster's surprise, the maid laughed softly—a laugh touched with both relief and admiration. "Truly… even at ten, you think like a lord."
Lancaster huffed, muttering under his breath, "More like a desperate child trying not to faint…"
"Well then, my lord," the maid said, her voice low and smooth, "this is my plan. Please listen carefully, for I shall whisper it to you closely."
Lancaster blinked. "Wait… did you say closely—?"
Before he could finish, she was already leaning over him, pressing him gently against the bed. Heat rushed to his face as he felt the soft weight of her chest through the blanket, his breath catching in his throat.
"F-for the love of the gods…" he muttered, eyes darting anywhere but at her.
The maid smiled faintly, her lips near his ear. "First—if you truly wish to outsmart the lord, you must show proof." Her fingers moved deftly, unfastening the buttons of his short tunic one by one.
Lancaster's hands shot to her wrists, trembling. "W-wait! Proof doesn't require undressing, does it?!"
She tilted her head, her cheek brushing his as she whispered, "Not always… but sometimes appearances matter more than truths. And if the lord should peek in—or hear the sound of cloth falling—he will think all has already begun."
Lancaster swallowed hard, torn between flustered panic and the weight of her closeness. "This is… utterly unreasonable…" he muttered. Yet even as he spoke, his grip on her wrists faltered, his mind racing with both fear and a dangerous thrill.
"Second?" Lancaster asked, his voice betraying both dread and hope. "Please tell me the second will be easy."
"Yes, young master," she answered softly. "The second is to show proof that we truly did it… by doing this."
Before he could object, she gently guided his hand onto the curve of her exposed waist. His breath caught, his face blazing red.
"I—I shouldn't have asked the second," Lancaster muttered through clenched teeth.
"Young master," she whispered, cheeks warm, "please… grip a little harder."
Flustered beyond reason, he stammered, "A-alright! Y-you mean like this?"
The moment he squeezed, she let out a small, breathy sound—"Ahh—!"—a moan so soft yet so startling that Lancaster froze on the spot.
To make matters worse, in her startled shift, her hips slid back, her rear settling lightly against his lap.
"G-Gods above!" Lancaster nearly yelped, yanking the blanket to his chin as though it were armor. "Wh-what was that supposed to be?! I swear, this is sorcery!"
The maid's face turned scarlet, her voice trembling between fluster and composure. "I… I didn't expect you to actually grip like that…"
Lancaster buried his face in the pillow, muttering, "If Father thinks this is training, I would rather fight a hundred swordsmen than survive another minute of this."
"What's the third one?" Lancaster asked, his voice cracking under the weight of nerves.
The maid's lips curved faintly, though her breath came quick. "Young master… we have not even finished the second step."
"What—" he began, only to feel his own hand being guided, sliding upward along the line of her body. His palm, unwilling yet unable to resist, came to rest against her bare chest.
"Th-this is still part of the second," she whispered, pressing his fingers firmly as though to make the act undeniable. Her body trembled, her teeth catching her lower lip, as a faint sound—half stifled, half escaping—slipped through her throat.
Lancaster's eyes flew wide, then squeezed shut, his mind reeling as though the world had tilted. Heat surged up his neck, his thoughts dissolving into chaos. "By the gods—if this continues, I'll faint on the spot…" he muttered, fighting to steady his breath.
The maid swallowed hard, her composure faltering as she leaned closer, her forehead nearly touching his. "Y-you must endure, young master. This… this is the proof."
"Are we… making proof or are we slowly going toward that part?" Lancaster yelped, his face burning red.
The maid, cheeks just as flushed, stammered, "D-Don't worry, young master. If it were truly happening… you would already be inside—" She bit her lip, hesitating. "—inside my room, I mean."
Lancaster blinked hard. "What in the gods' name is that supposed to mean!?"
She wriggled nervously, her hands fidgeting behind her back, and in the shuffle her rear slide again to his manhood. Lancaster's eyes widened as he quickly turned his head away.
"For heaven's sake, will you stop moving like that?" he groaned, clutching the blanket up to his nose. "I'm just ten years old, for god's sake! Let's just… let's just finish this plan fast!"
The maid covered her face with both hands, equally mortified. "Y-Yes, young master…"
"The next step… for the second proof is here," the maid whispered, guiding Lancaster's hand behind her.
Lancaster, too flustered to think, instinctively closed his fingers. The maid gasped, biting her lip, and suddenly cried, "Y-Young master!" Her voice came out higher than she expected, breath quick and uneven.
Lancaster nearly jumped out of his skin. "I–I don't know what's happening anymore! My body's moving on its own!" He buried half his face into the blanket, wishing he could disappear.
The maid pressed her forehead against his shoulder, both of them red to the ears. The room was heavy with a silence neither dared to break, the air thick not with scandal—but with two people completely overwhelmed by their own embarrassment.
"It's done… let's move to the third step," Lancaster muttered, his voice trembling.
The maid, still resting her cheek against his shoulder, shook her head gently. "Not yet, Young Master. You must… grip harder. Here." Her face glowed red as she guided his hand behind her once more, placing it firmly on her porcelain curves.
"O-Ok… if it must be done," Lancaster stammered, shutting his eyes as though bracing for battle. His fingers squeezed, perhaps too earnestly.
"A-ah—! Y-Young Masterrrr!" the maid gasped, her voice trembling out like a startled songbird.
Meanwhile, outside, the lord stood on the balcony, gazing at the silver moon. Raising his wine goblet, he smiled faintly and declared, "Ah… what a hot, holy night." The wind carried his toast as though he were celebrating the scandal he imagined within.
"D-dammit!" Lancaster shouted, burying half his face in the blanket. "Please, don't do that anymore—what will the others think of me?!" His cheeks were burning as though on fire.
The maid lowered her gaze, her voice soft but unsteady. "Forgive me, Young Master… it was my first time doing this as well." Her chest rose and fell quickly with her breaths, each movement betraying her nerves. Then, steadier, she whispered, "This is the last one. Please… hold still, and simply allow me."
"W-wait, last one? What are you—" Lancaster's words caught in his throat as the maid leaned closer, her lips brushing near his neck.
Without warning, a sharp sting—"Ahh!" Lancaster yelped. The maid had bitten into his neck, leaving a faint mark.
"Slowly… like this," she murmured, guiding him, and before he knew it, Lancaster clumsily bit into her shoulder in return. It was awkward, strange, and utterly baffling.
When they pulled back, the maid exhaled with relief. "Proof… successful."
"That's it?!" Lancaster nearly toppled off the bed.
The maid tilted her head, her lips trembling with suppressed laughter. "Why… are you disappointed, my lord? Did you want me to inser—"
"No! Of course not! Absolutely not!" Lancaster practically shouted, his voice breaking as he flailed in embarrassment, redder than a summer tomato.
System Notification: Warning: Footsteps approaching… 99%. Identity: The user's father.
Lancaster's heart nearly stopped. "F-Father?!" he hissed, pulling the maid closer in panic. "He's here! What are we going to do—"
Knock. Knock.
Before he could finish, the maid pushed him flat against the bed and swiftly sat atop him.
"What are you—?!" Lancaster's voice cracked.
"Trust me, young master," she whispered quickly, then raised her voice loud enough to be heard. "Ahh… Y-Young master… slower, please…!"
Lancaster froze. His face turned crimson as he realized what she was doing. With no other choice, he muttered and played along, his words stiff and awkward. "Uh… y-you're too… enthusiastic."
The maid let out another moan—not of real feeling, but of practiced drama, a theatrical sound like a stage actress exaggerating her lines. Still, it sent a shiver down Lancaster's spine to hear her feign such intimacy so close to his ear.
Outside, the Lord paused mid-knock. His lips curled into a knowing smile.
"Good boy," he murmured, lowering his hand and walking away with a chuckle. Wine cup lifted toward the night sky, he declared softly, "He really is my son."