I knew, deep in my gut, that my times of frolicking and acting like a carefree prince were coming to an end.

I'd known after Mother's death, almost five years ago; and I knew as I witnessed Father's gradual but atrocious decline.

Since the night where he'd nearly caught me in the nude, shoving myself into my most recent serving girl conquest, he'd gotten progressively worse. But it was such a slow, painful deterioration that most folk didn't notice it as well as I did.

Being King Baines' only son, only child, only heir, had its advantages and its consequences. For instance, I was allowed nearly free rein for whatever I wanted to do. Parties in the ballroom after hours. Secret gambling games in the basement with the kitchen staff. Inviting pretty maids to my room to introduce them to all manners of naughty fun. Those came without consequence—as long as I wasn't discovered.

Father, in his better days, when Mother was still around, would have had me whipped for my un-princely behavior. He would have taken me aside and scolded me. He would have thrown me onto a fishing boat and sent me out at sea to teach me the value of my position, of my birth. To remind me what was at stake by acting so immaturely, so irrationally.

But was it immature? Was it irrational? I never hurt anyone. The festivities in the ballroom never left a trace of anything having ever happened. I helped with clean-up, and never showed up late to court sessions or meetings the next day. I might have had a few bags under my eyes and difficulty sitting up straight. Any money I won during card games, I restituted to whoever I'd gained it from. Servant wages were low, and I knew better than to take from them; but if they won, I let them keep the winnings.

As for the girls in my bed...well, they never refused. Some even insisted, determined to showcase their talents. It was a rumor passed between them. From the cook's aides to my mother's own former personal maid, the women couldn't keep away from my chambers. If their gaze ever met mine and I raised my brows at them—the signal, they called it—I knew I'd find them in my sheets that very night.

They didn't complain, and neither would I.

I relished in their mouth and tongue work, melted at their wetness when I slid myself inside them, groaned as I grasped at their hefty, jiggling breasts and thrust into them. These were beautiful women of all shapes and sizes and colors, with all sorts of accents. Springport Castle was the biggest castle in the area, so it was loaded with staff. And yes, I'd fucked more than half of that staff.

If Father knew...no, he didn't. He couldn't. In his earlier days, he'd have picked up on our signals and stomped into my room while I was in the middle of the act, but not anymore. He was too busy losing his mind, going on nightly excursions while rambling about magic and spells and dimensions. He used the word—so scientific, I thought—and corrected anyone who sought to make him use the word worlds, instead.

"They're not from other worlds," he'd insist, frowning at whoever dared to assume they knew what he was talking about. "Dimensions, that's the correct word. Other planes of existence parallel to ours."

For someone going senile, he had such an extensive, imaginative vocabulary. He stuttered, stammered, and wasn't always quite stable on his own feet. But when he got into descriptions of his vivid tales, when he became absorbed in his beliefs, he was so elaborate. So precise.

Mother once told me that was what she'd always loved about King Baines—his imagination. Even before her death, when he was a more serious, intimidating king, she claimed he was always full of ideas, and loved jotting them down in a journal. I'd asked to see that journal many times, for proof, but Mother insisted it was a private thing, and even she hadn't read it before.

He composed stories, prepared speeches—which were applauded and reported as epic in the press the next day. He wrote elaborate laws that were sometimes hard to understand with all his fancy language.

King Baines was so smart, so witty. To see him losing that, becoming a victim to his imagination alone, was disheartening.

His and Mother's love...well, it was something else. Something not even found in fantasy tales I'd read as a child. I enjoyed remembering it as Mother had described it to me, a few months before her death.

The memory came to me, one stormy night, as I took my late stroll from the basement back to my room, wondering what or who I'd find there. I'd been more worried than usual about Father. Instead of wandering, as was his habit, he'd taken to bed with a fever. Benson had warned me that the doctors were on alert. And also warned me to be prepared for the end. He'd whispered it, as if saying it out loud would attract death to my father.

Needing to get my thoughts away from what was soon to happen, I let the tale of his and Mother's love flow into my mind. Light streaked the sky, reflecting onto the Sea of Wonders, its waters crashing over the Springport beaches on the horizon.

I stopped before the window, watching the cacophony of rain and wind and lightning, thankful that I was inside, not out.

Mother was a lower-born girl, not quite a pauper, but not an aristocrat, either, when she first came to Springport. She hailed from somewhere up north, a tiny city whose name I'd long forgotten, but could pinpoint on a map if asked to. She was initially part of the crew accompanying a noble girl to court, to meet my father.

Father was eighteen when his father demanded that he hold a sort of season, to select a bride. It was custom in Springport to start entertaining options between sixteen and eighteen. In some parts of our land, fathers threw their boys and girls into the marriage market at fourteen, to get a head start. It was frowned upon, and I always grimaced at the idea; when I was fourteen, I didn't know left from right, up from down. At sixteen, I'd had my first time with a maid. And by eighteen, I'd lost my mother and was learning how to use my cock in more fun ways.

I was never ready to marry. By some twist of fate, Father had no inclination towards making me even entertain the idea, too busy convincing everyone his wife had died by sorcery.

So, when he was eighteen, his father summoned ladies from across the land, and from other continents, to visit Springport for a season. To introduce his son to the world as an eligible crown prince. Father tolerated the women who came to meet him, but felt no attachments, not even a blossom of feelings towards any of them—except for one of the handmaidens who'd accompanied a noble girl from the north. Mother. Upon sighting her, her luscious dark hair, her gold and onyx eyes, her demure demeanor, he fell.

"Immediately," Mother had told me, "he was infatuated. I did nothing to seduce him, mind you; he'd put it in his head that I was the perfect woman for him, and he'd have me."

Baines succeeded in reeling my mother into his room, into his bed—and we wondered where I got my bad habits from?—and she succumbed to him. They both regretted their actions but were caught by Baines' butler—Benson—and denounced. Baines' father dismissed every lady from court, except for Mother, whom he interrogated in a secluded space for hours. Mother never confessed what he'd said or done to her, but when he was finished, she was a princess, married to my father for better or for worse.

They were, all things considered, in love. That was why Mother gave in to Father so quickly, she'd claimed. He was irresistible, and there was a pull between them that she could only describe as magical. Of course, Father took that literally, now. Because of their magical pull, he thought something magical had also taken Mother away from him.

How I wished Mother hadn't planted that idea in his head all those years ago. And how I wished his memory wouldn't be so sharp despite his ailments.

I sensed a presence near me, and I broke from my trance of looking out at the storm and reminiscing about Mother's stories.

"Highness?" A guard emerged in the window's reflection, his gleaming silver armor blinding me as I turned around.

"Beck," I said, recognizing one of the castle's main soldiers—who had occasionally joined in on my illegal card games and beat me. I inclined my head as he inclined his. "What is it?"

I'd come to expect anything whenever Beck appeared—my father's death, an invasion, a plague, the end of the world. He was dramatic, especially for a guard meant to be stoic and impenetrable, but I always appreciated his honesty.

"Oh," he said, shaking his head, catching on to the hint of worry in my tone. "Nothing like that, Highness. I wanted to make sure you were all right. I walked past twice and saluted you, and you didn't say a word, so..."

"Ah." I clasped my hands behind my back, focused on his jewel blue eyes. "No, I was...lost in thought, that's all. Nothing to fret about."

"Nothing?" Beck arched a bushy blond eyebrow as he scrutinized me.

I knew where he was going with this. Father was often lost in thought and wandering at night, and now Beck worried I'd caught whatever ailment my father was plagued with.

"No, no," I waved my hands in front of me, "not that kind of lost. Memories of Mother and her arrival at court, as she narrated it to me. Something about this weather..."

I turned halfway, giving myself a better view of the chaos below, the angry sea and its waves drenching our port's sands in the distance. Springport Castle was atop a small cliff, overlooking our bay and our bustling port. To witness a storm from this level was nothing short of spectacular.

"Yes." Beck nodded; he'd known my mother, and always had deep respect for her. Coming from a lower-born background, Mother had a soft spot for those beneath her station. She always petitioned for higher wages and better lodgings for staff and guards. "She could be...temperamental."

I knew what he meant. Mother was kind, but also fiery when triggered. She and Father had their fair share of arguments that they thought I didn't know about, and when someone irritated her, she definitely didn't hide it. She'd dismissed nobles who'd raised their voice one time too many and had ladies fired and evicted from court if they didn't treat everyone with respect.

"I'm sure you'll always miss her, Highness." Beck approached, warmth radiating off his body in waves. Goosebumps lined my skin, under my thick robe. "We'll miss her, too. She was truly an exceptional woman."

I side-glanced at him as he peered out at the storm, eyes narrowed. His square jawline and clean-shaven face were a smooth, tanned canvas I'd always admired. He was tall, easily half a head more so than me, and carried himself proudly, solid shoulders, arms straight at his sides, stanced to pounce and protect if needed. The few times he'd joined in on my card games, I'd seen him relax, but he was still so bulky, so impressive. I couldn't tell if I feared him or aspired to be more like him.

Not that I was small, myself. I'd inherited Father's height—stretching an inch or two over six feet—and Mother's svelte figure. I had Father's dark features and Mother's oval face shape. But I'd never considered myself particularly strong, and my sword lessons had proven that time and time again. I had some agility, some speed; but I fatigued fast, and my arms hurt after holding up a weapon too high or for too long.

Thankfully, no one expected me to be a warrior prince—Springport and its kingdom and continent were relatively peaceful. I had enough men to fight for me before I'd have to get involved, if that peace shifted to war.

I wouldn't have called Beck a friend, or a confidante. But when his hand squeezed over my shoulder before walking away, I didn't stop him. His warmth was comforting, pushing through me and heating me inside. I flushed as I watched him leave, continuing his routine inspection of the hallways before switching shifts.

I shook out of my absorption into the cadence of his tight, calculated steps, the way his cape swished to and fro as he walked. I needed to get to my bedroom to see if anyone had responded to my evening signal.

My door was ajar, which was usually a sign that I'd have company. I rubbed my hands together and took a deep breath as I entered—and there she was.

One of my favorite conquests, Milla. Curvy, always smelling of flowers and earth. She worked in the gardens and had a bosom I quite enjoyed stuffing my face into.

She awaited me sprawled over my chaise near the mirror. She lounged sideways, one hand tousling her thick mane of copper hair, the other tracing circles around her navel. She wore a light, silk robe—that I'd gifted her—that draped off her, exposing her full stomach, the outline of her breasts, and her milky, delicious neck. Her legs were crossed in a way that covered up her sex, but I knew she was completely naked there, wet and waiting for me.

On the cushion, she'd laid out playing cards—face cards only, their vivid colors glossy in the candlelight.

"What's all this?" I smiled as I removed my robe, eager to be as naked as she was. The sooner I disrobed, the quicker we could get to business.

She puckered her reddened lips as she motioned at the cards. "I thought we could play a game, Highness."

"A game of cards?" I paused before unbuttoning my shirt, cocking my head to study her.

Every move was languorous, feline-like as she stood up, hurrying to drape the robe about her to cover her exquisite body up. "A special game. Not like those you play downstairs," she purred, her deep accent teasing, her voice low and seductive.

"Color me curious," I said, as she approached me, preventing me from continuing to remove my clothes. "Ah, you don't want me naked?"

"Not yet, my prince." She licked her lips, her eyes roving over every inch of me as she circled me; a lioness considering how best to devour her prey. "This game I want to play...it's a game that slowly disrobes you, actually. You play your hand, and if you lose...you must remove an item of clothing."

"Ho ho ho," I ogled her near nudeness, "do you anticipate winning a lot, then? You only have one item to remove."

She batted her lashes as she stopped before me, lifting to her tiptoes to plant a kiss on the tip of my nose. "I will put my clothes back on, of course. I just wished to give you a warm welcome." Her hand glided to my breeches, right over the erection she'd most definitely caused by lounging the way she had been. "Hmm, very warm." She stroked my hardness once, twice, three times before backing away. "Interested?"

"I presume it's the only way you'll give me what I want tonight?"

I refrained from smirking. Nights with Milla were always enthralling and filled with excitement. In the three years since I'd started sleeping with her—she'd been hired at the castle when I was twenty—I'd discovered how bold and beautiful she was, compared to how she acted while at work. No one would ever guess the vixen she was in the bedroom. And I savored the feeling of being the only one to know.

"What's the name of this disrobing card game?"

She trailed a finger down from her neck, between her breasts, and around her belly button. "Strip Poker."

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