Archive of Our Own

Inside the club was heat, smoke, odour, noise, and decadence that were to be expected from a place filled with imperfect beings that were humans. But Gertraud didn’t mind it. After all, she had willingly come here in the first place, with the perfect knowledge that doing so would have her face such an environment. And she was Germany now, not the Holy Roman Empire of before, who had just been defeated not too long ago in a war and now had to deal with the debts and reparations as a result.

There was no need for her to be too conservative.

She was sitting on the counter, drinking on her own, but there had been men and women who approached her and were briefly entertained by her before being rejected as charmingly as she could. She was not here to entertain other people; rather, she was here for them to entertain her. She had already provided enough entertainment, being an actress and all in the American film industry, and had only returned to her capital in the morning from her acting job.

Her face was covered with thick makeup, and she wore a long, unbuttoned black coat over her fringed and beaded dress with a fur shawl around her neck and a wide-brimmed hat with a feather atop her bob hair, which helped her become less recognisable. She was not only a simple woman, after all. Not only was she an actress, but she was also Germany. Who knew if she would come across someone who would recognise her? She had a reputation to protect, which had already been tainted by the previous war as well as by accepting Alfred’s job offer—a job that also, ironically, helped her build up a good reputation. Being found in a place filled with debauchery would not be good for it.

Someone soon sat on the empty stool beside her, requesting a scotch whisky, and through her slightly hazy mind and the noisy crowd came the thought of possibly hearing that man’s voice before.

She curiously looked up from under her hat, only to be met with the very familiar green eyes, which she soon realised in drunken scrutiny to be from none other than her former husband, Arthur Kirkland, who liked to act as if he were still her husband.

“Aurelia,” he said with a delightful smile. That was not really her name anymore, but she did not bother reminding him, because she had done it more than once before, and still, he would not acknowledge her by her new name unless they were within the hearing of relevant outsiders so that he could keep the appearance that he was far from interested in her. If anything, it convinced him more to do the opposite, feeling particularly special that he was calling her differently compared to others, at least in private.

Moving on from her old name, of her old empire, had not been easy, but it was necessary, for she, as an individual, needed to become more Germany now. A new empire, a new her. That new empire had eventually dissolved like her old one, but she was still here, Germany was still here, and she was still Germany.

She was now and still Gertraud, but just as Arthur could not move on from their relationship, he could not move on from the name that had borne his last name first.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Arthur added, as the bartender filled his glass. He was wearing a brown tweed suit and a newsboy hat of the same colour. Round spectacles covered his eyes, and she knew that it was not for the sake of being fashionable but to hide more of his face. His sight was not blurry the last time they met, which was a week ago, back in America, but it could be now, as a temporary side effect of the problems in his still-existant empire.

“Arthur…” she said cooly, before gesturing to the bartender for another drink. It was not that she hated seeing him again. Admittedly, she even enjoyed seeing how much her former husband still desired her, to the point of chasing after her in another continent, in another country, which was represented by the man he detested—Alfred.

She had hated him before, for not siding with her. But, harbouring hatred could be exhausting, especially at a time after a war, where preventing another war through reconciliation was imperative, considering the consequences they had been living through. She had lived long enough, had hated long enough, to be able to control her hatred inside. And the years that had passed since the war had helped, even if it was a small dot in comparison to the years she had been alive.

Things could change. The enemy you have? They could be your ally. And the ally you have? They could be your enemy. A cycle existed. At the same time, even when her people served as her lifeline and hatred still existed among them toward the enemy during the war, she didn’t have to share their feelings completely.

The fact that she had been married to Arthur without the consent of their governments was proof of that. And although their marriage had come to light, resulting in its dissolution, Arthur had continued regarding her as his wife, pursuing her after enough time had passed since the scandal for people to put their relationship in the back of their minds. And he was risking it to be brought to the front again.

She hated to be put in the spotlight of another relationship drama again.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said with a sigh, perhaps exhausted from losing her again after just catching up to her, before consuming his drink to the brim. “I originally planned to spend more time here, but well…”

He smiled widely at her, resting his cheek on his fist. “You’re here. Alone. The little brat is not around. It’s as if God wants us to be together in the end.”

She would have normally rolled her eyes or let out an exasperated sigh at his confidence as well as the petty title he had bestowed upon Alfred, but because she was drunk, she laughed instead, before quickly drinking her glass of alcohol. She felt tipsy, which was unsurprising from the amount of alcoholic beverages she had had. She had been here, intermittently drinking, for almost two hours, the last time she checked her wristwatch, and hopefully, Alfred was still deep asleep. She didn’t want to be in the middle of another pesky fight between him and Arthur if they met each other again. Her shared apartment with Alfred was within walking distance, and she had left a note informing him where she had gone, so he would find her easily.

She was about to order another drink when Arthur stopped her. “Barman! Give me this beautiful lady’s bill!”

“What are you doing?” she hissed, returning to her senses and feeling embarrassed as the people who had heard him looked at them in amusement.

“I’m paying for you, my love,” he replied with a grin, as the bartender approached them with a ledger in hand and then, after finding what Arthur had requested, spoke aloud her total bill.

“Here, keep the change,” Arthur quickly said as he paid for both of their drinks before dragging her with him across the crowd and out into the open. She let him do so, but not without hissing at him again. And it was not because she wanted to go out with him, but because she refused to attract more unwanted attention if she made a scene in such a confined space.

They were both stubborn, to be frank.

Many people were still on the streets, despite the lateness of the hour. The music inside remained in hearing, the neon lights on the buildings, and the vibrant outfits and laughter made the streets almost as alive as the establishment, like an appetiser for what was to come once they stepped inside.

Arthur was still gripping her hand as she stumbled after him away from the bustling establishment. She struggled to hold her ground and repeatedly pulled in an attempt to loosen his grip. “Let me go.”

He did as she demanded and watched as she caressed her hand, remembering how tightly he held her, remembering the other times he did it since their divorce.

“How did you end up here anyway?” she asked him as she met his gaze.

She wondered how he ended up here out of all the places in Berlin. Perhaps it was a coincidence or, reiterating his own words, God’s work. He had been too lucky to meet her here. The city was very large, after all. She also didn’t inform him that she was in this city, but the answer to how he knew that was most certainly because of their ward, Hildegarde, whom she had informed and who had been staying with him before. Despite the war that had them on opposite sides, Hilda still held some loyalty when it came to her British father. It was not surprising, because she had spent more time growing up with him than with her German mother.

Gertraud didn’t want to let her relationship with Arthur hinder her relationship with Hilda. She didn’t want their daughter to be dragged more into their mess. Therefore, even knowing that Hilda would tell her father, she did share with her the city she was currently in, but also because of that, she didn’t share the full address; instead, she insisted on being the one who would visit her.

Again, it was not because she hated seeing him; rather, it was because Alfred was around and didn’t want to see Arthur, who didn’t want to see him just as much. Alfred had insisted on being her “chaperone,” and so, being able to go to the club without him was akin to letting a breath that she had been holding.

But now the position of a chaperone seemed to be taken over by Arthur…

“As you already know, our little spy told me you’re in Berlin. I had been looking for you around the city and ended up staying somewhere nearby. My efforts had been in vain”—said efforts probably included using his money to pay others to search for her whereabouts—“and so I decided to have a drink in that bar. But imagine my surprise when I found the pretty lady I was looking for sitting beside me, even though I only went there not to search for her but to deal with my disappointment…” he said lowly, almost seductively, as he leaned closer to her ear, making her skin tingle. She immediately took a step back and glared at him. He only smirked and pushed up his spectacles before putting his hands in his pockets. “Well, my efforts were in vain, but in a different way now. In a non-disappointing way.”

She closed her eyes and sighed, briefly removing his arrogant smirk from view, before she quickly walked past him toward the direction of her apartment, uncaring if he would follow him and therefore find out where she was currently residing. The effects of alcohol were catching up to her, more so in an open space, without the blinding lights, the stimulating music, and the rowdy crowd to distract her. Now, she was feeling more tired, a little lightheaded, and slightly nauseated enough for her to stumble on a few steps.

“Hey, hey…” Arthur said, gently touching her.

She instinctively moved away from his touch, but he only returned his hand to her, raising her arm around his shoulders and holding her tightly around the waist, making it harder for her to push him away. “Come with me.”

He guided her toward a nearby car, where a man emerged from the driver's seat and opened the passenger door for them. A chauffeur. She settled inside first, and Arthur followed after her, with his chauffeur shutting the door behind him. But instead of asking her to share her current address with the chauffeur, he directed the man to his apartment.

“Arthur!” she angrily exclaimed at his smug face.

She was about to inform his chauffeur to drop her off at her apartment first, only for Arthur to hold her cheek and shoulder and kiss her hard, effectively shutting her up, as his lips sealed hers, and the feeling of surprise took over her intoxicated mind. This was the very first time they had kissed after the divorce. He also had that smug look on his face last time because he was on the winning side of the war. And she had also been angry at him.

After she struggled to escape from his grasp and left a slap on his annoying face just as before, she quickly pressed herself against the door on her side and looked toward the lit street, while the chauffeur pretended that his passengers in the back didn’t exist and focused on accomplishing his job to take them to their destination.

Her cheeks were flushed, and she preferred to think that it was because of the alcohol and the hot temperature inside the compartment. She refused to look back at Arthur, who was chuckling after she punched him.

“We ought to spend more time together, Aurelia. My brat has been enjoying your pleasant company far longer than he deserves,” he explained with a hint of resentment.

At the mention of his “brat,” she thought of Alfred back at their apartment, thought of how displeased he would be once he found out that Arthur had temporarily whisked her away. She thought of quickly getting inside the car before the chauffeur could do so and driving away once they reached Arthur’s residence.

If there had been no third party, she would have been tempted to hit him with the car to get him out of the way, because it was not as if it was enough for him to stay dead permanently. He might have even enjoyed it, being the insane person that he was. It would not be the first time that he enjoyed being killed by her. He had allowed her to kill him before, courtesy of her being his wife, as he drowned in his glory, bored with being untouchable. But now it looked as though he was on his way to drowning with his glory after being indebted to Alfred, who refused to cancel his debts, much to his annoyance.

Stealing a car would have landed her in prison if the police had got to her first before she could explain her situation to her government. Since she would need to share the reason for doing such a thing, her government would find out about Arthur, and their relationship would get in the spotlight again, perhaps not as intensely as before if it didn’t get out to the media this time around.

On the other hand, Arthur would have managed to catch her before she was able to get back inside the car, assisted by her drunken state as well as his chauffeur.

Therefore, the best option was to be obedient to Arthur and let her mouth speak freely, but not too loudly as to be overheard by outsiders when they were finally alone. She could also escape at that time, when his guard was down, but then she would have to run away and rely on chance to get an available vehicle to bring her back to her apartment. So that option was immediately crossed out.

All things considered, yielding to his wishes for now would be a better choice. An escape attempt would not only be futile but exhausting, especially when she was still reeling from the effects of alcohol, and he was as stubborn as a mule. Alfred would have been displeased with her decision and would have gone on to complain about Arthur annoyingly, but at least she could deal with him when she was less intoxicated. Besides, she did need to spend more time with Arthur to deal with their personal matter effectively.

Her head ached more than it already did with the alcohol due to thinking about the consequences of this spontaneous meeting, and how she could get away from Arthur, preferably before he mentioned Alfred again, and return to the latter without him knowing that she had been with the former, so she did not have to deal with their issues with each other again. It would happen again, of course, but at least it happened later rather than sooner.

The ride didn’t take long, and throughout it, he had not spoken to her directly, but indirectly with his restless hand upon her. Her eyes had remained closed, tired, and she had halfheartedly pushed him away before immediately giving up. She would never admit it aloud, but his touch had been soothing, like a mellow wind under hot weather.

He reached for her hand, holding it, as if ensuring that she would not be able to leave him without warning again. “Come, come,” he excitedly said, as his chauffeur opened the door on his side.

Begrudgingly, she let herself be led out by him, steadying her as she shakily stepped outside on her heels. She looked up at the tall, modern-looking flat building with hints of traditional architecture—a place a wealthy man could live in, even with large debts to take care of.

“Thank you. You may go now and wait for me to contact you again,” the aforementioned wealthy man said to his chauffeur, who respectfully nodded and replied, “Yes, sir.”

She expressed her gratitude with a simple “thank you,” not because the chauffeur ended up sending her to his employer’s place, of course. With a polite nod back, his chauffeur returned inside the car and left without them. She watched the moving car dejectedly until it vanished out of view.

Arthur turned to her with a wide smile. “Home sweet home.”

It was not home, it was not sweet, she thought dryly, calmly returning his gaze.

With him intertwining his hand with hers, they both walked to the locked doors. He rang the bell, and as they waited, she closed her eyes and massaged her forehead again. Noticing her actions, he leaned her down against his shoulder, caressing her. Steps could later be heard from behind, and the porter opened the locked door from the inside.

“Good evening, Mr Muller, I apologise for having to wake you up this very late at night,” Arthur said with a small smile.

Aurelia almost laughed at witnessing him being so polite. She hoped he would apologise to her later for disturbing her night.

“Good evening, Mr Schmidt. Do not worry about me. It is all right,” Mr Muller replied with a smile. He looked at her curiously. “And a good evening to you as well, madam. If I may ask, what is your name?”

She was glad he didn’t recognise her and Arthur.

“A good evening to you, Mr Muller. You may call me—”

“Mrs Schmidt,” Arthur proudly interrupted.

She quickly glared at him. Damn, Arthur, for taking over her again.

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling in mischief. “My apologies for the interruption. I was just too proud to have her as my wife, to have her carry my name, and to speak it aloud in front of another once more.”

Mr Muller chuckled in return. “It’s to be expected. Mrs Schmidt here is a very beautiful wife.”

She blushed.

Arthur briefly smirked at her before thanking the porter.

“I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here, Mrs Schmidt,” Mr Muller warmly said.

Silently fuming at Arthur, she nodded and followed him as he walked past the porter into the entrance hall.

“Would you like me to light your way to your apartment?” Mr Muller asked them both.

“There’s no—“

”We’ll manage on our own, thank you,” she answered for both her and Arthur. It was time for her to take the lead.

He was smiling and humming in victory, as they each took a match from the holder on the wall, striking it on the plate and igniting two of the tapers which they had taken from the ceramic holder beside it.

“Stop that,” she told him, annoyed.

“But I’m so happy,” he replied, smilingly, before heading to the staircase, still humming, making her groan.

As they stepped up to the next floor, away from the view and earshot of Mr Muller. She held Arthur down and hissed at him, “What were you thinking, introducing me like that?”

“I’m thinking in advance,” he replied with an infuriating grin. “It’s not as if you will be able to resist me forever.”

Here he was again with his arrogance. It made her more inclined to reject his marriage proposal again, which he would inevitably bring up again. Arthur Kirkland was a prideful man, and to have a third party be involved in their divorce was a slap to his pride, especially when he was the one who had proposed a marriage between them. He could not accept that their marriage ended, not because they both agreed to it, or rather, not because he agreed to it, but because others made the decision for them.

They ascended the elegantly decorated stairs until they reached the fourth floor, where his flat was situated.

“Make yourself at home.”

Stepping inside after he had unlocked the door, she looked around with the taper in hand, while Arthur focused on igniting the gas lamps and turning on the electric lights in the rooms nearby. The apartment was as elegant as the other areas in the building, as well as spacious enough, which made it suitable for a temporary stay. But she was not interested in touring his flat.

Noticing her wandering gaze, he asked, “What do you think?”

“It’s good enough,” she nonchalantly replied before blowing out her flame, putting the taper in the holder on the wall, and then hanging her hat on the nearby rack beside his, which he had placed there earlier.

Feeling suffocatingly hot, she removed her shawl and hung it along with her hat. She subsequently grabbed her coat to remove it as well, but Arthur stopped her.

“Let me…” he spoke lowly.

She sighed and let her hands fall to her sides in begrudging acceptance.

He placed his taper among hers and the unlit ones, and from behind, he slowly, no, teasingly, pulled her coat out of her arms, with his lips touching her head, as if he wanted her to savour this heated closeness between them. She shivered at their proximity and turned to glare up at him for intentionally taking so long to do his job, only for their lips to almost touch one another.

Her heart leapt.

She briefly met his heated gaze before he closed the distance between them again.

Quickly, she pulled away from him, and, looking away, completely pulled her arms out of the coat.

“Aurelia…” he muttered, with a hint of longing.

Ignoring him, she hung the coat on the rack with the accessories, leaving her in her black dress. She went to the adjacent parlour and removed her heels before flopping down on the sofa and closing her eyes, as she dealt with the alcohol inside her. She could feel him staring at her, but she did not let it bother her.

Unfortunately, he eventually bothered her, not because of his stare, but because of his arms suddenly sneaking under her knees and waist, not long after.

In indignation, she quickly opened her eyes and smacked him, “Arthur!”

He laughed. The spectacles over his eyes were now gone. “It’s more comfortable to sleep in bed.”

“Let me go!”

She tried to twist out of his hold, but failed, causing him to laugh harder, as he carried him to the bedroom. The bedroom they ended up in was already lit, and it turned out not to be a guest room, as she expected, but his bedroom, with things that clearly didn’t originally come with it lying around, such as a suitcase, outerwear, and books.

“This is— Arthur!” He suddenly threw her onto the bed before she could complete her sentence. “You beast!”

He laughed again and ran his fingers through his hair, to which she responded with a huff, her feathers ruffled, before he set down his spectacles from his breast pocket on the vanity and hung his coat on the rack. And she quietly watched him do so while lying down on his bed, as though she were still a wife waiting for her husband to come to bed.

“Tell me, Aurelia…” he began in a serious tone as he sat beside her, the mattress dipping down with his weight, and untied his necktie. “Whose kiss do you like better? Alfred’s or mine…?”

The question surprised her. “Wh-what?”

“I said, ‘Whose kiss do you like better?’” he repeated, still with a poker face. His necktie was now hanging loose around his neck, and she felt like strangling him with it.

It would have been amusing for her that he was so serious about her kiss preference, if only it didn’t have a connection to the enmity between him and Alfred, which she accidentally found herself in the middle of. It was never like this in the last century, when she, drifting with the wave of German immigrants, had first met Alfred, while already married to Arthur. Alfred liked to keep to his continent, after all, but then a destructive war among the European nations happened, where he got himself involved, and by the end of it, Arthur found his “great” nation indebted to America. Now, Arthur saw him as a threat to his power and therefore felt that her current relationship with Alfred was evidence of that, as she was formerly his wife. It was strictly platonic, of course, and she never even had a first kiss with Alfred, who had only lied about it back then to rile Arthur up.

She immediately sat up to face Arthur directly and correct his assumption. “I never kissed Alfred!”

“Hmm, semantics,” he said, not believing her. “How about Alfred kissing you?”

She let out an annoyed groan. “We never kissed, Arthur. Never. The truth is, Alfred lied to you. He wanted to provoke you, which he did.”

Arthur’s eye twitched out of annoyance. After all, not only had he unknowingly danced to Alfred’s tune and she let him, but he had also been overcome by the same man in the fist fight that ensued, which would have continued longer if not for her successful interference after more than one attempt.

She continued, “And even if he did kiss me, without my knowledge, there would still be no need for comparison, because I only have a one-sided basis for that.”

“You should have come with me and told me the truth before,” he replied bitterly.

“I don’t have to remind you that Alfred was my benefactor and original companion at the time, and we were in his country, where you also had foolishly punched him in the face,” she said matter-of-factly.

He quietly laughed. “I did enjoy punching him, though. It had been more than a century since I last did that. That upstart needed to be disciplined. To all the women he could have played with, he had to choose you. You, who had been my wife and could have been his mother.”

She reddened angrily at the word “played,” her pride bristling, and yet wasn’t there some truth in that? She had accepted becoming an actress in Alfred’s film industry, with such a role being akin to a doll.

And of course, there was Arthur again, with the almost “mother-son” relationship between her and Alfred. When he had first brought up in a private conversation the closeness she had with Alfred since their divorce, he reminded her of the marriage they had had, of the daughter they shared, and of Alfred once seeing him as his father and still being his son in his eyes, even after Alfred renounced their familial ties. Arthur didn’t have to say the exact word for her to know what he was implying.

With an angry slap on his cheek, she had reminded him that they were not married anymore, that if her relationship with Alfred ended up as something more, Arthur did not have the right to involve himself, and that it would not be as unnatural as he liked to think it was, because she and Alfred had never once saw each other in a familial way. They could have, but they didn’t. They didn’t.

“I’m glad there has never been a kiss between you two,” he continued with a wide smile. “You’re better off with me, after all.”

She was better off without ending up with any of them, she silently remarked.

She lay back down on the bed and turned away from him, closing her eyes to sleep. She was so tired that she didn’t care anymore that this was his bed. But of course, he would not let her sleep so easily.

“How’s living in the same place as Alfred?” he asked with a hint of derision, lying down behind her after moving out of the bed. Congratulations to him for finally saying Alfred’s name. “Pray tell, how did he act upon his feelings for you?”

She groaned, annoyed by his interruption. “Can’t you just let me rest first?”

She turned around to face him, only to end up finding out that he was shirtless and only in his drawers. Flustered, as she glanced down at his bare torso, she briefly looked up at his arrogant and expectant eyes again, before turning back around and scooting away.

“Can’t you wear a shirt and pants? You’re being improper.”

He chuckled and scooted toward her. “It’s not the first time you’ve seen me like this. You even saw me completely naked, remember? And you let me—”

“We were married before,” she interrupted, before his mouth could completely run toward a very intimate topic.

“And you will marry me again.”

She faced him again with a glare.

He only smiled.

Their faces were very close that she thought he would kiss her again.

Instead, he repeated his question earlier in a whisper, almost kissing her, “How did our dear Alfred act upon his feelings for you?”

She pulled back to create more distance between them. “I told you, he isn’t interested in me romantically.”

“I didn’t say they were romantic feelings,” he replied with a cheeky smile.

She looked at him tiredly.

“But his feelings are very romantic indeed,” he added.

She thought it was not best to describe Alfred’s feelings for her as “very” romantic. She was not even certain whether his feelings would be considered romantic. She liked to think that it wasn’t, that other people just misunderstood what he felt toward her, that Francis had lied to her about Alfred admitting to him that he wanted her that way. After all, her brother enjoyed playing with her and was especially unreliable now, with the recent war between them, which had reached his lands and stayed there for years, unwelcome. He might have grown tired now of the idea of hating her after having done so for so long, but he would not deny his chance to have his little revenge on her.

She never confronted Alfred about what her brother told him, of course. That would have been too embarrassing. But she was curious. There were times when Alfred had acted toward her in a way that would be considered romantic at one glance. But he never made it clear if his feelings were as romantic as his actions. She was not interested in being featured in another romance “film”; therefore, her refusal to satiate her curiosity was a reflection of the fact that she enjoyed the status quo between her and Alfred and hoped that he would remain content with them remaining as friends and nothing more, unlike Arthur.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” she said before lying on her back, with her hands on her stomach.

He rested his cheek on his hand and looked down at her. “But I want to know how exactly he almost crossed the boundary. Let me guess, perhaps you had even lain in the same bed together, like you and I right now, talking—”

She huffed. “We hadn’t, Arthur. Don’t be too jealous. Alfred’s act of kindness, whether or not it bordered on romance, won’t make us a couple. I am not interested in having him as my new lover.”

“You never know what will happen in the future,” he reasoned. His other hand touched hers—the one that used to have the wedding ring that turned into a pile of ash—and gently pulled it from under her other hand to slowly caress her ring finger. “We got married, after all.”

She looked at their hands, at the conspicuous diamond ring on his finger.

A token of their past marriage.

It was unexpected… Her marriage to Arthur.

Before it, there had been only one other man that she truly planned to marry, and that was Feliciano. But war had changed their relationship. The idea of their marriage lost the spark it once had for her. Her former fiancé had fought for their relationship by being by her side and empathising with her, but she was too tired to the point that she found herself no longer ready for commitment, and so they took a break. It was supposed to be temporary, but she never sought him again as a lover. So he let her go, ever so gently, that she had broken up in tears.

Then, many decades later, Arthur came with a marriage proposal. It was neither out of love between them nor duty to their people. But there was Hilda, who recognised them both as her parents, and had therefore wished for them to be officially together. But Arthur and Gertraud were not interested in marriage. She used to, but not with him. However, their perspective on getting married had changed when she no longer had an empire to represent, and she had been but a walking corpse. There was no point in denying a wish when she was dying already. Besides, she almost became a wife before; why not finally accept the opportunity to experience being one?

On the other hand, a marriage with her was acceptable for Arthur, because he wouldn’t have to deal with his wife’s polity, when there was no longer one, as well as being a husband for much longer, with her death being near. But that had only been the case before. As opposed to expectations, she had evolved into a different empire and lived long enough to finally become a direct enemy of her husband’s polity. The marriage, therefore, ended differently than expected.

“Yes… But our marriage eventually ended.”

“It wouldn’t have ended if not for others interfering!” he angrily replied, his grip on her tightening a little.

“You never know what will happen in the future,” she repeated his earlier words.

He looked at her with annoyance. “Yes, the future is uncertain, but we can make an effort to push it to our liking.”

Then, softly, he said, “That’s why I’m here, Aurelia. I want to have a future with you as my wife again.”

She didn’t reply, but slowly reached out a hand to his cheek. He briefly closed his eyes, leaning against her with a sigh. He was a very persistent man. Instead of divorcing her when she became the German Empire, when he finally defeated her in the war, he didn’t. Instead of letting her go after their divorce, he didn’t. He wanted them to get married again. He was like a boulder on top of a mountain, while Feliciano was like the breath of wind when it came to their relationship with her. It was harder to get away from Arthur than from Feliciano. He was more dangerous and rougher, but it made her less afraid of being with him in a way, because Feliciano was just too good for her.

“Arthur…”

He only looked at her, waiting.

She wondered what he could see in her right now.

She looked at him and saw a continuation of the past, of something she already knew—another chapter in a serial film—unlike when she looked at Alfred, who learned to call her by her new name. He was a new beginning, a new separate serial. But the other serial she starred in kept ending in a cliffhanger. It kept coming back.

So here she was again with Arthur for another chapter.

She liked to blame it on the alcohol for making her lean up and kiss him.

He kissed her back and straddled her, cupping her face and pushing her back down.

Pulling away, he smiled and smugly said, “See? You still want me,” as he caressed her cheek with his thumb.

She rolled her eyes with a scoff. “Oh, shut up.”

Smiling, he kissed her again, and his other hand travelled down to her shoulder, on the strap of her dress.

“May I, madam?” he asked, almost purring, as he tugged on it.

Annoyed, she harshly replied, “Just get it off already.”

He smirked, and with his hands now on both of her straps, he pulled them down, while she pulled her arms out of them at the same time. With his help, she then moved out of the rest of her dress, leaving her in her step-in chemise. Kneeling together, they kissed each other again, as his fingers went to pull down the only layer of clothing left on her body.

They pulled away from the kiss. The chemise was bunched up on her waist, and her breasts were now showing. He immediately squeezed one of them and then pinched and tugged on her nipple on the other, causing her to moan.

He took a nipple with his mouth, his hand remained playing with her other breast, and he gently pushed her down the bed. Her soft moans filled both their ears.

He pulled away and kissed her again, deeply this time, with his tongue seeking entry into her mouth, which she immediately welcomed. As their tongues touched one another, he didn’t completely divert his attention from her breast, adding to her sensual pleasure.

Eventually, he moved his mouth down her jaw and to her neck, staying there for a while as he spread small kisses and left marks on her skin again by gently sucking and biting on it. Her eyes were closed, and her hands carded through his hair and rested on his back separately.

When he was satisfied enough, he began to trail kisses down her cleavage, stopping close to her waistline, to which her chemise still clung. He leaned away and slowly dragged her undergarment down her legs and then off her feet.

He settled himself between her legs and played with her clitoris, pinching and rubbing it.

She moaned again. “A-Arthur!”

She felt herself getting wetter down there.

He almost groaned. “God, I miss this.”

The noticeable bulge under his drawers emphasised it.

“Do you miss this, Relia?” he asked, smiling down at her and rubbing her folds. Her hole ached at the closeness of his touch. “Me, touching you like this?”

She wouldn’t admit it to him, but yes, yes, she did miss it.

“Have you ever let anyone else touch you like this?” He slid a finger inside, and it felt so, so good. “We’ve divorced, after all, and the war is still fresh in our minds, and you have these pent-up emotions for me over that. Sex can be a good outlet…”

She never had anyone else like this. Even when she was Germany now, even with the consequences of the previous war, she still had that part of her from the past that gave sacredness to the act of sexual intimacy, and therefore wanted it to happen during marriage. And yet right now, she was disobeying that part of her. She was not married to Arthur. Not anymore. But he was the only husband she ever had, and he remained looking at her as though she were his wife. It was hard not to make him an exception.

“No…” she answered shakily, moaning as he slowly stroked her with his finger while rubbing her clitoris once again. “How about you?”

A flare of an unwanted feeling appeared inside her. It made her uncomfortable, made her chest ache.

He paused. “Me?”

“Had anyone?” she said, a little angry, a little hurt.

He laughed. “Only you, my love.”

Then he pushed in another finger and moved it just right against her with the other, making her cry out.

“Only you…” he repeated softly.

A weight lifted from her chest. His words were making her flustered in a contented way, and she found herself having a hard time looking directly at his intent face more than before. She knew that it was not out of love that he stayed loyal to her, not in a way that it had been with Feliciano, before she had forsaken his love for her. And yet the romantic part inside her, the one who had painted a rosy picture of love and marriage, that one that had made her love and propose to Feliciano back then, could not help but search for traces of such in Arthur.

She closed her eyes in bliss as he continued to pleasure her, and after a few more rubs, a few more strokes, she trembled beneath her with a cry of his name. Arthur moved his fingers out of her, causing her to open his eyes in curiosity. Looking down at her heatedly, he slowly licked at them, teasing her. She swallowed and gripped the sheets, aroused. Then, he lowered himself between her thighs and buried his face in her cunt, replacing the hands that had been pleasuring her with his tongue. He licked her clitoris and her folds a few times before finally pushing it inside, lapping up her release.

Her thighs closed in more around his head, while her fingers closed on his hair, pulling at it. He let out a groan, which sent more pleasure to her core. He looked at her teary eyes intently, as though daring her to look away. She couldn’t help but throw her head back and close her eyes from the pleasure, which soon accumulated enough to throw her over the precipice again, when he pulled out his tongue to suck and bite on her bud.

Diligently, he cleaned her cunt with his tongue and then pulled away to kneel again. He slowly licked his lips while looking at her with an arrogant smirk. It was arousing, admittedly, and her body was responding to it. It ached for him more.

“Heh, look at that. I’m still not out of practice, aren’t I?”

It was not a question that needed answering, not when her mouth and body had already given them both the answer. She still felt like punching him again, though, to wipe that arrogance off his face, even if only temporarily.

He grabbed his drawers and pulled them down.

Finally.

His cock sprang up, fully erect, with its tip leaking.

He threw away his undergarment, and she raised her hips in anticipation, making him smirk again. How annoying…

Readying himself, he rubbed himself for a short while before pressing his cock against her waiting cunt. There was no teasing that followed. He immediately pushed himself inside of her, clearly impatient with stalling any longer just to amuse himself in frustrating her.

They moaned together at the very intimate contact that had evaded them for months. Breathing heavily, he paused for a moment, allowing her to adjust to the sensation, and looked at her for affirmation. “Can I move now?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He gently pulled himself away, almost doing it completely, before pushing into her just as gently. He continued at the same pace with his following thrusts, holding up her legs to make it easier for him to move against her.

She kept them wrapped around him when he eventually let go of them to brace himself up as he leaned down, murmuring, “My wife…”

It was not strange.

He still stubbornly saw her as his wife, after all.

But when he did it with his eyes looking into her earnestly, it was. And it made her nervous. It was not love, she quickly reminded herself, before he bridged the small gap between them and swallowed her breathy moans. He was an empire. Larger than her two empires combined. He was not like Feliciano, who had never been one. And an empire was all about power and possession. He embodied one better than she did. This was merely an extension of that.

As he kissed her, she wrapped her arms around him, with her hand reaching up to his hair, intertwining their bodies together more than they already were.

“My wife…” he murmured again afterwards against her lips.

He then pressed kisses down to her jaw and to her neck.

Her eyes were barely open, looking up at the ceiling, wondering why she even allowed this to happen, why she allowed him even back inside her again. She let him win against her again.

He left her neck eventually, with more love bites, and kissed her once more, gently, with a caress on her damp cheek, almost as though she was a woman he loved the most, when, in truth, she was merely a prized possession that he had lost and finally got hold of again. Still holding her cheek, he lovingly gazed down at her flushed face while slowly reaching down her body. His hand teasingly brushed over her aroused breast with a light squeeze and over her burning stomach with a hard pressure, like he wanted to feel himself inside her. Eventually, he reached her sensitive clitoris and rubbed it, along with his deep, slow thrusts into her, which caused her to sob harder, overwhelmed by pleasure.

Her hand scratched his back, and her grip on his hair became stronger. She clenched tighter around his shaft as she neared her climax, and he responded to it with a low and deep groan. “So tight…”

It was not long before she cried out his name, trembling and becoming wetter around him, as the heated tension inside her escaped from its cramped confines. He let out a satisfied grunt, his thumb releasing her clitoris and his hips riding on the rhythm of her physical euphoria. “That’s it, my beautiful wife… Just let go.”

As she breathed heavily and her hands loosened behind him from the intensity of her release, he quickened his pace in pursuit of his own, the growth of his pleasure assisted by the contraction of her muscles. And before long, he followed after her, his cock throbbing and swelling up as it released his seed into her, making her feel warmer.

With his eyes closed, he pressed his forehead against hers, panting, his breath mingling with hers. Her eyelids felt heavier now, and she let her arms and legs fall onto the mattress, exhausted; her heart was pounding so hard that she thought she could almost hear it. But it was only the sound of their breathing that could be truly heard at the moment.

Soon, he leaned away and slowly pulled himself out of her. The gradual loss of their intimate connection led her to whimper and ache for more of him. He then moved away between her legs and settled down beside her. She had her eyes closed now, which were so close to intercepting the sleep that had escaped her before, and she felt him caress her head very gently, which was soothing to her mind.

“Sleep now,” he whispered just as soothingly.

She was right at the edge of sleep when something soft pressed to her forehead, and she faintly heard him say, “I love you...”

But her mind was too tired, too intoxicated to remember it in the morning.

She had woken up with her head aching badly.

And it ached more when she remembered where she was currently and what she did last night, with the sticky feeling below her waist being a heavy reminder of the souvenir she had let be left behind inside her.

But there was no Arthur to be found in bed.

Groaning with pain and regret, not for getting drunk, but for being unable to resist Arthur, she looked for her chemise and dress and was surprised to find them folded on the bench by the foot of the bed with her heels in front of it. She wore them all again, and then found another surprise when she checked herself in the mirror of the vanity. There was no thick makeup to be found on her face, either.

She could not remember organising her clothes, leaving her heels in this room, and cleaning off her makeup, but since Arthur was the only person she had been with in this apartment, it was certainly him who had done the honours, unless she had truly lost her memories or he had invited someone else in. There was also her evening bag on the vanity, and he might have used her cold cream inside. He must have even cleaned her body as well, because she could not sense the stickiness and stink that she should have from sweating heavily the night before and instead felt rather clean. 

Although it should be anything but impossible, she could not help but entertain the idea of someone else, someone who could be or, if they were secretly not already, become his lover, being here, after what they did. It made her chest ache in that uncomfortable way again. It made her doubt his loyalty. It made her think that he had a secret plan to hurt her. But it also made her feel stupid in the end because of its impossibility.

She grabbed her wristwatch from the bag and looked at it, remembering Alfred. It was still time for breakfast, and he would have already been awake, looking for her. And if Arthur did have someone else here, Alfred could be the mysterious guest. But Alfred would have already been dragging her out of this apartment, not wanting them to stay any longer with Arthur.

On her reflection, she also found the marks that Arthur had oh-so-lovingly left on her neck. Alfred would inevitably discover them. She could use cosmetics to conceal them because she could not wear scarves or high-collared clothes all the time around him. After all, he was her original companion.

But she also had to explain to him where she had been after going to the nightclub, and the best explanation she could think of was that she slept with someone, who did not necessarily have to be Arthur. It was not completely a lie; therefore, it would have been very believable.

She had to go back to Alfred now, having been gone for far too long.

With the bag, she walked languidly out of the bedroom and into the bathroom nearby, where she found a toothbrush, dentrifice, washcloth, soap, and towel with a little note from Arthur saying that they were for her. She flushed at his thoughtfulness.

After cleaning herself in the bathroom, she headed in the direction of the exit and heard the noise coming from nearby. Curious, she came to check, only to come across the sight of Arthur in his long-sleeved shirt and trousers, preparing a meal in the dining room. It was very domestic, and she could almost imagine that they were married again. He had been like that when they had been married, after all. They had avoided having any full-time servants around their house. It lessened the risk of their marriage being exposed to unwanted people. So they had to do the cooking themselves.

In the beginning, she was the only one performing the duty of a cook. She had not minded it. She was experienced enough in such, with her often helping in the convent, applying her learning in her own kitchen, and even having cooked her own food with Francis, when she had been staying with him shortly before Arthur took her away as a wife. She found the task enjoyable. It was not that demanding for her weakened body. It made her feel useful.

Her role was also the norm in the relationship between a wife and a husband among humans. The wife tended to the household affairs, while the husband tended to the affairs beyond the home. She had also been practically a human anyway, with her lack of polity. She had no other important matters to do, unlike Arthur, who still had his empire, which spanned the globe. At first glance, it looked as though they were an ordinary wife and husband.

Eventually, Arthur had decided to help her with cooking, which had been surprising. He had considered it a mundane task, after all, not befitting someone like him. Unsurprisingly, he was also not as bad at cooking as her brother liked to say to her. Arthur had explained that seeing her doing household chores made him feel useless in their house, for she might have a dissolved empire, but that did not make her completely human, and that, of course, he would not let Francis surpass him in being her cooking partner.

“Good morning, my dear,” Arthur greeted her with a wide smile when he noticed her. “Come sit down and eat.”

She could have left, but she had to admire the efforts he poured into the breakfast. She also didn’t want to be ungrateful, considering that not all of her people were able to recover from starvation. Attempting to leave would have also made him more annoying. It would add to the exhaustion she was still feeling from her late-night activities.

As she sat down on the corner of the table and put her handbag on another chair, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” she simply said, looking at the food and drinks he had prepared. With her throat feeling dry, she picked up the glass of water first and quickly drank it.

He sat down on the head of the table beside her and cheekily remarked, “I was too good, huh?” making her glare at him, while admittedly thinking that, yes, he had been too good.

When she began to eat, he watched her like a hawk until she scolded him for it, at which he laughed, and she tried to relax during breakfast, but it was hard not to, not only because of him, but because of the knowledge that there was Alfred, who didn’t know where she was and how she was and therefore would have been ill at ease like her.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Arthur asked with a wry smile as he lit up a cigarette.

“Yes,” she answered honestly, and it was not because he was doing something uncomfortable to her, but because of what he was reminding her of. He reminded her of what she had allowed him to do last night, which she should not have. He reminded her that she should not be with him but with Alfred.

He hummed and then pressed his cigarette between his lips.

“Stay after breakfast, would you?” he encouraged, after dragging out his cigarette.

“I can’t, and you should know why.” She hated herself for feeling a little down over that.

“Ah, the brat…” he said, heaving out a heavy sigh. He was clearly very tired of Alfred getting in his way. “Do you miss him?”

And she was very tired of his feeling threatened by Alfred over her.

“No. I certainly would not think of my situation with him as me missing him.”

He smiled again. “Good. Then you’re only worried about what he’ll do or think with you still not back with him, hmm?”

She nodded and took a bite of her ham.

He sighed again. “I am very tempted right now to punch him again as soon as I see him. If only it would be enough to send him flying away from you forever.”

She rolled her eyes and focused on eating.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I don’t. You might end up finding yourself in his mercy again,” she replied, half-jesting, half-serious. She hoped that they would be able to refrain from a physical fight if they were to meet each other again.

He frowned. “Ha, ha. Very amusing. Well, at least you care.”

He smiled at the end and then softly added, “And I care for you, too, so do tell me, if he ever hurts you, all right?” before continuing to take a drag of his cigarette.

She nodded and could not help but blush at his response. She was flattered, even when knowing he only saw her as one of his valuable possessions that no one else should lay their hands on.

“Could I at least have my chauffeur take you to wherever you’re staying with the brat?” he asked.

“To our apartment? No. I can’t have you knowing my current address, with Alfred around. But your chauffeur could drop me off at the club—No, somewhere far, but walking distance from the club, because Alfred might be around there as well.”

“Him, again,” he said, clicking his tongue. “I am looking forward to meeting him again so he can meet my fist.”

“You might meet his fist first.”

“Then I shall punch him back harder.”

“And you shall be in his mercy in the end.”

He made a face of displeasure. “Be more supportive of me, could you?”

“You must admit he is physically stronger.” She looked at him dead in the eye.

They looked at each other for a moment.

Then, he threw his hands up, scowling. “Fine, I admit it. But physical strength is not everything. I’m more intelligent than he is.”

“And that is something you perfectly demonstrated by falling for his trap and starting a fist fight.”

“Well, I’m rather sensitive when it comes to you,” he coolly said.

She paused, taken aback.

She could feel the heat rising to her face.

He soon smiled. “Well, since you planned for my chauffeur to drop you off somewhere away from the brat, you would not mind my accompanying you in the car, would you?”

Still reeling from what he had admitted, even when it was just how he was with his possessions, she found herself unable to refuse him. “As long as you won’t bother me...”

But his presence would have already been bothering in itself.

He grinned. “I shall behave then.”

A comfortable hush descended over them afterwards. He smoked for a little longer before finally setting down the cigarette on its tray and continuing to eat with her. But, of course, he would not leave her undisturbed for long. After setting down his cup of tea on the saucer, he went to touch her leg under the table, making her flinch and glare at him again.

“What are you doing?” she hissed after swatting his hand away.

He laughed. “Can’t a man enjoy his breakfast?”

She reddened. “I’m not your breakfast.”

“You are now,” he said with an amused smile. “I’m afraid I can’t fuck you after breakfast, when you will be leaving by then.”

“Arthur!” She was very tempted to punch him right now.

He laughed again. “Don’t you want to make the most of this moment with your dearest husband?”

“I don’t have a husband,” she deadpanned.

“Oh, but I will be.” He grinned.

“You are certainly not dearest.” And yet it tasted bitter as it rolled off her tongue.

“Then I will be.”

“No, you won’t.” Bitter again.

“The future is not certain.”

“You can’t be certain you’ll be my dearest husband, either.” And then again.

“At least I’m making an effort to make that our future.” He gestured to their meal.

Unable to deny the truth in that, when there was the evidence right in front of her, she huffed and took a large sip of her coffee instead.

“And, while you’ve had your sweet little sleep, I’ve also taken it to myself to clean your body and remove your makeup.”

That much had been obvious to her, but the first one was harder to believe to be true through observation alone. He could be lying for that as well, but then again, if he could clean off her makeup, then he could reasonably clean her body. And such thoughtfulness left her flushed again.

Taking his ring from their wedding off his finger, he stood up from his chair and held her hand to softly kiss it, before kneeling on the floor on one knee and pressing the ring against her palm, as if he were pledging his loyalty to her again, just as many centuries before. But there was no Emperor Henry VI to force him to genuflect this time.

“Marry me again, Aurelia.”

Her cheeks bloomed with a delicate hue.

She might have no empire anymore, but her weakness when it came to submissions, especially coming from the powerful like him, remained, and he was taking advantage of that, making it hard for her to reject him again. She was annoyed and yet flattered at the same time.

“Perhaps if you asked more nicely, I just might,” she haughtily replied. Well, she had to take advantage of the submissiveness of this usually arrogant empire.

He laughed in disbelief.

“How impolite of you to laugh at your mistress, young servant,” she scolded him in a serious tone, but playfully in truth.

“My apologies, madam,” he said with a smile, then he cleared his throat. “May you grant me the honour of being your husband again?”

Her lips curved into a subtle smile.

Once more, she was flattered.

“Fine, fine, I shall grant your request,” she said, feigning disinterest. “Don’t you dare disappoint me, mister Kirkland.”

Once more, she would be in a marriage with no love, far from the one she could have had with Feliciano, and the romantic poet inside her could not help but long, achingly, at what could have been. But marriage was practical; there was more than one way for a husband to support her besides loving her. It was better that she had something else to rely on than nothing at all.

“I shall do my best not to, madam,” Arthur answered with a grin, closing her fingers around the wedding ring.

She clutched it tightly, as though he had given her his heart.

“I also have another gift for you.”

“Hmm?”

He pulled out a box from his pocket and opened it to present another ring, with a diamond gemstone like the other.

“I still have your ring size.”

She grew pink in the face again.

“Here, hold out your hand,” he softly told her, as he picked up the ring from the box that he then returned into his pocket.

She put his ring, well, her ring now, on her other hand and raised her left hand, knuckles up, for him.

Gently, he placed the engagement ring around her finger.

Then he caressed the ring as he gazed down at it with awe, as if he could not believe that she had finally accepted his proposal. She could not even believe it, either. Not long ago, she had just been refusing to entertain his idea of himself as her dearest husband. How weak she had let herself become! He then looked up at her with a delightful smile, and much to her dismay, she failed in stopping herself from being enraptured by it. She gave back a hesitant smile. She knew what genuine love felt like, having once been loved by Feliciano. And Arthur had been too good at making her feel loved.

Still holding her hand, Arthur leaned up to kiss her, and she felt a fluttering in her stomach when their lips met each other once more. It was brief, and the warmth it brought upon her had lasted longer, even when he teased her again.

With an air of smugness, he whispered close to her lips, “Look at that, you can’t resist me again.”

“You’re tempting me to withdraw my approval, bastard,” she answered back, but it didn’t truly have any sharpness attached to it.

“Husband.”

“Not yet.”

“Yet,” he repeated with a grin. “Fiancé, then.”

Then he pulled back and slowly sneaked his hand under her chemise. “May we?”

“Fine, insatiable bastard.”

“Fiancé.”

“Bastard.”

“Fine. You’ll be screaming my name soon enough, anyway,” he teased with a squeeze on her thigh.

Her ears burned. “Arthur!”

“Listen to that, you said my name earlier than expected.”

“Let’s just get on with it already,” she said impatiently, lifting her dress and chemise to her waist, revealing his hand under them, which had been making her body throb in anticipation. She also could not afford to waste time here, not when there was Alfred, who had already been searching and waiting long enough for her.

“Insatiable fiancée.”

“Do I have to remind you that I have to go back to Alfred?” she argued.

Arthur grimaced. “By God, I don’t want to hear that name anymore.”

“Then do what I said.”

“As you wish, fiancée,” he said with a playful bow of his head. Then, he teasingly caressed the skin around her cunt, making her feel hotter and wetter, “Now, darling, could you please stand up and turn around for me?”

With a huff, she did as she was told, with his ring still in her right hand.

She could not bring herself to let it go.

“Bend over on the table.”

She moved her chair and some tableware to make space for her body before leaning over and placing her arms on the table for support.

“Beautiful,” he whispered in reverence.

She blushed at his compliment.

He lifted her clothes to her back and caressed her bottom for a moment before touching her burning centre, which caused her to whimper. He pressed and circled his thumb on her clitoris and then gently pushed a finger inside her, which was soon followed by another, curling and moving them both against her inside.

She moaned and ground her hips against him, mounting his dexterous fingers, for she was desperate for more stimulus, more pleasure, which led him to chuckle. His chuckling was annoying, but it also made her more aroused. There was a part of her screaming at her to be more in restraint of her desperation in front of Arthur, even if he was her fiancé, but she could not listen to it, not when she had never felt such a pleasure for long. She had touched herself, of course, but there was a difference between that and having someone else touch her. The latter was more thrilling, because she did not have full control of her pleasure; the situation was less predictable with another participant whose thoughts she could not read; and there was also anticipation of what would happen after, that it would not be mere fingers touching her.

Some time later, with her eyes filled with tears, she reached her peak of pleasure and tumbled from the height, ending up wetter and trembling around him. “A-Arthur!”

But she didn’t let go of the ring.

It remained in her fist upon the table.

She closed her eyes, catching her breath, feeling as though she had travelled a distance.

Soon, she felt his manhood pressing against her back, and, in anticipation, she pressed her lips together into a thin line, wide-eyed, her skin burning. He then pressed it against her folds, brushing it against her for a little while, gathering her wetness, before finally penetrating deep into her, with a sound of pleasure and satisfaction escaping from their throats in synchrony.

After a brief pause where he accommodated himself to the feeling of being inside her again, he leaned forward and forked a slice of apple near her head. Then he pressed it against her lips with a smile that she didn’t have to see but feel to know.

“Eat.”

She took a bite of the apple, looking back at him in incredulity.

“A fitting fruit for our indulgence, is it not?” he simply said, smilingly.

How terribly poetic of him.

She quickly finished eating the slice of apple, impatient for more friction between her legs. He then pushed the plate of apple slices under her face and said, “Eat more, would you, fiancée? Or I might delay.”

She glared at him.

He only smiled.

But she did as he was told, so that he could finally stop stalling.

She picked up one of the slices and ate it.

“Good girl,” he whispered against her ear, his breath tickling and, along with his praise, arousing her.

With a small kiss on the back of her neck, he straightened up and moved against her, his hands on her hips. She moaned at the pleasurable feeling of his cock brushing against her sensitive walls, her head almost falling upon the plate under her.

“Eat,” Arthur reminded her with a light tap on her hip.

Weakly, she took one more slice of apple into her mouth, its sweetness filling her tongue, while he continued to thrust in and out of her, almost causing her to choke, unable to completely restrain her moans. She teared up again, because he just felt so, so good inside of her, and continued to take in another apple piece, not only because he wanted her to, but also because she wanted it. He made her hungry for more. For more of his kind of indulgence.

Before she could have another taste of the apple, he gently pulled her up a little by her hair, arching her back, and, with groans of pleasure, he leaned down to have a taste of her, pressing kisses against the side of her neck. He held her left hand against the table, the one that wore the engagement ring, the one she also used for the apple, because even when she was right-handed, she still wanted to feel his ring in her right hand.

Soon enough, he clamped his lips around a single spot on her neck and began to suck on it to leave another mark on her. He also let go of her hair and squeezed her breast through her clothes, while she kept her head thrown back for him, with her eyes shut and with her body gently meeting his thrusts, her moans spilling from her lips.

The burning pressure in her abdomen kept building on top of one another with each movement of his cock inside her, of his mouth against her skin, and his hand against her chest, and eventually found itself unable to reach any higher with a barrier appearing above them. It pushed and pushed until that barrier broke, and the pressure spread throughout her body, causing her to cry out.

As he felt her euphoric release, he pulled his mouth away from her neck and gently lay her upper body down against the table, allowing her to recover better. Then his hands were back on her hips again, as he focused on getting his own height of pleasure, his groans and grunts sounding so melodious to her ears. All the while, she whined and moaned, already overwhelmed and yet becoming more overwhelmed. She eventually felt him become harder and larger, subtly stretching her hole, and he filled her again, his cock twitching as he did so. Soon after, she broke apart around him with a cry of his name, her body becoming weaker than it already was. Together they panted, exhausted from their amorous activity.

Recovering enough, he gently moved his cock into her a few times, causing her to moan softly, before completely pulling it out of her. Her legs were so shaky, so weak, and she almost stumbled onto the floor when he caught her in time, guiding her onto the chair.

“I was too good, huh?” he said with a smirk.

With a faint blush, she coolly replied, “Don’t be too arrogant.”

He laughed. “But it’s true, though.”

“Then there’s no need to ask.”

“Is that your way of saying ‘yes’?” he teased.

Truly, he had been too good, but she did not want to indulge his ego by giving him a direct affirmation. So she ignored him.

Instead, she looked down and opened her right hand.

Until now, his ring had remained there, while its other half, her ring, had been lost to the fire she had fed it to. The twinge of regret that she had felt before returned inside her.

Gently, he held that hand, enclosing the ring between their fingers, and she looked at him in curiosity, only for her to be met by a kiss that was as gentle from him. It felt sweet. She could almost believe he loved her as Feliciano had loved her, when considering the other sweet things he had done to her. Because of him, her feelings were confusing, and only became more so when he gave her a sweet smile after the kiss.

“Have you grown sentimental to the ring, my love?” he teasingly asked with a squeeze of her closed palm.

She defensively replied, “I’m not.”

But it was a lie, and they both knew it.

He smiled knowingly. “If you insist.”

They cleaned themselves afterwards and continued to eat what was left of the breakfast, with him even insisting that she let him feed her. Foolishly, she felt like they were a loving couple.

It was the typical busy day in Berlin.

Many shops were now open, many people were walking about, and vehicles of old and modern were moving through the streets. The city, her heart, was fully awake, and it was reinvigorating.

Today, in the car, it had been almost quiet, interrupted by a few talks, and just a few, for the conversation she had with Arthur back in the apartment was enough to satisfy him, which included discussing what they would do afterwards. Throughout the ride, he held her hand, he insisted, and it was as comforting as his touch the previous time.

When they finally reached a perfect drop-off area for her, she softly expressed his gratitude to him and his chauffeur. But there was this feeling inside her that did not want her to go just yet.

Before she could step out of the car to mingle with the crowd, she heard Arthur say, “I’ll see you again, Gertraud,” and felt him do so with a smile behind her.

It was her current name, the name Britain would call her by, that Arthur refused to call her by against her spoken wishes, and now he did for the first time. Yet she found herself wishing for him to continue calling her by her old name, which, deep inside, was something she had already been wishing for ever since then.