A Line of Soft Princes - Ch. 3 - Royal Welcome (Patreon)

Just days after his last tryst with Astor, Bartem was off to court. His parents hugged him tearfully, and his siblings wished him well (though whether those wishes were heartfelt was debatable) as he climbed into the most elaborate carriage he had ever seen. Two other carriages followed, each filled with trunks of Bartem’s belongings, and even more strapped to their roofs.

Bartem found it difficult to display any kind of emotion, even once he was alone and rolling toward his new home. His life was about to change dramatically and he’d had so little say in it. In just a few weeks, he would have a wife. While he knew some of what that would entail, he was also certain that marrying the future queen was not something one could really prepare for. No matter how many tidbits of advice his parents gave him, he would still be utterly out of his depth.

His one hope was that he would not drown.

He watched the scenery of his family’s estate and the village roll by. The peach orchards were in full bloom, pink and white petals waving in the gentle breeze. He thought of Astor, whose family farmed nearly half those peach orchards. And then he stopped thinking about him, because if he continued, he might have to contend with just how much he was losing.

Why couldn’t it have been Emmett or Linden? he wondered. Either of them would have been delighted to be royal consorts. It was all they had dreamt of since they were children. Bartem had always thought he would be left alone, comparatively slim as he was. Clearly he had been wrong.

And what kind of princess wanted a slim prince at her side, anyway? He knew everyone had preferences that didn’t always align with the prevailing tastes of the day, but royalty usually satisfied those preferences outside the marriage bed. A thin prince—a thin future king, fuck it all—was nearly unheard of. He would be the trimmest man to marry into the royal family for nearly two centuries. The last one had been mocked mercilessly. The scandal sheets had been filled with speculation about whether he had some kind of genetic defect and how it might affect the royal bloodline. He filled out as time went on, but the memory of a two-hundred pound prince lingered in people’s minds.

Bartem knew all of that was preposterous. Why should anyone, royalty or not, have to look a certain way? Not that it mattered how he felt about it. The court and other nobles would judge him as they liked. All he could control was himself.

***

After three days of travel, Bartem was exhausted, anxious, and damned ready to never set foot in a carriage again as long as he lived.

Thankfully, he was ushered inside the palace by attentive servants who ensured his every need was met. He was shown to his rooms, which felt vast and not like a place he could ever feel at home in. There was food offered to him at every turn, and after two days of unsatisfying meals at crossroads inns, he gratefully partook.

After much bustling around as his things were brought inside and put into their places, he was finally left alone to settle into a hot bath. He took a moment to take in the room. It was, as he’d expected it to be, almost excessively lavish. The ceiling was covered in hand-painted murals, inlaid with precious gemstones and gold leaf. The floors were imported marble. Plush, elaborately woven rugs were placed at intervals so that one’s feet never had to touch the cold floors.

His brothers would have loved all of this. He could practically hear Emmett prattling about the wainscoting and Linden chiming in to admire the mother-of-pearl designs at the bottom of the bathtub.

He had never felt all that close to his family, but the thought of his siblings left his chest aching. Bartem had always been an independent sort, uninterested in the world’s expectations. As he sank himself deeper into the warm water, he wondered if his siblings had made it easier for him to be so. Could he still be as independent-minded without the supportive structure of his family?

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it. As soon as his bathwater had cooled to the point of being uncomfortable, there was a knock on the door. Almost before he’d finished saying the word “Enter,” a finely-dressed servant walked in with an enormous, fluffy towel and stood beside the tub, waiting to wrap Bartem in it. The servant draped him in it and began to dry him.

“I am to be your valet,” he said. “You will be dining with Her Royal Highness this evening. I selected an outfit for you, as well as an alternative if it is not to your taste.” The valet finished his work and then waited as Bartem walked back into his chambers. Two outfits were laid upon the bed. Bartem didn’t particularly like either, but chose the one that showed the least amount of skin.

The valet seemed a bit disappointed by his selection, but made no comment as he helped Bartem dress.

By the time the valet was finished, Bartem looked quite lovely. He wore fitted, high-waisted black pants and a loose cream shirt tucked into them. There was just a touch of black and gold embroidery around the collar. The soft curve of his belly and love handles pressed outward slightly. Bartem hoped that would be enough to satisfy the princess.

Once he’d been dressed, the valet guided him through gilded hallways lined with regal portraits and pastoral landscapes. Every man in the portraits was huge. They ranged in size, but there were a shocking number of men who were almost too large to be able to stand despite looking quite young. He spotted more than a handful who were entirely immobile and were depicted lounging in sumptuous beds or seated in immense chairs. Could I become that large? He pushed the thought away, feeling discomfited.

Everything was lit with enough candles that it almost looked like midday. The Burrocks hadn’t exactly skimped on candles, but the difference between a house that was merely aristocratic and a royal palace was far more vast than he’d realized.

The difference became even more apparent when two servants opened the doors to the dining room.

Bartem had never seen so much food in his life. He’d been to a dozen balls and private parties, including ones hosted by the royal family. But apparently royals weren’t all that interested in sharing their wealth—who would’ve guessed?

The centerpiece was an entire roasted pig, skin crisped to a deep brown, a caramelized orange in its mouth. Towers made of fruit and candies were placed at intervals across the long table. Meat pies glistened. He couldn’t even take in the rest—it was too much, too many details, so much food. And the only person seated at the table to eat it was… Ginevra. Only she wasn’t eating at all. Just waiting patiently, a smile on her lips as she sipped at a glass of red wine.

Bartem wasn’t one to forget his manners. He bowed before his future queen and future wife. “Your Highness.”

“So formal!” Her voice was rich, like a dark honey. She wore a red silk robe with black flowers embroidered into it. Her hair was loose and fell just past her shoulders. She wore no face powder or other makeup, and Bartem marveled at how pale she was. That was out of fashion these days, but the effect of her pallor when combined with her dark hair and eyes was striking. She looked comfortable in a way Bartem wasn’t sure he’d ever felt.

“While I’ll certainly appreciate that when we’re out in public, we have no need for it here.” She gestured for him to sit, as if there weren’t servants already pulling a chair out for him.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Your H—Ginevra.”

“Oh, it’s Evie when I’m at home.” She took another sip of wine.

“Evie, then.” He cleared his throat as he settled into the chair. “I’ve only ever been Bartem. Don’t particularly like being called Bart, or any other nickname. People have tried, but it never stuck.”

“Understandable.” She gestured at one of the servants and they hopped to, piling food onto Bartem’s plate. Princess Ginevra—Evie—glanced down at his plate, then beamed at him. “You don’t seem like a Bart.”

He took a bite of pork. It tasted like brown sugar and honey and spices. He took another bite, and another. A servant poured some sauce onto his plate, and he dipped the pork into it. It was excellent—citrusy and sweet. “This is fantastic,” he said after swallowing.

“Glad to hear it!” She was beaming, and Bartem was surprised by just how genuine her smile felt. “I requested that your family’s cook tell ours all about your favorites. I’m told this is an entirely new recipe, but with elements you like.” She looked a little sheepish. “Sorry if that seems intrusive. I wanted to do what I could to make you comfortable.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and paused, as if trying to decide what to say next. “My hope is for you to be happy, so if ever you need anything, do let me know.”

How odd to hear such words from a princess he’d only met twice. He appreciated the kindness, and at the same time felt off-kilter. He’d expected the stilted conversation stereotypical of an arranged match in its early days. He wasn’t sure how to react to such sweetness and attempts at intimacy, especially from the second most powerful woman in the nation. “You are very kind, Evie.” He stumbled a little over her name. She had only ever been Her Royal Highness, Princess Ginevra in his mind. “I am very grateful to be here. I hope I can become the kind of husband who deserves such attentiveness.”

At that, she broke into an enormous smile. “I don’t doubt that you will.”

“I would like to return the favor, but I confess I don’t know much about you beyond the court gossip that filters down amongst us lesser nobles.”

“Oh, do tell. I would love to hear what rumors there are to be had about me.”

He took a large bite of pork and a gulp of wine. “I think I’ll need more wine before I tell you the juiciest of them. But my personal favorite was the one about you, the Duchess of Ansell, and a dozen hedgehogs…”

***

Two hours later, the couple were laughing, their cheeks flushed. Bartem had a hand resting on his stomach. He felt sloshy with wine and just a bit too much to eat. Evie had her chin resting on her hand, propping herself up on the table as she looked at him, eyes glassy from the alcohol. He stretched and yawned, his shirt pulling tighter against his belly as he leaned against the back of his chair. He noticed the cloud of lust passing over her face.

He was pleased that he sparked that in her. Women were certainly not his preference, but he’d been known to dally with people of every gender, and Evie was as fine a woman as he’d ever seen. He was still surprised she’d even bothered to give him a second glance. A gentleman his age who was under three hundred pounds was an oddity, and generally not considered the pinnacle of sexual attractiveness. But as she stared at him with glazed eyes, her pinkie absentmindedly running over her wine-reddened lips, it seemed clear enough that she found him appealing just as he was. That boded well for him if it meant he had some support in staying slim.

He decided to tease her a bit, see if he could rile her up even further. He rested his hand on the widest point of his stomach. “I can’t believe I ate so much. I haven’t eaten so well since the viewing.”

“I was quite impressed by your showing then.” She, too, leaned back in her chair, looking at him like she wanted to sink her teeth into him. “Your brothers’ appetites were as expected, but you pushed yourself quite hard.”

Bartem blushed. “I usually rein my appetite in better, but there are times when good food is just too much to resist.” He ran a hand over the globe of his stomach. Evie’s breath caught for a moment. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, his tone clearly teasing.

“The bounty of my table is now yours to delight yourself with whenever you please.” She gave a coquettish smirk, then stood. “Leave us,” she announced. Every servant in the room abruptly left. When the final door had closed, she moved toward Bartem and sat in his lap. “In fact… all of my bounty is to be yours, if you’ll have it.”

He wrapped his hands around her waist. “Do you mean to offer this all before our wedding night? How scandalous, Evie. I’d figured you for a prim and proper girl.” He pulled her in closer, until their lips were nearly touching. “But I’m not one to turn away such lovely gifts so freely given.”

She closed the space between them, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him with urgency. He moved to kiss her throat and ran a hand through her long, dark hair. She smelled of orange blossoms and tasted of wine. Her movements belied her experience. She was no virginal girl. Not that such things mattered to Bartem; he’d fucked enough people that he couldn’t quite remember them all. Of course a princess had, too.

Her hands drifted to his stomach, pulling his shirt until it was untucked from his pants so she could touch the warm, stretched skin beneath. “You are terribly lovely,” she sighed as sank her hands into his love handles. “I am so happy that you’ll be my prince. I want to make you very happy, too.” She kissed him again, gently opening his mouth with her tongue and slipping her own inside. He was still a little surprised at how forward she was, especially since this was only the first time they’d really gotten a chance to talk. But a smart man knows when not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Despite the protests of his full stomach, he wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted her up. At first, he was going to bring her back to his bedchamber, but he realized he had no idea how to get back. He also didn’t want to ruin the moment and ask for directions. Instead, he pressed her back against the wall for support. She moaned as she realized what was coming. Her red robe had begun to come loose and was slipping off one of her shoulders. Bartem leaned down and kissed her shoulder while also working to undo the front buttons of his pants.

“I took you for a strong, strapping sort when I chose you, but I never imagined I’d get to experience it like this,” she gasped into his ear.

“You’ll have to tell me about all the things you imagined, Your Highness.” His cock was hard, and he had no trouble finding Evie’s warm, wet cunny. Her legs tightened around his waist, and her hands drifted once again to his stomach.

“Maybe after breakfast tomorrow. I’ll be keeping you too busy to talk until then.”

No further words were exchanged after that. They were drinking each other in for the first time, and neither was ready to come up for air anytime soon.