You’ve heard the story, haven’t you? The Princess And The Pea. A sodden girl rolls up to the palace during a thunderstorm, claiming to be a princess. The crafty queen decides to test her by placing a pea under a mountain of mattresses because she couldn’t have some common sort marrying her darling prince. Miraculously the princess tosses and turns all night, unable to get comfortable. In the morning the queen reveals that she had hidden the pea and that the princess must be true royalty. The prince and princess married and lived happily ever after. They call it romantic. A fairytale. Well, that’s me. I’m the princess, the queen now. Let me tell you what really happened.

The rain hammered down in sheets so heavy you could barely see. My boots were soaked through, and my dress was completely ruined. The carriage had gone off the road two miles back. The footman had stayed to dig out the axle. I’d taken my bag and gone on ahead. It had seemed like a good idea; the rain had only been a light spitting, but it had gotten heavier and heavier ever since. 

By the time the gates of Merrowind Castle came into view, my hair was plastered to my skull, water running down my spine, and I was shivering so hard I could barely speak to the guards. 

"State your business, miss."

“Lady Elira of Veyron, daughter of House Veyron,” I snapped, my voice wavering and stuttering through the chill. “Open the bloody door before my tits freeze off.” In retrospect, it may have been reasonable to suspect I might not have been the high noble I claimed to be.

They let me in. Maybe the guards believed me. Maybe they thought I would stab them if they made me stand any longer in the rain. 

The entrance hall was everything you’d expect from a court desperate to prove its relevance. Gilded mirrors. Two dozen oil lamps. An ornate carpet that smelt faintly of mildew and roses. I stood there dripping, trying not to leave a trail, while a flustered steward vanished to announce me.

I didn’t wait long.

She entered without ceremony. Queen Theodora of Merrowind, dowager mother to the Prince. Her hair was iron-grey and styled into a tight plait that probably hadn’t moved in a decade. She looked me over with the sort of disdain normally reserved for pig farmers and drunkards.

“You are the princess?” she said.

“I was this morning.” At this point it might be worth explaining that my family was a very minor house. An offshoot of the royal family from a few generations back. It did mean I was technically a princess, but practically I had grown up in quite a relaxed setting for the nobility; my father, especially, had been more concerned with his children being competent and knowledgeable rather than schooling us in the finer points of etiquette. It was a testament to how long the queen's search for a suitable match for her son had gone on that she had eventually found the obscure branch of the family tree that contained my family. The rumour was she was very picky. I did not have my hopes up. 

Her lips twitched. Not a smile. More of a facial muscle seizure. She gave a nod to one of the servants.

“Prepare a room for the princess,” she said. “Something appropriate for a princess.”

I caught it. The little pause. She didn’t believe a word I’d said. It’s possible she believed I was who I said I was but still assumed that I wasn’t really nobility anyway. There was something more in the pause, some plan she had, but I had no idea what it could be.

A maid led me through a maze of candlelit corridors, all hushed and echoing. The walls were lined with portraits of self-important ancestors and gleaming racks of ceremonial weaponry. She opened a door on the second floor and gestured inside. A bathing chamber, well appointed. Copper tub, steaming water lavender floating in the surface and a bar of soap sitting on the side. A possibly pointed reminder that I was dirty and unclean.

The maid stayed as I slowly undressed, hanging each sodden piece over the folding screen. I knew it was common for maids to stay to help noble ladies bathe; I’d never felt I needed the help, but apparently the more noble you were, the more incapable you got of certain basic skills. Although in this case it felt more like she was there to observe me and check I knew how to use a bath and the soap. 

I closed my eyes. Just for a bit. Let the steam soften everything that had gone hard on the road. Let it chase the tension from the back of my neck. She waited a few minutes before speaking.

“Shall I assist, my lady?” Apparently I was taking too long. 

“Fine,” I murmured, not opening my eyes.

She stepped closer. I heard the rustle of skirts, the soft suck of water as she dipped the cloth in, lathered it. Her hand brushed the top of my spine, then worked slow circles down my back. It wasn’t unpleasant.

As time went on the steam began to fade, the heat seeped out of the tub. I stayed there until the water cooled just enough to lose its comfort, then shifted upright and stood.

I reached for the side of the tub, water running down my thighs in clean rivulets, and stepped onto the mat.

She was already there, towel open in her arms, ready to wrap me in softness and avoid meeting my eye. She started at my shoulders, patting me down with a quick rhythm. She worked her way lower, down my back, over my hips and legs, and then circled around.

I took the towel from her and draped it over my shoulders.

“That’ll do. I can manage the rest myself,” I said. “Thank you.”

Once I was dried and robed, she led me on in silence, up three more flights of stairs. The room they’d prepared for me was a statement.

Vaulted ceiling lost to shadow. Heavy drapes pulled across narrow windows. Two candelabras and a fireplace crackling in the corner. But the real centre point was the bed. 

It was piled high with mattresses on mattresses. A teetering tower of silk and stuffing. There had to be twenty of them, stacked absurdly tall, each wrapped in fine cloth. A carved wooden stool waited at the side. I nearly burst out laughing. Is this what they expected a princess to need? What on earth had I got myself into here? 

I stepped up to the stool, tested the balance of it with my foot, and then climbed. I perched at the edge of the absurd bed, pushed the sheets back, and slid between them.

Everything smelt expensive. Not warm and comfortable. Not homely. Just expensive. The bed had been designed to impress, not provide comfort.

I nestled in anyway. Let her think what she wanted. I’d play her little game. I could sleep on a stone floor; I was so tired at this point.

The fire had burnt low. My hair had dried in waves over the pillow. I was still awake. The bed was too soft. I was too aware of the space around me, of the weight of silence, of the way every creak and shift echoed.

I heard the door before I saw it. A soft click, a pause, then the faintest groan of the hinges. I didn’t move. Was this another test? Was someone coming in to check on me? Fuck, I didn’t know it could have been an assassin. The sound of careful footsteps padded across the carpet. One set. Slowly and carefully moving towards the bed.

I turned my head just slightly. The bed curtains were half-drawn. A shadow moved behind them, then a face appeared.

I knew who it was immediately. 

I’d seen portraits, of course. The prince of Merrowind, Leontius. In the flesh, he was taller than I expected, broader too. Shirt unlaced at the collar, dark hair a little damp, jaw shadowed with a day’s stubble. He looked flushed, maybe wine, maybe nerves. Maybe both.

His eyes met mine. Golden brown, warm in the firelight. Surprised, maybe, that I was awake. Or that I hadn’t screamed.

“You’re not asleep,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“Brilliant deduction.” I answered in a low hiss.

He stepped closer, keeping one hand on the bedpost, looking up at the tower I was perched atop. I watched his gaze drop, just briefly, to where the covers dipped over my chest.

“Sorry,” he said. “I saw the parade of mattresses earlier. I had to see what mad idea Mum had had this time.”

“Apparently this is a bed fit for a princess,” I said. “As far as I can see, though, it’s just testing. I don’t move too much in my sleep, as I’d have a two-story fall to the floor if I fell off.”

That got me a grin. It was a good one too. It wasn’t the practiced courtly smile I had expected from him, judging from his mother. It was a broad, joyful grin that lit up his face in the dim room. 

“I saw you when you arrived,” he said, brushing a curtain aside and stepping up beside the bed. “You looked…” He stopped. Let the sentence hang.

“Wet?” I offered.

His smile widened. “Lost.”

“Try again.”

He laughed quietly, eyes still on mine. “Intriguing.”

“Better.”

Another beat of silence passed. We just looked at each other. I didn’t move. Neither did he. It was the sort of moment where both of you know exactly where it could go, and no one wants to be the first to flinch.

“Did your mother send you?” I asked. “Is this some test of my princessly virtue?”

“She’d shit pearls if she knew I was here.”

“Then why are you?”

His hand tightened on the bedpost. Just briefly.

“I was curious.”

“About my sleeping habits?”

He tilted his head. “About you.”

“And what have you learnt?”

“That you’re not what she expected.”

“I rarely am.”

I sat up a little, the sheet falling to show just enough. Nothing crude. Just the line of collarbone, the top swell of breast. His eyes dropped before they flicked back up.

“You should go,” I said, not entirely meaning it.

“I could”, he said, not entirely meaning that either.

Another pause. Thick with heat. We both knew where this could go and were waiting for the other to push us there.

He did first.

“Do you want me to?”

I didn’t answer.

I pulled the sheet back slowly and watched him step closer.

He hesitated at the side of the bed, staring up at the ridiculous stack of mattresses with a half-smile.

“How the fuck did you get up there?”

“There’s a stool,” I said. “Unless you’d rather leap.”

He looked at the stool, then at me, then back at the height of the bed.

“I’m going to fall and disgrace the bloodline.”

I sat up and held out a hand. “Come on, princeling. Let’s see if you can get up here like a princess did.”

He climbed. Not gracefully. His foot slipped on the top step, and he cursed under his breath, grabbing at the sheets to pull himself up. His knee landed beside my thigh with a thump, and then he was there, half sprawled, breathing hard, grinning up at me.

“Elegant”, I said.

“I made it, didn’t I?”

I reached out and touched the corner of his jaw. His stubble was rough under my thumb. He turned his face slightly into the touch, just enough to make my breath catch.

“Have you done this before?”

“No, Mother has normally scared anyone away by this point,” he murmured.

“Good”, I said, pulling the sheet away from between us. “That means we’ll make the same mistakes.”

His skin was warm and smooth under my hands as I pulled off his doublet. When I reached the laces of his trousers, he stilled.

“You sure?” I asked.

He nodded.

I undid them slowly. Slid my hand in. Found the heavy heat of his cock resting against his thigh. He was already hard. It jumped when I wrapped my fingers around the base and tugged him free. His prick sprang up, thick and flushed, the head shining already. It curved slightly to the right. He watched me watching it, my face somewhere between pride and panic.

I started stroking him. Slow at first. Just enough to get him used to it. He moaned, hips twitching. “Shit,” he breathed. “Fuck.”

I kept going. He throbbed in my hand, leaking more with every stroke. When I slipped and accidentally twisted my hand a little over his tip, he moaned, so I started doing that more. His hips started bucking up into my palm as the tower of mattresses rocked underneath us. 

“I’m not going to last,” he groaned.

“That’s OK.” I said, smiling. “Just do what feels right.”

“Fuck! Elira!”

His eyes slammed shut. His body tensed. He came with a sharp gasp, thick white streaks spurting across my chest and neck. One hit my chin. He whimpered through it, hips jerking in my grip. I kept pumping him, milking out every drop. 

I was surprised; I hadn’t really expected the explosion. When I had pleasured myself there had been a little flood of fluid as I climaxed, but nothing like this. I had assumed it was the same for men, but instead he had erupted, shooting stuff all over me. I was quite proud of myself.

He collapsed back into the pillows, flushed to the ears, chest heaving.

I glanced down at the mess. Warm on my skin. Sticky between my breasts. I couldn’t stop smiling.

“Well then.”

“Gods, I’m sorry,” he said, still panting. “I didn’t mean to get it all over you.”

“It was flattering,” I said. He laughed, his face buried in the crook of his arm.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he said, muffled. I wiped the worst of it off with the sheet and lay back. My thighs were already parted. Wet. Needy.

He moved between my legs. Hesitant hands touched my thighs. His fingers brushed through the slick mess between them.

“You’re soaked,” he said, wonder in his voice.

I reached down and spread my lips for him. “Start with your fingers.”

He obeyed. One finger eased inside me. His thumb clumsily found the spot I would later learn was my clitoris. I winced.

“Too hard.”

“Sorry.”

“Circle round it; don’t press.”

He adjusted. Slid his finger out and in again, then changed the angle of his thumb. Slower this time. His eyes never left my face. I could see him watching every reaction, every breath I caught, every shift of my hips.

I let him work in silence for a bit. Just small sounds. Gasps when he got the depth right. A low moan when his palm brushed me just so. He was learning fast. He found a rhythm and stuck with it, one finger buried inside me, curling upward on each slow thrust, thumb grazing my clit in steady, tight circles.

He slipped a second finger in beside the first. My vagina stretched wider, wetter. He groaned at the feel of it.

His fingers kept working, filling me, stroking that spot inside that made my toes curl. My back arched as I rocked into his hand. He kissed the inside of my thigh and looked up at me through his fringe before he lowered his face to me, awkward for a second, too hesitant. His tongue darted out and flicked over my clit. I jolted, hips jumping.

“Oh, fuck!”

I moaned as his tongue slid from the bottom of my slit to the top. Then again. His fingers kept moving inside me, slow and sure. The two together were too much and not enough.

“Gods, yes,” I gasped. “Keep that. Stay right there.”

He found the rhythm. His mouth settled over my clit, lips sucking lightly, tongue flicking with growing confidence. His fingers curled deeper. My cunt clenched around him with every thrust. I rolled my hips up into his face, greedy for more. 

Now it was my turn to make the tower of mattresses teeter as I rolled my hips against the prince's mouth. 

I was close, so fucking close. The pressure curled low in my belly, heat building until it started to shake through my thighs. My stomach tensed. Breath hitched.

“Don’t stop,” I warned, my voice breaking. “Keep going! Just, fuck! Yes!”

The orgasm hit like a pull from inside. I spasmed around his fingers, clitoris throbbing under his tongue. My whole body arched, legs shaking, mouth open in a moan I didn’t bother to muffle.

He held on. Kept going through it. Lapped at me slowly, easing me down, drawing out every last tremble.

When I finally collapsed back into the pillows, chest rising and falling, sweat slicked across my breasts, he pulled his fingers from me with a wet sound and kissed the inside of my thigh again.

Then he looked up.

Face flushed. Mouth shiny. Eyes wide and full of pride as he crawled up to kiss me. I could taste myself on him. His cock brushed against my thigh. Already hard again.

“Ready for another go?” I asked.

He nodded, eyes dark.

“Do you want to fuck me now?” I asked, teeth grazing his lip. He nodded. The effort it took him to stay quiet was written all over his face.

My thighs opened. He slid between them without needing to be told. His fingers found himself and lined the head of his royal scepter up to my entrance. He rubbed against me, slow and deliberate. He was watching my face.

I held his gaze and whispered, “Go on. I want it.”

He pushed in. Slow. Thick and aching.

My breath caught in my throat. My core spasmed round his as he groaned and pressed deeper, hips shaking as he buried himself inside me. He started with small, careful thrusts at first. Testing. Watching for signs. I arched my hips to meet him, pulling him in deeper with every stroke. His forehead dropped to mine. He kissed me between thrusts, moaning into my mouth.

I was soaked. Still slick from his tongue. Still open from his fingers. He filled me completely. He whispered against my ear. Promises, declarations of everlasting love and affection, but I barely heard him; I was too wrapped up in the sensations of having another person inside of me. Moving, shifting, grinding. 

We tried to keep quiet. The bed creaked beneath us, too high, too soft. Every movement made the frame groan. I clapped a hand over my mouth as a cry slipped out. He grinned, cock twitching inside me.

“You’re going to get us caught,” he said.

“Then fuck me quieter.”

I wasn’t sure how long we went on for, but Leo’s muscles were starting to tremble, and his pace started to falter as he struggled to keep going.

I rolled us over without warning.

He let out a surprised sound, cut off by my hand as I straddled him. His cock stayed inside me, thick and ready, and I ground down slow, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

I removed my hand from his mouth and braced it on his chest and rode him. Picking up where he had left off, driving us forward. 

I shifted my hips just so, finding an angle that made sparks shoot up my spine. I rode it. I fucked myself on him with deliberate focus, rubbing myself against the base of him, lost in the pleasure until all too soon, all too abruptly, it rose to a peak. 

I came hard. Shaking. Clenching down around his cock. My cry was muffled in the crook of his neck. My whole body thrummed.

He was panting. Still hard. Still buried deep.

“You’re not done,” I said, dragging my mouth across his jaw.

He grabbed my waist and flipped us again. His break had done him good, it would seem. My legs opened wide. He drove into me, harder this time. The sound of it echoed in the room. I clung to him, nails raking his back. His mouth crashed to mine. Our teeth knocked together.

He fucked with wild abandon; there were many times I thought the whole precarious tower was going to collapse under us as he pounded into me over and over and over. 

“I’m going to come,” he eventually gasped.

“Not inside.” I said hurriedly. My education had told me enough to know that was risky.

He pulled out with a strangled groan. His hand took over. Thick spurts of cum painted my stomach and my tits and streaked my throat. His jaw clenched. His thighs shook.

I looked down at the mess, then back at him.

“You really like cumming on me, don’t you?”

He gave a breathless laugh. “You seemed to enjoy it too.”

I reached down and wrapped my hand around his still twitching cock. “True enough, let’s see if I can get a few more loads out of you tonight.” I said.

He moaned as I started stroking him again. Already hardening in my grip.

Good boy.

The first hint of morning came through the cracks in the curtains. Pale grey light washing over the wreck of a bed. It hadn’t made it through the night. Mattresses were strewn across the floor. The sheets in a small nest under us were tangled and damp. My thighs were sticky. My vagina was sore. My jaw ached from grinning too much.

Leo was still half on top of me, cock soft and leaking against my hip, his chest rising and falling in slow, ragged breaths. He was warm. Comfortably heavy. Smelled of sweat and sex. We’d fucked until our legs gave out. Paused. Fucked again. Teased. Laughed. I’d lost count of the climaxes we had had.

I hadn’t slept. Not a minute.

But I felt fucking glorious.

He stirred when I shifted. Pressed a kiss to my shoulder, half-asleep.

“I should go,” he muttered.

“You should.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You really should.”

He groaned, pulled himself up, and found his trousers crumpled on the stool. He dressed slowly, looking dazed. I grinned at him as he buckled his belt.

“If your mother sees you, she’ll have a stroke.”

“I’ll be discreet.” He said as he came back to the edge of the nest we had made, leaned down, and kissed me softly.

“You’re trouble,” he whispered.

I licked his bottom lip. “You snuck into my chamber in the middle of the night. Don’t pretend you’re an innocent party in this.”

He laughed, kissed me again, and disappeared out the door with a final glance.

I gave it a few minutes, then dragged myself out of bed.

Everything hurt. All of it sore in that delicious, used way. My whole body was humming. I stepped carefully onto the stool and padded to the basin. On the way I stepped on something small and hard, making me yelp. 

I looked down. There was a small uncooked pea on the floor. I couldn’t understand why on earth there would be a pea on the floor in my bedchamber. I shrugged, threw it to the corner of the room and rubbed my sore foot before continuing to the small basin to wash.

Just as I was finishing, there was a knock on the door before the maid entered. Her eyes went wide. She clocked the state of the bed and the bruises on my body. I didn’t explain. But she nodded as if this was what she had expected.

“Help me dress,” I said. She fetched a fresh gown, corseted me in silence, and fixed my hair as best she could. 

I descended to breakfast with my chin high and a faint ache in every step. The great hall was quiet. Sunlight poured in. The scent of bread and honey filled the air.

Queen Theodora was already seated at the table. “Ah. Our guest arrives,” she said to Leo, already seated at the table. “And how did you sleep, dear girl?” She asked, turning to me.

I smiled sweetly, sitting in a chair opposite her, and poured a cup of tea. “With the greatest difficulty, Your Majesty. Truly. I barely got a wink of sleep.” I let it hang there, just long enough. “I was tossing and turning all night. Something terribly hard in the bed. I fear I am bruised and sore after a very rough night.”

The maid who had followed me down said, “It’s true, your majesty, I heard her tossing and turning all night long.”

The pause that followed was exquisite.

Across the table, Prince Leo, who had just lifted his goblet to his lips, choked. Snorting wine into his goblet in a very unregal fashion.

I didn’t look at him straight on. Just let my eyes flick to his.

The Queen’s face lit up. Positively gleamed.

“Then it worked!” she said, delighted. “You didn’t know, but I placed a single pea beneath the mattresses. Only a true princess would be so sensitive as to feel the pea through all those and be unable to sleep. I do believe we’ve found our princess.”

I sipped my tea, glancing at Leo. He looked back. I smirked. Just a little.

And that, dear reader, is the true story of the Princess and the Pea.

What you knew was mostly right. There was a storm. There was a tower of mattresses. There was something hard under the sheets, and I was very sore in the morning. But it’s not quite the refined tale the old queen would have you believe.

But gods, it was a lot more fun.