The strange sensation of her n*pple being sucked and the firm grip on her slender arm made Swan cry out even more. Atlion sucked hard on her n*pple, swirling his tongue around it like a marble. The hole, greedily devouring his p*nis, twitched and seemed to beg for a blow.

“Ah, ahh, Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

Atlion lifted his head from her chest at her cries. Swan looked at him with a flushed face and pursed her lips to whisper, “My hole itches.” Hearing her, Atlion pulled out and turned her onto her stomach. Swan instinctively lifted her hips up, pressing her chest flat against the bed and thrusting her hips back.

Atlion looked at the area where her perineum met his t*sticles. The white fluid smeared around her p*bic hair was indecently tantalising. He stared at the gaping opening of her v*gina, now shaped to fit the size of his p*nis, before rubbing against her swollen l*bia. Swan twisted her hips and wiggled her bottom like a cat. From her screams to the way she presented herself, she was as sly and seductive as one.

Chuckling softly, Atlion rubbed her cl*t, which was as swollen as her n*pples. Then he inserted his finger into the hole that was leaking his seed. Swan let out a soft, excited whimper, surrendering to the tingling sensations that coursed through her body.

Atlion and she were a perfect match, making their intimate encounters intensely passionate. It was almost unbelievable how far they could push each other to such extremes. The finger that teased her entrance moved with serpentine grace, while the one that stimulated her cl*t brought its own unique intensity.

“Ugh, huff! Ahh! Ah, Your Majesty!”

The curved finger drove her to the brink. Unable to stand it any longer, Swan turned to him and let out a desperate cry. Atlion withdrew his finger from her flushed face and replaced it with his sh*ft. The rounded tip pressed into her, effortlessly parting her entrance.

“Ahh, ahh!”

She felt like she was going to lose herself completely. Swan sobbed, her hips shaking with every movement. Atlion, who had buried himself to the base as if to go further, let out the breath he had been holding in and gripped her hips tightly. The sensation was maddening. He bit his lip as he began to move his hips. The way her depths enveloped him to the roots was mesmerising. It was so intoxicatingly sweet and captivating it was almost overwhelming.

The inner walls surrounding her and the opening stretched to its limit were an intoxicating sight. Looking down, he watched her chest quiver as she absorbed his essence. But it wasn’t enough. It had been too long, too long since he had last felt her. That alone could never be enough.

No, the desire for Swan would never go away. He pressed a kiss to her round, soft hips and began to move his waist rhythmically. Her pale, seductive body had gained a little fullness after the birth. Thinking back to her maiden days, she had seemed so delicate, as if the slightest breeze could break her in two. 

“Swan. Swan…”

Atlion called her name desperately as he drove his dark sh*ft deep into her, his gaze fixed on her trembling thighs. She seemed to have reached her limit, her waist and thighs shaking uncontrollably. Mixed fluids and s*men flowed steadily from her opening. Atlion gripped her pale waist tightly, leaving marks with his hands as he accelerated his thrusts.

“Ah, hnnngh!”

Swan struggled like a drowning man, closing her eyes tightly and biting the pillowcase. Atlion let out a muffled groan as he reached his climax. It was an affair illuminated by the brilliant light of a midday sun.

***

Mirabella watched as her twin brothers yawned in turn, their mouths wide open. The boys, with jet black hair as soft as a fluffy kitten’s fur, were named Rigen and Klaus – strong and handsome princes, just like their father.

“The princes may wear out under your gaze, Princess.”

The nanny whispered to Mirabella, who was clinging to the cradle and gazing at the twins. Mirabella blinked her long lashes, glanced briefly at the nanny and then turned back to her yawning brothers, her round eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Mirabella remembered the day her brothers had been born. Their little round faces had blushed with the sweet scent of their mother. Even now they looked as adorable as apples, so much so that she couldn’t take her eyes off them.

“Do you know which one is Prince Rigen and which one is Prince Klaus?”

Lady Ritsol crouched before the cradle and asked the princess gently. Mirabella turned her head towards the nanny, her curiosity obvious. Lady Ritsol looked down at the twins. Truth be told, even she sometimes mistook Rigen for Klaus. 

As the Princess’s devoted nursemaid, it was understandable. The Emperor had assigned a nursemaid to each of his sons. Likewise, each prince had his own guards and servants. It was likely that as the twins grew older, the palace would allocate separate wings for them as well. 

Such remarkable paternal devotion. Although his face showed no trace of warmth, the Emperor adored his children to an extraordinary degree. Though difficult to compare, observing his interactions with his older brother, the Grand Duke of Riveau, made it even harder to believe. 

The Emperor, who showed no affection for his own father or brother, was known for his cold demeanour. Although the royal family maintained relatively cordial relations compared to others, his nature was unchanging. It was the way he’d always been, they said. 

But when it came to his sons and daughter, the Emperor showed no hesitation in expressing his affection, even kissing them unreservedly. It was fair to say that the Empress had fundamentally changed the Emperor. Lady Ritsol watched Mirabella’s big violet eyes dart around as she smiled warmly. 

Even experienced nannies found it difficult to tell the twins apart without close observation. Their hair, the joints of their fingers, the slope of their eyebrows and the fullness of their lips all pointed unmistakably in the same direction: towards their father, the Emperor. 

The twins were identical, and every feature of their faces seemed to reflect their father. 

Even the Dowager Empress, the twins’ grandmother, was struck by the resemblance. She once wondered what she would do if, as the twins grew, their appearance became even more identical to that of her son, the Emperor. 

Those in the palace, however, found humour in her concern, wondering aloud if it wouldn’t be a blessing to have three such beautiful faces in one place. The Dowager Empress scoffed at such remarks, calling them absurd and claiming that such an “extreme notion” should not be uttered aloud. 

“The twin princes resemble His Majesty the Emperor, and His Majesty himself resembles the founding king of Dale, the father of Her Majesty the Dowager Empress. How can this not bring you joy?”

Lady Ritsol asked the Dowager Empress. 

The Dowager Empress replied.

“Watching Atlion grow up was like reliving my father’s boyhood. Imagine a child walking through the palace with such a hardened expression. If Calyps hadn’t been as warm and sunny as spring, I might not have been able to bear it. 

“But still…” 

“And now imagine adding grandchildren to the mix!”

The Dowager Empress let out a mournful cry. She had always been fond of her home, Dale, and had cherished her relationship with her father, often longing for her birthplace even in her youth. This bond meant that her two sons, Emperor and Grand Duke Riveau, took turns studying at Dale, while she herself often returned to spend her summers there. 

For various reasons, the Solarium royal family maintained close ties with Dale, and the Dowager Empress’s affection for her father was unwavering. However, she seemed to resent the idea of her grandchildren carrying the Dale royal lineage so prominently. Indeed, the m*n of the Dale royal family were known for their sharp, frostbitten features. 

Lady Ritsol looked down at the twins, breathing softly like tiny kittens. Despite the Dowager Empress’s protests and wishes, it was undeniable that the twin princes would inherit the Dale royal bloodline quite strongly. After all, the Emperor’s father, the late Sovereign, was also the son of Larienca, a Dale princess. 

Thinking about it, it became clear that half of the bloodline that made up the Solarium royal family actually came from Dale.

“This is Rigen and this is Klaus.”Mirabella said, pointing her little finger at the babies she had been quietly watching. Lady Ritsol leaned closer to examine the babies. Distinguishing the twins perfectly was a feat only their mother, the Empress, could accomplish. Even the Emperor sometimes admitted to being confused when the princes were asleep.

To solve this problem, the nanny had tied ribbons of different colours around the babies’ ankles for easy identification. Lady Ritsol remembered the twins’ nanny’s advice and carefully lifted the babies’ ankles. But which colour was which?

“Oh? One of them has opened its eyes.” 

Lady Ritsol checked the navy ribbon tied around the baby’s ankle and raised her head. The baby on the left looked up at his older sister. His right eye was a pale sky-blue, his left a silver-grey. The princess had been right – this baby was Klaus.

The awakened baby looked at his older sister and smiled brightly. The princess enthusiastically shook a golden rattle beside the cradle to get the baby’s attention.

The sound woke the other baby. It was Rigen, the prince with the green ribbon tied to his ankle. Rigen’s left eye was also silver-grey, but his right eye was green. The twins had each inherited one of the Emperor’s and Empress’s eye colours.

“You see? Mirabella was right, wasn’t she?”

Mirabella exclaimed as she looked at her now awakened siblings.

“Yes, Princess, you were right.”

***

“How do you never get them mixed up?”

It was an evening when affairs of state came to an early end. The sunset sinking over the ridge was as dazzling as safflower crimson. Atlion, watching Swan nursing her son, asked the question. Swan, her curly hair neatly tied, stopped stroking her son’s prominent nose and looked up.

“I’ve never been confused, not once since they were born.”

“Well…”

He couldn’t find the words. If he said it was instinct, she would probably retort, “What kind of answer is that?” But that was all there was to it. She was their mother. She had given birth to them herself. There was no other way to explain it.

While the different colours of their eyes made it easy to tell them apart when they were open, even the servants sometimes forgot which child had green in one eye and sky blue in the other.

“The bigger problem is that they’re still babies, so they sleep most of the time, which makes things even more difficult. But Swan was different. No matter when she looked at them, she could always tell them apart. And if you looked closely, there were subtle differences.

For example, Rigen’s eyelashes were a little longer and finer than Klaus’. His lips were also a little fuller, so perhaps as they grew, Klaus’ features would appear less traditionally masculine. But you never know how they’ll turn out.

“If you look closely, they’re different.”

“How so?”

“Klaus has slightly longer eyelashes, fuller lips and… oh, right! Here! His dimples are deeper.”

“Hah.”

Atlion chuckled, as if he couldn’t believe it. Swan pouted slightly and looked at him.

“It’s true…”