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This isn’t Marlowe’s first time watching a consummation. It’s a routine ritual for political marriages, requiring two witnesses on each party’s side—and if the marriage is between kingdoms, one witness each must be a diplomat. She was the youngest ever deputy ambassador to Kolonu when the crown prince married Kolonu’s third eldest princess. So Marlowe’s title qualified her to witness, and her youth led the crown prince to select her over the actual ambassador. Having a diplomat as old as your parents watch you get laid tends to make a mortifying experience even worse.
By the time Prince Lennox, the youngest of three, is wed, Marlowe is a full-fledged ambassador, now to Azalea—the kingdom Lennox has married into. Given that she’s still only twenty-eight, and known for her discretion, she isn’t surprised when Lennox asks her to represent Sylvan at his consummation. Ackley is his other choice—also not a surprise, he’s a captain in Lennox’s personal guard and a friend. He’s not been a witness before, which is obvious by how red he is, but he’ll do fine.
The bride is the crown princess of Azalea, and Marlowe has liked her ever since her first official visit to this kingdom, following her predecessor's sudden death and her own hurried appointment to the ambassadorship. The then-teenage princess asked about Marlowe’s home province like she genuinely cared about the answer. Princess Zinnia has a warm smile and a quick wit, and she knows everyone who works in the castle, no matter how mundane their job. Lennox is lucky to be her consort.
Marlowe’s counterpart, the Azalean ambassador to Sylvan, waits at the other end of the bed, unreadable as ever. Marlowe likes him well enough—Reid’s a few years older than her and relatively quiet, but when he does speak, he doesn’t mince words.
Ackley stands at his shoulder, shifting from foot to foot, and glancing at the door every few seconds. He isn’t the only nervous one. The woman standing next to Marlowe, who introduced herself as Duchess Nettie of Azalea, keeps twisting a strand of hair around her finger and staring at her feet.
It’s not that anyone enjoys this ritual, but Marlowe at least knows how to school her expression into something relaxed and professional. The last thing they need is a couple who can’t perform because they’re being stared at by people equally on edge.
Zinnia and Lennox enter right on time, holding hands. There was always a softness between them, and Marlowe is certain the wedding was not their first kiss, but the way Zinnia is biting her lip and Lennox keeps staring at her—well. She doubts they’ll have a problem performing, even with an audience. If anything, this consummation might be over rather quickly.
“Deep breaths,” Marlowe tells Lennox wryly, when he greets her. When Zinnia clasps her hands, Marlowe leans forward and whispers, “Don’t let him get inside you too quick.”
The princess laughs, but doesn’t blush, which is interesting.
What’s even more interesting is how quickly the pair of them shed their outer layers, even while kissing so fiercely they barely come up for air. When Lennox pulls Zinnia into his lap and nuzzles her neck, there’s already a substantial bulge between his legs, which is not helping Marlowe’s fear that he’ll spill too early.
She is pleased to see that he’s attentive to his wife—kissing her neck and putting his mouth on her breast until she moans, even with a layer of fabric between them. His hand slips up Zinnia’s shift, and when Zinnia leans forward and whines into his shoulder, it’s clear he found his mark.
Consummations are about formally verifying a marriage, and they’re not meant to be sexy—the last one she witnessed definitely wasn’t sexy. But the last one didn’t have this much moaning, and if Marlowe’s honest, watching Zinnia writhe on Lennox’s fingers like that is getting her damp between her thighs.
Nothing to be done about that, though. And she did tell Zinnia not to let him stick it in too soon.
Zinnia jerks her hips and throws her head back, and Duchess Nettie gasps. That’s not typical either—the witnesses are meant to be as silent as possible. One quick sideways look at Nettie is enough to confirm that she’s turned on—eyes wide, face pink, neck bobbing as she swallows over and over again. Another glance across the room reveals that Reid has his hands clasped in front of his crotch, like that’s enough to hide his hard-on. And Ackley’s not even trying to hide the bulge in his trousers.
Marlowe almost misses the moment when Zinnia takes Lennox’s cock inside of her—that’ll teach her not to gawk at the other witnesses. Zinnia’s bright keening shoots between her ribcage, and Marlowe tries to remember to breathe.
She’s known Lennox for twelve years now, but they’re not terribly close. They’ve spent more time together since his betrothal to Azalea’s crown princess, but their relationship is one of professional respect and occasional informal fondness, colored always by her loyalty to the Sylvan crown. She likes the royal couple, but she wouldn’t call herself either of their friend—and yes, she has eyes, she knows they’re both plenty attractive, but she’s never stared.
But Lennox is mouthing at the swell of Zinnia’s breasts, and Marlowe can’t help but notice how they bounce with every rise and fall of her hips. She can’t help but drink in the line of Lennox’s throat when he throws his head back with a groan. And then, Zinnia grins like a forest fire and flips around, and Marlowe’s mouth goes dry.
It takes some shifting around before Lennox enters her again, and in that brief shuffle, Reid lifts a hand, like he’s about to tell them to stop. But there aren’t any rules about the position a marriage is consummated in; most couples simply prefer to have the woman lie on her back. Less of a show for the crowd.
These two were already breaking tradition, and now they’re both facing their audience; now the witnesses can see Lennox yank up Zinnia’s skirt and slide a hand between her legs. Now, they can see Zinnia squeeze her own breasts and gods, they’re wildly close to popping loose of the startlingly low-cut fabric.
Marlowe is unequivocally wet now, and desperately wishing for a hand between her own legs. Dammit, why couldn’t they at least be sitting? If she had a chair under her, she could cross and squeeze her legs or shift just so and rub her crotch against the cushion. Anything to take the edge off.
Nettie’s breathing heavy and fast beside her, and Marlowe breaks her no-gawking rule. It’s worth it, too, to catch Nettie’s flushed cheeks and parted lips. She’s pressing her hands to her stomach, fingers twisted tightly together, like she’s physically restraining herself from dropping them lower—or higher. Marlowe hadn’t really paid attention to Nettie’s cleavage before, but now…
Now, what the fuck is she doing, oogling a duchess? It’s bad enough that she’s eyeing up the royal couple, but they seem to want her to. Why else would Lennox be squeezing Zinnia’s breasts like that, as she arches her neck? Marlowe stares at her collarbone and wets her lips and doesn’t at all think about putting them on Zinnia’s neck.
And of course, that’s when Zinnia—the crown princess—undoes the buttons on the front of her shift and pops out her tits.
Nettie actually moans. Zinnia grins right at her—in case there was any doubt that they were putting on a show—and Nettie makes a small, whimpering noise that sends another rush of wetness between Marlowe’s legs. She hasn’t had sex in well over a year, which, in hindsight, she really overlooked when agreeing to observe today.
It’s a good thing she’s a consummate professional. She’ll act normal—as normal as one can act when two people are enthusiastically fucking in front of them—and it’ll be over soon, and no one will know that she was imagining straddling Lennox’s knees and slipping a hand between Zinnia’s thighs.
Although Lennox is doing a good enough job rubbing her himself, if her whines are anything to go by—whines that grow loud and high-pitched, and then Zinnia is trembling and twitching, and there’s a visible gush between her legs.
Nettie is whispering the princess’s name like a prayer, like her and Zinnia are the ones fucking. Maybe they have—maybe that’s how she got this invitation.
There’s a low groan from across the room. Ackley is gripping the bedpost—-actually he’s so close to the bed that he’s dangerously at risk of grinding against the bedpost. And Lennox is looking right at him, although his gaze is lot lower than Ackley’s eyes.
The bulge in his pants, though…
If them two of them haven’t fucked before, Marlowe’s suddenly concerned they’re about to. Ackley looks moments away from flinging himself onto the bed with them, when Lennox yells hoarsely, hips snapping faster than ever. When he slows at last—when Zinnia laughs breathlessly and rolls off his cock, letting his cum slide down her thighs—Ackley makes a pained noise and swears.
A wet spot spreads across his crotch, and Ackley is redder than the fabric of his uniform. Reid gives a strangled huff—he’s got to be more scandalized than he’s ever been in his life—as Ackley tries crossing his hands in at least five different ways, none of which cover the obvious proof that he’s spilled in his pants.
“Thank you for doing your duty,” Zinnia says, a bit breathless but otherwise nonchalant as she buttons up her shift. She flops down beside Lennox, as he tucks himself back into his undergarments and gives them all a smile that most people would classify as sheepish, if they hadn’t seen him in enough Council meetings. He knows exactly the effect they’ve had.
“Your Highnesses.” Reid jerks his head once and exits just as stiffly. They aren’t expected to linger, but still, the abruptness of his departure borders on rude. But Marlowe doubts the happy couple will hold it against him, after their own open flouting of taboo.
“Princess.” The duchess crosses past Marlowe, curtsies low, and kisses Zinnia’s hand. “It was an honor.”
Zinnia cups Duchess Nettie’s chin, and Lennox is whispering something in Ackley’s ear, and Marlowe gives an exasperated huff.
“Have all the fun you like, but please try to avoid illegitimate heirs,” she says. “That would be a political pain in my ass.”
To her surprise, Ackley actually looks her in the eye. “That won’t be an issue, Ambassador. Princess Zinnia is a dear friend, but ah. Not my type.”
“Noted.” It’s what she expected—Ackley’s eyes do appear only for the prince-consort, and she suspects the same is true of the duchess and the princess. (Although Nettie having a child out of wedlock would at least be less of a scandal than Zinnia doing the same.) But the specifics of their arrangement is none of her business.
(That doesn’t mean she won’t think about it, late at night, hand between her legs. Lennox eyeing Ackley’s wet crotch, Zinnia cradling Nettie’s face like she’s on the verge of yanking her into bed. The heaving of Nettie’s breasts, the twining of Zinnia and Lennox’s fingers, the increasing proximity of Lennox’s mouth to Ackley’s.)
Marlowe would gladly stay and watch what happened next—she would gladly pull up a chair and spread her own legs—but she knows that’s the arousal talking, and her remaining sense is telling her to make a graceful exit before they jump each other.
So, graceful exit she makes, and the door isn’t even shut when she hears a wet press of mouths and a moan. She’s reasonably confident that Nettie is kissing Zinnia and expects that the duchess will be having her own orgasm soon enough.
Speaking of orgasms—why are the diplomatic quarters so fucking far from the royal bedchambers? Marlowe’s got wetness running down her thighs; she probably looks more than a little disheveled. How is she meant to cross most of the palace, and not have anyone realize how desperate she is to come?
Only one thing to be done about it. She’s familiar with the basic secrets of these halls, and it’s less than a minute of brisk walking to the tapestry of a golden serpent. Marlowe ducks into the hidden alcove behind it and freezes.
Because Ambassador Reid has jumped about a foot in the air at her sudden appearance, and even his rapid fumbling can’t hide that he was just furiously pumping his cock.
His cock, which is still quite erect and only half-stuffed back in his trousers. His cock, which she can’t look away from.
There’s another leak of wetness between her legs.
“Ambassador!” Reid bursts out. “What are you—how did you—”
“Same as you.” Marlowe’s too turned on to play coy. “We watched the same thing. You’re not the only one who needs to take the edge off.”
“But here? How did you even know about this place?”
Marlowe rolls her eyes. “This isn’t my first time in the palace, or even my tenth. I would never claim to know all its secrets, but I know enough.”
“Well,” he huffs. “This one’s occupied.”
“There isn’t another alcove I know of until the east wing. Gods above, Reid—we won’t look, we’ll take care of this, and we’ll never speak about it again.”
“Take care—” he starts, and his eyes go wide as Marlowe hikes up her skirts. She turns to the wall, bracing an elbow against it and finally strokes her soaked undergarments.
She’s got one finger inside herself by the time she hears the slick sound of Reid’s hand back on his cock. It’s hot enough that she shoves two more fingers in, rolling her hips. The angle isn’t great, but it won’t take her long to come, especially not if she keeps imagining where Reid’s fingers are right now.
Marlowe breaks her not looking rule when Reid groans. He’s mostly facing away from her, but she can still sort of see the tip of his cock in the shadows. The wet sounds of Reid jerking off just make her think of the slickness on her own thighs, and how she really wouldn’t mind Reid rubbing off against them. Or getting his fingers inside of her. Or—
She shakes when she comes, biting her lip hard enough to hurt, but doesn’t stop. She was so coiled up, and Reid is fucking his fist behind her—Reid is swearing under his breath—and it takes a couple more orgasms before she’s relaxed enough catch her breath.
When she flips around, slumping back against the wall, she’s surprised to find Reid facing her, wiping his cock off with a handkerchief. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does she. She does him the courtesy of leaving before he asks, once she’s smoothed down her skirts and straightened her hairpin. She doesn’t know how awkward tomorrow’s meeting will be, but for now, she hoards the memories of Princess Zinnia’s bouncing tits, and Prince Lennox’s desperate thrusts, and Ackley’s jerking hips, and Duchess Nettie’s breathy gaps—and always composed Ambassador Reid spilling into his hand mere feet away from her.
She’ll definitely be making a mess of her sheets tonight.