Royal Pain in the Assets

Henry's morning began with a scream.

Not his own, for once.

"AAAAAAAHHH!"

He bolted upright, hair wild, clutching the sheets like they could protect him from demonic forces. "What?! What happened?! Is it a fire? An assassination?! Did someone finally murder the chef who keeps putting lavender in the damn cookies—"

"It's gone!" Seraphina's voice echoed from the bathroom.

Henry blinked blearily. "What's gone?"

"My favorite lipstick!" she cried, storming out of the bathroom like an avenging goddess of seduction and chaos, wearing only a towel that defied gravity and good taste. "The bloodred one. The one that makes my enemies weak and my lovers weaker!"

"You have five red lipsticks—"

"But this was THE red. The shade of sin. The one I wore the first time you saw me and immediately lost the ability to speak!"

"I choked on a grape!"

"Because you were flustered."

"Because I was DYING."

Seraphina tossed her towel aside with casual shamelessness. Henry screamed again—internally—and turned around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

"Oh my god put some damn clothes on, woman!"

"You've seen me naked before."

"Not on PURPOSE!"

She strutted past him, every inch of her oozing wicked confidence. "Well, better get used to it. I've decided today is a No-Clothes-Till-Noon day."

"That's not a thing!"

"It is now. Royal decree."

"You can't just decree nudity!"

"I'm the heir to a demonic throne. I can decree earthquakes."

Henry groaned and faceplanted into a pillow.

---

Twenty minutes later, Henry was freshly traumatized, Seraphina was finally dressed (if you could call a sheer black dress with strategic slits "dressed"), and the palace was alive with scandal.

It turned out today was "Royal Portrait Day."

Which would've been fine, except Seraphina had insisted—INSISTED—they take their official couple portrait.

"We're not a couple."

"We shared a bed."

"Technically, I slept on the edge of your bed while you starfished like a sensual Kraken!"

"Same bed. That counts."

"I will kill myself before I become a painting on your evil wall!"

Too late.

An army of court artists had already arrived, all bowing and setting up with alarming enthusiasm.

Henry, now dressed in painfully tight formalwear, stared at himself in the mirror.

"I look like I'm about to get married and executed in the same afternoon."

"That's the theme," Seraphina said brightly, sauntering up behind him and straightening his cravat. "Dangerous. Delicious. Doomed."

"You are not okay."

"And you are deliciously helpless. Now smile, my little hostage."

---

The portrait session was pure torture.

Seraphina insisted on ridiculous poses.

Her straddling a throne while Henry knelt like a noble sacrifice.

Them almost-kissing while rose petals were flung dramatically by terrified servants.

One pose that Henry was pretty sure was illegal in at least twelve kingdoms.

"I feel like I'm starring in royal erotica," Henry muttered between clenched teeth.

"You are."

"I hate this place."

"You love it. And me."

"I need divine intervention."

"Try moaning my name. That usually works."

Henry actually bit his own tongue just to distract himself from the blush threatening to engulf his body.

---

After the portraits, Seraphina had a brilliant idea.

"Spa day!"

"No."

"Yes."

"No spa. No oils. No more naked people touching me. I'm still mentally recovering from that demon masseuse last time!"

"But he was so good."

"He had six hands and no chill!"

"You moaned."

"I screamed."

"Same difference."

Unfortunately for Henry, resistance was futile.

---

Thirty minutes later, Henry lay half-naked on a heated marble slab while Seraphina poured suspiciously warm oil on his back.

"I don't trust this oil."

"It's imported from the volcano springs of Lustra."

"That doesn't make it sound less suspicious!"

She giggled and dug her fingers into his shoulder blades with alarming precision.

"You're so tense."

"Because I'm being molested under the guise of wellness!"

"Oh hush, you're enjoying it."

"No I'm not."

"You're purring."

"That's a death rattle."

Suddenly, Seraphina leaned down, whispering against his ear, "If you're going to whimper like that, you should at least let me give you a reason."

Henry exploded off the table like a rocket, knocking over a tray of scented candles and screaming something unintelligible that might've been, "HOLY MOTHER OF—"

---

Evening rolled around like a death sentence.

Henry retreated to his chambers, locked the door, and stacked three chairs against it for good measure.

Peace.

Silence.

Sanity.

Then the door creaked open.

He stared.

The lock clicked.

The chairs clattered.

The laws of physics wept.

"How…?" he whispered.

Seraphina stood there, wearing nothing but one of his shirts.

Which was worse than nudity. Because it suggested things. Things Henry's brain could not survive.

"You forgot I'm a mage, darling."

"I hate magic."

"I love you too."

He staggered backward. "What do you want now?! I've been emotionally terrorized all day!"

"Pillow fight."

"…what?"

"Pillow. Fight." She picked up a pillow, smacked it against her hand, and gave him a look that was equal parts playful and unhinged.

"You're insane."

"And you're going to lose."

Henry lunged.

Feathers exploded.

Chaos erupted.

What started as innocent warfare devolved rapidly into Henry getting tackled onto the bed, pinned, and—somehow—kissed.

It wasn't a full kiss. Just a brush of lips.

But it was enough to short-circuit his nervous system.

He stared up at her, blinking like an idiot.

Seraphina, still straddling him, smiled softly.

"Maybe you don't have to run every time."

Henry's heart did something dangerous.

"Maybe you could stay."

He swallowed hard. "Are you serious right now?"

She leaned down again, lips barely grazing his. "Does this feel like I'm joking?"

His brain screamed. His body betrayed him. His mouth moved before he could stop it.

"…I need to pee."

Seraphina collapsed laughing on top of him, howling with joy.

Henry groaned.

He was so screwed.

And deep, deep down… he didn't mind one bit.