The corridors seemed to swallow Oskar the moment he left the banquet.
Buckingham Palace had grown unnaturally dark and still. Lamps burned low beneath mourning cloth, casting weak pools of gold across the marble while the long spaces between them disappeared into shadow. The music behind him faded quickly, replaced by the echo of his boots and the heavy rhythm of his pulse.
There were no guards.
No footmen waited at the intersections. No servants hurried between rooms carrying trays, linens or messages. In a palace crowded with foreign royalty, such emptiness could not be accidental.
Someone had cleared this part of the building.
Oskar continued toward his rooms, though his unease sharpened with every step.
Then he heard another rhythm beneath his own—the light, rapid click of a woman's heels following at a careful distance. Yet he did not look back.
Near the entrance to his corridor, he encountered the only servant in sight.
A petite maid knelt beside the wall with a brush and bucket, scrubbing the marble. She was a tiny, innocent-looking creature with pale blue-grey eyes and long honey-blonde hair divided into two neat tails. When Oskar approached, she glanced up sheepishly, resembling a little white rabbit caught somewhere it did not belong.
She scrambled to her feet and gave a hurried curtsey.
"Your Imperial Highness."
Oskar acknowledged her with a brief nod and continued past.
Behind him, the woman's heels drew closer.
He lengthened his stride, reached his suite, stepped inside and shut the door. The lock turned beneath his hand with a solid metallic click, bringing the first real relief he had felt all evening as silence finally settled around him.
He stripped without ceremony. His shirt came off first, followed by his trousers and boots. Oskar owned no nightclothes and had never seen the need for them; his body carried enough heat without additional layers.
Completely naked, Oskar climbed into bed and drew the sheet loosely across his lower body. He settled his head against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, willing his mind to become still.
Sleep, he told himself. Forget the banquet. Forget Patricia.
For a few quiet moments, nothing disturbed the room.
Then the door handle rattled. Once, cautiously. A second time. Then again, with growing insistence.
He exhaled slowly, his voice carrying through the door.
"Go to sleep, Princess Patricia. The door is locked."
Silence followed.
Then, softly: "Oskar."
He turned onto his side, placing his back toward the door.
"No," he said. "I am not opening it. I am not starting a diplomatic crisis because you cannot control yourself. Please leave."
"I am not trying to start anything," she replied, her voice still soft. "I only want to talk."
"That is not happening."
A brief silence followed.
"You do not get to decide that," she said lightly. "You are a guest in this palace."
Oskar refused to answer. He simply turned farther away from the door and settled his head against the pillow.
"Good night, Patricia. Go away."
For several moments, the corridor remained silent. Then her footsteps finally retreated into the distance.
Oskar released the breath he had been holding and allowed the tension to ease from his body. At last, she appeared to have listened.
Several quiet minutes passed. Oskar's thoughts gradually blurred, and sleep had almost claimed him when a faint scraping sound came from the door.
Metal slid softly against metal as a key entered the lock.
His eyes opened at once.
The key turned, the mechanism released with a muted click, and the door slowly eased inward.
Princess Patricia slipped into the room.
Behind her, the petite maid remained in the corridor with a damp cloth clutched between both hands. She stared after the princess with wide, frightened eyes, shifting uncertainly as though unable to decide whether she should follow, call for help or simply pretend she had seen nothing.
At last, she gathered enough courage to step forward. Yet the door closed directly in front of her face.
She stopped short.
From the other side came the soft, decisive turn of the key as Patricia locked the door. Inside, the princess removed it from the lock and placed it upon the sideboard, leaving the maid stranded in the corridor with the wet cloth still clenched against her chest.
Inside the room, moonlight poured through the tall windows, washing the chamber in silver. Patricia remained by the door for a moment, simply watching him.
Oskar lay on his side with his back toward her, his breathing slow and even. If he was only pretending to sleep, he was doing it remarkably well. The pale curve of one shoulder caught the moonlight, while the heavy lines of muscle descending along his back made the sheets appear almost inadequate, stretched over a body too large and powerful for ordinary furniture.
He was unlike any man she had ever known.
A small, victorious smile touched Patricia's lips.
She slipped off her heels and crossed the room with measured care, placing each bare foot silently against the carpet. The bed had been built especially for Oskar's enormous frame, yet the mattress barely shifted as she climbed onto it and knelt behind him.
For several seconds, she did nothing but look.
She studied the immense breadth of his back, the heat radiating from his uncovered skin and the quiet sense of force contained within him even at rest. This was a man who had killed sharks with his bare hands, crushed armed attackers and survived wounds that would have ended anyone else.
Yet Patricia did not fear him.
Oskar had spoken of protecting those placed beneath his care, of carrying their burdens and sheltering the people he cherished. More than anything, she wanted to become one of those people—to be claimed by that strength rather than kept outside it.
Her hand hovered above his shoulder before slowly descending.
Her fingertips brushed bare skin.
Warm. Solid. Unyielding.
The power beneath her touch was unmistakable, but it did not frighten her. It drew her closer.
Patricia leaned over him until her breath warmed the side of his neck.
"Oskar," she whispered.
The confidence she had displayed at the banquet was gone. What remained sounded unguarded and almost painfully sincere.
"I only want you to see me again—the way you did when we first met. I have thought about that night ever since."
She swallowed.
"I think I am ready now. I truly do like you."
The confession remained suspended between them, fragile and exposed. Heat rose into Patricia's cheeks as she waited for some response.
Oskar's breathing did not change.
Whether he was asleep or simply refusing to acknowledge her, she could not tell.
Then his low, husky voice entered the darkness.
"Princess Patricia," he said without turning, "why are you so damned stubborn? Please accept a simple no and go to sleep."
She froze.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why are you pushing me away?"
Her fingers tightened in the sheet beside him.
"You told me about Cecilie," she continued, her voice beginning to tremble. "And who knows how many other women there have been? Lovers, friends, arrangements—children born from moments no one expected."
She shifted closer.
"Why can I not be one of them? Why not me, Oskar? Even if it is only for tonight and nothing more?"
He released a long, weary breath.
"Because your family—and the entire British royal house—would never receive me again."
He paused.
"And because you would be disinherited, exiled and quietly erased from their lives."
Patricia shook her head. Tears gathered in her eyes as she seized his shoulder and wrapped herself around him from behind.
"No."
The word emerged with sudden defiance.
Oskar exhaled heavily.
"We follow different religions," he continued. "We belong to different nations, and our families already distrust one another. For your sake and mine, leave."
His voice hardened.
"And I am not a tool for you to use merely because you have decided that you want something from me."
Her voice broke.
"No. You do not understand."
She pressed herself more tightly against his back, desperation overcoming what remained of her control.
"Every day is the same. Someone tells me whom I may marry, how I must stand, what I should wear and what I am permitted to say. I have been performing for other people since I was a child."
Her breath caught.
"I am tired of it. I do not care what they think anymore. I only want to be free."
Patricia rested her forehead against his shoulder, her arms tightening around him. She weighed almost nothing against his immense body, yet the consequences of allowing her to remain there felt heavier than anything Oskar had ever carried.
"Oskar," she whispered, her voice cracking, "I do not care if they disinherit me. I do not care about titles or money. I only want to escape."
A weak sound left her throat.
"You could give me that. Take me to Germany—somewhere I would not have to smile whenever I am commanded to. I would serve in your household if that was all you offered me. Please. I do not want to remain here."
Oskar's jaw tightened. He turned his head just enough to acknowledge her without yielding.
"You are asking me to burn a bridge between nations because you are unhappy," he said. "I will not do that. I cannot."
His voice grew firmer.
"And I will not stand aside while you destroy yourself."
Patricia slowly withdrew from him.
"No," she said.
The word was quiet, flat and absolute.
"I am not going back. I want you."
Before Oskar could react, she seized the sheet and pulled.
The fabric slid halfway down his back.
"Stop," he warned.
Patricia pulled again.
The sheet twisted between them, slipping farther and exposing the full breadth of his bare back to the moonlight. Oskar caught it around his waist and clenched his teeth, not from fear or embarrassment, but from the sheer absurdity of what was happening.
The Acting Crown Prince of Germany was wrestling a British princess for possession of a bedsheet.
More troublingly, no one appeared interested in stopping it.
No guard had challenged Patricia in the corridor. No servant had attempted to turn her aside. No one had intervened when she followed him from the banquet, and now no footsteps approached despite the argument rising inside his rooms.
Only the little maid remained somewhere beyond the door, and she was hardly equipped to rescue him from a determined princess.
Oskar closed his eyes for one brief moment.
Apparently, he would have to defeat this particular threat himself.
Outside in the corridor, everything remained quiet.
Too quiet.
Elise stood beside the closed door with her back pressed against the cold stone wall, clutching the damp cloth she had used to clean the floor. The key was gone from her hand—the spare she had borrowed from another maid and surrendered to Princess Patricia after receiving little more than one stern look.
She knew she should have refused.
Unfortunately, Elise had never been particularly brave. She was small, easily intimidated, and accustomed to a world filled with people larger, louder and far more important than herself. Defying a determined princess had seemed impossible.
Now one useless question circled through her mind:
When am I going to get that key back?
Voices rose behind the door.
They were muffled at first, but quickly became sharper.
"I am warning you," Oskar said. His voice was low and final, the sort that suggested he had no intention of repeating himself.
"I do not care!" Patricia snapped, breathless and furious. "I am finished caring!"
Elise's stomach tightened.
She should not have been listening. She knew that perfectly well. Nevertheless, she crept closer, her heart pounding as the sounds inside changed. Fabric shifted rapidly. The bed creaked. Heavy footsteps crossed the floor, followed by what sounded unmistakably like a brief struggle.
Patricia gasped. Then came a sharp smack.
Elise's eyes widened.
The princess cried out as flesh struck through layers of fabric. Oskar's deep voice followed, harsh and commanding, though the thick door reduced his words to fragments—something about warnings, discipline and teaching Patricia how a princess ought to behave.
Another slap sounded, then another.
Patricia's protests became broken and breathless. At first she sounded shocked and outraged, but the cries gradually changed into something far less innocent—soft gasps and unsteady moans that made Elise's face burn.
The conversation dissolved into fragments she could barely distinguish: Patricia's indignation, Oskar's stern replies, the rustle of disordered clothing and the repeated creak of the bed beneath their weight.
It sounded scandalous, intimate, completely improper.
"Enough," Oskar said at last, loudly enough for every syllable to pass through the door.
Something heavy shifted inside. Patricia gave a startled yelp, followed by furious demands that he put her down.
Elise squeezed her eyes shut and told herself not to imagine what was happening.
Then the lock turned, and the door flew open.
Because Elise stood against the wall beside the hinges, the broad wooden panel swung directly in front of her, concealing her within a narrow pocket of darkness.
Princess Patricia appeared in the corridor—or, more accurately, was carried into it.
Oskar held her as though she weighed no more than a bundle of linen. Her skirts were twisted, her hair had fallen into disarray, and her cheeks burned a furious red. One hand clutched the front of her bodice, pulling it back into place after the struggle had dragged it dangerously low.
Oskar lowered her abruptly.
Patricia's feet caught beneath her skirts, and she landed upon the marble with a sharp, thoroughly undignified yelp.
Hidden behind the open door, Elise drew in a silent breath.
Prince Oskar stood in the doorway completely naked.
Moonlight spilled from the room behind him, tracing the immense breadth of his shoulders and the powerful line of his back. His muscles remained tense from the struggle, gathering into hard ridges that formed an almost monstrous shape between his shoulder blades. Lower down, his narrow waist widened into powerful hips and firm, heavily muscled buttocks that held Elise's gaze despite every instinct telling her to look away.
He seemed carved from something denser than flesh—vast, solid and immovable, as though some forgotten warrior-god had stepped from stone into the palace corridor.
"Off you go," he said flatly, pointing down the hall. "Go to sleep and try, for once, to behave like a good princess."
He made no attempt to cover himself. His posture remained unapologetic, his entire body composed of hard lines and contained strength, though his slow breathing betrayed how much the confrontation had affected him.
Patricia stared up from the floor, breathless and red-faced. Fury twisted across her features, but something more dangerous soon rose beneath it.
She moved onto her knees.
Her blue eyes lifted defiantly toward Oskar's face before travelling down the length of his body. Then she saw everything.
For a moment, Patricia merely stared. Surprise came first. Then indignation. Finally, to Oskar's growing horror, a wicked smile curved her lips.
She bit her lower lip and spoke with reckless sincerity.
"I may not have much experience in these matters," she murmured, "but I would try my very best—provided you allowed me."
Her gaze remained fixed between his legs.
"I am certain you would enjoy it."
Elise felt her heart lurch against her ribs.
Oskar followed Patricia's gaze and suddenly became aware that he was standing naked in an open doorway with his erection fully exposed.
For one unbearable moment, he went rigid.
Then he retreated as though Patricia had physically struck him.
"You are impossible," he muttered.
He seized the door and slammed it shut.
The lock clicked immediately.
Patricia remained kneeling in the moonlit corridor, her lips parted and her breathing uneven. After several seconds, she rose slowly, gathered her skirts and rubbed her aching backside with an irritated wince.
"This is not over," she whispered toward the closed door. "You cannot spank a princess and expect to escape without consequences, Oskar."
Her eyes shone with stubborn certainty.
"You will fall for me. One way or another."
She turned sharply and marched away, the swish of her gown fading down the darkened corridor.
Patricia never noticed the maid hidden beside the doorway.
Elise remained pressed against the wall, frozen in place, her pale eyes wide and her breath trapped somewhere between awe and terror.
She had seen the German Crown Prince.
All of him.
He had stood before her naked and unmistakably aroused, like a statue of some ancient god brought violently to life—vast, unreal and terrifyingly male. Nothing in Elise's limited experience had prepared her for a man built upon such a scale.
She was young, sheltered and entirely unprepared.
One helpless thought repeated itself in her mind: How could that possibly fit inside anyone?
Her legs finally gave way.
Elise slid down the wall, her skirts pooling around her knees as one hand pressed against her chest, as though she might physically prevent her heart from breaking free. Her breathing came in short, uneven pulls while she stared blindly into the darkness.
Whatever innocence she had possessed before that night had not survived it.
She would never look at Oskar—or any ordinary man—the same way again.