Prince Hellebore stalked down the long, winding hallways that led to the boiler room, muttering darkly under his breath. Water dripped from his shoulder-length red hair onto the smooth, cold marble floor. He tried to keep on the right-hand side of the halls, away from the great stained glass windows. Each depicted a member of the royal line performing some great feat of heroism, and none of them were dressed as he was now.

 

Well, except for his Great-Great-Great-Great-Uncle Anton, whose 'great feat' involved collaring the Demon of Sandport. But his state of nudity at least had him in a dominant, manly pose.

 

As he passed a corner, he saw several chambermaids blinking wide eyes at him. He flushed and ducked his head, hurrying for the stairs.

 

He was going to kill those goblins.

 

Or at least, he corrected, biting his lip, give them a very stern talking to.

 

He was dreading it, though. The boilermaids for his chambers were... always difficult with him. Always insolent, always teasing him.

 

He gritted his teeth. He'd never heard of his father or uncle having this much trouble with their servants. Did these goblins have no loyalty to their prince?

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Hellebore slammed open the door to the boiler room. Or, well, briskly opened it. It was a rather heavy door. It opened into a short open staircase.

 

Their boiler room was built into the castle dungeons, just below ground level. The walls were of old, mossy stone bricks, and the marble floors gave way here to old rough-cut basalt, lumpy and cold against his bare feet.

 

The room was lit by the warm fiery glow of the East Wing Furnace, a great demonic-looking behemoth of black cast iron built into the wall. The holes of the four butterfly vents glowed red like the eyes of a gigantic spider. They cast pretty reflections off of the dangling glass trinkets and gewgaws hanging from the ceiling, causing little reflected motes of light to race across the walls like the glows of fluttering fireflies. Great fishing nets ran up the walls and the side of the staircase. Little potted herbs grew all around the furnace, though how they grew down here Hellebore could only guess. He noticed a wide bunk bed in the corner, the bottom bed perfectly made to the point he doubted it had ever been used and the top a tangled bird's nest of sheets, pillows and blankets.

 

He hesitated. He'd never actually been down here before. Not that he was intimidated by the boilermaids, just—

 

"Can we help you, Highness?" chirped a voice in his ear.

 

Hellebore jumped with a cry and nearly lost his footing, spinning to face the little woman who had just sprung onto the railing beside him.

 

Or, rather, to face her tits, which were at eye level. They were still jiggling from her sudden motion, flawless and smooth, seemingly totally immune to gravity—not unlike their nimble owner.

 

He tore his eyes away and met her gaze. "Vesyc," he said, his voice sharp from ill-concealed nerves. Her ill-concerned curves weren’t helping.

 

"Good morning, Highness!" chirped two other voices in tandem, and he turned to see two other goblin women clambering up the stairs—one, Eneko, on all fours, the other, Catanya, staying carefully upright and poised as she smiled up at him with bright, glittering eyes.

 

The boiler goblins were a very particular variety of goblin, as he understood it, though he’d never met any other kind. They were short—the smallest, Catanya, was barely at his hips on her tiptoes—but as generously curvy as little goddesses, with breasts that could make a cowgirl jealous. Proportionately, at least. At the same time, they were lithe, muscular and fit, more supple than their jiggling thighs suggested, with a catlike grace that matched their fuzzy catlike ears, whisker-like freckles, feline eyes, and flicking cat tails.

 

They definitely weren’t drop-dead gorgeous or anything. They definitely didn’t have the kinds of bodies that could make men drool, the kinds of intense gazes that could leave someone dazzled and flustered, the kinds of lips that could…

 

Well, not that Hellebore would care, anyways. He wasn’t here to ogle them, he was here to complain.

 

Catanya was their 'ringleader', and it was on her that he tried to focus—not on delicate, agile Eneko with her pillowy painted-black lips and dainty hands, not on Vesyc with her especially massive tits and wide, childbearing hips. No, his eyes were on Catania's—her gleaming crimson eyes that sparkled in the flickering firelight, her lips painted a deep blue, her skin, in contrast to her green-skinned companions, a smoldering scarlet.

 

Smoldering. Childbearing. Pillowy lips. Hellebore’s fingers tugged anxiously at a loose thread in the towel. He hated that he thought of such things about them, of course. They weren't sexy, they were obnoxious. But…

 

But it was like they were trying to make him think about them… that way! Those sheer tube tops, low-cut and clinging to their curves as if struggling not to slip down at any moment... those hips-hugging hotpants… they were ostensibly to avoid cinders catching their sleeves or trouser hems, but he knew it was to accentuate their curves, to bare as much cleavage as possible.

 

“Highness?” Catanya prompted, smiling slightly.

 

Hellebore flushed, remembering he'd been asked a question. "Yes, you can.” He raised his head imperiously high, just as the King always did, and tried to project some of that cool-fire menace into his voice. "Do you have any idea how cold the bathwater is this morning?"

 

He heard a yawn, and spun, scowling, to face Vesyc. She blinked at him, head tilting innocent to the side.

 

These impudent, lady creatures. He felt his cheeks reddening, especially when he realized Eneko was taking the opportunity to ogle his ass.

 

"Too cold?" she guessed, her expression as pure as sweet black night, when he whirled on her and drew his towel tighter around himself. I’ve ever done a single thing wrong in my life, those eyes whispered.

 

"It's freezing,” he snapped. He gestured to the furnace. "How long has that been running? It's meant to be lit to a blaze before sunup!"

 

"Oh, gosh!" Eneko put a finger to her pouty lips, frowning between him and the furnace. "Well, it's lit now!"

 

"Yes, but—the water needs time to heat up before it should be pumped into my baths!"

 

She blinked big blue eyes. "Are you sure it wasn't hot, Your Highness? Maybe you just imagined it?"

 

"No, I—" He sputtered in outrage. The nerve! They would never talk to their King this way. "I did not imagine it! The water was—it was positively lukewarm!"

 

"We must have slept in, Your Highness," Catanya cut in smoothly as Eneko, hand on her hip, was opening her mouth for a retort. She swept a dramatic bow. “We beg your patience and forgiveness. It won't happen again."

 

He huffed. "Well, I should think not."

 

He almost wanted to leave it at that. They'd apologized. The matter was settled. But would that make him appear weak? His uncle always said his mother was always too soft on the servants.

 

He drew himself up tall. "Very good. You understand, I trust, that the place of the boiler goblins is to serve the Royal Family—and you, in particular, are here to serve your Prince. It should not be an inconvenience to... h-hey, stop that!""

 

He'd caught Vesyc trying to peer down the front of his towel. The goblin drew back, teetering on the railing, and giggled. "Oops! Sorry, m'lord, was losin' my balance, is all."

 

He squirmed. He was suddenly very conscious of his attire compared to theirs. The Prince didn’t have to worry about modesty before his servants. His uncle always stressed that his servants’ only purpose was to serve him, and they had no right to complain. Still, he felt distinctly like the goblins were enjoying it a little too much.

 

"What? What is it?" Catanya asked. "Is something the matter, Your Highness?"

 

"I..." He cut himself short, forcing his voice to steady. "I only want you three to understand that—" He paused as he saw Eneko getting out a hand mirror and casually touching up her makeup, re-painting those flusteredly plump black lips of hers. "—that your role here is as—" He gripped his towel tightly, determined to cover both his chest (he never liked people staring at his chest) and his hips. "—y-your role is to serve your Prince!" He glared with as much fierceness as he could muster.

 

He knew his face had to be as pink as the Lust Moon. Eneko glanced up at him through the mirror, a sly smile across that gorgeous face of hers. Vesyc was seated on the railing, now, her luscious ass squishing against it, kicking her legs carelessly in the air. They seemed totally unmoved.

 

Catanya seemed to be listening intently, though. Perhaps he was at least getting through to the leader. He focused his stern gaze on her.

 

She raised an eyebrow, clearly thinking over his words very carefully.

 

She giggled. "You're cute when you're angry."

 

Hellebore's eyes widened. He wanted to cover his blushing cheeks with his hands, but he couldn't let go of the towel, so he just sputtered uselessly, fidgeting with the towel’s loose thread.

 

"Okay, okay!" Catanya put up a hand with an amused smile. "We promise to heat your water up quicker tomorrow, okay, Your Highness?"

 

He felt anger and indignation roiling within, but after a moment, he deflated. It wasn't worth it. He simply had to hope they'd learned their lesson. "Very well," he said, and spun on his heel to leave.

 

"What a princess," he swore he heard Vesyc muttering as he opened the door.

 

"Especially with how they hold that towel," giggled Eneko.

 

He whirled around. "What was that?!"

 

"Nothing, Highness," they chirped in unison.

 

His heart was racing as he turned and hurried back up the stairs, letting the door slam hard behind him. Of all the nerve! Those nasty lazy little impudent… perverts!

 

 

That word made him feel a strange fluttering emotion he was sure had to be nausea. He growled and stalked all the way back up to the bathchamber.

 

The bathwater they pumped up this time was warm by now, at least.

 

As always, it smelled of peppermint.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The next day once again saw the Prince storming downstairs, dripping-wet and clad only in a towel, muttering darkly to himself and paying no heed to blushing maids this time. He slammed the door open. "What is the meaning of this?”

 

The boilermaids were lounging in their bed when he entered. They weren't even at work! Catanya slowly rose and stretched, her catlike movements languid and unconcerned. "Oh, good morning, Your Highness~"

 

"Don't 'good morning' me," Hellebore snapped. He was red-faced from exertion. He barely even registered that the boilermaids were still in their scanty nightwear. He descended the stairs, barely keeping his voice below a shout. "The water is scalding hot!"

 

"Oh, oops." Eneko, too, didn't seem very concerned as she got up on all fours and jumped onto one of the rafters, climbing over to meet him at the landing. "Was it really?"

 

"Yes! Are you trying to cook me alive?"

 

"Oh, no, Your Highness," Catanya said quickly, hurrying over as if to ensure that it wouldn't be Eneko running negotiations. Her voice was soft and soothing, dripping with reassurance like he was a wild horse that had to be tamed. "Just a terrible accident. We're adding some new herbal packets today, and it needs to be quite hot for them to take. We simply forgot to let it cool longer before sending it up."

 

"Do you expect me to believe—" Hellebore sputtered. "You're obviously doing this because of yesterday!"

 

"Yesterday?" Catanya blinked and tilted her head to the side. "Why, whatever could you mean, Your Highness?"

 

Hellebore's eyes darted between Eneko and Catanya, and Vesyka, who was padding over with a bright gleam to her eye. "I-I'm not just going to stand here and be mocked by my own servants!" He reddened a little more at the stammer in his voice.

 

"Oh?" Eneko grinned. "Well, then, why don't you have a seat?"

 

"W-What?" Hellebore flushed hot. "Shut up!"

 

"Please, Your Highness," Catanya said coolly, interposing herself between Hellebore and the smirking Eneko. "I can assure you, we really were just adding the new herbs. Didn't you notice the new scents?"

 

"I—"

 

She brightened. "Actually, while you're down here, this seems like a perfect opportunity to get your thoughts!" She pressed in. "Did you like them?"

 

"Did I like—"

 

"The herbs, silly!" She giggled. "Honestly. You must still be tired, you poor thing! Did you have trouble sleeping?"

 

"Did someone put a pea underneath your mattresses, Your Highness?" Eneko asked.

 

"I-I didn't notice any smell," Hellebore muttered. "All I noticed is that noxious peppermint."

 

"You don't like peppermint?"

 

Hellebore struggled a moment for words. He actually did like peppermint, but… "It makes me smell like—it's an herb for old women passing from fertility! Everyone knows that!"

 

"It has other applications," Vesyka murmured, her smile subtle and sly.

 

He turned to face her. "What was that?" He put a hand on the railing. Spinning around to keep these three in his sights was making him a little dizzy. It didn't help that they were pressing in awfully close.

 

"Your Highness," soothed Catanya, "focus. You clearly didn't notice the new herbs. Why don't I show you a sample? If you don’t like the new herbs, we can go back to the old ones tomorrow, and then we won’t have this problem."

 

Hellebore hesitated. He looked at her, scowling. Her smile was sweet and conciliatory as she held up a small drawstring pouch to dangle right in front of her chest.

 

"Fine," he said reluctantly. If there really was a new herb mix, better to confirm it before he accused them of lying to him. "If it will make you silence yourself about this nonsense..."

 

Hellebore leaned down, trying not to look at the enticing view behind the pouch, and took a delicate sniff.

 

The Prince blinked rapidly, caught off-guard by the strength of the scents. The undiluted mix was extremely potent up close. It had his head fluttering a little, but he forced himself back down to earth and concentrated on the aromas. Peppermint was still the primary herb, but other scents stuck out at him, now, too. He was able to pick out lemon, rose petals, and... was that clover? Hellebore felt like he was pretty good with flowers, but he’d gotten rusty since his uncle had burned that field guide the cook had gifted to him.

 

The depth of scents was almost more than he could take. Hellebore felt his mind struggling to encompass it all as he breathed it in and out.

 

He took another deeper breath, trying to steady himself, but this only made him feel dizzier. The herbs smelled wonderful, they were just so intense.

 

"What do you think, Your Highness?" Catanya asked sweetly. "Does it please our Prince's…?" She seemed to trail off. Wait, had she said Prince’s or…

 

"It's..." Hellebore swallowed, and despite himself, took another whiff. "... nice, I suppose..."

 

"Oh, is it?" Vesyka murmured from behind him. "Are you sure? The scents are very subtle, Your Highness."

 

"S-Subtle?" He was having trouble stringing the words he heard into meanings. He took another shallow breath. Gods, it did smell... wonderful...

 

"Oh, yes," Eneko cooed down at him, "very subtle. Perhaps you haven't noticed~"

 

"I... no..." Hellebore scowled. "I-I can tell there's... rose petals... peppermint... um..." Words felt like so much effort right then. So did standing upright. Leaning in towards Catanya, the herb pouch held dangling right before her breasts, it was hard to even keep his eyes on the pouch, to follow its motions as it swung slowly like a pendulum. It was even hard to simply keep his gaze from straying to Catanya's chest.

 

He was suddenly getting very conscious of the fact that these goblin ladies were still in their underwear.

 

"Good, good," Catanya encouraged. "You're getting them! Just a few more, Your Highness."

 

"I... clover..."

 

He breathed in deep, swayed, and practically fell right into Catanya's arms.

 

For a second, he felt softness. Warm, comforting squishy softness, his face pressed between her cleavage, his mind bathed in the scents—the scents that hung around her even heavier than the herb pouch, wonderful and sweet and—and they swore they could feel her hand running through their hair, and it just felt so wonderfully safe and delicate and—

 

—and he reeled back, sputtering, as the goblins giggled and cackled. Catanya smiled slyly up at him.

 

"You—you—" Hellebore struggled to find words for his indignation—words for what they'd done, even though he wasn't sure they'd done anything, but knowing there had to be something—

 

"Such a swooning maiden!" Eneko crowed.

 

Hellebore froze. It suddenly felt hotter than a crucible in here.

 

"Sh-Shut up," he managed pathetically, ducking his head from Catanya's smile. His head was still spinning, and those words... he hated being called a girl, despised it, he knew he did, but the herbs were making his head spin and twirl like a ballerina and he felt so confused and—

 

"Don't worry, Your Highness," Catanya said smoothly. "We'll make sure the water is cooler tomorrow."

 

"G-Good!" he snapped. He was backing up the stairs without even fully realizing it. His heart was racing.

 

"And... the herbs?" Her lashes fluttered low. "Too strong for you, Your Highness?"

 

He heard Eneko and Vesyka giggle.

 

Hellebore fumbled for the doorknob behind him. "They're… fine," he said, because he couldn’t think of a reason they weren’t. He regretted it as soon as the words were out.

 

Especially when Catanya smiled.

 

He gave a curt nod, turned, and practically fled the cellar, pursued by the goblin boilermaids' unbearable giggles—and the words blushing maiden echoing in his mind.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The door to the boiler room slammed open.

 

No response met Hellebore this time. All that greeted him was a rich, sweet, heady scent, a steam that filled the room with sweetness and heat and lemon and peppermint. The boiler room was filled with a pale rosy steam.

 

He hesitated as he entered. "Hello?" he called. He was grateful for the heat, at least—it was a very chilly morning to be stalking around in his towel.

 

There was no answer. Hellebore bit his lip. "W-Wherever you are, this is the last straw!" He made his way down the stairs, as loudly as he could. It was hard to see much through the haze of steam, and the last thing he wanted was to catch the boilermaids… naked or something.

 

"Oh, hello, Your Highness!" Catanya's voice said sweetly. The fog seemed to clear a little, and Hellebore saw her at the oven, stirring something on the stove in a large, weighty pot. "I'm soooo sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

 

"I find that difficult to believe," he said tersely. He tried to keep his breaths shallow—the scent wasn’t too thick, but he remembered what had happened the morning before.

 

The goblin continued to stir the pot. There was a stool next to her, but she remained standing. She was dressed in a pretty string-strap blue top and black booty shorts, her hips swaying from side to side for balance as she wielded the large wooden spoon. "Is there a problem, Your Highness?" she asked sweetly, sparing him a glance. Her crimson eyes broadcast only casual interest.

 

"Yes, there's a problem!" he snapped.

 

"Is the water too cold?" Catanya kept stirring, her voice soft and mellow.

 

"No, it—"

 

"Is the water too hot?" She kept stirring, smiling slightly.

 

"There's no water at all!" he burst out.

 

"Oh, dear!" She didn't sound concerned as she beckoned him closer. Reluctantly, he approached. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Your Highness, how could that have happened?"

 

"Why don't you tell me?" Hellebore snapped. "You know, I've just about had enough of—"

 

"Hush."

 

Hellebore stopped talking, more out of shock than anything else. No one other than his father had ever shushed him before, and Catanya's voice brooked no opposition, no argument.

 

"Your Highness," Catanya said sweetly, turning to smile up at him and flutter her lashes, "would you pray do me the favor of stirring this," she offered the spoon, "whilst I explain?"

 

Hellebore hesitated. Catanya's eyes glimmered, and he swore there was a spark of mischief there. But he found himself reaching for the spoon.

 

"Very good," she purred. Hellebore's head spun a little as he started to stir the thick herbal concoction. It smelled even sweeter up close, and he was already regretting agreeing to help. If he backed out now, though, he would just look like a fool. Or like he felt… threatened by some goblin’s little herb mix. "Now, Your Highness, you were saying...?"

 

"I... yes." Catanya sounded so smooth, so confident, Hellebore felt all out of sorts. He felt like he wasn't in control of this conversation at. He blinked rapidly. He had to recover it immediately. Control, that was to say.

 

"... and?" Catanya giggled softly, and he realized he'd trailed off.

 

Cheeks burning, Hellebore went on, "Th-The bathwater is... there's no bathwater. And it's late."

 

"That sounds very difficult," Catanya said sweetly. "I'm so sorry, Your Highness. But as you can see, the mix isn’t ready yet."

 

"I..." He could see them, swirling around in the great pot, filling the air with sweet-smelling mists. Was that how the bathwater was scented? He supposed he’d never… "Yes, but... but you..."

 

"But me?" He could hear the sweet, innocent, puzzled smile ringing her words. "But me what, Your Highness?"

 

He turned to glare. "But you're doing this on—"

 

"Keep stirring, You Highness," she chirped, taking his hand and guiding it around. Her hand was slender, warm and soft. So much smaller than his, and yet in such perfect control. "You must not forget to stir."

 

"I..." He trailed off lamely, turning back to the pot. He felt disoriented. Dizzy. Handled, in the way no one in the castle dared handle him. "You, um..."

 

"Yes? I, what?" Her voice was soft and very close to his ear—she must have gotten up on the stepping stool. "Focus on the stirring, Your Highness."

 

He stared lamely down at the bubbling brew as the spoon went round and round. The concoction's sweet scent washed over him, delectable, soothing. He recognized the scent as that to which he'd dozed off the last two mornings.

 

Around and around the thick soapy concoction roiled, his wooden spoon forming a gentle whirlpool.

 

"You're..." Hellebore had to think hard to remember what he'd been saying. It suddenly felt distant, unimportant, but he couldn't just come all this way and not call them out, could he? "... doing this on purpose."

 

"Oh, am I?" Catanya cooed. "What am I doing, YOur Highness?"

 

Her body felt warm against him. Warm and soft. Her skin was smooth as her hand gently guided his hand and helped him stir.

 

"I... you..." Hellebore’s head swam in slow, viscous spirals, his thoughts rippling every time her skin brushed his. HIs voice sounded so weak.

 

What was wrong with him? He'd been with girls before. It had been... well, it had been fine. He’d taken charge, as he was supposed to, and…

 

It had never felt so... flustering as this.

 

It was how she was treating him, he decided. She was being too... forward. That was it, was't it? Too forward, too bossy. That was why it felt off.

 

"Oh, Your Highness," Catanya whispered, "you seem to be having trouble." Her hand reached out to grip his.

 

"The..." He squirmed at her firm, yet gentle grip. Everything about this felt overwhelming. The way she pressed in on him had him feeling so delicate, so... protected. It was...

 

...

 

… dreadful. Right. That was it. He nodded to himself. He didn't like feeling delicate, didn't like feeling vulnerable, soft, taken care of. How could any Prince like that?

 

And… why wasn't he pulling away, when he clearly disliked it so much?

 

As he took a steadying breath, trying to get his thoughts in order, he found himself staring into the swirling concoction. His head felt heavy. He felt… sleepy.

 

A thought drifted into his heavy, sleepy head.

 

"The... the herbs..."

 

"Oh, do you like them?" Catanya asked innocently. Her fingers brushed through his hair. Hellebore knew he was bending down too close, giving her too much access, but that touch wasn't... too bad, at least. He would reprimand her familiarity in a moment. Any minute now. "I worked so hard on the blend. In fact, I've been working on it ever since we first met, Your Highness~"

 

"They're... what's..." Hellebore wasn't sure why words felt so difficult right now. It was like trying to get out a single tiny shard of eggshell that had slipped in with the rest of the egg. The words just slipped right from his quivering lips.

 

"What's in them?" Catanya asked. "Oh, nothing special, Your Highness. Keep stirring."

 

Hellebore realized he'd stopped, had started just staring stupidly into the swirling concoction. He couldn't believe the gall of this goblin, to actually order him around!...

 

But he kept stirring. He wanted to know what was in the blend, so he had to keep her talking. Keep her happy.

 

"First, there's ginger, of course," she murmured. "Ginger's a rich, earthy scent, you see. It grounds the rest, lends its gorgeous pungency and doubles the effects. Haven't you always felt so refreshed after your baths lately, Your Highness?"

 

'Refreshed' wasn't exactly the word Hellebore would use. He had fallen asleep in his bath every morning for the past week. It was for the best—much as he liked baths in theory, he didn't like feeling… naked. Or seeing himself naked, something like that. Sleeping in the bath was an escape from royal duties, from dealing with his father, and from dealing with his body.

 

Not that he'd ever admit those things to anyone. Not that he'd ever admit it to himself. Except just now, but that didn't... count...

 

He put it out of his mind. The point was, the baths mostly just made him feel sleepy.

 

He had felt better lately, though, aside from the drama with the boilermaids themselves. He’d felt… cleaner, somehow. He gave a slight grunt in response and focused on how the concoction swirled around and around, bubbled, herbs swimming within it, the warm scent wafting up around him....

 

"Then there's the lemon." Catanya gave a soft, melodic giggle. "Lemon adds a certain delicacy, a certain sweet melody to things don't you think?"

 

"I wouldn't know," he said, trying to sound haughty and distant, the way his father always did with courtiers.

 

"Oh, that's perfectly alright, Your Highness," Catanya said, in a sweet, simpering tone as if reassuring him. He flushed. "Lemon is a beautiful scent, a powerful scent. Breathe in and see for yourself. Good, good. Isn't it so refined and delicate? Like spilled silks."

 

"I... suppose..." He didn't want her to stop talking right now. He was in a rhythm of stirring, and her whispery, breathy voice was sending tingles through his whole body.

 

"And then there's the rose petals," Catanya hummed, her fingers combing through his hair, fingertips tracing over his scalp, making the tingling run even deeper to the point of being almost overwhelming. "The rose petals are the second-most important part."

 

"Rose petals..." He breathed their scent in and smiled a little. Rose petals reminded him of the courtesans the courtiers sometimes brought to balls and galas. They always smelled so... so elegant, looked so pretty and poised. He always felt like a blushing pervert for staring, but still they drew him, causing little bubbles of longing to blossom in his mind like wild roses. They seemed so sure of themselves, so comfortable, so… happy. Happy and pretty and delicate and…

 

"Yes, that's right!" Catanya sounded quite pleased. "Rose petals, Your Highness. Rose petals for softness of skin." She ran her fingertips across his palm. "Mm, feel how sensitive you are? As soft and delicate as a blossoming rose."

 

"Um." Hellebore's mind was doing slow arcs, around and around like a daisy in a wide, languid whirlpool. "Well. That... I, um, don't think..."

 

"No, of course not," Catanya agreed, and her voice was so reasonable, so mellifluous, flowing like cool, clear water, Hellebore found himself nodding along. "Of course not, Your Highness! But that's perfectly fine. You're doing very well."

 

"Y-Yeah..." he mumbled, unsure what they were talking about now. But he kept stirring. It wasn't just that he was watching the swirling potion--the very motion seemed to carry him with it, swirling around and around... around... around...

 

"Very good," Catanya cooed. "Just focus on stirring. Focus on my words. My voice is so sweet, isn't it?"

 

"... sweet..." Hellebore's head lolled.

 

"And finally," she went on, her voice liquid with smugness, "there's the peppermint and red clover. And those two are very important, your highness. Breathe them in deep."

 

Hellebore wanted to tell her that she didn't give the orders here, that he was in command. But talking felt like so much effort, and if he confronted her, it might lead to another confusing argument, and then he’d have to talk even more…

 

He would tell her later, he decided, breathing in deep of the heady herbs. The red clover, a subtle floral scent, was almost totally drowned out by the cool, sweetly acrid peppermint. He had to take several full breaths until he was able to smell both.

 

"Gooood." Catanya sounded very pleased. Hellebore felt strangely giddy at that. Her fingers brushed through his hair, the nails tracing just down to his neck, making him gasp. "And your Highness, do you know what red clover and peppermint are for?"

 

He mumbled something, stirring the pot.

 

"Ooh, what was that?" Vesyka’s voice rang out. He heard her laughing softly as she sidled up behind him, felt her hand running over his chest. His bare chest. He was still dressed in only the towel. Her hand was so soft. "I don't think His Highness knows, Catanya!"

 

"Ooh, you think so?" Catanya purred. "Should I explain it to him?"

 

Hellebore felt pleasurable shivery tingles running through him at Catanya’s intonations. Her voice was heavenly.

 

"Oh, definitely~" Eneko appeared on his other side, giving his hand holding the towel closed an affectionate squeeze that almost made him lose his grip. "I mean, sh—he's gonna wanna know, isn't he~?"

 

"Yes, you're right." Catanya's fingertips continued to graze up and down the nape of Hellebores neck. "Well, Your Highness, peppermint—breathe in deep, smell the sweetness—and red clover are special. They're very healthy for princes like you. Full of a… special kick." Her voice dropped to a sultry purr, and the tingles were so strong Hellebore actually had to hold in a soft moan. "After all, haven't you always wanted to be a little... softer?"

 

Hellebore swayed. He mumbled something that vaguely sounded like I s'pose.

 

The goblins giggled. Catanya pressed the advantage. "Yes, that's right, of course you have. Who doesn't want skin so soft..." her finger traveled down his neck, down the center of his back, delicate, so exquisitely, agonizingly delicate. His back arched in pleasure. "No blemishes, no roughness. Just pure, sweet, delicate softness."

 

"Um..." Hellebore blinked. It was a blink that felt like it took hours, and by the time his eyes were closed, he found he was having trouble remembering how to open them.

 

"And your hair. Your beautiful hair..." Catanya giggled, and he felt her hand petting the top of his head, her fingers running through his locks. More hands joined hers, Eneko’s and Vesyc’s, drowning him in gentle headpets. "You feel how soft and lustrous it is now? So thick and full. It can be like this all the time. You can grow it out, feel it flowing behind you, and oh, how pretty you’ll be~"

 

Something about that sounded... it should have sounded off to Hellebore. Princes didn't grow long hair. Long hair was for women, for maidens, for soft, delicate princesses. Even his shoulder-length hair was due for a haircut, his father kept saying. But the thought of growing it longer… it didn’t repulse him like it should have at all.

 

In fact, it sounded almost... euphoric.

 

He swayed, his world wobbling from side to side.

 

"It'll make your body sooo soft," Eneko purred, stroking his hair.

 

"You'll look sooo pretty," Vesyca agreed, patting his head.

 

"B... buh..."

 

"And you always," Cataanya cooed, brushing a stray lock from his eyes, "take such long herbal baths, don't you?"

 

Hellebore stared stupidly into the swirling concoction, breathing in the hot, scented air. He managed to make a halfhearted attempt at lifting his head away, trying to get a breath of clear, cool air.

 

The air away from the cauldron was cool. It wasn't clear. Instead his vision shimmered as the scents only seemed to grow stronger. He blinked rapidly, giving a soft groan.

 

"Aww, I think Her Highness has noticed our perfume," teased Catanya. "Do you like it? Don't I smell like soft, sweet rose petals?" Hellebore shook his head weakly. "Doesn't Eneko smell like sharp, sugary peppermint? Doesn't Vesyca smell like tart, flowery lemon?"

 

Hellebore's head lolled. Something about what Catanya had just said sounded off to him, but he was barely holding his head so high. It was so hard to think. Every breath he took seemed to make him weaker and weaker, sleepier and sleepier.

 

He tried to pull further away.

 

A hand on the back of his head pushed him down. "No, no," Catanya cooed. "Stay down. Breathe in deep. Deep. Deeeeep. Deeper and deeper and deeper and deeeeeper..."

 

The first kiss came from Eneko, a playful, nipping kiss on the lips. He tasted peppermint, and blinked dumbly at her as she grinned.

 

"Deeper." Catanya’s voice was delicate and husky, enunciating every consonant in a way that made him shiver with delight. “Feel the tingles spread through your body, through your mind. Deeper. Deeper.”

 

Then it was Vesyca, pulling him to face her and taking him in a slow, soft, tender kiss, her lips smacking wetly as sweet lemon flavor blossomed through his mind like springtime.

 

She pulled away with a smile, as if daring him to lean after her. The kiss had left him gasping for breath. He felt his knees starting to give way.

 

"Deeper. Breathe deeper of the sweetness, fall deeper into the tingles. And the deeper you breathe, the deeper. You. Sink.

 

And then it was Catanya, her voice a delicate coo, her smirk wide and shameless as those plump, dark lips moved in, and he almost tasted the rose petals before the kiss even came.

 

Her lips met his, took his upper lip between them. Her lips were soft and supple, her tongue playful, and the taste was so sweet Hellebore almost couldn't bear it. He found himself leaning into the kiss, as desperate as an addict, moaning as she laughed softly and clutched the back of his head and held him captive in the embrace.

 

It was a queen's kiss, a dominant, claiming kiss.

 

And as she pulled away, Hellebore could only stare after her and whimper.

 

"Drop, my Princess," she said sweetly, and snapped her fingers.

 

And ‘Prince’ Hellebore swooned right into the goblins’ waiting, welcoming arms.