"He's gorgeous, Charles," Emilia gushed as she bathed in her personal washroom, while Charles stood against the washroom door in her bedroom.

She had been going on about her visit, particularly about the prince, since she had returned some hours ago. And to his dismay, she had insisted on telling him the majority of it instead of her mother, who was being caught up by the Grand-Duke. Arms crossed, Charles tried his best to drown out the incessant ramblings of his unrequited love and keep his spiteful tongue at bay.

"The castle was so beautifully decorated. And so much larger than our mansion. I was in awe at every turn. I would love to live in such a home. Each day would be an adventure of halls and décor!" she squealed, her voice bouncing off the tiled walls as Charles registered the sound of her leaving the water.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," was his reply as he stepped away from the door in order to start closing the many curtains in her room to prepare her to turn in for the evening.

Charles remained silent as Emilia immerged a moment later in her linen nightgown. Twirling out of the washroom, Emilia spun into her room until she collapsed onto her plush bed. There was no questioning her excitement about the visit. But beneath her smiles and squeals, there was also a great deal of uncertainty. However much the prince had seemed to enjoy her company, she couldn't shake what the Queen had said. And all the while, wondering if it were true.

Had she really been too flustered?

When it had come time for her and the prince to part for the evening, Emilia even grew flustered when he tried to kiss her farewell, insisting that he do so on her cheek. The prince complied, but the skeptical look in the Queen's watchful eyes made Emilia's blood run cold.

Curling up in her bed as Charles made his rounds about the windows, Emilia's heart sank. What if the Queen was right? What if the prince didn't have the interest to guide her? Would her dreams of having a family of her own be tarnished before they could begin?

"Charles," Emilia called as he pulled the last of the thick curtains over the largest of the bedroom windows. Doing nothing more of a response than raising his brow, she went on, folding her legs under her to kneel on her bed. "I have a favor to ask of you."

Her eyes were both devious and desperate as she looked to Charles' turned back. He gave a hum of acknowledgment as he stepped towards the vanity. Turning, he was amused by her look of what read to him as diligence.

"Oh?" he chuckled, sitting against the corner of the vanity and resting his hands on either side of him along its edge. "And what would that be? I should hope it's not to ask your father to extend your curfew on your behalf. The first four times should have –"

"Teach me how to kiss," she blurted.

The room fell silent, along with Charles' expression. He merely stared at the Duchess, convinced he had been mistaken. But when he saw her gradually reddening cheeks, his lips parted in question.

"What?"

Granted, it wasn't a very detailed one.

"You must, Charles!" Emilia begged, leaning forward to clutch the end of her bed. "I couldn't bear the embarrassment of the prince learning I know nothing of even the most basic of intimacies."

Charles could feel his chest tighten. Was the world really finding such creatively cruel ways to torture him? And even with such reluctance, the plea in Emilia's eyes drew him effortlessly from his resolve.

Looking away from her, he crossed his arms, his lips squirming in his efforts to find an appropriate response - of which there seemed to be lacking.

"I'm more than sure that your prince would be happy to teach you himself," was his nervous, though bitter response.

But his eyes widened when seeing Emilia rush from her bed to flounder before him. Immediately his hands went up to keep the Duchess at a meaningful distance, his mind preparing for far more than an unwelcome kiss.

"You must teach me," Emilia begged, before becoming definitive. "I order you to."

"S-So quickly you change your words upon rejection," Charles stammered with pinched brows, finding himself trapped against the vanity as Emilia drew closer, her hands able to grip upon the white sleeves of his loosely-laced tunic.

"Will you deny my order?"

"I ... That is to say ... That is not something I can just teach you, Emilia," Charles pleaded, trying to pry his way through her determination to reach reason. To no avail.

"It is, and you will! You promised you would help me." Emilia's eyes went from merciless to hopeless in a single blink, leaving poor Charles helpless. "Please," was the whine that sealed his fate.

Love was a cruel mistress, indeed.

A lingering pause and strained exhale later, and Charles' shoulders slumped, lightening Emilia's gaze in return. With a begrudging nod, Emilia gave a victorious squeal, just before Charles' finger reached out to quiet her.

"Not a word," he warned. "This is not a lesson butlers are meant to teach."

The last thing he needed was to have anyone learn of the private lesson. It would surely be the last time he would be allowed to step foot on this country's soil. And while that thought alone was nothing to bear, it was the thought of forever losing his Emilia that haunted him.

Giddy, she gave a nod, unable to help her smile. And though he knew better, he returned it as he guided her back to her bed. As she sat against its edge in her gown, Charles felt his heart race, and his mouth dry.

How foolish he felt, so worked up by the thought of a simple kiss. And yet, seeing her bright eyes in the dim candlelight, he had never felt more privileged. For years, he had wondered what it would be like. Now, per her request, no less, he was but moments away.

Standing above her smaller frame, he knelt before her, hazel eyes locked onto hers, which became level as his knees met the carpeted floor.

"Close your eyes," he cooed in a soft breath. She gave a sharp nod, following the command and prominently puckering her lips for good measure. Charles couldn't help but chuckle to himself and her naïve understanding of intimacy. "Relax your lips," he corrected with an amused shake of his head.

Following the direction despite her better (or not) judgment, Charles found himself stunned by a sight he had never imagined he'd see. His love, ready for his embrace. As slight a one as it may have been, to gaze upon her was more than enough to move him -- and his morals.

"Be still ..." he whispered as he inched closer, his hands resting on either side of her.

A moment later, their lips met, and their surroundings faded into the background. Both their hearts had spiked, igniting a spark within them. Emilia's stemming from the fluttering in her stomach, and Charles' stemming from flutters elsewhere.

Lashes fluttering, Emilia's cheeks blazed a moment after opening her eyes to peer into the ones of her butler. Hands clutching against her face, she bounced on the mattress with a muffled squeal. She'd kissed a man! How strange it felt. And yet ... satisfying. Dare she think, exciting, even. Was this what it was like? How thrilling. Satisfied with her success she smiled to Charles, who had been idly staring at her, waiting with baited breath for her reaction.

"A proper kiss!" she squealed aloud, though still barely above a whisper, her legs swinging excitedly over the edge of the bed. Smiling, Charles chuckled, happy to have such a positive response, as well as the knowledge of having Emilia's first kiss. And what's more, her lack of understanding was at least a source of entertainment. But when noticing this, Emilia's lips pursed in a pout. "Why do you laugh? Surely you're embarrassed at how advanced I actually am."

Charles' smile broadened as he stood, resisting an outburst of laughter.

"Perhaps if your prince were a doll," he snickered to himself, only to grunt in surprise when being jerked back towards the Duchess, a firm grip on his sleeve.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Emilia." He was treading on thin enough ice. He didn't need her thinking he was making fun of her. "The prince will show you the rest."

"The rest," she repeated with pinching brows and a gradually forming frown. It was then that Charles realized the error of his words, and how much further into the hole he had helped dig when being tugged closer. "You've taught me a child's kiss," she scolded.

"I," Charles nervously laughed, averting his eyes. "Is that not a fitting lesson?"

"Charles!" the Duchess screeched.

"Lower your voice," he warned in a hiss. "It's well beyond your curfew, mind you."

"Show me properly," Emilia demanded, tightening her grip on his sleeve to keep him bent towards her. Charles' shoulders slumped, as he was dragged back into the battle with his morals.

"Emilia," he groaned.

"Or I will tell Father."

His expression paled at the threat, his eyes snapping back to her determined ones. Narrowing, he tried pulling away from her grip to stand straight.

"That's no laughing matter, Emilia," he warned, only to have Emilia stand up with him, though still more than a head shorter in her bare feet.

"Neither is my pride. I won't allow it to be tarnished because of your disobedience."

Another lingering silence, though this one was in a noticeably thicker atmosphere. And while his was ever shifting, her resolve on the matter seemed to be set in stone.

Sighing, he looked away from her piercing gaze a moment to gather his thoughts. The boundary lines were becoming increasingly unclear at an alarming rate.

"I want a proper kiss," was the impossible demand.

A proper kiss, he thought to himself in dismay. His mind was torn between what he had longed to experience – at least two years down the line – and what she thought she needed to know, and then how to make it seem accurate. Charles himself hadn't had too large a number of women at all – able to count the lot of them on one hand. But he knew how a man wanted to kiss a woman.

He could already feel the strain on his restraint.

"Close your eyes," he exhaled, with a noticeably shakier breath. Nodding in approval, Emilia did as she was told, her lips relaxed like they had been before. "Part your lips slightly." A gentle kiss with parted lips. That would be enough, wouldn't it? "When you feel my lips against yours, push back, and mimic my movements."

Nodding, Emilia awaited the action to follow the words, while Charles waited to regain his confidence, which had been fleeting since that afternoon.

With one arm against one of the posts of the lavish bed, Charles inched forward for the second time, chest thudding, palms sweating. And this time, when their lips met, and he felt her lips push back against his own, the spark bloomed into a full-blown fire. In and out, his lips moved, the movement quickly being picked up and replicated by the young Duchess. And through her parted lips, he could taste her breath in short pants as her hands clutched at the sides of his blouse.

It was only natural for her to feel nervous, wondering if she was doing well. In that sense, they were the same. Charles' free hand delicately cupped the side of her face. But when it did, Emilia's response threw him. A soft whine escaped her, and her hands, instinctively or not, climbed higher to grip onto the back of his shirt, which in turn drew her body closer to his. And as her neck craned, his grip on her cheek pressed firmly, a low groan of his own echoing as his arm left the bed post.

Both hands cupping her face, Charles inched closer, Emilia shuffling back awkwardly in her gown. His lips quickened in their dance with hers, which were admirably trying to keep up. And they had, until Charles had slipped up, and slipped his tongue forward. Gasping, Emilia instinctively jerked her head back, only to have it go so far while in Charles' hands.

The jerking caused Emilia to tumble back onto her bed with a squealing grunt, and for Charles to tumble after her. Her lashes fluttered when their lips met again, shutting when the awkwardly familiar presence of his tongue returned, setting her body ablaze in both uncertain embarrassment and something she wasn't quite sure of. Hair scattered about the plush comforter, Emilia's body squirmed beneath Charles' larger one. Her hands, once gripping onto his shirt for support, now tugging to break free. Her mind swam as she whimpered, several seconds going by before Charles broke for air.

"Charles!" Emilia wailed in a strained, exhaling whisper.

And in that plea, Charles was abruptly ripped from his fantasy. Panting and eyes wide, he looked down upon the seemingly frightened woman beneath him, pinned down with the body he had built to protect her. And just as quickly as he had found himself in her bed, he pushed himself out of it, taking several uncertain steps away. Sitting up in her sea of comforters, Emilia held a hand to her racing heart, for once, lost for words.

Forcing himself to avert his eyes, he spun around, grabbing the candle from atop the desk and making his way towards the bedroom door.

"As I said," he said, still slightly out of breath. "The prince will show you the rest," as the door shut behind him.