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Chapter Text

Linden was nearly ready to be put on display. Two servants dressed and primped him as he popped small sweets into his mouth. Linden and the rest of his brothers were to be presented to the princess that day, and though he was merely a middle son, he had every intention of securing her hand. He had spent his entire life being molded into a soft, precious ornament, and what better way for him to be displayed than on the arm of the future queen?

The servants placed gold circlets on his upper arms. They dug into inches of excess flesh, emphasizing his size. He smiled into the mirror and struck a coquettish pose that emphasized just how lush he’d become.

His shirt (if one could call it that) was so sheer it left nothing to the imagination. The sag of his belly and breasts, stunningly large for his eighteen years, pressed at the fabric, puckering around his belly button. Princess Ginevra was sure to find that much to her liking. He found himself wishing he had a belly button piercing to properly accentuate it, but his parents would never have agreed. “No woman wants a husband who’s been marked, Linden—not anyone worth marrying, anyway,” his father would chide every time he asked. Linden traced the curve of his belly and pouted. He hoped the princess was more open to the idea.

Servants helped him into a long skirt with hip-high slits cut into the sides, ensuring his dimpled thighs could be shown off whenever he chose. They added gold paint to his upper lip, cheeks, and eyebrows and styled his hair so it was out of his face but still flowing beautifully down his back. He looked radiant. A fine match for a princess.

But Linden had to do everything to ensure he was her choice. He snapped his chubby fingers. “Water,” he demanded. A servant filled a goblet with cool water and handed it to him. He chugged it down, careful not to smudge his makeup or drip onto his fine clothes. “Another.” His cup was refilled and summarily emptied again and again. When he could feel the liquid sloshing inside him, he stopped. A look in the mirror brought a smile to his face. He looked properly bloated now, stomach jutting out and hanging even heavier now that it was filled with water. It was a sneaky move, but he had to look his absolute best.

He preened a little more, adjusting his hair and clothes. His stomach growled through all the liquid. He’d needed to sharpen his appetite for the luncheon, so he hadn’t eaten since waking nearly five hours before. (Well, except some sweets, but those hardly counted!) He was famished now. But it would all be worth it if he was selected. A marriage to the princess would mean a full belly for life. A few hours’ hunger was worth that, surely?

Well, almost. He did eat a few more of the treats a servant proffered before him, which of course only made him hungrier. Just a short while before I can eat again. Just a bit longer.

A loud call echoed through the house. “Boys!” Linden’s father called. “Boys, to the main hall immediately. She’ll be arriving at any moment.” Linden bustled to the main hall, trying to move quickly but not so quickly that he began to sweat. Servants touched up his clothes and hair as he went, and one even gave him a quick spritz of warmly-scented perfume.

He found two of his older brothers waiting there, one preening, the other looking bored.

Emmett, the eldest, had truly abandoned all decorum and was wearing hardly anything. His torso was bare, pale belly stacked in creamy rolls of buttery fat. His legs were nearly bare as well, with only a cloth tied so it hung between his legs and kept him decent. He had silver designs painted on his skin to emphasize his curves and rolls, and thin silver chains slung around his plump hips that chimed quietly whenever he moved.

Someone’s getting desperate, Linden thought with a smirk. “Hoping going nearly nude will hide how skinny you look next to me, brother?” Linden teased.

“You’re only saying that because you’re jealous you aren’t as bold,” Emmett replied smarmily. The two were of similar size, but most thought Linden was fatter because of his broad, smooth stomach which seemed to go on forever. Emmett’s double (verging on triple) belly just didn’t have the same visual effect.

“Hard to be bold when you’ve hardly anything to show off. Glad to see you embracing those slim hips.”

Bartem, the second-eldest, stifled a laugh. He had opted for more practical clothing. Everything he wore was tailored impeccably, but it was all quite plain. He wore no jewelry or embellishments, no paint or makeup. Bartem was the thinnest and tallest of the elder three brothers, and seemed to care little about finding a good match—or any match, if his lack of enthusiasm at the dinner table was any indication. He preferred riding and archery over more suitable, sedentary pursuits. Linden found the very thought ghastly.

Their three younger brothers trailed in. They were all a bit too young to be married, but they were still competing for the princess’ hand. If the princess truly wanted them, no one would complain about a long engagement. The princess might even consider it time to properly mold her new husband. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Linden eyed each of his younger brothers. Reed, the fourth son, looked like he’d spent all morning stuffing himself. A childish mistake, given the luncheon showing that was planned. Clay, the second youngest, still looked awfully thin. He had only just hit 200 pounds after his sixteenth birthday, and not much had changed since then. Poor thing. He’ll have to learn to keep up if he’s to find a partner. He doesn’t want to end up like Bartem. River, the youngest, had clearly taken some of Linden’s advice. His clothes were showy, but not as brazen and desperate as Emmett’s. He looked properly pudgy and round, his eyes bright as he looked over for Linden’s approval. Linden smiled at his baby brother. He’ll make a fine match one day.

Their father joined them, standing at Emmett’s side, ready to present each of them by name. Their mother waited outside to greet their guest. The siblings chatted in hushed tones, waiting until they heard—

And there it was. The sound of her carriage rolling to a stop. “Positions, everyone. I want good posture from you all. Remember your manners. Chins up, and put those tummies front and center. Reed, if you belch, so help me—“ Father abruptly fell silent, his round face smoothing into a smile. Mother walked through the door; beside her was Princess Ginevra. Ginevra was truly a beauty, with raven hair and a calculating look in her eye.

“Your Highness, this is my husband, Ayers,” Mother said, gesturing a hand toward Father.

Father bowed as best he could, his impressive bulk making that rather difficult. “Your Majesty.”

“Well met, Lord Burrock.”

“Your Majesty, these are my sons. Emmett is our eldest.” Emmett swept a bow. He was still graceful, despite how fat he’d gotten in the last year. His dancing lessons were paying off. “And Bartem, just a year younger.” Bartem bowed primly, just as deep as protocol required and no more. “Linden, our third.” Linden bowed low, careful to flash some jiggling thigh as he did so. When he rose, he imagined he saw the end of a smile on the princess’ lips.

The others were introduced, and Ginevra complimented them all. “You have a lovely family, Lady Burrock. Your land must be doing quite well to have so many robust sons.” The princess looked over at Linden as she spoke and he nearly blushed.

Eventually, they made their way into the dining room. The princess was seated at a short table, and Mother sat beside her. Father and all six sons sat at a table facing the ladies, the better to be properly observed.

Linden was eager to prove himself, and even more eager to finally eat. Between the excitement and his short fast, he was nearly starving. The kitchens did not disappoint. Before he knew it, he’d finished half a roast duck, and was only pausing to sop up the sauce on his plate with a thick slice of bread. The room was filled with the frenzied sounds of eating. All the Burrock boys knew they must perform. Even Clay and Bartem were eating properly for once.

Soon, the duck bones were cleared away and the sweets started coming. Linden loved sweets, especially the fruity kinds. A whole platter of pastries stuffed with ham and preserves found their way into his hungry belly. Then a small mountain of meringues. Every once in a while, he looked up at the princess. He wanted so badly to see some proof that each bite was garnering her favor.

But Princess Ginevra was sly. This wasn’t her first viewing, and she knew better than to display any preferences so early.

All Linden could do was keep stuffing himself and hope it was enough.

He ate until it was difficult to breathe. Until he could scarcely move. Until the very last dishes had been dropped before him, and his brothers had long since given up. He only stopped when he was certain he would vomit if he didn’t.

When it was all done, the princess stood. And she clapped. “An excellent showing. Quite impressive. Seeing Burrock appetites in action is truly something to behold. You hear the stories, of course, but nothing compares to the reality.”

Linden let out a quiet sigh of satisfaction. He’d done his best, and it might have been enough.

“Lady Burrock, may I discuss something with you in private?” the princess asked.

“Of course, Your Highness.” The two women disappeared. The seven Burrock men were left to tend to their turgid tummies and prepare to stand and say their farewells. The ladies gave them plenty of time. Linden wondered if that was good or bad. What could they possibly be discussing? Not that he wasn’t grateful for the rest. Marathon eating was difficult work, and he’d outdone himself today.

Slowly, and with some assistance from their servants, they all waddled into the main hall once more. Each of them was stuffed to the gills, fit to burst out of their clothes. (Well, except Emmett, who wasn’t really wearing anything to burst out of.) Still, Linden was certain he would be chosen. He was clearly the right choice. Who better to showcase the wealth and power of the crown than he?

When Mother and Ginevra walked out to meet them, Linden was smiling smugly to himself. Emmett was clearly disappointed with his showing. He kept casting jealous glances at the puffed up orb of Linden’s gut. Father patted Linden on the back, proud his son had acquitted himself so well.

Which was why it was such a surprise when the princess approached Bartem. “Bartem Burrock,” she said with a smile, “I ask now for your hand in marriage.”

They were all stunned, save Mother, who looked on with thin-lipped satisfaction. Both Emmett and Linden looked ready to collapse to the floor in anguish. Bartem was more surprised than anyone, but managed to compose himself. “Your Majesty, I am deeply honored by your attentions.”

Bartem looked at his mother, and then at his brothers and father. Being the future queen’s consort was not what he wanted, not one bit, but how could he reject her? It would disgrace his entire family and ruin their prospects.

For a small moment, he allowed himself the luxury of imagining a world where he said no. He could continue to live in peace on his family’s estate. He could do mostly as he liked. He could dally with the village boys and never think again about marrying.

After that moment, that brief taste of a future he knew was impossible, he spoke. “With all my heart, I accept.”

Chapter Text

For the next month, it was as if a bomb had gone off in the Burrock household. Linden and Emmett were both deeply aggrieved. They spent their days moping in their rooms and occasionally waddling around the house to harass the rest of the family with their sulking.

Bartem avoided home at all costs. He spent his time in the village, rutting in haylofts and orchard rows with peasant boys like his days were numbered. (And weren’t they, after all?) When he was home, his father would hardly let him alone. The advice about how to properly please a woman seemed to be endless, and involved things like being fitted for an entirely new wardrobe that emphasized his new future status as the jewel of the princess’ household, how to eat seductively (whatever that meant), and various rules and adages about what women really wanted out of a husband. He even had to take lessons in current court behavior and fashion, which had his brothers fuming with jealousy. He had no idea what they were jealous over. It was all insufferably boring, and made worse by the fact that he had to waste his last few weeks of freedom on it all.

One afternoon, after he’d extricated himself from yet another fitting for yet more clothes he hated, he found himself sitting under one of his favorite trees with Astor, an old playmate from the village who had eventually become… well, a very different sort of playmate.

“So, you’re off to the palace next week. Wonder how long it’ll take them to properly fatten you up,” the village boy teased.

Bartem snorted. “Gods help me, I hope it takes a while.” He fondled the other young man’s plump hips, trying to lose himself in someone else’s softness.

“Doubt it. That princess’ll figure out your weakness and you’ll swell up in no time.” Astor licked his lips. “I wish I could be there to see it.”

“Really?” Bartem pulled his beau into his lap, loving the feeling of soft thighs straddling him. “I thought you liked that I kept trim. Well. Trim for a noble.”

“I do.” Astor leaned in for a kiss, his pudgy stomach pressing into Bartem’s. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve never been curious what you’d look like if you rounded out.” His hips wiggled a bit and Bartem stifled a groan. “You’re already the picture of a handsome, cosseted nobleman, but I can imagine you with a fat pair of tits and a belly bigger than Linden’s and it’s… well.” Bartem could feel exactly how Astor felt about that.

He laughed. “When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so bad.” He grabbed handfuls of Astor’s backside, and Astor responded in kind by gently grinding his hips against Bartem’s. “But I’d much rather get to see you properly softened up.” He shifted until Astor was below him, looking flushed, double chin peeking out deliciously. Bartem traced the little roll of flesh with his thumb. “Would that you were the noble. You’re so greedy I know you’d’ve been thrice your current size by now.” Bartem began to work Astor’s pants off. He cupped one of the young man’s thighs, wondering if they were a touch softer than they had been the last time he’d felt them. “I can imagine you sprawled out on a massive bed, feasting on all fours, and getting behind you…”

Words failed him as he entered Astor. He thought about fucking an Astor who never stopped growing, whose hips continued to spread wider, whose thighs were forced further and further apart with each meal, whose ass swelled more with every bite. He thrust deeper, and Astor moaned in response, hands gripping the blanket that lay beneath them. His belly bounced with each stroke. Bartem grabbed it hungrily. “If I had my way, I’d feed you until we had to roll you everywhere.”

“Promise?” Astor said breathlessly.

Bartem thrust even more rapidly. “Fuck yes.”

Chapter Text

Just days after his last tryst with Astor, Bartem was off to court. His parents hugged him tearfully, and his siblings wished him well (though whether those wishes were heartfelt was debatable) as he climbed into the most elaborate carriage he had ever seen. Two other carriages followed, each filled with trunks of Bartem’s belongings, and even more strapped to their roofs.

Bartem found it difficult to display any kind of emotion, even once he was alone and rolling toward his new home. His life was about to change dramatically and he’d had so little say in it. In just a few weeks, he would have a wife. While he knew some of what that would entail, he was also certain that marrying the future queen was not something one could really prepare for. No matter how many tidbits of advice his parents gave him, he would still be utterly out of his depth.

His one hope was that he would not drown.

He watched the scenery of his family’s estate and the village roll by. The peach orchards were in full bloom, pink and white petals waving in the gentle breeze. He thought of Astor, whose family farmed nearly half those peach orchards. And then he stopped thinking about him, because if he continued, he might have to contend with just how much he was losing.

Why couldn’t it have been Emmett or Linden? he wondered. Either of them would have been delighted to be royal consorts. It was all they had dreamt of since they were children. Bartem had always thought he would be left alone, comparatively slim as he was. Clearly he had been wrong.

And what kind of princess wanted a slim prince at her side, anyway? He knew everyone had preferences that didn’t always align with the prevailing tastes of the day, but royalty usually satisfied those preferences outside the marriage bed. A thin prince—a thin future king, fuck it all—was nearly unheard of. He would be the trimmest man to marry into the royal family for nearly two centuries. The last one had been mocked mercilessly. The scandal sheets had been filled with speculation about whether he had some kind of genetic defect and how it might affect the royal bloodline. He filled out as time went on, but the memory of a two-hundred pound prince lingered in people’s minds.

Bartem knew all of that was preposterous. Why should anyone, royalty or not, have to look a certain way? Not that it mattered how he felt about it. The court and other nobles would judge him as they liked. All he could control was himself.

***

After three days of travel, Bartem was exhausted, anxious, and damned ready to never set foot in a carriage again as long as he lived.

Thankfully, he was ushered inside the palace by attentive servants who ensured his every need was met. He was shown to his rooms, which felt vast and not like a place he could ever feel at home in. There was food offered to him at every turn, and after two days of unsatisfying meals at crossroads inns, he gratefully partook.

After much bustling around as his things were brought inside and put into their places, he was finally left alone to settle into a hot bath. He took a moment to take in the room. It was, as he’d expected it to be, almost excessively lavish. The ceiling was covered in hand-painted murals, inlaid with precious gemstones and gold leaf. The floors were imported marble. Plush, elaborately woven rugs were placed at intervals so that one’s feet never had to touch the cold floors.

His brothers would have loved all of this. He could practically hear Emmett prattling about the wainscoting and Linden chiming in to admire the mother-of-pearl designs at the bottom of the bathtub.

He had never felt all that close to his family, but the thought of his siblings left his chest aching. Bartem had always been an independent sort, uninterested in the world’s expectations. As he sank himself deeper into the warm water, he wondered if his siblings had made it easier for him to be so. Could he still be as independent-minded without the supportive structure of his family?

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it. As soon as his bathwater had cooled to the point of being uncomfortable, there was a knock on the door. Almost before he’d finished saying the word “Enter,” a finely-dressed servant walked in with an enormous, fluffy towel and stood beside the tub, waiting to wrap Bartem in it. The servant draped him in it and began to dry him.

“I am to be your valet,” he said. “You will be dining with Her Royal Highness this evening. I selected an outfit for you, as well as an alternative if it is not to your taste.” The valet finished his work and then waited as Bartem walked back into his chambers. Two outfits were laid upon the bed. Bartem didn’t particularly like either, but chose the one that showed the least amount of skin.

The valet seemed a bit disappointed by his selection, but made no comment as he helped Bartem dress.

By the time the valet was finished, Bartem looked quite lovely. He wore fitted, high-waisted black pants and a loose cream shirt tucked into them. There was just a touch of black and gold embroidery around the collar. The soft curve of his belly and love handles pressed outward slightly. Bartem hoped that would be enough to satisfy the princess.

Once he’d been dressed, the valet guided him through gilded hallways lined with regal portraits and pastoral landscapes. Every man in the portraits was huge. They ranged in size, but there were a shocking number of men who were almost too large to be able to stand despite looking quite young. He spotted more than a handful who were entirely immobile and were depicted lounging in sumptuous beds or seated in immense chairs. Could I become that large? He pushed the thought away, feeling discomfited.

Everything was lit with enough candles that it almost looked like midday. The Burrocks hadn’t exactly skimped on candles, but the difference between a house that was merely aristocratic and a royal palace was far more vast than he’d realized.

The difference became even more apparent when two servants opened the doors to the dining room.

Bartem had never seen so much food in his life. He’d been to a dozen balls and private parties, including ones hosted by the royal family. But apparently royals weren’t all that interested in sharing their wealth—who would’ve guessed?

The centerpiece was an entire roasted pig, skin crisped to a deep brown, a caramelized orange in its mouth. Towers made of fruit and candies were placed at intervals across the long table. Meat pies glistened. He couldn’t even take in the rest—it was too much, too many details, so much food. And the only person seated at the table to eat it was… Ginevra. Only she wasn’t eating at all. Just waiting patiently, a smile on her lips as she sipped at a glass of red wine.

Bartem wasn’t one to forget his manners. He bowed before his future queen and future wife. “Your Highness.”

“So formal!” Her voice was rich, like a dark honey. She wore a red silk robe with black flowers embroidered into it. Her hair was loose and fell just past her shoulders. She wore no face powder or other makeup, and Bartem marveled at how pale she was. That was out of fashion these days, but the effect of her pallor when combined with her dark hair and eyes was striking. She looked comfortable in a way Bartem wasn’t sure he’d ever felt.

“While I’ll certainly appreciate that when we’re out in public, we have no need for it here.” She gestured for him to sit, as if there weren’t servants already pulling a chair out for him.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Your H—Ginevra.”

“Oh, it’s Evie when I’m at home.” She took another sip of wine.

“Evie, then.” He cleared his throat as he settled into the chair. “I’ve only ever been Bartem. Don’t particularly like being called Bart, or any other nickname. People have tried, but it never stuck.”

“Understandable.” She gestured at one of the servants and they hopped to, piling food onto Bartem’s plate. Princess Ginevra—Evie—glanced down at his plate, then beamed at him. “You don’t seem like a Bart.”

He took a bite of pork. It tasted like brown sugar and honey and spices. He took another bite, and another. A servant poured some sauce onto his plate, and he dipped the pork into it. It was excellent—citrusy and sweet. “This is fantastic,” he said after swallowing.

“Glad to hear it!” She was beaming, and Bartem was surprised by just how genuine her smile felt. “I requested that your family’s cook tell ours all about your favorites. I’m told this is an entirely new recipe, but with elements you like.” She looked a little sheepish. “Sorry if that seems intrusive. I wanted to do what I could to make you comfortable.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and paused, as if trying to decide what to say next. “My hope is for you to be happy, so if ever you need anything, do let me know.”

How odd to hear such words from a princess he’d only met twice. He appreciated the kindness, and at the same time felt off-kilter. He’d expected the stilted conversation stereotypical of an arranged match in its early days. He wasn’t sure how to react to such sweetness and attempts at intimacy, especially from the second most powerful woman in the nation. “You are very kind, Evie.” He stumbled a little over her name. She had only ever been Her Royal Highness, Princess Ginevra in his mind. “I am very grateful to be here. I hope I can become the kind of husband who deserves such attentiveness.”

At that, she broke into an enormous smile. “I don’t doubt that you will.”

“I would like to return the favor, but I confess I don’t know much about you beyond the court gossip that filters down amongst us lesser nobles.”

“Oh, do tell. I would love to hear what rumors there are to be had about me.”

He took a large bite of pork and a gulp of wine. “I think I’ll need more wine before I tell you the juiciest of them. But my personal favorite was the one about you, the Duchess of Ansell, and a dozen hedgehogs…”

***

Two hours later, the couple were laughing, their cheeks flushed. Bartem had a hand resting on his stomach. He felt sloshy with wine and just a bit too much to eat. Evie had her chin resting on her hand, propping herself up on the table as she looked at him, eyes glassy from the alcohol. He stretched and yawned, his shirt pulling tighter against his belly as he leaned against the back of his chair. He noticed the cloud of lust passing over her face.

He was pleased that he sparked that in her. Women were certainly not his preference, but he’d been known to dally with people of every gender, and Evie was as fine a woman as he’d ever seen. He was still surprised she’d even bothered to give him a second glance. A gentleman his age who was under three hundred pounds was an oddity, and generally not considered the pinnacle of sexual attractiveness. But as she stared at him with glazed eyes, her pinkie absentmindedly running over her wine-reddened lips, it seemed clear enough that she found him appealing just as he was. That boded well for him if it meant he had some support in staying slim.

He decided to tease her a bit, see if he could rile her up even further. He rested his hand on the widest point of his stomach. “I can’t believe I ate so much. I haven’t eaten so well since the viewing.”

“I was quite impressed by your showing then.” She, too, leaned back in her chair, looking at him like she wanted to sink her teeth into him. “Your brothers’ appetites were as expected, but you pushed yourself quite hard.”

Bartem blushed. “I usually rein my appetite in better, but there are times when good food is just too much to resist.” He ran a hand over the globe of his stomach. Evie’s breath caught for a moment. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, his tone clearly teasing.

“The bounty of my table is now yours to delight yourself with whenever you please.” She gave a coquettish smirk, then stood. “Leave us,” she announced. Every servant in the room abruptly left. When the final door had closed, she moved toward Bartem and sat in his lap. “In fact… all of my bounty is to be yours, if you’ll have it.”

He wrapped his hands around her waist. “Do you mean to offer this all before our wedding night? How scandalous, Evie. I’d figured you for a prim and proper girl.” He pulled her in closer, until their lips were nearly touching. “But I’m not one to turn away such lovely gifts so freely given.”

She closed the space between them, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him with urgency. He moved to kiss her throat and ran a hand through her long, dark hair. She smelled of orange blossoms and tasted of wine. Her movements belied her experience. She was no virginal girl. Not that such things mattered to Bartem; he’d fucked enough people that he couldn’t quite remember them all. Of course a princess had, too.

Her hands drifted to his stomach, pulling his shirt until it was untucked from his pants so she could touch the warm, stretched skin beneath. “You are terribly lovely,” she sighed as sank her hands into his love handles. “I am so happy that you’ll be my prince. I want to make you very happy, too.” She kissed him again, gently opening his mouth with her tongue and slipping her own inside. He was still a little surprised at how forward she was, especially since this was only the first time they’d really gotten a chance to talk. But a smart man knows when not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Despite the protests of his full stomach, he wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted her up. At first, he was going to bring her back to his bedchamber, but he realized he had no idea how to get back. He also didn’t want to ruin the moment and ask for directions. Instead, he pressed her back against the wall for support. She moaned as she realized what was coming. Her red robe had begun to come loose and was slipping off one of her shoulders. Bartem leaned down and kissed her shoulder while also working to undo the front buttons of his pants.

“I took you for a strong, strapping sort when I chose you, but I never imagined I’d get to experience it like this,” she gasped into his ear.

“You’ll have to tell me about all the things you imagined, Your Highness.” His cock was hard, and he had no trouble finding Evie’s warm, wet cunny. Her legs tightened around his waist, and her hands drifted once again to his stomach.

“Maybe after breakfast tomorrow. I’ll be keeping you too busy to talk until then.”

No further words were exchanged after that. They were drinking each other in for the first time, and neither was ready to come up for air anytime soon.

Chapter Text

A month later, the newlyweds-to-be lay in Princess Ginevra’s bed together. Bartem lay back, his arms comfortably behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Evie had her head on his chest.

For weeks, Bartem had been enjoying the seclusion of Evie’s personal palace. It had just been the two of them knocking around inside the place. He hadn’t had to worry about meeting other members of the royal family or dealing with mobs of courtiers. It had been an easy entrée into his life as a consort, and it had felt like it would stretch on like that forever.

But their wedding day would change everything. Hundreds of courtiers were arriving the next morning to stay at the palace, including Bartem’s own family.

And the queen.

That was the bit that had him staring anxiously at the ceiling. While Evie had been free to select her own husband, as every noblewoman could expect to, it meant that the current queen had not had a say. Bartem felt a deep sense of inadequacy at the thought of facing the queen and her consort and all of Evie’s siblings.

Evie ran her hand over his belly. “Something’s got you nervous, hasn’t it?”

“Am I really so easy to read?”

“Not that, per se. But I can feel your stomach rumbling, and I know you ate plenty today, so it can’t be that you’re hungry.” She sat up a little so she could look into his eyes. “Is marrying me such a terrible prospect?” Her tone was teasing and she was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You know, that’s the one thing I’m looking forward to tomorrow. We can finally fuck without having to keep quiet,” he said brightly. “Even as I dream of tomorrow evening, however, I am not exactly brimming with enthusiasm thinking of all the disapproving looks I’ll be getting.” They both knew he wasn’t what everyone expected their new prince to look like. He was from a good family, but not one of the best families. He had fine manners, but he did not live for court intrigue or gossip.

“And why should their disapproval concern you?” She meant her words to be gentle, but they came off like a scoff. Bartem realized it was almost impossible for her to understand. While she’d had to meet certain expectations from birth, her position was unique. She had far more freedom than any other noble to do as she liked. If she went against the grain, she was as likely to set a new trend as upset anyone. Evie was the status quo.

“Not all of us are next in line for the throne, pet.” He sighed and wiped a hand down his face. “We can’t all be above reproach.”

Evie opened her mouth like she was going to argue, but she closed it again as she realized she couldn’t really argue. Instead, she pulled the string on her side of the bed that was attached to a bell in the servants’ quarters. “I’ll ask for something to help you to sleep.”

Bartem still wasn’t used to that level of service. While his family had plenty of servants, they also had the courtesy not to wake them in the night unless there was an emergency. It would stand to reason that a princess would have higher expectations, of course.

When the servant knocked at the door, Evie went to meet her and murmured her request. The servant curtseyed. “Yes, Your Highness, right away.” Evie thanked her and closed the door once more, then came back to bed, resting her head on Bartem’s stomach. The two chatted until there was another knock on the door.

“Come,” Evie called out. Three servants filed in, each carrying a tray. They pulled some side tables closer to the bed and set the trays on them silently, then all bowed and walked out.

“Gracious, Evie, I thought you were asking for something to put me to sleep tonight, not enough food to help me sleep through the entire wedding!” That didn’t stop him from pouring himself some herbal-scented tea and sipping at it as he tried to decide what to eat.

“It’s always easier to sleep with a full belly. Helps keep the anxiety down.” She reached out and nibbled on some fruit herself.

Bartem grumbled a little, but began nibbling here and there. Nibbling turned to actual eating. And then it all tasted so good that forty minutes later, he had stuffed himself to the point that Evie was feeding him the last few bites while he sprawled out in bed, groaning. He hadn’t meant to eat so much—certainly not everything—but life was short and the food was good.

After he licked the last bits of chocolate from his wife-to-be’s fingers, she slipped downward, trailing kisses over his swollen tummy and then lower, his cock standing to attention as she nuzzled her face against his thighs. She slipped his cock out of the opening in his breeches, running her tongue along his length until he was rock hard. “Dear girl, I might actually be too full for this,” he moaned.

“Just relax, my prince. You don’t have to lift a finger. I said I would help you sleep, and I meant it.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Do be gentle. If there’s any jostling, I’m afraid all of this—” he patted his stomach for emphasis, and there was a slight sloshing noise “—might come right back up.”

She made a noise like she understood and returned her attention to his cock once more. Bartem did his best to relax and enjoy it. Here he was, the night before his wedding, belly packed full of good food, and the most desirable woman in the country bobbing her head between his legs. At least for that moment, his concerns about his new role were squelched. If this was to be his life, he couldn’t find much to complain about.

Chapter Text

The Burrocks’ carriage ride to Princess Ginevra’s palace was utterly miserable. Or, at least, Linden couldn’t stop complaining about how miserable it was. Days of being trapped in a carriage with his father and two of his younger brothers with limited snacks was not something he ever would’ve signed up for. He was also still nursing the sting of his odd duck of a brother taking his rightful place within the royal family. And sure, that marriage meant that this ride was taking place in a royal carriage that was far nicer and roomier than either of the Burrocks’ carriages, but that didn’t make Linden feel any better.

Unable to soothe himself with his favorite foods, he settled on pouting and loudly complaining every time they hit the smallest of bumps in the road. Everyone else in the carriage did their best to ignore him, choosing to discuss the wedding instead. It had been years since anyone important in the royal family had married, and no one was about to let Linden’s grumbling spoil their excitement. Father kept blubbering into a handkerchief, still in proud shock all these months later that he had managed to train up a prince.

River, the baby of the family, filled the carriage with talk of the food it was rumored Ginevra and Bartem would be serving. This only made Linden hungrier and grumpier, and set the stomachs of everyone in the carriage growling. Even Clay, who usually didn’t have anything resembling the famous Burrock appetite, was intrigued by River’s descriptions, though he spent most of his time reading quietly, and occasionally leaning out of the carriage window to wave at his mother and brothers in the carriage behind them.

And then—finally—they arrived. It was still early morning, just enough time for them to eat, wash up, and get ready to see Bartem married off. The palace servants ushered them inside along with their belongings, showing them all to a suite of rooms that included a small dining room as well as several bedrooms and bathrooms. Despite the grandeur of their own home, they were still shocked at how fine the furnishings were.

In between all their gawking, they all washed and dressed up in their very best, then sat down to a small repast at the little dining table, gossipping between bites.

***

As his family relaxed, Bartem was in the process of being dressed in wedding finery.

The first outfit of the day, the one he would wear during the ceremony, was quite modest, with only a small cutout to display a portion of his stomach, his navel just barely peeking out from the bottom of the opening. It was a deep royal blue color, with silver embroidery around the edge of the cutout and along the high neckline and hem. The sleeves went down to his wrists, and the skirt went all the way to the floor. It was fitted closely, showing off the mild curve of his stomach. It certainly wasn’t something Bartem would ever wear again, despite his own general preference for more modest clothes, but covering up during one’s wedding ceremony was the done thing. Something about it showing you were pure and clean and would only show off with your wife’s permission. Bartem thought it was rather silly given that current fashions for men tended toward putting as much of one’s body on display as possible, baring naked breasts and thighs and backsides.

A different, showier outfit more in keeping with modern sensibilities would be reserved for the festivities after the ceremony. That outfit also wasn’t much to Bartem’s liking, but since it was just for a few hours, he’d resolved to bear it without complaining. Tradition dictated (at least for the wealthy and aristocratic) that men be nearly bare during their wedding feasts. Bartem would have only a long strip of cloth to cover his backside and another to hang down in front between his legs, and aside from various decorative chains and bits of jewelry would be otherwise nude. He would also be expected to eat a ridiculous amount at the feast, proving to everyone present that he would be up to the task of fathering many children and pleasing his wife. As if an appetite for food had anything to do with an appetite for sex! It was so archaic Bartem could hardly stand it.

But a royal wedding was not the time to buck tradition, and despite his misgivings about the kingdom’s customs, it wasn’t like he knew of a better way.

Once his valet had finished dressing him, Bartem took a long look in the mirror, swishing the blue dress around. Another servant dusted his cheeks with silver and painted his lips a natural, rosy color. “You look lovely, Prince Bartem.” The servants had started calling him that already, even though he was not yet a prince. It would take him quite a while to get used to his new titles and honorifics.

“Thank you, Edmund. I do hope they all like it.” He could feel the vulnerability in his voice as he said it and hated it. He had always been a confident person. Feeling so nervous on a day when he had to assure everyone that their future queen had selected an appropriate spouse was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

After the final touches were put on his makeup and his valet had adjusted his clothes a dozen times, Bartem moved to stand by the window that overlooked the front of the palace. There were dozens of carriages rolling up, people streaming out of them and into the palace. Some of the carriages were older models with old-fashioned single doors, and he watched more than one man get stuck trying to exit, their wives and the palace’s servants struggling to pull them out. Bartem couldn’t imagine ever being so large.

He turned away from the window and sought other things to occupy himself, but found he was too restless to focus on anything. By the time he’d decided to give up, there was a knock on the door. A servant peeked in. “It’s time!” she said excitedly.

Bartem took a deep breath, then put on a smile. “About time!”

***

The wedding took place outdoors, in the mild heat of spring. There were rows and rows of pews set up to face a wedding table in a part of the garden usually reserved for large events like these. There were immense oak trees with centuries-old canopies spreading out above them, shading the gathering. The lower branches of the trees had been decorated with garlands of fine blue cloth and aromatic white flowers, along with glass baubles that caught the sunlight, sending out little beams of rainbows. Every noble who mattered (and many who didn’t) was seated, waiting to witness the ceremony.

The wedding table, which had been used at every royal wedding for so long no one could even remember the first time it was used, was slim and long, with dramatic blue and white flower arrangements placed along its length. There was a single silver plate on either end, each with a single wedding bun sitting at its center. The pastries were very simple: clean, bready orbs of dough, one with the bride’s filling, the other with the groom’s. The fillings were meant to represent their families and, in a literal way, what each person brought to the table. Evie’s had a meat filling, bursting with exotic spices from the furthest reaches of the world. Bartem’s was filled with jam made of peaches and plums—fruits of the Burrock orchards.

When Bartem was led out to the garden by his valet and first saw it all, his breath caught in his throat. He had never been the sort to daydream about his future wedding. Even if he had, he never could’ve imagined something like this.

His valet led him to his side of the wedding table. At the same time, Evie was walking up to her side. She wore a dress similar to Bartem’s, but with opposite colors: silvery fabric with blue embroidery. When they were both in position, she smiled at him. He smiled back, shyly, keenly aware of how closely they were being observed. It was almost enough to make him sweat.

She gave him a nearly imperceptible nod, letting him know she was beginning the ceremony, then turned toward the crowd, her arms outstretched in welcome. And then, suddenly, she was “on”—no longer quite the Evie he knew. “We are so lucky to be blessed with such fine weather, are we not?” It was a simple way to begin, and yet her delivery was so charismatic that she might as well have just thrown out some flawless new pearl of wisdom. “I am so glad to welcome you all to my—our—home today.” She gave a sweet glance in Bartem’s direction. Bartem knew she was putting on a show, and yet when she looked at him, he felt his heart flutter. How queer. “Today, I, Princess Ginevra Amalia, will join Bartem Burrock in matrimony.” She brought her hands together gently, fingers interlaced to represent their joining.

She picked up the bun from her side of the table. She began to recite familiar words—the ones said at every wedding, of every couple great or small. “This is of my house and hearth.” She took a bite, chewed, swallowed. There was scattered applause throughout the audience. “It is unblemished, and I share it freely with the one I choose.”

She paused. Now it was Bartem’s turn. He picked up his bun. “This is of my house and hearth.” He took a bite, and was surprised at how delicious the filling was. He made a noise without realizing and there were titters of laughter in response. Thankfully, such displays were not only expected but encouraged at weddings, so he didn’t feel too embarrassed. “It is unblemished, and I share it freely with the one I choose.”

They both moved to walk towards each other, buns in hand, on the side of the table closest to the audience. When they came together, Bartem offered his bun to her, lifting it to her lips. She took a huge bite, pretending to be embarrassed at how eager she seemed. God, she’s good at this. Some in the crowd were dabbing handkerchiefs at their teary eyes, and others had their hands splayed over their chests as if they couldn’t handle the sweetness they were witnessing. When she finished, she offered her bun up to Bartem, and he took a (more conservative) bite. Before he’d even swallowed, she leaned in for the kiss that would seal them together forever, throwing her arms around his neck. He put his hands on her hips, drawing her in close.

Everyone erupted into cheers, many getting to their feet as they applauded. They were officially wed.

Evie turned toward everyone again, holding Bartem’s hand and looking for all the world like the happiest woman who had ever lived or died. “Now that that’s done, let’s eat!”

Chapter Text

“Pass the pork, if you would, dear wife,” Bartem said with a grin. Evie smirked back and passed a platter of braised pork cheek covered in a thick, herb-heavy sauce. The wedding feast had begun, and all the good cheer was infectious. Everyone sat at long tables set into a square inside a large hall in the palace Bartem had never before set foot in. The food and drink were so abundant that it could’ve fed a large town several times over for weeks. Every kind of meat, fruit, vegetable, spice, and sweet was represented. Servants refilled pitchers of wine and beer at a breakneck pace, while others took away empty platters, and still others set down entirely new dishes, steaming hot from the kitchens. The entire room was filled with the frenzied sounds of celebratory gorging. The sight and sound of everyone around him eating had spurred Bartem’s appetite, and he had a feeling he would be eating for hours yet.

As he loaded his plate with a hefty serving of pork, making sure to get plenty of sauce, he glanced around the room, searching for his family. Emmett and Linden were both seated near each other, eating like they’d never seen food before. The women seated beside each of them looked on with interest, and they were clearly attempting to carry on conversations. Bartem snorted in amusement. While Emmett and Linden both had their charms, he had a feeling the women fussing over them were thinking more about their new proximity to the crown than anything to do with his brothers in particular. HIs youngest brothers weren’t present—a little too young for the event. His parents were seated just to his left, and both looked to be enjoying themselves.

He tried not to think about who was to the right of his wife, but every once in a while, he could feel her eyes on him. Witnessing. Inspecting. He’d had an opportunity to speak with the queen before they were all seated. She had tried to be warm and welcoming, but she was at such a far remove that all that “warmth” felt more like the chill light of a distant star. He couldn’t quite imagine her being Evie’s mother, not in any real way. He could see where some of Evie’s mannerisms came from, and got a sense of where Evie had learned to command a crowd. After meeting her, all he could really think was that he was grateful to be married to her daughter and not her.

He didn’t get a chance to meet the king. Despite the importance of the event, he was not in attendance. The king rarely left the grand palace and hadn’t for years. The rumor was that he was too large to be moved, but Evie had scoffed when Bartem had asked about it in the days leading up to the wedding. “There is no one so large that we wouldn’t have the resources to move them. My father prefers to be out of the public eye. He has… other pursuits.” She hadn’t elaborated further.
Bartem focused on the food. He took a big bite of pork cheek, sighing happily. Even as a relative ascetic (with a big emphasis on “relative”), and after a month for his palate to get used to eating food from a royal kitchen, he was constantly impressed by the flavors and creativity of every dish. He was almost grateful to be wearing next to nothing, knowing it would give his stomach more room to expand and try everything he could.

After demolishing the pork, he turned his eyes to a fried meat dish with a glossy orange sauce. It was spicy and crispy, and he finished half the platter by himself before moving on. Evie passed him another dish: a whole grilled fish sitting on a bed of onions. He cleansed his palate with a full glass of wine after the fish was gone, then tucked in to a platter of wedding buns. There was a mix of both the fruity Burrock buns and the meaty Amalia buns, and he took one in each fist, taking bites out of one and then the other. This was not a night for dainty eating or polite table manners. A dozen buns disappeared into his belly, which had begun to bow out in a strong curve, full and heavy.

Evie watched him eat with rapt attention. She hardly ate anything herself, and tried not to gape as she watched her husband unleash his appetite. She had seen hints of Bartem’s appetite over the past month and expected him to really stuff himself on their wedding night, but all the same, she hadn’t expected this. She reached a hand over and rubbed at his belly. She put a pitcher of ale beside him knowing the alcohol would help him feel less full. He didn’t even bother pouring the ale into his cup, instead picking up the entire pitcher and gulping down every last drop in it. There were a few cheers as people watched him let loose. Evie let out a little gasp, and Bartem turned to smile at her as he set the pitcher down with a hiccup. “Don’t worry, I promise I won’t do this every night. It’s a special occasion.”

She continued funneling dishes his way. Fried chicken, pork ribs, sausages, cream soups—all met their end in Bartem’s expanding gut. More wine, more ale, more buns. And eventually, he started on the desserts. Enormous slices of pie, a quarter of a chocolate cake, vanilla ice cream with candied peaches, and a nigh-uncountable number of pastries found their place in his belly, which hung low and had begun to rest heavily on his spread thighs. By the time he had started to slow down, most people were picking at their food, too full to continue. Evie continued to rub his belly and encourage him to eat more. He looked down at himself. His stomach was packed so tightly and he was so inebriated that he couldn’t fully understand that it was part of him, even as he struggled to breathe and felt his stomach muscles straining to hold everything in. It was perfectly round, and larger than it had ever been. The top of his belly had grown red with the strain.

Still, he ate and drank, no longer in full control. His belly ached and his head swam, but he couldn’t stop. Evie’s gentle fingers grazed along his stomach, offering cool relief. He glutted himself, dishes piling up so quickly the servants couldn’t clear them fast enough.

Then, finally, he stopped. He was stranded. Too bloated to move. If he did, he would surely vomit. Evie looked on with wide eyes, and for the first time that night, Bartem felt his cheeks flush red with shame. She had picked the least piggish of the Burrocks, and yet here he was, having out-eaten even his most gluttonous siblings by a mile. But she was so gentle and so sweet, cooing over him as she asked some particularly muscular servants to help him to his feet.

The wedding party jeered good-naturedly. “Looks like they’ve already got an heir on the way!” a woman called out. Bartem was too full to pay much attention to Evie’s reaction, or the look on her face as he struggled to waddle out of the hall. He could hardly think. Some part of him was pleased he’d put on a good showing. He had more than proved himself during the feast. No one would dare question Evie’s choice now. At least not out loud.

It took an eternity, but eventually they made it to Evie’s suite. Bartem practically collapsed on the bed. The servants exited silently, and Evie moved to remove what little clothing he was still wearing. His belly jutted into the air. Any hint of softness he’d had before the meal was gone, replaced by a rock-solid globe full of digesting food. Now that he was relaxing, he began to feel just what he’d done to himself. He hurt, and he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

Evie went to the vanity she had in the room and grabbed a pot of skin cream from the drawer, then climbed into bed, still in her feast dress. She straddled Bartem as he whined and wiggled in a vain attempt to escape the consequences of his appetite. She began to rub cream over his swollen stomach and he whimpered at her touch. He felt like one wrong touch would make him pop. But she was diligent and careful, massaging drunken belches out of him as he groaned.

Slowly, the ache began to subside. It didn’t disappear entirely, and he remained certain he would never be able to stand again. Evie’s caresses moved elsewhere. She leaned over his belly and kissed his forehead. “How’d I do?” he asked, slurring a little.

“You did the best,” she assured him. “I had no idea you’d be able to pack that much away.” She grazed her fingernails along the crest of his stomach. He felt his cock hardening.

“Glad I didn’t sully the Amalia name on my first night with it.” She traced the tip of her finger around his belly button and his hips bucked.

She did it again, a little smirk on her lips, and ground her hips against him. “I figured you might want to save the fucking for tomorrow with your gut that full. Was I wrong?”

His stomach rumbled. He could feel it churning, struggling to digest. He was still so full, but… “I’m drunk enough that I’m going to say ‘yes.’ Just be gentle, or everything in here will come right back up.”

“Of course, my prince.” She shifted and used a hand to guide his cock inside her. He moaned loudly. “You’ve never been so vocal before,” she purred before gently rocking her hips.

Everything felt heightened, and he said so. Evie leaned down and kissed his belly, slowly rocking as she did, careful not to upset his stomach. His cock throbbed. He tried to focus, to make it last. It was their wedding night, and he wanted to make sure she enjoyed herself. But he needn’t have worried. Evie’s hands roamed over him, gentle and hungry, drinking him in through her fingertips. The sex was slow and careful, which only heightened the tension. For Bartem, this was nearly unbearable. He preferred being in more control, going at the pace that felt right. At a certain point, he realized Evie was enjoying being a tease. Did she like seeing him squirming and out of control and desperate as she rode him? The thought alone nearly made him come. She sensed it and moved a little faster, her hands resting on either side of his overstuffed paunch. He finally let go, crying out loudly as he came.

When he finished, she moved off his cock and caught her breath. Bartem was still reeling when she straddled his shoulders, hiking her fancy dress up over her hips as she chirped, “My turn.” He reached up and held her thighs to stabilize her.

“Yes, my queen.”

Chapter Text

The next morning (or, rather, early afternoon), Bartem awoke to a stomach that was still sore, if less swollen. He also found himself alone in bed. He could hear the sounds of her bathing in the next room and was a little surprised she’d managed to get out of bed so early.

The previous night’s gluttony-induced haze had dissipated. Much of what he’d eaten still hadn’t fully digested, but he felt hungry anyway. Part of him was ready to be an indolent honeymooning prince and ring the bell for breakfast in bed, even getting so far as reaching for the cord that would ring the servants’ bell. But despite his out-of-character behavior the previous night, he was still Bartem. He hauled himself out of bed and tried to ignore how full he still was. His belly stretched forward, hard and jutting outward where it was usually soft. He slipped his feet into slippers and threw on a robe so that he was decent enough to make it back to his rooms.

The hallways were quiet, though he knew most of the wedding guests were packed into rooms all over the palace. He managed to get to his chambers without running into anyone and breathed a sigh of relief as he leaned against the closed door. It felt like an age since he’d been alone. He needed time to decompress and come to terms with who he was and all that was now expected of him.

It only followed that his way of thinking about all those new expectations would involve defying convention. He dressed himself in his riding clothes—long, high-waisted pants, a fitted shirt tucked into them, and a fine, fitted jacket over that—and moved to walk out to the stables, trying to ignore how his pants cut into his stomach and the strain on the jacket buttons. He was waylaid for a moment when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He gasped quietly and turned, looking at himself from every direction. HIs stomach was far less swollen than it had been after the feast but he still looked huge. He had not had a chance to get a good look at himself the night before and was glad he hadn’t. Even after a full night’s digestion he was larger than he ever had been. His stomach looked like he’d swallowed a boulder. He was used to seeing a young man in the mirror who was soft around the middle but still looked athletic. Now, he looked like he was days from giving birth. “This is exactly why I’m going riding,” he said as he traced the curve of his stomach with his fingertips. He needed to reassure himself that he wasn’t going to become some portly prince who just sat around and looked pretty.

Even as he thought that, he did have to admit that he didn’t look bad with a belly like this. It certainly wasn’t something he wanted every day. Not long ago, he would’ve said this wasn’t something he wanted ever. But he recalled Evie’s hands smoothing over his stuffed tummy, the pleasure and pain, watching it bob and bounce as she rode him. Surely some occasional overindulgence, even to such an extreme, was worth it for that? He would need to be careful not to let “occasional” overindulgence become everyday, certainly, but it wasn’t as if he lacked self-control.

He pulled himself away from the mirror and left his rooms, working his way through the palace on his way to the stables. It was at this point that he did finally run into people. The first was a young man he’d met before, the son of some minor noble from the eastern edge of the country. Bartem couldn’t even remember the young man’s name, but was greeted like they were old friends. “Ah, Prince Bartem! Good to see Your Highness looking so well so early in the morning. Figured you’d still be enjoying the pleasures of the marriage bed.” The young man wiggled his brows suggestively. Bartem tried not to look annoyed.

“I wanted to get out for a ride this morning before it got too warm. Get some sunshine and fresh air, work off some of this.” He gave his stomach a solid pat.

“How odd!” the young man said. He himself was about Linden’s size, if not larger. His face said he had never considered that a man might work to maintain his weight. “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you at lunch after you’ve worked up an appetite.”

“Perhaps. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Bartem walked off, a little too fast, the globe of his gut jostling uncomfortably.

As he walked through the common areas of the palace, he felt eyes on him. The few courtiers who had managed to get up and dressed before noon after the previous night’s debauchery watched him curiously. He ignored the whispers. If there was one thing he had learned from Evie, it was that acting above reproach meant everyone usually assumed you were. He would let them have their gossip.

When he reached the stables, the groom seemed surprised he wanted his horse saddled, but hopped to immediately. Minutes later, Bartem was in the saddle and headed out, setting the horse at a canter. His back and stomach muscles protested, but he ignored it. Being out in the sunshine, smelling the grass and feeling the wind on his face was worth it. Once he was further out on the grounds, he nudged his mount into a gallop, whooping as the wind blew through his black hair. Any discomfort he felt was pushed to the back of his mind.

He headed toward the forest at the edge of the grounds, riding along a well-worn path. It wove through the trees, dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. Everything smelled like dark brown earth and pleasantly moldering leaves. His mind felt clear, soothed of all its anxieties and concerns. He slowed and enjoyed the sounds and the view, admiring how well-kept everything was. At one point along the path, he came upon a ruin. It had been in fashion a century or so before to build fake ruins on one’s grounds, and this one had all the hallmarks of a purposefully built ruin. It was lovely, hidden away in a glade in the woods, overgrown with moss. Perfect for a summer picnic. He would have to speak with the staff about arranging one.

He turned back down the path, walking back to the grounds. He could feel the beginnings of a sunburn on his cheeks. He felt less full, and his muscles ached pleasantly. As he approached the palace again, he rode past what looked like a large garden party surrounding a long table. A large blue tent had been pitched above it to shade the party and a dozen or so people sat at tables beneath it, enjoying an early lunch. Bartem saw Evie among them, holding court. Everyone in attendance was around their age. The next generation of the nobility. He rode toward them, stopping once he drew close and dismounting.

“Bartem! What a pleasant surprise. I wondered where you’d gone.” Evie popped a round green grape into her mouth and chewed. “I just sent a servant to go looking for you and bring you out here.”

They all made small talk for a few moments. Evie introduced him to everyone in the party. They all had last names and titles he recognized immediately, and he had met a fair few of them before. He realized it was all couples, no single men or eligible bachelorettes to be found. And as he chatted, he realized the whole group was rather… openly intimate, and each a bit odd in their own way.

One couple, seated furthest from Evie at the opposite end of the table, had hardly noticed Bartem’s arrival and appeared to be in a world entirely their own. Evie introduced them as Lady and Lord Evanston. Lord Evanston, who was large enough that his belly covered most of his lap and hung low between his knees, was being fed by his pretty wife. She was balanced on one of his knees, tucked up under his belly apron. The thin top he had on was pushed up under his large breasts so she could fondle his belly as she hand-fed him, and she wasn’t at all shy about it. Here and there she whispered in his ear and his face would turn bright red as he struggled to keep his composure. and if Bartem wasn’t mistaken, his hips would rock slightly, discreetly taking full advantage of his hanging gut. How gloriously perverse.

Another couple, one Countess Abigail and her husband George, looked a bit more like Bartem and Evie size-wise. The man was more muscular than fat, with broad shoulders and the kind of build that made it clear he could lift many heavy things. He had a slightly rounded middle, but it was solid rather than soft. His wife stared at him with rapt attention, chin on her hands. Occasionally, her husband made some simple demand or other—passing a plate of something, or refilling his water glass. Nothing that would ordinarily be significant. But the way his wife responded made it clear there was something more going on. She was waiting to be commanded.

A third couple—both men, both going by the name Lord Ashton, and both fat enough that Linden and Emmett would die of jealousy, but not quite as large as Lord Evanston—were similarly focused on each other. They looked over at Bartem with mild curiosity after everyone introduced themselves, then went back to their own conversation.

The couple most actively talking with him, each one stunningly blond, had hungry looks in their eyes. The wife, Lady Driesen, was edging toward plumpness, and Lord Driesen was the largest person at the table, though Lord Evanston wasn’t far behind. Both Driesens looked like they wanted to swallow Bartem whole. He’d met couples like them before. They were the types who threw parties you needed passwords for, always had the best wine, and would either expect their third to do all the work or work together to fuck them within an inch of their life.

He glanced at Evie. She’d been watching him with a little smirk on her face. The sly little minx clearly knew exactly what he was thinking, and when her smile broadened a bit, he realized it was her way of telling him that she was like them—not just the blond couple, but everyone at the table. She had wanted him to be here, to see all this.

He couldn’t tell how to feel about it. On the one hand, it was exciting to know his wife was drawn to deviancy. He was no choirboy, and it brought him some comfort to know he wouldn’t have to hide things from his wife. On the other, it made him wonder what exactly she was interested in. Thus far their sex life had been hot but hadn’t strayed much from the basics.

After a short while, he bid his goodbyes, mind reeling. “I need to get the horse back to the stables and go clean up before I sit down and join you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. We’re just about finished here anyway,” Evie said with a wave of her hand. “Go have a nice bath. I’ll be back in an hour or so. We have some other hosting duties today and I’ll need to get ready.”

He nodded and gave everyone one last wave before mounting his horse once more and heading back to the palace.

***

The next several days were a blur of introductions and luncheons and banquets and card games and garden parties and dinners on top of all that. Slowly, the palace emptied out once more. The last people to go were the Burrocks. Bartem had hardly spent any time with them since they’d arrived, but none of them seemed to mind. All his brothers were enjoying their glimpse of court life. At one point, during breakfast the morning his family was set to leave, Evie told Linden and Emmett, “You both must come to court! You haven’t gotten to visit the summer palaces yet, and they make my little palace seem like a backwater.” Both of them had seemed quite excited at the idea and immediately began discussing what they would wear.

Once his family was packed into their carriages, they were alone once more.

They would have a few months to themselves before the summer season began. Evie started it off with a bang, requesting that lunch be brought up to her rooms and demanding that they otherwise not be disturbed.

The newlyweds spent a happy few days lying in bed, resting and laughing and rutting like rabbits. On the fourth day of that (or maybe the fifth or sixth—Bartem had lost count), they received an invitation in the form of a black envelope with white script on the front addressed to “The Happy Couple.” Inside the envelope was a piece of thick black paper. “You are cordially invited to a meeting of A Most Discreet Society on the evening of Sunday the 19th. There will be a performance at 10 sharp. Wear your best and don’t be late.” It was signed simply, “A Friend.”

Evie’s eyes were alight as she read the invitation. “I adore these parties. I can’t even imagine what the Driesens will have in store for the performance.” She declined to give examples of past performances, or her predictions for what this one might be, no matter how much Bartem wheedled and begged. Instead, she ordered them lunch (or maybe it was dinner? Who knew anymore) and told him they would both have to be surprised.

Chapter Text

Literature Text
In the carriage on the way to the party, they confirmed their ground rules for the evening.

“So you’re really up for anything? And you’re alright if I’m up for anything? And nothing is off-limits?” What Bartem was really asking was I’m not going to get in trouble if I fuck someone else, right? but he didn’t want to put it quite so bluntly.

Evie reached across the carriage and pinched his cheek a little. “Aww, is my little peach bun nervous?”

“Not nervous, exactly. Just… surprised? I’d always pegged you for the possessive type.”

She crossed her legs and leaned back in her seat with a knowing smile. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet. Don’t make assumptions, husband.”

He wanted to ask whether these rules would apply outside the party, but decided that was a question for another time. He watches the landscape roll by as the sun dips below the horizon for a bit, thinking. Then: “I never would’ve imagined you, or any royal, going to something like this. It seems very… indiscreet.”

“You’re not wrong. But that’s part of what makes it fun.” She fiddled with her hair a bit. “Besides, being there means I have dirt on a whole host of nobles. They wouldn’t dare say a word about me knowing everything I could say about them.”

Bartem nodded. That wasn’t an unwise bet. A royal was unlikely to lose their position over what the crown would surely label “mere rumor,” but a noble’s title and lands could be revoked over a great enough offense.

They sat in silence until they pulled up to the Driesens’ home, anticipation filling up every inch of empty space between them. Their footman opened the door, helping both of them exit. Evie thanked him and began walking up to the front door. The entrance to the Driesens’ massive house loomed large, lit by torches placed along the path to the door. Bartem took a deep breath and straightened his waistcoat, taking everything in before following.

Before they’d even gone through the door, the sounds of a riotous party met their ears. Evie turned to him with a lascivious smile. It was clear she lived for this. Bartem’s smile was a little more nervous. He was certainly no prude, but he’d never attended an event like this one. He had also never expected to attend one with his wife. It all felt very strange to him, even if he knew he would find plenty to do. He was also more than a little curious what trouble Evie was going to get into that evening since she had dropped no additional clues about it.

When they actually entered, Bartem struggled not to let his jaw drop. The shock he felt was not dissimilar to the moment when he’d first seen what a standard royal dinner looked like, only this time it was flesh on display rather than food. The main entryway opened into a large hall, every inch of which seemed packed with people in varying states of undress. The lighting was a little dim--just enough to give the illusion of privacy. He nearly jumped when he felt someone take his hand, but it was only Evie. “Would you like me to walk around with you while you get a feel for things?” She really was the dearest thing, always so attentive.

“No, I think I should be alright on my own. Just taking it all in.”

She stood on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. “Enjoy!” she beamed. And then she was gone, having disappeared into the crowd.

For a moment, Bartem stood alone, eyes flitting about the room, unable to fully comprehend the debauchery around him. From his current vantage point, he could see, in no particular order: a fat woman lounging nude on a chaise while three different partners fed and fucked her; two men, both shirtless and wearing only close-fitting trousers, with their tongues down each other’s throats and playing with each other’s bellies; a fat man being led around on a leash by his female partner; and, finally, two moderately plump women dancing nose to nose like there was no one else in the world. And that was just a start.

He walked through the hall, past a flogging demonstration, and headed left. There were other, smaller rooms off the main hall, and these were quieter. For the most part, the rooms were populated by couples or threesomes engaged in all manner of activities. Bartem watched how people interacted, trying to understand the etiquette. He realized some of the rooms were open, and that meant anyone was free to enter. Others had the doors shut, muffling loud moans and pleasured screams, closed to the party outside. There were also closed doors with glass windows. Bartem noticed people standing at the windows and watching. He took a peek through one and saw a man tickling his partner with a feather. Not Bartem’s style, but they seemed to be having a lovely time.

A young man walked up to Bartem as he watched. “Is this your first time here?” he asked.

“How did you know?” Bartem’s smile was shy. The young man was quite pretty. They were probably about the same age, though the other man had a good fifty pounds on him. He was quite a lovely pear shape, and Bartem was already envisioning nibbling on his plump hips. Clearly the party’s atmosphere was having an effect on him.

“I’ve never seen you here before. You’d think we’d have fresh blood more often, but these are rather exclusive events.” He sipped from a flute of champagne and extended his hand by way of introduction. “I’m Lucas. Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

Bartem did the mental calculus of whether or not he should use his real (and quite uncommon) name. He figured fuck it, might as well. “Bartem,” he replied as he took Lucas’ hand in his and kissed it.

Lucas nearly spat out his champagne. “As in Prince Bartem?” he spluttered.

Bartem laughed. “That’s what they call me these days.”

Lucas’ demeanor changed slightly. He pushed a lock of red hair behind his ear. “I apologize for being so surprised. I didn’t get a good look at you at the wedding. I didn’t realize you were so…”

Bartem braced himself to hear something negative. He knew he was not what most people thought of when they imagined a prince.

“...delectable.” Lucas’ voice was suffused with interest as he looked the prince up and down.

“‘Delectable’?” Bartem echoed. “Do you pull out that line for everyone, or just me?” he flirted.

“I was trying out something new. Did it work? If it did, I’ll need to put it in the rotation.”

Bartem moved closer, until Lucas’ back was against the wall. He put his hand up on the wall, blocking Lucas in from one side. “I’d say it worked a treat. You have my full attention.”

“Lucky me,” Lucas murmured. His eyes had gone half-lidded. He licked his lips: an invitation.

Bartem leaned in, and as soon as their lips touched, Bartem knew he wouldn’t be exploring much more of the party. Lucas tasted like sugar and champagne and the sweetness and heat left Bartem starving. He pressed the other man closer to the wall, reveling in the little gasp his partner let out and the feeling of Lucas’ potbelly pressing into his own stomach. He realized how much he had missed intimacy with other men.

He felt Lucas pull him in close, grabbing at his hips and ass. Bartem shifted slightly, lifting up Lucas’ belly just enough so that they could grind against each other. Lucas moaned into Bartem’s mouth and then pulled back. “Let’s go somewhere a little quieter.” Bartem nodded as Lucas took his hand and led him into one of the private rooms with a glass window on the door. Bartem didn’t even think to balk as he closed it behind them. Who cared if anyone saw them? It wasn’t like he needed to worry about gossip getting back to his wife. She was probably doing much the same thing.

The room was lit with red candles, casting a warm glow over everything. There was a wide chaise in the center, a wide armless chair in the corner facing the door, and a shelf with bottles of oil and some implements Bartem had only ever read about in smutty novels organized neatly on the shelves. There was a table right beside the chair with food on it, too--little bite-sized sweets and savory hors d’oeuvres. He moved toward Lucas and gave him a quick, rough kiss. He grabbed a bottle of oil and sat down in the chair, throwing one arm over the back of it. He looked at Lucas with a commanding expression. “Undress for me.”

“As you wish.” Lucas slipped the long, semi-sheer skirt he was wearing off his hips, the fabric shirring to the floor around him. He wore nothing beneath it. He stepped out of his slippers and pulled off his shirt at the same time. Bartem took a good look. Lucas’ chest was soft but didn’t quite have breasts yet. He had a thatch of red hair that started at his chest and trailed down the front of his belly. Bartem’s eyes followed that trail and noted the way the redhead’s belly drooped down a little; he had the beginnings of a double belly, the upper roll of it just beginning to develop. But best of all in Bartem’s eyes, he had hips that dominated his form. They had been apparent beneath his skirt, but now, fully visible, they looked even more exaggerated. His love handles melted directly into them. Bartem loved how pampered it made him look.

He crooked a finger toward Lucas, who sauntered toward him, swaying the hips he knew were his best asset. Lucas sat down in Bartem’s lap, and Bartem wasted no time touching everything he found lovely. He kissed Lucas’ neck, then moved downward, leaving marks across his lush torso. At the same time, he kneaded his fat hips, his cock hardening thinking about how much bigger he would likely get with time. Lucas practically melted at the attention, luxuriating like a fat cat in the sunshine.

Lucas reached for the falls of Bartem’s trousers, unlacing them hungrily until the prince’s cock was free. It curved upward toward his belly, the head swollen and wet. He ran a hand along its length. “May I service you?” Lucas asked breathlessly between kisses. Bartem’s cock twitched in response, and Lucas dropped down to his knees, one hand on Bartem’s meaty thigh, the other stroking his cock as he went down on him.

Bartem leaned his head back for a moment, trying to control himself as his partner’s tongue coaxed him toward climax. Once he’d collected himself a bit, he put his hand on Lucas’ head, fingers twisting into his’ short red curls as his head bobbed up and down, hand working up and down Bartem’s shaft.

Just before he came, he gently pushed Lucas back. They both caught their breath for a moment. Bartem kicked his pants and breeches the rest of the way off and pulled Lucas into his lap. “I want to see the rest of you,” Lucas said as he unbuttoned Bartem’s waistcoat before sliding it off his shoulders and tossing it to the side before doing the same to his shirt. “I see why she picked you,” he murmured as he traced the slight curve of Bartem’s stomach. “I would’ve picked you, too.”

A moment later, Lucas was riding Bartem’s cock. Their foreheads were pressed together, like they couldn’t get close enough.

***

Evie was not usually much of a voyeur. She knew intimately what it was like to have your every move watched and picked apart. While the Driesens’ parties certainly welcomed voyeurs and exhibitionists, she tended toward more focused, private engagements.

That first party with Bartem was an exception.

When they had parted, she had drifted into the crowd for a moment before following behind him, unable to control her curiosity. She felt she had gotten to know her husband fairly well since he had arrived at her palace three months before, but she knew there was plenty she had not yet uncovered.

She was a little surprised watching him flirt with another man. She hadn’t considered he might also be interested in men given his performances in their own bedroom. When they kissed, she could practically feel the heat rolling off of them. Bartem was utterly in his element and she felt her heart flutter happily. She did so like seeing him enjoying himself.

Luckily, she got to see plenty more of that as she peeked through the window into the room they ended up in. She loved watching how commanding he was and wondered if that was how he preferred things. She tended to take the lead--a side effect of having been groomed to rule a nation since she was born. He’d always seemed happy to take cues from her, but she would have to try to be more flexible in the future.

When they dressed themselves again, she made herself scarce, hiding amongst a group of people looking in on a woman suspended from the ceiling by a series of ropes. Once she knew she could blend into the background again, she followed them a bit longer.

She was bewildered to see that they headed toward the set of banquet tables in the middle of the hall. Bartem was not much of a snacker in her experience (though, heavens, wouldn’t that have been wonderful?). Perhaps his partner was peckish? But no--they both ate, and heartily. Bartem cleared half a plate of chocolate-covered creampuffs without stopping. He was so distracted by the gorgeous man in front of him that he didn’t seem to realize quite how much he was eating. He had proved since they’d married that he could pack quite a bit away when he let his appetite run wild, but it was a tragic rarity. Evie had done what she could to encourage him since she loved few things more than seeing a smaller man with a belly stuffed full of fattening goodies, but it appeared she might’ve been going about it the wrong way.

The young men worked their way through a half-dozen different platters of foods. Bartem’s stomach had begun to round out into a more solid mass. His partner had even begun to take the liberty of hand-feeding him and patting his glutted gut. Evie felt a twinge of jealousy at that but let it pass. Bartem returned the favor, seeming ignorant of his own indulgences when faced with someone indulging more and looking so pretty while doing it.

Wheels began turning in Evie’s mind. She turned away from her husband and floated through the crowd, feeling like she had just cracked a code.

***

At some point in the evening, the sound of a gong rang through the entire estate. Bartem, who was still standing by the buffet and having a grand time trying a little of everything, turned to Lucas. “What’s that for?”

“That must be the evening’s performance. Come--it’s not to be missed!” He took Bartem’s hand and led him away from the food. “We’ll want to get you a good spot since it’s your first time.”

Bartem smiled a little. “If you say so.” They wove their way to the center of the hall. They moved quickly through the crowd, and for the first time that evening Bartem realized he might’ve eaten a bit too much. A large circle had been cleared. A single chair sat in the center of it, watched by what seemed like every person at the party. Lucas pulled Bartem to the front edge of the circle.

The Driesens appeared seemingly out of nowhere, stepping forward into the circle. They greeted everyone and set up the performance. As they spoke, the candles around the room went out one by one, slowly plunging the hall into darkness as they spoke. The performance that evening told the story of an ancient goddess choosing her mate, they said. Music began to play--violins and pretty flutes scattered throughout the crowd, filling the room with sound.

The final candle went out as Lady Driesen finished speaking. There were a few moments of darkness, of silence. Then, a spotlight appeared over the circle. A gorgeous woman with long, silky black hair stood at the center. She wore a crown of spring blossoms and ferns. She wore no clothes, her hair so long it draped over her shoulders like a cloak. She sang in a language Bartem didn’t know. Despite his not understanding the words, he could understand her longing. The violins and flutes swelled as the goddess danced around the circle, stopping every few steps to look through the crowd, searching for someone.

Finally, she found him, the love she had been searching for, and pulled him out of the crowd. The man was as beautiful as the woman, but with quite an exotic body type. He was all sinewy muscle, hardly an ounce of fat on him. He, too, had dark hair, though it was cut short. He was also nude. The goddess pulled him into a dance and they flitted around the circle, leaping and turning and singing out their joy at having found each other. They made one final turn and the man lifted the woman up onto his hips, kissing her. At the same time, the music swelled.

Then, suddenly, they broke apart. The goddess began to sing a mournful song. Meanwhile, the man looked down at his body. He sang back as if he was trying to convince the goddess of something. At one point, he got down on his knees, begging. She danced back to him, her song brightening again.

She pushed him back into the chair at the center of the circle and pulled something out from underneath it: a long tube attached to a funnel, and an enormous jug of liquid. Bartem’s eyebrow quirked upward.

The goddess put the end of the tube into her lover’s mouth, singing her joy once more. Then, she began pouring the liquid into it. The man swallowed greedily, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Almost immediately, his belly swelled up. Still, he drank, and drank, and drank, until the jug was empty. By the time he had finished, his stomach looked like Bartem’s had after his wedding feast. The effect on the performer was even more dramatic because of how slender he was, his belly hanging low and sloshing with liquid. The goddess sang sweetly to him, leaning in for a kiss.

The music stopped for a moment, and the light went out once more. When it came back on, the goddess stood in the same position, leaning forward and cupping her lover’s chin. But now, somehow, the man was significantly larger. It was as if he’d packed on two hundred pounds in an instant. And yet, his features were the same: he had the same hair, the same face, but every part of him was now swathed in pillowy fat with nary a muscle in sight. The goddess kissed her newly-fattened lover, and he pulled her in close. They rubbed their noses together and sang a final few lines about consummating their love, and the lights went out once more.

Then, all at once, the candles were lit again. The rest of the room came back into focus. Everyone was applauding. The goddess bowed, as did her fat lover. Then, from within the crowd, the original lover with his chiseled features, ran into the middle of the circle. All three of them bowed a few more times.

Bartem was utterly starstruck. He turned to Lucas. “That was astonishing! Are all the performances at these parties like that?”

Lucas nodded, a wide grin on his face. “They always manage to outdo themselves.”

***

Bartem didn’t see Evie again until the party was over. They met outside as they waited for their carriage. Bartem didn’t have words to describe everything he’d seen that night. He knew there had been far more to experience and was already looking forward to the next party.

“What did you think of the performance?” Evie asked.

Bartem threw up his hands, trying to find a way to encapsulate how it had made him feel. “Ingenious. It was utterly enchanting.”

Evie looked overjoyed. “I’m so glad you liked it. I got the sense that you would enjoy yourself, but one never knows.” She kicked off her slippers and moved to Bartem’s side of the carriage, snuggling into his side. She watched his full belly jiggle as the carriage swayed and smiled knowingly to herself. She had enjoyed the performance quite a bit, too, though she believed it might’ve been for different reasons than her husband. Bartem put his arm around her shoulders and leaned his head against hers, yawning and thinking about what an excellent night he’d had as the carriage rocked them both to sleep.

Chapter Text

The last few weeks of spring brought quiet to the crown princess’ palace. It was the lull before the summer social season. Evie insisted they make the most of it. “You’ve not really had to go through an entire season before, my dear. Four months of endless court festivities will knock you flat, so we must enjoy our freedom while we can.”

The couple went riding most mornings. In the afternoons, Evie would take time to go through her correspondence. Bartem would usually find a comfortable spot in whatever room she was in to lounge with a novel. He found himself reading paragraphs again and again, his mind wandering back to the Driesens’ party, and Lucas.

His memories of that entire evening felt like a blur. Everything had happened so quickly, and it had all been so much to take in that even now, weeks later, he had not quite eased back into daily life. He found himself thinking often of how freeing it had been to be surrounded by others who were so open with their desires. Being able to confidently approach another man and flex his seductive capabilities without concern over who might see had been a heady rush. He hadn’t realized how much he missed flirting with different people, or how satisfying it would be to bed a man after months of thinking he would have to do without for the rest of his life.

If Evie noticed his inattention, she didn’t say anything. He had come to realize this was a sign of respect from her. Where some wives expected their husbands to be at their beck and call, Evie never assumed he was available to her, even if they had been in the same room for hours and she had watched Bartem staring at the ceiling for the last thirty minutes, idling away his time. She would always ask if he was busy before inviting him to join her in one activity or another. He suspected she knew just how limited one’s freedom was as a royal and wanted to ensure she was not a tyrant in her own home. Leisure time was a precious commodity to her, and she wasn’t interested in taking it away from him.

One particularly hot afternoon, she stood from her desk, ink staining the tips of her fingers after hours of writing letters and signing documents. Bartem had found a seat by a set of windowed doors that opened out onto a balcony overlooking the garden. A large empty bowl, sticky with the remains of what had been a small mountain of mint ice cream, sat on a low table beside him. She moved to stand beside his chair, resting her hand along the back of it. A breeze blew through the open doorway, carrying the scent of wisteria with it. “We are lucky, aren’t we, my dear?” she asked as she breathed in the fine air.

“The luckiest,” Bartem said, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he agreed right then. He had eaten nearly four bowls of ice cream in an effort to cool off, and each one had been dauntingly large. His stomach had felt comfortingly chilly at first, but now he just felt bloated and sluggish, which only made the heat worse. He was dismayed to find that over-the-top indulgence like his ice cream binge was becoming mundane to him. Some part of him had assumed the whole being-a-prince thing wouldn’t have much effect on him, that falling into the rhythms of married life wouldn’t change him.

Before, he would’ve enjoyed the weather. Gone riding, found some sparkling pond to swim in, maybe taken a nap in the shade, found a partner to fondle and fuck once the cool night air returned. Instead, here he was, stuffed to the gills in the middle of a hot summer day, too full for much of anything besides lazing around and digesting. He told himself that this was to be expected, and that it wouldn’t go on forever. He was merely bored and hadn’t yet found out all that he could do with his newfound wealth and power and status. He would stop overeating once he had a little more purpose. The summer social season would set him to rights, he was sure.

Evie leaned over the back of the chair and kissed the top of his head. “I’d like to enjoy the sunshine for a bit. Would you care for a picnic out near the ruins? That would be a nice walk.”

The idea of trudging through the heat in his state made his stomach turn. “Perhaps another day. I’d like to opt for something… cooler.” He made a face as he said it, at once disappointed in himself and grateful to know she wouldn’t push the issue. He had no desire to sweat in his condition.

She hummed a little, trying to think up another idea. “Oh! It’s been some time since we went for a swim. Perfect for a hot day.” She ran a finger along his cheek.

He took her hand and turned, kissing her soft palm. He looked up at her as her fingers traced along his cheek. Her skin shone like white marble in the afternoon sun. He wondered what bathing costume she might choose for the day. He hoped it would be scandalous. “A lazy afternoon by the pool sounds like just the ticket.” His hand unconsciously ran over the swell of his stomach. He didn’t notice the way Evie’s eyes followed the movement like a hawk sighting prey.

“I’ll have the servants bring our things down to the dressing room next to the solarium and meet you down there, then.” She kissed his cheek and walked off. Bartem took a deep breath, knowing it would be a moment before he could will himself to stand.

***

Bartem felt a tad self-conscious as he walked out of the dressing room and onto the cool tile that surrounded the saltwater pool. The swimwear he’d been provided was scanty, barely covering his backside and covered a bit at the front by his stomach. It wasn’t exactly embarrassing, given that Evie and the servants were the only ones who were going to see him like this; truthfully, he was most concerned by how large he felt. He’d looked at himself in the mirror as he dressed and been a bit taken aback. He hadn’t looked at himself nude in some time, and he looked far softer than he remembered. He knew part of the reason he looked bigger was that afternoon’s ice cream binge, but that didn’t explain why his love handles looked puffier, or why his thighs had more jiggle to them than they ever had before.

He was realizing how easy it would be to puff up without even trying, and how hard he would have to work to keep his pre-nuptial figure. He consoled himself by resolving to take more walks and make more time for riding, and of course eat less. Once the social season began, he planned to spend the days rubbing elbows with nobility and the evenings dancing until his shoes wore out. He needn’t let himself run to fat, even if he was a princess’ consort. Even if everyone expected him to. Even if that might’ve been easier...

As he walked to the edge of the pool, he saw that Evie was already swimming. Her swimming costume was as scandalous as he’d hoped, and not dissimilar to his own. She wore only a simple, heavily embroidered breast band and bottoms like his own that were designed to cover the important bits and not much else. She swam toward him, her eyes large and dark, stopping at the edge and looking up at him. “I must say, I’m really enjoying this view.”

“Oh?” He struck a pose, one hand on his hip, the other outstretched, like some ancient statue. She giggled, and he winked at her. “Always glad to be of service.”

He slipped into the pool with a dreamy sigh, grateful for the cold water. He rolled onto his back and floated, staring up at the intricate glass structure that enclosed the entire pool area. It was a relatively recent addition to the palace. Evie had added the solarium and the pool just a few years before when she had taken up residence at the palace. It was, to his knowledge, the only one of its kind in the entire country. There were ancient spring-fed baths in some places that were still in operation, and he had visited other nobles who had well-managed ponds and little lakes, but there was nothing so grand as this where one could slip into perfectly clear, clean, cool water without worrying about one’s feet touching some slimy growing thing on the pool-bottom, or some ambitious fish taking a nibble. Evie was forward-thinking when it came to life’s pleasures, and Bartem was more than happy to reap the benefits.

He floated contentedly for a while. Evie watched him, marveling both at the hard, round apex of his belly and the softness it accentuated. Since they’d been married, his weight had mostly been stable, but she could see now that he was beginning to succumb to palace life in the most delicious way. Watching him grow fascinated her, and seeing him floating atop the water, nearly nude, gravity pulling at parts of his body that had only recently grown soft, felt like a gift designed just for her.

They whiled away the hottest part of the afternoon in the water. At one point, after he’d digested more, Bartem managed to pick Evie up out of the water and toss her back into the deepest part of the pool. After that, the lazy day devolved into them splashing each other and Evie attempting to get her revenge only to have Bartem toss her back into the pool again and again. They exited the pool with the sun low in the sky. Servants wrapped them both in enormous, fluffy towels. They walked back Evie’s quarters, bumping hips and teasing each other, Evie still plotting her revenge, assuring him that one day she would shove him right into the pool when he least expected it.

The couple ate in bed that night, hungry after their active afternoon. It was all simple fare, a selection of small plates of their favorites. It was, as usual, far more than either of them needed. Bartem ate until he was full, and then a little more, but not so much that he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He told himself he had earned it.

Evie cuddled close to him that night, her hand resting on the soft mound of his belly, lulled to sleep by the sounds of it digesting their evening repast. She had happy dreams of the months ahead of them, filled with the thickening waistlines and feasting she had come to expect from summer.

Chapter Text

Bartem was staring into the mirror, red-faced and frustrated. “I look like a sausage.” An overfilled sausage, at that. “Isn’t there anything else I can wear? I can’t have tried on everything.”

Bartem’s valet, George, tried to hide a grimace. He had spent nearly two hours squeezing the prince in and out of clothes, trying to find something that would fit. To both of their chagrin, nothing had. George struggled not to feel like he’d failed at his job. A competent valet would have predicted exactly this and begun the process of replacing the prince’s wardrobe weeks ago, and had all the prince’s existing clothes let out in the meantime. But most valets didn’t have to try and appease the vanity of a new prince who seemed very certain his figure was as unchanging as the monarchy he was now part of.

The prince in question had shrugged off the idea of new clothes every time George had brought it up. Bartem wasn’t a frivolous man. He had just had an entirely new wardrobe made in the early spring before the wedding. He knew other nobles (his own family members included) updated their wardrobes at least every other season, but he’d had most of his clothes for years. He had assumed that his size would remain much the same as it always had, that the pudge that had collected around his middle would evaporate once he had a little more to do than sit around his new palace abode and eat. How utterly wrong he’d been.

So here he was, squeezed into an outfit that had once draped lightly over him. It was made of soft blue fabric embroidered with flowers and exotic animals, so thin as to be nearly translucent. Or at least, it had been. Stretched across the prince’s now much meatier body, parts of it actually were see-through. It had a halter neck, with two bits of fabric forming a deep V that stretched all the way to his mid-stomach. Previously, it had looked very fetching. Now, his belly pressed against the fabric where it dug in, the front of his belly muffining out at the bottom of the v-shaped opening. The skirt on the outfit was long, with a slit on one side that ran up to his hip. Once, the fabric had cascaded over him, hinting at his hips and thighs. Now, the fabric hugged him tightly, leaving nothing to the imagination. Were it not for it being backless and having a slit up one leg, he would’ve ripped through the entire garment like gossamer after a single deep breath.

It had been barely a month since they had decamped to the expansive summer palace along with Evie’s entire family and half the country’s nobility. The other half would show up for perhaps a few weeks toward the crescendo of the Season leading into fall, visiting their own nearby summer homes or renting in town. Staying for an entire Season was a luxury lesser nobles could ill afford.

Bartem had been right to look forward to a packed schedule for the next four months. The crown princess and her consort were wanted in attendance at every ball, luncheon, salon, and card game. There were operas and plays to attend, horse races to watch, and all manner of other events. Bartem—whose family, though one of the most prominent and wealthy in the country, rarely stayed in town for the entirety of the Season—was overwhelmed. Every day promised some exciting new entertainment, new faces and old friends to see, and… food. So much food.

It must be stated that Bartem had never experienced deprivation of any sort. Everything he wanted, he could have in abundance. That he had been shocked by the lavish offerings at Evie’s little palace had surprised him, but he had already begun to grow used to it (as his softening belly would attest).

The grand summer palace’s food made everything served at Evie’s look positively peasant-like, and the feasts he had enjoyed at dinner growing up seem like slop for pigs. It was not just the quality of the food, which was magnificent. It was the sheer amount. It seemed like Bartem could walk no more than a few feet through the palace without encountering a servant proffering a platter or a little table groaning under the weight of some irresistible treat or another. Bartem had tried some of these refreshments, of course—it was the Season, and he would be so busy running around all day that he was certain that would make up for any indulgence. Besides, even if he had gotten a bit soft, he was almost certainly the slimmest man staying at the grand palace. It was easy to convince himself that would always be the case when men twice his size or more were gorging themselves beside him.

Two of those men, more often than not, were Bartem’s eldest siblings.

Both Emmett and Linden had been invited to stay in the grand palace by their sibling and his wife, and both had taken to the lifestyle of the Season with gusto, indulging at every opportunity. They were so pleased with their sumptuous accommodations that they almost seemed to have forgotten their jealousy and anger toward their thinnest brother for stealing away the most eligible woman on the marriage market.

Bartem, being a good brother, ensured that many of the events he and Evie attended had room for his siblings as well. He had never been one for playing the marriage market, but he knew both Linden and Emmett would have been desperately disappointed not to take every opportunity to show themselves off. Matchmaking between nobles was half the point of the Season, after all.

Having his brothers around resulted in Bartem eating more than he ordinarily would, to his mild annoyance. They were each so excited over it all, constantly asking him if he’d tried the petit fours or the strawberries stuffed with cheesecake, and had he tasted the oysters yet? He would start off having just one of each morsel they recommended, but one tended to turn into two, then sometimes three… sometimes more...

Social expectations at various events also forced him to indulge more than he liked. Before his marriage, he had been able to attend events like these with few eyes on him. He’d had few protocols to follow, and if he flouted them, no one much cared. But now he was often expected to kick events off with toasts and eat richly throughout. If he didn’t look full by the end, it would be taken as an insult to the hosts. In many cases, the hosts were his own in-laws, and he was not interested in building any kind of enmity between himself and the queen or any of his wife’s other relatives.

He’d debated eating less more than once. Surely Lady Bertlett or Duchess Syddington would not notice if he focused more on socializing than stuffing his face? But Evie or his brothers always seemed to ensure he left with a packed belly, no matter his own intentions. Evie might gently urge him to eat a little more without ever exactly saying so—”Lady Allendale is very sensitive, and the wheat harvests from her lands feed nearly a quarter of the country, my dear”—while Linden and Emmett would do so by gobbling down whatever food was in reach and making Bartem look downright rude in comparison.

Despite all this, he had genuinely been more active. There were dances to attend most evenings of the week, and his dance card was always full. Many of the modern dances were slow and sedate and quite short to account for the lack of aerobic fitness in half the dancers. While Bartem felt the slower dances were good for conversation, he looked forward to the handful of faster dances that took place each evening. Many of them were modified versions of country dances popular among the masses. They required fast, careful footwork and agility, which Bartem was lucky enough to have in spades. During these dances, most men were resting on the sidelines, draped heavily over soft couches and strong chairs, eating and drinking to recover their stamina. Women paired up with each other because of the dearth of male partners. Bartem was one of the few men always out on the dancefloor. This made him the most popular man in the room. Everyone wanted to be his partner, if only for a dance or two.

Evie loved witnessing this. During breaks between dances, she would tease her husband about his popularity. “I think Lady Eastbury broke another woman’s rib elbowing to the front of the crowd around you.” She liked seeing him happy, and watching the desire she had for him spark in other people’s eyes.

Aside from the dances, he led regular riding parties around the grand palace’s vast estate. There were usually only a few participants, but he enjoyed the chance to feel the wind on his face and get some exercise in the company of others.

Tragically, dancing and the occasional horseback ride were not enough to trim the excess fat from his waistline. He could only blame himself. In the wee hours of the morning, after hours of dancing through the soles of his shoes, he was always starving. Rather than just going to sleep, he often entreated his wife to procure something for him to eat. More than once, she had hand-fed him chocolates while he lounged in a hot bath, soothing the aching muscles in his feet and legs. It became uncommon for him to go to sleep with an empty belly, and he frequently ate far more than he intended, stuffed belly sloshing as he and Evie jiggled it in bed.

The princess had been quite open about her appreciation for Bartem’s increasing softness. When Bartem was clearly feeling uncomfortable with his new body, she would assure him she liked him at any size. When he was at his most relaxed, she was brazen in her affection. Bartem was no stranger to the pleasures of softer flesh, but it was a new experience to have that flesh be his own. Evie was keen to discover all the newly sensitive parts of him. The soft underside of his belly, his deepening bellybutton, and the breasts he had sprouted became sites of intense pleasure. He had never imagined he’d be going to sleep with sore tits and a stuffed belly with his wife’s hand gently grasping at whatever softness she could hold on him, and yet that had become a near-nightly occurrence.

That was how he’d ended up stuffed into clothes that absolutely did not fit, simultaneously stunned at his growth and utterly unsurprised. Who could attend a multi-month bacchanal and expect to lose weight, after all? He’d been foolish enough to think he had the willpower. Hmph. What was willpower in the face of an entire court that wanted him to weigh twice what he did, just for starters?

The thing was, he had always assumed he would hate being larger. The past month had proved that there were pleasures he had been missing out on. He was not yet ready to get to his brothers’ size or anywhere close, but part of him wanted to relax into it. He was so concerned over his increasing size, and for what? The only one who seemed to miss his old body was him.

“George? Let’s see if we can’t find a way to make this fit, just for tonight,” he said, running a hand over his burgeoning belly. “I’ve a party to attend that I can’t miss.”

“Right away, sir.”

There was some struggle to get Bartem back out of his clothes, but they managed. George thought quickly and cut the slit at the front even deeper, quickly stitching the sides so the newly cut fabric would hold and not look messy. He cut the back open a little and sewed an extra piece of fabric that sort of matched there in an effort to make room for his master’s growing backside. It took nearly an hour to do it all, and George knew his work wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. They were able to get Bartem into the dress a little easier. He was more exposed than before, belly hanging completely out of the front now, the v-neck cradling the bottom of his soft gut. The skirt was still tight on his upper thighs, but he could walk without worrying about splitting seams.

“Excellent work,” he said as he observed himself in the mirror. “Thank you for working so quickly. You can have the rest of the night off.” Bartem adjusted himself a little. “Tomorrow, though, we’ll have the tailor come in for measurements, and make some time to order new garments.” He sighed. He still had every intention of doing better, at finding ways to maintain his figure. Even if he couldn’t get back to his pre-marriage weight before the Season was over, the least he could do was not gain further. He had already put on so much, and he wasn’t ready for additional pounds to pile on just yet.

He had a sense that such efforts might be futile, but he was not yet resigned to the gluttony that ruled over the nobility. He would not be ruled by his appetite, he told himself.

Even as he reassured himself, he could feel himself getting a little peckish thinking about what the spread would look like at that evening’s card game. He chided himself for it, but that didn’t stop him hoping there would be caviar and something creamy for him to sink his teeth into.

Chapter Text

A few weeks later, around the midway point of the Season, Bartem received an interesting surprise.

It was the day of the annual debut ceremony, when members of the nobility presented their eligible sons before the queen and the rest of the court. It was also a day where those who had recently been conferred noble titles could present themselves and their entire families. It was a lively affair. For the most part, everyone knew everyone else and knew who would be introduced, so there was far more interest in the buffet that ringed the edges of the hall than those being presented.

Bartem stood beside his brothers, both of whom were seated on either side of him, wielding gilded fans against the summer heat as they noshed endlessly on the offerings behind them. Bartem was sipping on a glass of chilled champagne. He didn’t blame his brothers for being so enthusiastic with their fans. Nearly two months at court had swelled them both, making hot days that much more unbearable. Even clad in clothes that exposed their wobbling bellies and hanging breasts, they had sweat beading along their brows. It was a wonder to him that they could manage to keep eating in such weather. A belly full of anything but chilled foods left him miserable on sweltering days, and he imagined the effect would be magnified if he was swaddled in as much excess flesh as his siblings were.

Not that he felt he had much room to judge. Nearly a month on from realizing he needed an entirely new wardrobe, he had become no slimmer. He had already asked George to schedule an appointment with the tailor again. His clothes were growing so tight again that new clothes couldn’t come fast enough.

He was proud of himself for not giving in fully to his appetite during the debut ceremony. (So far, anyway.) Since he was not the focus and had no duties as a host or honored guest, he knew he could get by without tasting a morsel. He had eaten plenty at breakfast (if he was honest, perhaps a smidge too much). He was only on his second flute of champagne, which was reasonable given they were over an hour into the debut procession. His stomach felt a little emptier than was comfortable, but he knew he must bear up. How much of a hardship was a slightly hungry belly, really?

The gauzy, delicate tunic he wore was designed to cover him up while keeping him cool and being forgiving on his growing figure. He was grateful for that forgiving cut. He had already grown too fat for some of his other garments. This tunic merely clung to him, the fabric puckering around his bellybutton. The fitted trousers he wore beneath the tunic had become a bit too fitted. How frustrating that these were some of the most comfortable garments he owned!

He glanced up at the dais where his wife and a few of her siblings sat arrayed around the queen. Evie looked beautiful, dripping in jewels, every bit the future queen.

His eyes ran over the latest group presenting themselves to the monarch… and he stiffened. Was that…?

“Lady Astor, presenting herself, her husband, Lord Astor, and their eldest child, Napier Astor.”

Bartem choked on his champagne, coughing into his hand and trying to collect himself quickly enough to get a good look to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

But he wasn’t. No, right there, bowing in front of the queen, was the Astor he had kissed in lush peach orchards. He looked like a lush little peach himself: creamy and full-figured, with a ruddy blush to his rounded cheeks. Heat began to build in Bartem’s lower belly at the sight of him. He recalled that he had once wished Astor were noble and able to properly fill out, and it was clear that process had begun. Given how flushed he looked after bowing, and the way his palm rested atop his belly as he waddled into the crowd with his parents, Bartem could see that Astor’s growth was far from complete.

“Don’t you know him?” Linden asked. Bartem jumped, surprised Linden recognized the name.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, we’re old friends.”

Linden raised his eyebrows, a skeptical look on his face. “Is that all? By the way you dribbled your drink all over yourself, I would’ve thought you were more… intimate.”

Emmett giggled around a mouthful of cake, and Bartem glared at Linden, who hid coyly behind his fan. “You are mistaken.” He had to say this more for the benefit of anyone eavesdropping on them than his brothers–and he was sure everyone within earshot was paying attention to them. He wasn’t the center of attention, but he was still a prince.

“Hmm,” was all Linden said in response before reaching for a phyllo pastry and popping it between his lips.

Bartem felt out of sorts for the rest of the event. He did his best not to let it show, making light conversation with his siblings and anyone else who happened to meander by for a conversation. From up on her throne on the dais, though, Evie could see his discombobulation clearly.

She felt a little devious, and wickedly pleased as she watched her husband squirm a little. The Astors’ presence at court was no accident. After watching Bartem at the Driesens’ party–the partner he chose, how happy he seemed, and (most important of all to Evie) how eagerly he lapped up food when in the presence of someone who dazzled him a little–Evie had determined Bartem needed someone in his life who could serve that purpose. .

So she had done a little investigating. Or, to be more precise, she had sent someone to do some investigating for her. She had discovered all kinds of interesting things about her husband, but most importantly, she had learned who he had been close with before their engagement. She hadn’t been surprised that it had mostly been young men from the village on his family’s estate. And when her investigator had told her about the plump son of a peach farmer that Bartem had once favored, she’d needed to suppress a squeal of delight.

The investigator’s verbal description, as well as some rather lovely sketches, made it clear that Napier Astor was everything she’d hoped he would be. The people of their great nation were, as a rule, rather well off. It had been centuries since anyone in their nation had felt widespread hunger, thanks to some strategic invasions of fertile farmland and careful farming practices. Even the lowliest of peasants tended to have a little heaviness about their middles. Farmers were even better off, given both their easy access to their own crops as well as how much food production was prized by the nobility. Still, it was uncommon to see farmers or their families looking notably heavy. Farming was difficult work.

Somehow, though, the eldest Astor boy had beat the odds. By the standards of the wildly overindulgent nobility, he was quite slim. But he was even bigger than Bartem had been when she’d first laid eyes on him, and had grown so on a steady diet of nothing but peasant food and juicy peaches. Evie knew he had potential, and likely an appetite that was only held back by the resources available to him.

It had been trivial to raise the Astor family up to minor nobility, giving them full ownership over a sizeable estate covered in peach orchards in a different part of the country. She knew that if her instincts were right, young Napier would begin to ripen and fill out as soon as the Astors took up residence. She trusted herself so much that she didn’t even bother to have someone check in on the Astors in the following months. The Astors would present themselves, and she would be proven correct, she was certain.

Bartem’s old flame had not disappointed. From her vantage point, she had watched him moving around the edge of the buffet as other nobles presented themselves and their children, gorging himself like he’d never seen food before. She could see that he’d easily put on forty pounds in just a few months, and it was obvious that gain would accelerate rapidly now that he was at court.

When he bowed before her mother, panting a little because of how full he’d stuffed himself, she knew that Napier Astor was just the man her husband needed in his life.

She knew her husband well enough to be certain he would find his way to Astor as soon as he had half a moment of free time, and the thought pleased her to no end. She was happy to have done something that would make Bartem happy, even if he didn’t know she’d done it. She was even happier imagining what a little extra inducement would do to her lovely husband’s waistline.

It was easier to sit through the whole boring presentation ceremony after that. Bartem had no way to realize, but with a few deft moves, Evie had changed everything.

It was just too bad she didn’t think of hiring more tailors for the royal household before she did it.

Chapter Text

It was a few days before Bartem saw Astor again. His mind buzzed during all that time. He was anxious to see his former lover, and a little nervous about what Astor might think of him now that he’d quite gone to pot. He remembered the few times Astor had fantasized aloud about how handsome he would be if he filled out, but it was one thing to fantasize and another thing to see those fantasies materialize in the flesh.

He also couldn’t deny that the glimpses he’d gotten of Astor’s newly padded form when he was presented were enticing in the extreme. It was something he’d never really thought he would get to see. One could only get so plump on peasant food and peaches. But it looked as if, in a very short time, Astor’s palate had gotten the chance to broaden considerably–right alongside his hips.

Bartem wondered if Astor would even still be interested in him. If any male consort before him had pursued anyone on the side (and he was certain at least a few had), it was a very well-kept secret. Anyone hoping to be raised up in court by romancing him would be disappointed. It would make far more sense for Astor to pursue a woman of wealth and title that he could actually marry, or a man whose affections were less likely to be meticulously surveilled and who could thus be more public in his attentions.

There was also the matter of making sure his wife would not object. He had pursued his previous dalliance at the Driesens’ party with Evie’s permission, and hoped how wife’s permissiveness extended beyond that clandestine gathering. He had interests beyond his wife and appetites she could not satisfy, but he was not interested in crossing any boundaries she set.

One evening, as they lay in bed together, Bartem finally broached the subject. “Dear girl,” he said, squeezing her close as she snuggled into the crook of his shoulder. “I have a delicate question for you. Or perhaps a request.” The words came out clumsily. He was more flustered than he wanted to be.

“Ooh, this sounds interesting.” He could hear the smile in her voice, which soothed him. “Ask your question, husband.” She planted a kiss on his throat, and for a moment he considered derailing the conversation and spending the next few hours seeing to his wife. Why have a difficult conversation that could go terribly in a dozen different ways when he could invite her to straddle his stomach and find her pleasure as he stroked his own cock and watched her bounce?

But he knew it was better to have it out and be done with it, no matter the outcome. “I… have an interest in someone.” He took a deep breath. He had never explicitly told Evie he liked men and women both. “A young man here at court.”

Evie was quiet for a beat, just long enough for Bartem to clench his jaw while he tried not to squirm. “That was a statement, not a question, Bartem,” she said lightly.

Bartem rubbed a hand across his face. “I’m having trouble…” He cleared his throat. “I want to know if you would have any objections if I–pursued him. Or anyone else.”

“Ah. I thought we had already sorted this out when we went to that party? But no matter. No, I have no objections.” She sat up and propped herself up on her elbow so she was looking down at him. “I know I don’t need to tell you to be circumspect about it. You know what you’re doing. Pursue what delights you at your leisure.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

His heart ached for a moment and he reached up to touch her face. He could feel her dark eyes scanning him as she traced the planes of his face with a fingertip. He felt very lucky. He hadn’t been eager to marry, and even less eager to be wedded to someone important. But Ginevra–his princess–kept surprising him. He didn’t doubt that she wanted him to feel happy and whole, with or without her. They had only been married a few months and it was all still new. In that moment, lying in the dark with her, he felt his affection for her coalesce into something deeper and more permanent. “I love you,” he whispered, and he meant it.

Even in the darkness, he could see her beaming. “I love you, too.”

***
When he finally wound up at the same event as Astor–a salon put on by a marchioness with a penchant for philosophy–he felt much more confident in his pursuit knowing he had Evie’s blessing. He also had some new clothes that actually fit, which helped him feel more like himself.

The seating at the salon was set up in a U shape, so everyone could see and listen to the speakers pontificating at the front of the room. Astor sat toward the back, on his own. He was listening, but he looked dreadfully bored. Bartem sat down beside him, and Astor immediately brightened. “Bartem!” he exclaimed quietly. “I didn’t realize you would be here. I never took you for a philosopher.”

Bartem laughed a little. “I’m not, but I try to make the rounds at as many engagements as I can. Have to play the game at court and all that.” He took a closer look at his old friend. Astor had clearly taken to nobility well. His clothes were fine, with billowy pants that exaggerated the rolling swell of his hips and backside, lace cutouts allowing the barest peek at his thighs. The shirt he wore had thin straps over the shoulders, showcasing his thickened arms and plush neck and shoulders. The top was purposefully cut short, sitting just below his waist, allowing a juicy roll of pale belly to push out like rising dough. An upper belly roll pressed against the fabric, bowing it outward slightly. Altogether, he looked rounder than he ever had, like a freshly baked cream puff just before it was pumped full of filling.

They exchanged pleasantries for a few more moments, then both pretended they were listening to the speaker. Anticipation built up between them. It didn’t take more than a few minutes before Bartem leaned toward Astor and asked if he would like some fresh air. Astor smirked and nodded.

They were casual as they walked to Bartem’s quarters, stopping occasionally so Astor could try the morsels that lined the halls along the way. Watching him eat set the young prince aflame, his mouth watering as he watched Astor lick powdered sugar off his plump fingertips. It seemed like they were slowing down more and more the closer they got to his rooms. Astor flashed a coquettish grin at him and he realized that was on purpose. Bartem wanted desperately to kiss him right there. He cooled his heels by joining Astor’s taste-testing. This, of course, only made things take even longer, but there was something about eating together that felt exciting.

Once in his rooms, Astor looked around with a low whistle. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’ve certainly moved up in the world,” he said, a hand resting on his middle.

“Looking at how round you’ve become, clearly the same could be said for you.” Bartem’s voice was low, his eyes half-lidded with lust. He could already feel himself getting hard, and when Astor grabbed handfuls of his own belly by way of showing off, Bartem let out a small groan. He rushed toward his old companion and pulled him in for a ravenous kiss, teeth clashing as they came together again after long months apart. Their hands roved over each other, Astor eagerly exploring all of Bartem’s extra heft even as Bartem did the same to him.

It wasn’t long before they fell into Bartem’s enormous canopied bed. Bartem considered drawing the curtains around the bed, but he loved the way the light from the big windows in the room played across Astor’s peach-toned skin and the dark red stretch marks beginning to trace across it. (He might have stretch marks, too, if he didn’t have servants lathering him with perfumed oils after every bath.) Seeing Astor without clothes, sprawled out on soft silk–that belly, so much softer than before, two distinct rolls beginning to form; that plump, heavily curved backside, just waiting to be claimed… All of that made it difficult for Bartem to control himself.

So he didn’t. He knew Astor, knew what he liked, and hearing him squeal and moan as Bartem filled him up was deliciously familiar and novel all at once. He felt Astor’s legs wrap around him as he grabbed at his belly, reveling in the sensation of it bouncing as they fucked. How much bigger has he gotten? Fuck, he’s got to be at least thirty pounds heavier, maybe more. (Bartem chose not to reflect on the fact that he’d likely gained more than double that, with no sign of slowing down.) He thought about how much prettier Astor would be with another thirty pounds of belly on him, about the constellation of stretch marks on his stomach going from dark red to silver and back again.

When they’d both finished and cleaned themselves up a little, Bartem called for a servant to bring in a meal–or, to be more accurate, a feast for two. Once it arrived, both young men lounged in Bartem’s rooms, catching up and enjoying the food. Though neither said anything about it, both paid rapt attention to how much the other was eating and entertained visions of how much fatter the other would be soon enough.

Chapter Text

For a few weeks, Bartem was altogether too busy snatching every bit of time he could to be with Astor to realize his old lover was having a rather tremendous effect on his waistline.

Part of that was due to Evie’s quick thinking. She had already told her husband’s valet to start ordering new clothes in larger sizes before Bartem could think to request them. She knew Bartem would be so distracted that he was unlikely to notice any of the new garments, or the old ones dropping out of the rotation just as he was outgrowing them.

But much of it was due entirely to the rush of joy he felt at being with Astor again. The heady pleasure of sneaking around the court, clandestine couplings, and all that in between lavish luncheons and balls where they had to do their best not to spend all night making eyes at each other? It was almost too much.

Adding all the extra fucking to his schedule on top of everything else honed Bartem’s appetite to a razor sharp edge. Without realizing, he was eating far more but feeling much less satisfied. He was anxious and horny and unconsciously trying to cool his heels with as much food as he could reach. It seemed everyone at court noticed except Bartem. People commented about how “healthy” he was looking or how well he was filling out his clothes after his months at court. He took these compliments with a smile, but was rolling his eyes internally. He’d gained some weight, certainly, but not enough to warrant such fawning commentary, at least in his mind. Evie found his gentle denial deliciously amusing. She could see his disbelief when this marquess or that duke commented on his weight, the way he so confidently knew he was not significantly larger than a week ago or the week before. His irritated expressions were especially funny when he had a mouthful of food, which seemed to be all the time.

His appetite had been accelerated further by Astor’s love for mixing food and pleasure. Now that the opportunity to fill his belly to the brim was a mere request to a servant away, the freshly-minted noble found every possible excuse to eat–not that he needed any, with sustenance in such abundance throughout the palace. He would claim he needed “a bite to eat” before sex, and would insist afterwards that his tummy was grumbling because it was so empty. (Really, those gurgles were likely just his stomach working tirelessly to digest.) Bartem was happy to humor him.

It was impolite and odd to let Astor eat alone, of course, so Bartem indulged right alongside him. Even though Astor was the slimmer of the two, his appetite was far larger, and so Bartem reassured himself that he wasn’t overdoing it. In reality, he was eating anywhere from four to six full meals each day, not accounting for all the events he still needed to attend. Astor was ballooning rapidly, and Bartem’s lust for all the new rolls and squishiness kept him from realizing how much his weight was increasing.

Honestly, it was hard to think about anything but tupping Astor. Watching the young man glut his soft belly was hypnotic. And that moment when he was finally full, finally sated, and looking like a swollen little pig? Bartem knew no higher pleasure than rolling Astor over onto that plump, stuffed tummy and fucking him while he groaned with pain and pleasure, whimpering about how he’d surely pop. Feeling Astor wobbling beneath him, rocking back and forth over his rounded stomach with each thrust, was transcendent.

Eating after all that hard work was almost as wonderful, especially since Astor liked it when they lay in bed hand-feeding each other as they caught their breath. There was something so erotic about licking crumbs off each others’ fingers, so soft and intimate. Feeding each other seemed eventually to lead to them nuzzling closer, grinding gently until they were both hard again. Astor liked to get on top then. Their bellies would press together, warm and overfull. These couplings were gentler–less urgent. Often, they continued to feed each other, swallowing mouthfuls of meringue and fruit as they made love.

It was all so perfect. Somehow, though, it wasn’t enough to completely satisfy the young prince. He would come to his wife’s rooms late at night, tired and heavy on his feet after a full day of endless eating, fully intending to wrap his arms around Evie, kiss her on the cheek, and fall into a deep sleep. As with all of Bartem’s other assumptions, this one crumbled as soon as Evie started to wake as he crawled into bed. Tired as they both were, most evenings she made time for a long belly rub and massage under the pretense of giving them a moment to catch up with each other. Their talk was usually brief and merely a segue into Evie straddling his face or finding her pleasure on his thigh while he watched and enjoyed a late-night snack.

His life blurred into a hedonistic haze. He was so wrapped up that over a month flew by, and the only reason he realized was because the court had grown even more crowded. The final month of the season had arrived, and with it, so had Bartem’s parents.

They were staying outside the palace in their own summer estate nearby. Like everyone else who had the money and space, they hosted a ball. Bartem and Evie arrived well before the dance in order to pay them a visit, dragging Linden and Emmett along with them.

Both Bartem’s younger brothers had complained that they had no need to visit–“We’ll be back home with them soon enough! And we’ll be seeing them at all the other parties.” Bartem had insisted, knowing they only wanted to skip the whole thing so they could continue to sit on their growing asses and stuff themselves in courtly comfort.

Bartem had been excited to see their parents, too–at first. But as they all piled into an enormously capacious carriage and began to pull away from the palace, he began to feel anxious at the thought of being away from Astor all day. He’d chastised his siblings for not wanting to leave the warm cocoon of the palace, but as they drifted away from it, he felt much the same way. And, heavens – was he hungry? His stomach growled and he felt his face flush. He had just enjoyed one of his usual lavish breakfasts not two hours before. He felt a little ashamed. Was he really so pampered these days? Evie, ever-prepared, pulled a bag filled with chocolates from a compartment in the carriage and plopped it into his hands. He was grateful and began popping them into his mouth without even thinking. (Emmett would later grumble about this to Linden in their rooms. “I wish I had a wife who always had chocolates at the ready.”)

Lord and Lady Burrock were both ecstatic to see their eldest children, eager to hear about their months away from home and whether they had any marriage prospects. “You’ve made sure they’re quite well taken care of, I see,” had been Lady Burrock’s remark upon seeing Linden and Emmett. “I had forgotten how lavish court life can be! It’s even gotten Bartem nice and fat.” She had patted his stomach then. His face had gone blank for some time.

“Nice and fat”? He looked down at himself. Surely not… He had put on some weight – it was to be expected. But fat? No.

Evie had given his hand a squeeze as they sat down together in the drawing room. While everyone else chattered, Bartem was too busy finally seeing and feeling his own body outside of the palace. In the palace, there were men twice his size and larger around for him to compare himself against. Here, his father was the largest person in the room, and about the same size as he’d always been in Bartem’s memory. When Bartem looked down at himself, he realized with trepidation that he was looking far more like his father than he had ever expected. He’d arrived at Evie’s palace in the spring with a small but undeniable paunch. Now, he had a soft, wobbling belly that took up much of his lap and rested heavily upon his thighs. He was aware of how many parts of his body touched now. He could feel his upper arms squishing against his sides, the rolls of fat beneath his shoulder blades, his backside spreading beneath him on the seat. He glanced over at Evie. She looked the same as she had the night he’d met her. It hit him how much larger he was than her now. Come to think of it – hadn’t he had to start lifting up his belly and resting it on her thighs when she rode him? He hadn’t thought anything of it, too caught up to really notice.

It was shocking to him, in no small part because it had almost completely escaped his notice! Some part of him was appalled at his lack of self-control. He was no longer merely chubby or plump, but fat, and well on his way to being larger than his father, who he had always viewed as impractically immense.

He was pulled into the conversation, his thoughts on his body continuing to meander even as he talked and laughed with his family. He told his parents all about the first few months of marriage and all the things that had surprised him at court. He talked about all the people he’d met and foods he’d tried. As he spoke, it became clear to him that he was truly, genuinely happy. He was fatter, yes, and he’d grown perhaps a bit too fond of stuffing himself of late. And he was so happy that he hadn’t even taken the time to get used to his new body.

At the ball later that evening, he noticed himself getting a little winded as he danced. It felt a little foreign to him, but he realized it came with the territory of eating his fill. He was still one of the best dancers on the floor and having an excellent time.

When he got into bed with Evie after the ball, legs sore from all the exercise, he said, “I’ve gotten rather fat, haven’t I?”

Evie had given a small smile, her cheeks reddening. “A bit, yes.”

“Don’t be shy, dear girl,” he’d said as he rolled on top of her, letting the full weight of his stomach rest on her. “Tell me everything you like about it.”

Evie was more than happy to oblige.