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“Diavolo, honey…I mean, my Lord…Maybe you should have a glass of water…?” Annabelle offered, staring nervously at the tall, refilled mug of eggnog in the Prince’s hand.
With flushed cheeks and a booming laugh, Diavolo tipped the rim against his lips and drank deeply before wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Now, now, where’s your holiday spirit?” he asked, hopping his chair closer at the large dining table. “Our friends are here, as are a few dozen of our closest nobility from across the layers of Devildom. Surely you’re willing to live a little around them.”
“I’ve had a few glasses of wine myself. I already feel quite tipsy,” she said, timid at his closeness in public. Was it proper for the Crown Prince’s hand to rest upon her upper thigh, even at a relatively casual winter party? Would Barbatos come and break them apart with a tut at them for overstepping boundaries? “That’s your fourth glass though, and eggnog with alcohol is rather heavy on the stomach. I worry you might get sick.”
“Sick? I haven’t been sick in centuries,” he laughed, clinking his mug to her half-full wine glass. “One more, my queen, for both of us…or a water if you truly feel uncomfortable, though I’d appreciate if you’d join me for a final glass of champagne before bed regardless. ‘Tis the season of merriment, as they say!”
Smiling, she took hold of her glass and drank a few sips following Diavolo’s kind request. The sweet wine went down like cherry pie—luscious and delicious.
It wasn’t that she minded another glass or two—sometimes she drank more than Diavolo on their private dinner dates, though rarely—but rather that being surrounded by nobility made her far more cautious not to make a fool of herself. The last thing that they needed was to have critiquing eyes on her for the foreseeable future. Barbatos would set a parental control on her behavior and public appearances for sure.
“You’re still speaking so staunchly,” Diavolo said, squeezing her thigh to settle her nerves. “I promise that you’re around the loveliest of demons. No one will judge you for a lapse of formality.”
“Not aloud, perhaps.”
He scoffed, then pouted. “‘Perhaps’ is such an odd word off your tongue at times,” he muttered. “It’s always silly to hear you choose more delicate phrases around my friends. Won’t you drop the act, just for tonight?”
“You speak formally in front of them as well, my Lord.”
“Yes, but I was raised into royalty, whereas you’ve been married into it,” he countered, a chuckle rising from his drunken chest. “I much prefer hearing your casual speak.”
“The guests might not prefer that.”
“The guests will mind their business when speaking of the Crown Prince’s wife,” he said, trying to scoot his chair closer and finding it already bashed against hers. Instead, he slid his arm over the back of her seat and made an attempt at leaning her against his chest, though a clearing throat from someone else at the table stopped them both in their tracks. Good, she thought, because she planned on doing so.
“The party will be over in an hour,” Diavolo said, his voice relaxed and soothing. “Will you return to the queen I adore once we return to the balcony on the upper floor? That room has become a wonderful place of memories for me, as I hope it has for you as well.”
A hot flush ran up her neck at thoughts of the evening before, ones she didn’t intend to think about but she didn’t mind in the slightest. The sectional couch in that room had seen its fair share of late night rendezvous, and the day prior had been no exception. Unusually cold weather and difficulty finding free time between making party plans made them borderline desperate for each other’s touch when they had opportunities.
“It’s a beautiful room,” she said, dreaming of what might happen later. Tipsy or not, they were loving. When in the mood, almost nothing stopped them—except perhaps the public eye.
The night wore on, Diavolo’s state becoming wilder and looser as minutes ticked away. By the time he began to bid farewell to the guests with Annabelle by his side, his stance had become wobbly and his voice noticeably slurred. She took him by the elbow to steady him, inviting the passionate look of dumb love to spread across both of their faces.
The moment the final guest left, he swept her into his arms in the tightest embrace imaginable. “It’s just us,” he said, waving off a polite Barbatos who had offered his assistance to the balcony room. The butler left without another word, off to clean the ballroom without argument.
Annabelle squirmed against his suffocating grasp. “D-Diavolo…I can’t breathe…”
Laughing, he squeezed her a bit harder around her wide curves before releasing her with glittering, excited eyes. “What shall we do now?” he asked, his voice higher pitched with joy. “Champagne on the balcony? Or shall we change into more comfortable clothing first? Pajamas and winter coats overlooking the Devildom sound lovely, don’t you think? Or we can—“
Annabelle took his hand and led him toward the wide-set stairs up to the spires. The movement immediately settled his frantic words, his expression turning from a giddy puppy to a lovestruck teenager. As though battling to see who could race to the room more quickly, he yanked Annabelle along the stairwells, nearly tripping her in the process.
By the time they reached the top, she gasped for air and doubled over, her sides in stitches and her calves aching from the rush. To her shock, Diavolo leaned against the nearest wall, a hand over his stomach and his face pained.
Despite her slowly ebbing agony, she scurried to his side, concerned. “Diavolo? Are you okay?”
Swallowing, he forced a smile. “Of course,” he said, though his voice was strained. “I…perhaps shouldn’t have…run as fast as I did.”
“Are you going to be sick?” she asked, setting a delicate hand over his stomach.
His head leaned back against the wall as he swallowed again. He took a few deep breaths, and she noticed a light sheen of sweat growing on his brow. The signs were there, just as she thought they would be.
Hurriedly, she pulled him down the hallway to the nearest bathroom—barely in time. Diavolo fell in a heap into the small, walled-off toilet room and heaved, his stomach expelling as much as possible of the heavy alcohol and eggnog he’d consumed.
With the door opened, Annabelle dropped to his side and placed a soothing hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles between his demonic shoulder blades. “It’s okay,” she said, soft and quiet even as Diavolo retched again. “Let it happen. You’ll feel better soon.”
Minutes passed in relative silence, his body shuddering with exhausted and fearful shivers as he spat and cried.
She patted the back of his head, trying her hardest to comfort him. If it really had been centuries since he’d last gotten sick, the situation must have been terrifying and embarrassing for him. She imagined that she would feel the same way, having never been in such a state in front of her relatively-new husband. After all, with only a few years married, they had no playbook for things like this.
So, she did the best that she could with as much love as she could dote upon Diavolo.
After another minute or two, Annabelle stood, offering a soft hum of acknowledgment to his pain. “Let me get you a damp towel and some water,” she said. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
“D-don’t leave me,” he mumbled, resting an arm on the toilet seat and plopping his head onto it. “I need you. P-please?”
“I’ll be back in thirty seconds,” she promised. “You trust me, right? You’ll feel so much better.”
Sniffling, Diavolo nodded, gulping down what must have been a sore throat and whatever air he could gather as he reached with a heavy arm to flush the toilet.
She rushed to warm water from the sink and soak a cloth, then took a small rinse cup from the counter and filled it with a few sips. When she returned, she found him fallen to the tile, his back leaning heavily against the wall and his knees curled against his chest, like an ill child.
Quietly, she kneeled in front of him and wiped his face, careful and tender. No signs of malice coated her mind—not a semblance of, “I told you so,” or, “You should have known better,” but rather, “I’m so sorry this happened.”
Tossing aside the dirty cloth to be dealt with later, she took his trembling, drunken hands. “It’s okay,” she reassured, squeezing them tightly. “Do you think it’s done? Feel any better?”
“Yes…It’s done,” he muttered, eyes closed as though not wanting to be seen.
She nodded. “Let’s take a quick shower then, okay? I’ll clean you up.”
“Annabelle, y-you don’t have to—“
“I want to. Let me? Please?”
He shook his head and pursed his lips, pouting, but his tired eyes opened with tears lining his lower lashes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was foolish.”
“It’s okay,” she repeated, running her hands along the outsides of his calves. “Come on. Let me clean you up, and we’ll lay on the couch. Would you like that?”
“Yes…Very much.”
“Can you get up on your own?” she asked, nerves welling in her chest for a moment. Though he could lift her easily, she had nowhere near enough strength to pull him to his feet.
On shaky legs, he shifted onto hands and knees before lifting himself upward using her shoulder as a hold. She took him by the waist, knowing she wouldn’t be able to save him if he fell but praying that she could at least keep him from stumbling too-drunk into the walk-in shower.
Successful, she turned the water lukewarm as she undressed him, much like a mother to her sick child. He allowed her, his shoulders sunken as though being punished for misdeeds he hadn’t done. What had happened had happened, and she felt nothing but concern for his physical and mental well-being. Whatever it took to return him to his jovial self by the morning, she would do.
Once they stepped under the water, naked and bare to what were usually each other’s wandering eyes, Annabelle lathered a washcloth with soap and scrubbed at his arms. She washed his hair with tender circles against his scalp, watching his bloodshot eyes close and a small frown of frustration appear across his face. She kneeled to the floor and washed his legs and feet of sweat. She turned his back to her and massaged his weakened, wobbly spine and his shoulders, sagging in humiliation. His often booming, happy voice disappeared, leaving a husk of the Crown Prince that she had only seen a few times during their relationship.
But she loved him, she thought as she rinsed the soap from his body, careful to reach every spot. She loved him more than life itself, and this was an opportunity to prove it to him, regardless of his embarrassment.
Without doing much cleaning of herself, she rinsed the sweat off her body and turned off the shower. Reaching for the biggest, fluffiest towel off the rack, she dried him from head to toe despite his tired protests. Though his pleas for her to stop helping him were frequent, they were quiet and broken. An occasional, “You don’t have to do this,” and, “I feel awful,” and, “Please, let me help,” were all he managed, with weak grasps at her hands that she easily pushed away.
Putting a robe over his shoulders and tying it at his waist, a towel-clad Annabelle led him from the bathroom into the balcony room and dropped him onto the couch, her body instantly cuddling into his side as she swung a fluffy blanket over their bodies. What did it matter that they only wore towels? At the very least, if Diavolo got sick again, it would make it simpler to wash up afterward.
Pressing her off of him, he nuzzled against her bosom, his ear against her heart as though soothed by its calm beat. “My love,” he mumbled, curling his large body on her lap and massaging fingers into her squished thighs. “I’m so sorry you’ve seen me like this.”
“Diavolo, it’s fine,” she said, sweeping fingertips through his damp hair. “I’ve seen this happen to a million people over the years. I’ve worked at bars before, you know, and I’ve seen dozens of lesser-loved friends in worse states than you are now.”
“Have you?” he asked, closing his eyes. “But you’ve never seen me like this.”
She sighed. “I haven’t, but really, I don’t mind nursing you back to health.”
“I feel terrible that you have to witness your husband in this condition,” he said. “I should have called Barbatos.”
“Do you want me to text him?” she asked. “If you let me up to get my phone, I’ll—“
“Please…Don’t leave me,” he begged, his grasp tightening over her thigh. “I need you, Annabelle. Tell me everything will be okay.”
“Everything will be okay,” she said, brushing his bangs off his sweaty forehead. “I won’t leave. I’ll stay here until you’re all better.”
He sighed, sucking in his lips like he was holding back what he wanted to say.
“I love you, Diavolo,” she whispered, taking his hand and leading his palm to her lips. “No matter what, okay? This will all pass by the morning.”
“I love you too,” he said, voice cracking. “Even after all you’ve done for me, you view me the same as before?”
“If anything, I love you more.”
“More,” he said with a huff of a laugh. “How could you love me more after seeing me in such a state? I should be taking care of you, my queen. Not the other way around.”
“I just do,” she chuckled. “Being vulnerable with you is important. It brings us closer together, don’t you think?”
After several moments of silence, he sighed again. “Perhaps.”
“There. You agree then,” she said, firm but smiling. “Rest, okay? Let me know what I can do to help.”
He shifted to get more comfortable. “Will you, perhaps…rub my stomach?” he asked, placing his hand over his abdomen. “It feels better when you do it than myself. And you’re warm.”
“Put your head in my lap then. I don’t mind at all.”
When he adjusted, she placed her palm over his stomach and ran gentle circles over the skin. Immediately, he melted into her thighs, his eyes closing and his breath growing more even. After much time, he drifted off to sleep.
Annabelle watched him for a long while, observing his resting face with nothing more than admiration and appreciation. The Crown Prince, so vulnerable beneath her touch, and so trusting of her love.
She leaned her head back and stared at the frescoes on the ceiling. As long as she could stay awake, she would continue to massage his abdomen to keep him well-rested and comfortable.
And in the future, she planned to stop him from exercising after far too much to eat and drink.