Epilogue
AURELIA
My first week as Lady Graf has been a whirlwind of paperwork and meetings and introductions. My head is crammed full of charity projects and advocacy programs once championed by my aunt. And her personal assistant informed me that he has plans to retire; just another concern to add to the list.
Florence has been doing her best to make my relocation to my aunt’s home—now my home—as easy as possible.
Before I even had everything moved from Granbury House, she had taken my things from the bedroom I kept here and set them up in the main suite.
I’m still not sure what I’m going to do with all this house, no twenty-three-year-old needs a twelve-bedroom townhouse with enough parlors and day rooms to host afternoon coffee (never tea) in a different spot each day of the week.
On top of my transition into the peerage, there’s also this new role of girlfriend to the crown prince.
My training at Merryton College included lessons on etiquette and propriety, but apparently, I’m still helplessly American, and the queen and head of palace PR agree I need some intensive lessons.
Thankfully, Lady Maier—I mean, Rebecca—and her mother-in-law have taken up that mantel.
Lady Jameson has decided to stay around while the Maiers search for a new nanny, even as her daughter made her hasty escape back to England, spewing bile to the media about me and Friedrich to whichever media outlet would listen.
As if that’s not enough, I’m also taking history lessons with the Lord Chamberlain and public speaking instruction with Betsy, the royal family’s wrangler and all-around public relations maven.
But between all of that, in the little cracks of my new, insane schedule and in the late nights and sometimes early mornings, I get to enjoy the privilege of falling in deeper with His Royal Highness.
Friedrich has been my rock through all the hullabaloo and each step of my transformation.
His constant string of encouraging texts throughout my busy days has been keeping me sane.
But it’s the evenings spent together that really keep me going.
Spending the night together is, at least on paper, out of the question, but we make good use of the time we’re allowed.
At the end of my first week, we’re lying on our backs in my bed, still catching our breaths after he took me to new heights of pleasure. I want to wrap my arms around him, but he’s so careful about my cum aversion, he won’t even remove a condom in my presence.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, pressing a kiss to my hand, which shouldn’t be sexy except my body is still very aware of what else that mouth can do.
He’s only gone a moment, but even a short time apart makes me cold and a little anxious after such an intense orgasm.
He comes back with a wet cloth, and the warmth is soothing against the sore spots.
His tenderness never ceases to make my heart flutter, and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of the way he peppers my thighs with kisses when he’s done.
After the cleanup, we can cuddle. He pulls me into the arms I missed so much in those months we were apart, and I wonder how I ever lived without his embrace.
Pressed against his chest, I listen as his heart beat slowly returns to a normal pace.
Our breathing syncs as we relax into each other.
And that’s when the good part happens. Beyond the physical joy he brings me, being wrapped in him lets my mind go quiet, and all my stress and worry gets pushed away, even just for a moment.
I breathe him in, cologne barely perceptible under the scent of man and sex that hangs around us. It’s a good smell. It’s passion and heat and pure animal instinct.
“What are you thinking right now, mon trésor?” he whispers against my wild hair.
I sigh in absolute contentment. “That I need you to hold me like this all day.”
I feel his laugh against my cheek, resting on his chest. “However would you get anything done, Countess Graf?”
I burrow deeper as if I could fuse myself to him so I would never have to feel the loss of him again. “On the contrary, I think my brain would function much better if I had a naked prince pressed against me at all times.”
We both laugh this time, and I feel something stirring between us. I crane my neck to look up into the eyes that I so often get lost in.
“What are you thinking right now?”
He moves his hips against me, and I don’t need more of an answer than that.
“I’m thinking that if you don’t stop wiggling your ass like that, I’m not going to be able to give you much of a break.”
I quirk an eyebrow up at him in feigned innocence. “Perhaps I don’t want a break.”
“Careful, minx,” he growls, using the weight of his upper body to push me back against the mattress.
A thrill runs through me as he kisses me hard and deep, and his need presses against my leg.
Every part of me responds to him, and I’m unashamed of the sounds that flow from me as he lavishes his attention on my lips, neck, breasts, all the while rutting himself against the wetness between my thighs.
Any loss of his skin against mine is pure torture, even as he sits up so he can reach into the nightstand.
I never thought the act of putting on a condom would be sexy, but watching him roll the rubber sheath down his rigid length, the way he strokes himself as he goes, how every curve and line of his penis is on full display for me.
Geez, it makes me shiver with anticipation.
By far my favorite part of my new life is learning how perfectly our bodies fit together.
Everything else will work out in time.
FRIEDRICH
My stomach clenches in knots, and my every cell screams in protest every time that I have to say good night to Aurelia.
I want her around all the time, want her to put her own spin on décor here at Rankten Cottage, to make room for her in my closet, to spend lazy days on the sofa with books and coffee and then go to bed with her in my arms every night.
But we’re doing this right. I’m bound by my duties to my country and also afraid of pushing her too hard. She still hasn’t shared all her scars with me, and I won’t pry; I’ve got to be careful with this woman, because, Christ, she is everything to me. And now we have nothing but time.
I stand at the window like a sad puppy, watching the taillights recede as her driver takes her away, back to the townhouse she inherited from her late aunt. And in my head, I’m counting down the unnumbered days until she is completely and wholly mine.
My phone chimes in my pocket, the particular tone noting a calendar update.
19 September: The Wedding of HRH Prince Friedrich Rothstein and Lady Aurelia Graf
Well. Fuck. I haven’t even proposed to the woman. Guess those days are numbered, now.
Friedrich and Aurelia’s story continues in book 2 of the Rowdy Royals series.
Coming early 2026