The sun hung low over the Karsten estate, casting long golden shadows across the manicured gardens where the Crusch faction had made their temporary headquarters. Subaru's camp had arrived that morning under the guise of alliance talks—Emilia's near-victory in the royal selection had everyone scrambling to secure favors—but Subaru's mind was elsewhere. His stomach twisted like a wrung-out rag as he pulled Wilhelm van Astrea aside after the formal greetings.
"Wilhelm-san," Subaru said, voice low, "could we speak in private? Just you and me. Somewhere no one can overhear."
The old swordsman's steel-gray eyes narrowed slightly, but he gave a single, respectful nod. "As you wish, Subaru-dono."
They retreated to a small, windowless study deep in the manor wing reserved for Crusch's retainers. Wilhelm closed the heavy oak door, turned the key, and gestured for Subaru to sit. The room smelled of aged leather and sword oil. Wilhelm remained standing, hands clasped behind his back in that perfect butler posture, waiting.
"What troubles you, Subaru-dono?" Wilhelm asked, voice calm but laced with genuine concern. "You look as though you carry the weight of the White Whale once more."
Subaru laughed—a short, bitter sound that cracked in the middle. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks already burning. "Yeah… something like that. Look, I've got a really big favor to ask you. It's humiliating. Like, soul-crushing levels of humiliating. If I didn't have to, I'd never— I'd ask literally anyone else. But I… I trust you. I think you're the kind of man who wouldn't use this against me. Who'd carry it to the grave. Am I… am I right about that?"
Wilhelm's expression didn't flicker. "You saved my wife's honor and avenged her death when you helped slay the White Whale. The Astrea house owes you a debt that cannot be repaid in one lifetime. Whatever you ask, it will remain between us. You have my word as a swordsman and as a man."
Subaru exhaled shakily. His hands were trembling; he shoved them into his pockets so Wilhelm wouldn't see. "Okay. Okay, good. Because this is… this is bad." He swallowed hard, throat clicking. "Back when we fought Capella—that disgusting witch—she did something to me. I… I don't want to talk about the details. I really, really don't. But because of it, I can't… I can't be with Emilia the way a man should be with the woman he loves. Not physically. And I can't give her children."
The silence in the room was deafening. Wilhelm's brows drew together, but he said nothing, simply waiting for Subaru to continue.
Subaru forced himself to keep going. "Emilia-tan… she finally accepted my feelings. After everything. And with the selection basically hers now, she's going to be queen. A queen needs an heir. The kingdom expects it. She expects it. I can't… I can't be the one to give her that. And I hate this. I hate it so much I want to die just saying it out loud."
He took a deep, shuddering breath, eyes fixed on the floorboards.
"I've thought about every other option. Julius? Reinhard? The idea of either of them touching her makes me want to puke. But you… you're honorable. You're older, you're married—well, you were—and you understand duty. You'd never breathe a word. You'd never gloat or look at me differently. So… here's the plea."
Subaru finally lifted his gaze, cheeks scarlet, voice barely above a whisper.
"Wilhelm-san… would you be willing to… to get Emilia pregnant? So I can raise the child as mine and hers? So the kingdom sees an heir from the future queen and her knight, and no one ever has to know the truth?"
The words hung in the air like smoke after a gunshot.
Wilhelm stood perfectly still for a long moment, the only sound the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. His weathered face betrayed nothing—no disgust, no anger, only a deep, thoughtful gravity.
"Subaru-dono," he said at last, voice low and steady, "you ask a great deal. Not of my body, but of my honor. Yet… you saved my reason for living. You gave me back the chance to die with my sword in hand beside the woman I love. If this is truly the only path that spares you pain and secures Lady Emilia's future… then I will consider it. But we will speak with Lady Emilia first. Together. And whatever comes of this, the secret dies with me."
He stepped forward and placed a single, fatherly hand on Subaru's shoulder.
"You are not alone in this shame, lad. Not while I still draw breath."
Subaru's knees nearly buckled with relief and fresh humiliation all at once. He nodded mutely, unable to speak.
The deal—impossible, desperate, and utterly secret—had been struck.
Subaru's shoulders sagged under Wilhelm's steady hand. The weight of that simple, fatherly touch nearly broke him all over again.
"Thank you… Wilhelm-san," he whispered, voice raw. "For listening. For not laughing. I know what you must be thinking right now—that I'm pathetic. A useless, broken knight who can't even give his own princess what she needs. But I swear I have no other choice. None."
He stepped back, wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his sleeve. "I'll… I'll go get Emilia-tan. Tell her to come here in a minute or two. You don't have to agree to anything. I won't blame you if you say no. Just… please hear her out."
Before Wilhelm could reply, Subaru turned on his heel and practically fled the room, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that echoed in the sudden silence.
Wilhelm remained standing exactly where he was, hands once more clasped behind his back, breathing slow and even. The old knight's face was unreadable, but his mind turned over the request like a well-worn blade—sharp, heavy, and impossible to ignore.
Less than two minutes later, a soft knock sounded. The door opened without waiting for an answer.
Emilia stepped inside, silver hair catching the lamplight like moonlight on snow. She closed the door gently, violet eyes wide with nervous hope and lingering shame. She curtsied—perfect, formal, the way she always did when she was trying to hide how scared she was.
"Wilhelm-san," she began, voice soft but steady, "did Subaru… did he ask you? About the favor?"
Wilhelm inclined his head. "He did, Lady Emilia."
Emilia's cheeks flushed pink, but she didn't look away. "I'm so sorry if it insulted you. Truly. We never wanted to put you in this position. But… Capella did something horrible to him. She… she castrated Subaru. Completely. He can't… he can't even take my virginity. He can't give me children. He can't be a husband to me in the way the kingdom will expect once I'm queen."
She took a shaky breath, fingers twisting together in front of her.
"We talked about it for weeks. Every other option hurt him more. Julius, Reinhard… just the thought of them made Subaru look like he wanted to die. But you… you're honorable. You understand sacrifice. You lost your wife and still kept going for what was right. We hoped—prayed—you might be willing to make this one terrible sacrifice for us. For me. For the future of Lugnica."
Emilia stepped closer, eyes glistening but determined.
"Subaru doesn't want anyone to know he's… broken like this. He doesn't want to be remembered as the castrated knight who couldn't give his queen an heir. He wants the world to see our child and believe it's his. That we're whole. That he's enough. And I… I want that too. I love him so much it hurts. I'd do anything to protect his pride."
She bowed deeply, silver hair spilling forward like a curtain.
"Please, Wilhelm-san. If there is any debt you feel you owe him for the White Whale… if you can find it in your heart to help us… we will never forget it. And no one—no one—will ever know."
The room fell quiet again, only the grandfather clock ticking like a heartbeat.
Wilhelm studied the young half-elf for a long moment, seeing the steel beneath the gentle exterior, the love that burned brighter than any shame.
"Lady Emilia," he said at last, voice low and grave, "you ask me to father a child that will bear another man's name. To lie with the future queen while her chosen knight waits outside. It is not a small thing."
He paused, then gave the faintest, saddest smile.
"But Subaru-dono saved what was left of my soul. And you… you carry the future of this kingdom on your shoulders. If this is the price that lets you both stand tall before the world… then I will not refuse. We will do this in secret. With dignity. And with absolute silence."
He offered his hand to help her rise from her bow.
"When the time comes, I will be ready. For both of you."
Emilia's breath hitched with relief and fresh tears. She took his hand, squeezing it tightly.
"Thank you… from the bottom of my heart."
Outside the door, Subaru stood pressed against the wall, fists clenched so hard his nails drew blood, waiting—hating himself, loving her, and praying this impossible plan would somehow save them both.
The heavy oak door creaked open behind Subaru. He straightened instantly, heart hammering so hard he was sure the entire hallway could hear it. Emilia stepped out first, silver hair slightly tousled from the tense conversation, her violet eyes soft with a mixture of relief and worry. Wilhelm followed a step behind, posture as impeccable as ever, face a calm mask that gave nothing away.
Emilia's gaze found Subaru immediately. She crossed the short distance in two quick strides and took both his hands in hers, squeezing gently.
"He agreed," she whispered, voice warm and careful, like she was handling fragile glass. "Wilhelm-san said yes. For us. For the future."
Subaru's breath caught. A wave of nausea and gratitude crashed over him at the same time. He tried to smile, but it came out crooked and pained. "That's… good. Yeah. That's… thank you. Both of you."
He glanced at Wilhelm, then quickly away, unable to hold the old knight's steady gaze. "We can… we can talk about the details later. Not now. I can't… I just can't right now."
Emilia nodded without hesitation, stepping even closer so her forehead almost touched his. She could see it—the way his shoulders were drawn tight, the faint tremor in his jaw, the way his eyes kept darting to the floor like he wanted to sink through it.
"Subaru," she said softly, cupping his cheek with one cool hand, "it's okay. It's going to be okay. I'm right here. We're doing this together, remember? You're still my knight. You're still the one I love more than anything. Nothing changes that. Not this. Never this."
She leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, lingering there, letting him feel her warmth. "You're not pathetic. You're the strongest person I know for even asking. I'm so proud of you for protecting us both."
Wilhelm stood a respectful few paces away, hands clasped behind his back, silent. He could see the war raging behind Subaru's eyes—the self-loathing, the shame, the desperate love that had driven him to this. The old swordsman had no intention of adding to it. He knew words of comfort right now would only make Subaru doubt himself more, would only make the wound feel fresher. So he simply waited, a quiet pillar of support, offering presence instead of pity.
Emilia glanced over her shoulder at Wilhelm, still keeping one hand on Subaru's face.
"We'll send you a letter with all the details once we've… once we've had time to get used to the idea," she told him, voice steady but gentle. "Subaru and I need a little while to adjust. To make sure we're ready. But thank you again, Wilhelm-san. From both of us. Truly."
Wilhelm bowed his head, the smallest, most respectful motion. "As you wish, Lady Emilia. Take all the time you require. The secret remains mine alone until you decide otherwise."
He turned to Subaru then, voice low and even. "You carry a heavier burden than most men ever will, Subaru-dono. Do not forget that you are not carrying it alone."
Subaru could only nod, throat too tight to speak. He watched Wilhelm walk away down the corridor with that same measured stride, disappearing around the corner without another word.
The moment he was gone, Subaru's knees buckled slightly. Emilia caught him, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him close against her.
"I've got you," she murmured into his hair. "I've always got you. Let's go back to our room. You don't have to be strong right now. Just let me hold you until it hurts a little less."
Subaru buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in her familiar scent, and for the first time since he'd asked the impossible question, the knot in his chest loosened—just a fraction.
The envelope arrived exactly one month later, sealed with the discreet silver wax stamp of the Emilia faction—nothing flashy, nothing that would draw attention from the servants. It was delivered to Wilhelm in the quiet of the early evening, while he was sharpening his blade in the small courtyard garden behind the Crusch manor. The messenger bowed and vanished without a word.
Wilhelm set the whetstone aside, wiped his hands, and broke the seal with steady fingers. The letter was written in Emilia's elegant, flowing script, each character formed with the careful precision of someone who had rewritten the page several times before sending it.
Dear Wilhelm-san,
Subaru and I have spent many long nights talking. We have decided how this must happen, if you are still willing.
In two weeks' time, I will come to the Crusch mansion alone, under the pretense of a private strategy meeting that will run late. I will stay the night in the guest wing—the same room I used during the White Whale campaign. After the household has retired, you may come to me. We will do what needs to be done that night, and only that night. One time should be enough, the healers say.
We have made rules. I hope with all my heart you will accept them.
First: no kissing. No comforting words. No embraces that are not strictly necessary for the act. No speaking of Subaru, no pity, no softness. This must remain a duty—nothing more, nothing less.
Second: I will not look like myself. Subaru cannot bear the thought of you carrying the image of me in your mind for the rest of your days. I will wear a red wig styled exactly as Theresia's hair was in her prime. I have obtained the white-and-crimson Sword Saint uniform she wore the day she earned her title—every stitch, every ribbon, every fold. When you enter the room, you will see her. Not me.
Third: during the entire time, you must not use my name. Call me Theresia. Only Theresia. Subaru says this will keep the act from attaching to me in any way. He does not want any part of his future queen to be stained by this memory.
Fourth: before you come to the room, I will have drunk enough wine that the details will be… hazy. I will not remember everything clearly. That is how we both want it.
If these conditions are acceptable to you, please burn this letter after reading it. I will arrive on the 14th, after sunset. The side door to the guest wing will be left unlocked.
We are forever in your debt, Wilhelm-san. More than words can say.
With deepest gratitude and respect, Emilia
Wilhelm read the letter twice, slowly, the lamplight flickering across his weathered face. When he finished, he folded it with deliberate care, walked to the small iron brazier beside the training dummy, and set the paper alight. The flames took it quickly; within seconds there was only ash.
He stood there for a long moment, watching the last ember die.
A red wig. Theresia's uniform. Her name on his lips while he…
The old swordsman closed his eyes. A single, quiet breath left him—something between sorrow and resolve. He had buried his wife long ago. He had thought that part of his life sealed away forever. Now these two desperate children were asking him to open that grave and step inside it, wearing the face and name of the woman he had loved more than life itself.
And yet… he had given his word.
Wilhelm turned, walked back into the manor, and began the quiet preparations no one else would ever know about.
Two weeks.
He would be ready.
The guest wing of the Crusch manor was quiet, the household long since retired. Only the soft crackle of the hearth and the distant hoot of an owl broke the silence.
Emilia had spent the evening in the drawing room with Lady Crusch, both of them sharing far more wine than either usually allowed. Crusch's sharp golden eyes had narrowed more than once.
"You seem… unusually tense tonight, Emilia-sama. Is something troubling you?"
Emilia had smiled, cheeks already flushed from the alcohol, and shaken her head. "No reason at all. Just… the weight of the selection, you know? I needed to relax."
Now, alone in the candlelit guest chamber, she stood before the tall mirror. The red wig was perfect—long, flowing, the exact shade and style Theresia van Astrea had worn in her prime. The white-and-crimson Sword Saint uniform hugged her body: the short pleated skirt, the fitted jacket with its gold accents, the white stockings and garter belts. She had even added a touch of the old perfume she'd secretly obtained. When she looked at her reflection, the resemblance was almost frightening.
She sat on the edge of the large bed, legs pressed tightly together, heart hammering. The wine had dulled the edges of her fear, but not the shame. She kept reminding herself: this is for Subaru. For our future.
A soft knock. Then the door opened.
Wilhelm stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and turned the key with a quiet click. He stood still for a long moment, candlelight playing across his weathered face.
He was staring.
The old knight's breath caught. For one heartbeat, time folded in on itself. The woman on the bed was not Emilia. She was Theresia—young, vibrant, exactly as she had looked the night they had first made love after the war. The red hair, the uniform, the shy way she sat with knees together… everything.
"Theresia…" the name slipped out before he could stop it. He caught himself, jaw tightening. "I… I hope you are ready."
Emilia—Theresia—nodded quickly, cheeks burning. Her voice was small, shy. "I… I think I am. As best I can be." She looked down at herself, fingers twisting in the fabric of the skirt. "Do you… mind the outfit? And the wig? I know it's strange…"
Wilhelm crossed the room slowly and sat beside her on the bed. His voice was low, almost reverent.
"I was skeptical when I read the letter. But… you look… magnificent. Truly. You could be her twin."
Emilia exhaled a shaky breath of relief. "Thank you, Wilhelm-san."
He reached out, slow and deliberate. One hand slid beneath the short skirt of the uniform, fingers pressing against the white fabric of her panties and the sheer tights beneath. He found the soft mound of her pussy and began to massage her clit in slow, firm circles through the layers.
Emilia gasped, thighs instinctively clenching around his wrist.
"I must prepare you first," Wilhelm murmured, voice steady, almost clinical. "So it does not hurt."
His fingers moved with patient skill—rubbing, stroking, pressing the dampening fabric against her swelling clit. The other hand rose to her chest, gently cupping one full breast through the fitted jacket. He squeezed softly, thumb brushing over the nipple until it hardened beneath the cloth.
"Theresia's breasts were smaller," he said quietly, almost to himself.
Emilia bit her lip, breathing faster. "Is… is that inconvenient for you?"
Wilhelm shook his head, eyes half-lidded with old memories and new sensation. "No. Not at all. Yours are fuller now… more like hers after she gave birth. Heavy with milk. Lovely. Perfect."
Emilia whimpered softly at the praise, hips twitching. "Th-thank you…"
Wilhelm's hand slipped higher. Fingers deftly pushed beneath the waistband of her tights and panties, sliding down until they met warm, slick flesh. He parted her folds and eased two thick fingers inside her, curling gently, stroking her inner walls while his thumb continued circling her clit directly now—wet, slippery, insistent.
Emilia moaned, head falling back, red wig spilling across the pillows. Her legs trembled but stayed parted for him, pussy clenching around the invading fingers as he pumped them slowly, steadily, coaxing more wetness with every thrust.
"That's it," Wilhelm whispered, voice rougher now, lost somewhere between past and present. "Let me feel you, Theresia…"
He added a third finger, stretching her carefully, thumb never stopping its relentless rhythm on her swollen clit. The wet sounds of his hand working between her thighs filled the quiet room—slick, obscene, intimate. Emilia's hips began to rock against his palm, shy at first, then more desperate as pleasure built despite everything.
Wilhelm's other hand kept gently kneading her breast, occasionally pinching the nipple just enough to make her gasp. His eyes never left her face—Theresia's face—drinking in every flutter of lashes, every bitten lip, every soft, broken moan.
He was hard beneath his trousers, aching with decades-old memory and fresh need, but he kept his pace measured, focused entirely on readying her body for what came next.
Wilhelm's fingers never stopped their steady rhythm inside her—three thick digits pumping slow and deep into her slick, clenching pussy, thumb grinding firm circles against her swollen clit. The wet, obscene sounds of her arousal filled the candlelit room with every curl of his hand.
With his free hand he reached for the front of her Sword Saint jacket. One by one he unfastened the hidden clasps and ribbons, the white-and-crimson fabric parting like theater curtains. He peeled it open, exposing the soft green silk bra beneath—exactly the shade Theresia had always favored.
"Theresia loved green underwear," he murmured, voice low and rough with memory. "Said it made her feel like spring even on the battlefield."
Emilia's lips parted—she wanted to ask how he knew, wanted to say something, anything—but the words died in a sharp gasp as Wilhelm tugged the bra cups down in one smooth motion. Her full, heavy breasts spilled free, bouncing softly with the sudden release. They were large and round, the pale skin flushed a delicate pink from the wine and growing heat. The areolas were wide and rosy, nipples already stiff and pebbled, standing out proudly. Because of the role they were playing—and the way her body had filled out in recent months—her breasts looked swollen, almost overflowing, the kind of heavy, milk-laden fullness that came after childbirth. They swayed gently with every shaky breath she took, the soft weight jiggling as Wilhelm's fingers continued thrusting between her thighs.
Wilhelm's eyes darkened with raw hunger. He lowered his head without another word, mouth latching onto her right breast. His lips sealed tight around the sensitive nipple, sucking hard and deep, tongue swirling in slow, hungry circles. The wet heat of his mouth sent sparks straight down to where his fingers were buried inside her.
"Ah—! Nngh…!" Emilia cried out, back arching sharply. A high, breathy moan tore from her throat as he suckled, the sound turning into a desperate whimper when he drew her nipple deeper, hollowing his cheeks. "Haa… haa… mmh—!"
He sucked with practiced, relentless rhythm—pulling, licking, occasionally grazing the stiff peak with his teeth just enough to make her jolt. The obscene wet sounds of his mouth on her breast mixed with the slick, squelching noises of his fingers plunging into her dripping pussy. He curled them harder, stroking that spongy spot inside her while his thumb flicked rapidly over her clit.
Emilia's hips bucked involuntarily, thighs trembling around his wrist. Her gloved hands fisted the bedsheets, red wig spilling across the pillows like blood on snow.
"Haah—! Ahhn…! It— it feels— nngh… so much—!" she gasped, voice cracking into another broken moan as he switched to her left breast, sucking even more greedily, tongue lapping at the sensitive underside before sucking the nipple back into his mouth with a wet pop.
Her pussy fluttered and clenched greedily around his thrusting fingers, juices coating his hand and soaking into the green silk panties still pushed aside. Every hard suck on her breast sent fresh sparks of pleasure straight to her core, making her walls squeeze tighter, making her sounds rise higher—soft, needy, helpless little cries that echoed in the quiet room.
Wilhelm groaned against her soft, heavy flesh, the vibration traveling straight through her nipple as he drank in the taste and weight of her, still fingering her with steady, practiced strokes, refusing to let her catch her breath.
Wilhelm's mouth worked hungrily on her left breast, sucking with deep, rhythmic pulls that made Emilia's back arch higher off the bed. His fingers plunged steadily into her soaking pussy, curling against that sensitive inner spot until her thighs quivered uncontrollably. Finally, he released her nipple with a wet pop, the rosy peak glistening and swollen from his attention.
"Are you aroused enough, Theresia?" he murmured, voice low and gravelly, eyes flicking up to meet hers through the haze of candlelight.
Emilia blinked, breath coming in short, needy pants. Her mind was foggy from the wine and the building pleasure. "Wh-what do you mean…?"
Without a word, Wilhelm withdrew his fingers from her dripping core, eliciting a soft whine of protest from her lips. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her sheer white tights and the green silk panties beneath, tugging them down her thighs in one firm motion. The cool air hit her exposed pussy—wet, flushed, and swollen with need—making her gasp. He peeled the garments off completely, tossing them aside, leaving her lower half bare beneath the hiked-up Sword Saint skirt.
Then he lowered himself between her legs, strong hands parting her thighs wider. His breath ghosted over her slick folds before his mouth descended, tongue delving straight into her heat like a man starved. He licked her exactly as he had licked Theresia in their youth—long, deliberate strokes from her entrance to her clit, pushing his tongue deep inside her clenching walls, tasting every inch of her sweetness. He groaned against her, the vibration sending shocks through her core, before sealing his lips around her swollen clit and sucking hard.
"Ahhn—! Oh… gods…!" Emilia cried out, hips bucking wildly as he pushed his tongue deeper, flicking and swirling relentlessly. He bit down gently on her clit—just enough pressure to make stars explode behind her eyelids—then soothed it with flat, hungry laps.
Wilhelm wanted her to cum like this. Needed her to shatter under his mouth, to flood his tongue with her release. His hands gripped her thighs tighter, holding her open as he devoured her, tongue thrusting in and out like a promise of what was to come.
Emilia's moans grew louder, more desperate—high-pitched whimpers and gasps that filled the room. Her fingers tangled in the red wig, back bowing as the coil in her belly tightened unbearably. "Haa—! I'm— I'm going to— nngh—!"
She came hard, pussy spasming around nothing as waves of pleasure crashed over her. A sharp, breathy cry escaped her lips—"Ahhhn!"—her juices gushing onto his tongue, body trembling in release.
But Wilhelm paused, lifting his head slightly, chin glistening with her essence. It wasn't right. In his memories, Theresia's climaxes had sounded different—deeper, more unrestrained. This was too timid, too Emilia.
"That was… close," he said quietly, voice thick with arousal. "But try to sound different. Longer, higher pitch. More enthusiastic. Like a drawn-out keen—eager, full of fire. As if you're begging for more without words."
Emilia nodded shakily, cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and lingering ecstasy. "O-okay… I'll try…"
Wilhelm dipped his head again, mouth returning to her oversensitive pussy with renewed focus. He licked her clean first—slow, savoring strokes—then dove back in, tongue pushing deep while his lips sucked her clit rhythmically. He bit down again, a little harder this time, making her jolt, then soothed with swirling laps that built the heat all over again.
Her pussy was drenched now, folds puffy and slick, almost ready to take him fully. But he wouldn't stop until she learned—until she sounded like Theresia, until the illusion was perfect.
Emilia's breaths came faster, hips grinding against his face. She focused, forcing her voice higher, longer—"Aaaahhn—! Yes… like that— haaa—!"—more enthusiastic, infused with that fiery passion he'd described.
Wilhelm hummed in approval against her clit, the vibration pushing her closer to the edge once more.
Emilia's second climax built faster under Wilhelm's relentless tongue—thrusting deep into her fluttering pussy, lips sucking greedily on her throbbing clit, teeth grazing just enough to send jolts of sharp pleasure through her core. She tried, gods she tried, to make the sound he wanted: longer, higher, more enthusiastic. Her hips ground against his face as the wave crested, and she let out a keening cry—"Aaaaahhn! Yes— more— haaaahn!"—body shuddering, juices flooding his mouth in hot, slick pulses.
But as she came down, panting and trembling, Wilhelm lifted his head, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. It was closer, but still not quite it. The sound lacked that raw, uninhibited edge from his memories. And then it hit him—why Theresia had always sounded so different, so desperate and full of fire.
He stood abruptly, the bed creaking under the shift of his weight. His hands went to the front of his trousers, unfastening the belt and buttons with deliberate slowness. The fabric parted, and he tugged them down along with his undergarments, freeing his cock. It sprang out, thick and veined, standing rigid and heavy with decades of pent-up need—easily eight inches long, girthy enough to strain most hands, the head flushed dark and already beading with precum.
Emilia's eyes widened, violet orbs locked on it in a mix of shock and naive curiosity. This was her first time seeing one—up close, real, throbbing. "It's… it's way too big," she whispered, voice small and breathless, cheeks burning beneath the red wig. "I don't know if it's going to fit… anywhere."
Wilhelm's gaze darkened, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Don't worry about that yet, Theresia. First… I want you to give me a blowjob. On your knees. On the floor."
Emilia swallowed hard, nodding shakily. She slid off the bed, knees hitting the cool wooden floor with a soft thud. The Sword Saint skirt hiked up around her thighs, her exposed pussy still glistening and sensitive from his earlier attentions. She knelt before him, face level with his impressive length, hands tentatively reaching out but hesitating.
"It's your first time," Wilhelm said, voice low and instructive, stepping closer so his cock brushed her lips. "No teeth. Keep them covered with your lips. Relax your throat. I'm going to push your head down, and you'll try your best to swallow as much as you can. Understand?"
"Y-yes… Wilhelm-san," she murmured, though the name felt wrong in this roleplay. She leaned forward, parting her lips and taking the head into her mouth experimentally—warm, salty, the skin velvet-smooth over steel hardness.
Wilhelm groaned softly, one large hand fisting in the red wig—gripping it firmly, dominatingly, just as he had with the real Theresia on those heated nights long ago. He guided her head down, pushing her mouth further onto his cock, inch by thick inch. "That's it… deeper, Theresia. Swallow around me."
Emilia's eyes watered slightly as she stretched her jaw wide, tongue swirling tentatively around the shaft. She bobbed her head under his control, sucking with growing eagerness as he thrust shallowly into her mouth, hand dominating her movements by the wig—pulling her down harder, faster, until the head bumped the back of her throat. She gagged softly at first, but tried to relax, swallowing as instructed, the wet, slurping sounds of her efforts filling the room alongside his low grunts of approval.
"Good girl… just like that…"
Wilhelm's grip tightened slightly on the red wig, dominating her movements with a firm but careful hand. He began to speed up her pace, guiding her head faster along his thick shaft—deeper with each bob, the head nudging insistently at the back of her throat.
"Relax your throat now, Theresia," he murmured, voice low and commanding, eyes half-lidded with building pleasure. "It's going to open for me. Don't worry—I'll tell you when I'm going to cum."
Emilia's eyes watered more, but she nodded as best she could around his cock, trying to breathe through her nose. She focused on his instructions, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his length, licking nice and steady—long, wet strokes that coated him in her saliva, making him glisten in the candlelight. The taste was salty, musky, overwhelming, but she kept going, knowing it needed to be wet for her later… for when he finally claimed her.
Wilhelm groaned deeply, hips rocking shallowly to meet her mouth. "Really good… just like that. You're doing so well, Theresia."
Her muffled whimpers vibrated around him as he pushed her limits, the wet slurps and gags growing louder, more rhythmic, filling the room with the intimate sounds of her first time submitting like this.
Wilhelm's grip on the red wig tightened, his hips thrusting faster now, guiding Emilia's head with increasing urgency. The pace picked up—relentless, demanding—his thick cock sliding deeper into her mouth with each bob, bumping the back of her throat. Emilia struggled to keep up, her jaw aching, muffled gags and wet slurps escaping around him as she tried to lick steadily, coating him in saliva just as he'd instructed.
"Good," Wilhelm groaned, voice rough with approval. "I need to teach you well so you can keep up, Theresia. You're learning fast."
Her sounds grew more desperate—choked whimpers and needy hums vibrating along his length—as tears welled in her violet eyes from the intensity. Wilhelm's breaths came heavier, muscles tensing.
"I'm going to cum," he warned, hand pushing her head down firmly, burying himself as deep as she could take. With a low, guttural growl, he erupted—hot, thick ropes of semen flooding her mouth, spilling down her throat.
Emilia's eyes watered fully now, tears streaking her cheeks as she swallowed what she could, the salty bitterness overwhelming her. Wilhelm held her there for a moment, catching his breath, then pulled back slowly.
"Perfect," he murmured, voice husky as he steadied himself. "You did great for your first time, Theresia."
Emilia gasped for air, some of the excess semen dribbling from her lips. She spat out what remained in her mouth—it was too much, too thick—but before she could recover, Wilhelm bent down and scooped her up from the floor like a princess, strong arms cradling her slight frame effortlessly. "I'm going to make you feel great in a couple of minutes," he promised, carrying her with surprising tenderness.
He laid her gently on the bed, the Sword Saint uniform still mostly intact around her body—the short skirt hiked up, the open jacket framing her exposed breasts. Wilhelm positioned himself between her legs in missionary, wanting—needing—to see her face, to watch Theresia's expressions play out on this borrowed form.
He shrugged off his top, revealing a body that defied his age: tough, well-built, and undeniably attractive. Broad shoulders, chiseled chest etched with scars from countless battles, abs rippling under taut skin—muscular and trained far more erotically than Subaru's lean frame could ever hope to be. Even as an old man, Wilhelm exuded raw, seasoned power, his physique honed like a blade, veins standing out on his arms and torso.
Emilia's breath hitched, eyes widening at the sight, but Wilhelm didn't give her time to dwell. He rubbed the head of his still-hard cock against her slick pussy—teasing her folds, coating himself in her wetness. "I'm going to put it in now," he said lowly, positioning himself at her entrance. "Are you ready, Theresia?"
While aligning, he reached down and gripped the remnants of her green panties and white tights—already pushed aside but now in the way. With a sharp tug, he ripped them off completely, the fabric tearing with a satisfying rip, discarding the shreds to the floor. Emilia still wore her long white Sword Saint boots, the rest of the outfit clinging to her—the red wig, the open jacket, the skirt—as the image drove Wilhelm's arousal to a fever pitch. The only thing she'd gotten wrong was the tights; Theresia had worn black ones with dark red vertical stripes, but it hardly mattered now.
He pressed forward, the thick head nudging inside her tight, virgin heat...
Wilhelm's powerful body hovered over her for a moment longer, his muscular frame—scarred and chiseled from a lifetime of battles—casting a shadow across Emilia's disguised form. The candlelight danced over his broad chest and rippling abs, making him look like a god of war descended upon her. He gripped his thick cock, rubbing the swollen head against her slick, virgin entrance one last time—teasing, promising—before his expression hardened with a mix of lust and reprimand.
"You got the tights wrong, Theresia," he growled lowly, voice thick with disapproval as he positioned himself. The white ones were too plain, too innocent; Theresia had worn black with those dark red vertical stripes, clinging to her legs like a second skin. "How could you forget? It ruins the illusion."
Emilia whimpered, her long white Sword Saint boots still on, framing her thighs as they trembled. "I-I'm sorry—"
But Wilhelm didn't wait for more. He knew there was no point in being too gentle—virgins needed to be opened, claimed, broken in properly for what came next. With a single, brutal thrust, he slammed forward, burying half his massive length inside her in one go. Her tight, untouched walls stretched painfully around him, ripping through her virginity like paper, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as blood and slick mingled.
"Aaaahhn—! It hurts—! Wilhelm-san—!" Emilia screamed, back arching violently off the bed, her full breasts heaving with the shock.
He lowered himself fully onto her then, his powerful body pinning her down like an unbreakable cage—chest crushing against her exposed tits, abs grinding into her soft belly, one massive arm braced beside her head while the other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise. She was trapped, helpless beneath his weight, every inch of his trained, erotic physique dominating her slight frame. He moved her head roughly with his free hand, fisting the red wig and forcing her mouth to his shoulder. "Bite," he commanded, voice a harsh whisper. "Bite hard and take it, Theresia. Scream into my skin if you must."
Emilia obeyed instinctively, teeth sinking into the taut muscle of his shoulder as he thrust deeper—pulling back only to ram forward again, forcing more of his girth into her clenching pussy. The pain was excruciating, a burning stretch that made her walls flutter and spasm around him, but it mixed with the lingering heat from his earlier touches, turning into a raw, intense pleasure that built with every brutal inch.
He continued his complaints even as he fucked her harder, hips snapping with relentless force, pounding deep into her core. "You need to do something about those eyes," he grunted, each word punctuated by a savage thrust that bottomed out inside her, his heavy balls slapping against her ass. "Make them blue—it would look so much better. Like hers. Violet's all wrong."
Emilia moaned into his shoulder, biting down harder as tears streamed down her face, her pussy clenching desperately around his invading cock. The deep penetration was merciless—his thickness splitting her open, hitting spots she didn't know existed, the head battering her cervix with every punishing drive. "Nngh—! Ahhn—! I-I'll try—!"
"And your face," Wilhelm snarled, pulling her head back by the wig to force her to look at him, his steel-gray eyes burning with obsessive fire. He didn't slow, hips pistoning faster, the bed creaking under the intensity. "I'd have to work on it—sculpt it more like Theresia's. Sharper cheeks, fuller lips. But gods, you're great like this. So fucking tight, so eager. Without those elf ears..." He reached up with one hand, roughly pinching and tugging at her pointed ears, making her yelp. "I hate them. Cut them off, round them—without them, you'd be far more sexy. Irresistible."
His compliments wove through the reprimands like thorns in silk, his voice rough and breathless as he hammered into her. "You're almost perfect, Theresia. So beautiful, so wet for me. Taking my cock like you were made for it. If only you made those little changes... you'd be flawless. My ideal."
Emilia's cries grew louder, more enthusiastic—long, high-pitched keens just as he'd taught her: "Aaaaahhn—! Yes— more— haaaahn—!" Her hips bucked up to meet his, pain giving way to overwhelming ecstasy, her ruined virginity forgotten in the flood of sensation. Blood trickled down her thighs, mixing with her arousal, making every thrust slicker, louder—wet, obscene slaps echoing in the room.
Wilhelm groaned deeply, feeling her walls milk him tighter with each deep penetration. "If I get you pregnant tonight," he rasped, pinning her wrists above her head now, his muscular body slamming down harder, faster, claiming every inch of her, "can you dye your hair red? For me? Stay like this... my Theresia..."
Emilia could only nod frantically, lost in the intensity, her body shattering around him as the first orgasm ripped through her—walls convulsing, squirting slick around his pounding cock. "Y-yes—! Anything—! Aaaahhn—!"
He didn't stop, driving through her climax, determined to fill her completely, to breed her as promised.
The intensity of Wilhelm's thrusts never wavered—each one a deep, punishing drive that split Emilia open, his thick cock stretching her virgin walls to their limit. But after some time, the sharp pain began to ebb, fading into a dull ache that blossomed into something else entirely: pleasure. Hot, insistent waves of it radiated from her core with every slam of his hips, her body betraying her with slick, eager clenches around him. There were no kisses, no tender caresses beyond what was necessary—just raw, hard thrusts interspersed with gentler rolls of his hips to loosen her up, to coax her tight pussy into yielding more.
Wilhelm's large hands gripped her body possessively, maneuvering her like a doll—lifting her hips higher, spreading her thighs wider with his knees, angling her so he could plunge even deeper. The long white Sword Saint boots dug into the mattress, her heels occasionally scraping his back as she writhed. "Deeper, Theresia," he grunted, voice rough with obsession, his muscular frame pinning her down while he repositioned her legs over his shoulders for better leverage. Every thrust bottomed out now, the head of his cock kissing her cervix, making her full breasts bounce wildly beneath the open jacket.
Emilia's cries shifted from pain to ecstasy—long, high-pitched keens that filled the room: "Aaaaahhn—! More— haaaahn—!" As she teetered on the edge of climax, her walls fluttering wildly, Wilhelm snarled, "Tighter. Clamp down on me, Theresia."
She obeyed instinctively, squeezing around him with all her might, and the moment her orgasm crashed over her—a shattering wave that made her squirt around his pounding length—he growled in approval. "Good. Just like that." He slowed then, drawing out the aftershocks with languid, deep strokes that teased her oversensitive folds, only to build back up—faster, tougher, slamming into her with renewed force that shook the bed frame.
He fucked her for hours, lost in the illusion, his mind consumed by memories of Theresia. The candle burned low, wax pooling on the nightstand as sweat slicked their bodies. Emilia came again and again—three times, four—each release more intense than the last, her voice hoarse from the enthusiastic sounds he demanded. But her high heels were digging too deep into his back, leaving red welts on his scarred skin.
With a frustrated grunt, Wilhelm pulled out briefly, flipping her onto her side. He lifted one of her booted legs high, draping it over his shoulder while he straddled the other, re-entering her in a single, brutal thrust. The new angle let him hit even deeper, his balls slapping against her ass as he rutted into her like an animal. "Stay still," he commanded, hand fisting the red wig to hold her in place. Emilia's moans turned desperate, her pussy clenching greedily as he chased his own release.
After nearly three hours—his stamina a testament to his swordsman's discipline—he finally snapped back to reality, the haze of Theresia lifting just enough for him to remember why they were here. With a final, savage series of thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt and came—hot, thick ropes of semen flooding her womb, pulsing deep inside her as her walls milked him dry. He groaned low and long, body shuddering atop her.
When he withdrew at last, a wet, obscene schlick echoed in the quiet room as his softening cock slipped free, a thick trail of semen oozing from her abused pussy, dripping down her thighs onto the sheets.
Emilia collapsed fully then, rolling onto her stomach in exhaustion. She was still dressed in the disheveled Sword Saint uniform—the red wig askew, the jacket barely covering her heaving breasts, skirt hiked up to expose her lower half. Her pussy was visibly full, puffy and red, leaking his seed in slow, creamy rivulets.
Wilhelm stood, breathing heavily, pulling on his trousers with mechanical efficiency. "That's enough for today," he said quietly, voice steady once more. "Stay like that—on your stomach. It gives the seed a better chance to take. Fighter's chance of getting you pregnant."
Emilia made a soft, muffled sound into the pillow—half whimper, half acknowledgment—too spent to move or speak properly. The wine and the marathon had left her hazy, body aching in ways she couldn't yet process.
Wilhelm spared her one last glance, the illusion shattered but the duty done. He turned the key in the door and slipped out into the darkened hallway, leaving her alone in the candlelit room.
The morning light filtered through the high windows of the Crusch manor, casting a soft glow over the breakfast table where the group had gathered one last time before departures. But the air was thick with unspoken tension—awkward, heavy, like a storm cloud no one dared name.
Emilia moved slowly, her steps hesitant and pained, as if every muscle in her lower body protested the motion. She tried to hide it, forcing a bright smile as she lowered herself into her chair with exaggerated care, but Crusch's sharp golden eyes missed nothing. The duchess arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow, setting down her teacup with a soft clink.
"Emilia-sama," Crusch said, voice laced with concern, "you seem... unwell this morning. Did you sleep poorly? Or is it something from last night's wine?"
Emilia's cheeks flushed a deep crimson beneath the remnants of her disguise—though she'd removed the wig and uniform hours ago, slipping back into her usual silver-haired elegance before dawn. She waved a hand dismissively, though her thighs ached with every shift. "Oh, no, no! Just... a restless night. Strategy talks ran long in my head, you know? I'm fine, really."
Wilhelm, seated at the far end of the table with his usual stoic posture, kept his eyes fixed on his plate. He cut into his eggs with mechanical precision, not a word about the previous evening crossing his lips. The old knight had risen early, as always, but today his silence carried an extra weight. He avoided Emilia's gaze entirely, focusing instead on the mundane—refilling Crusch's tea, commenting mildly on the weather. Anything to steer clear of the elephant in the room.
Emilia mirrored him, her responses to Crusch clipped and polite, her fork trembling slightly in her hand. The memories flashed unbidden: the intensity, the hours of raw passion, the way her body had been claimed so thoroughly. It had been duty, nothing more—but gods, the soreness lingered like a brand.
They departed shortly after, the Emilia camp's carriage rolling away from the manor gates under a crisp blue sky. No lingering goodbyes, no unnecessary words. Wilhelm watched from the courtyard, hands clasped behind his back, his face an unreadable mask. Emilia glanced back once through the window, their eyes meeting for a fleeting second—gratitude, regret, and something unspoken passing between them—before she looked away.
Weeks turned into months. The royal selection marched on, Emilia's star rising higher with each passing day. And then, one quiet afternoon, a single letter arrived at the Crusch estate, sealed with that familiar silver wax. Wilhelm opened it in the privacy of his quarters, the parchment unfolding with a soft rustle.
Dear Wilhelm-san,
I hope this finds you well. Subaru and I wanted to thank you—from the depths of our hearts—for what you did that night. It was a sacrifice none of us will ever forget.
The healers have confirmed it: success. I'm going to be a mother. The child grows strong within me, a future heir for Lugnica. Subaru is overjoyed, though he hides it behind his usual bluster. We've already begun telling the world it's ours—his and mine. No one suspects otherwise.
I'm sorry we've avoided you these past months. It's still... awkward. What happened between us lingers in ways we didn't expect. Subaru struggles with it most, but even I... well, thank you for that night. It was something I'll remember always—not with shame, but with quiet respect for the man who made it bearable.
If fate allows, perhaps one day we can look upon each other without shadows. Until then, know that the Astrea house has our eternal gratitude.
With warm regards, Emilia
Wilhelm read it twice, then folded the letter carefully and tucked it into a hidden drawer.