I, Horsedick

You lead Princess Matilda into the castle, ably guiding her through the modest yet dignified castle despite technically being as much of a newcomer as she is. From your viewpoint straddling the blurred lines of your home-not-home, you're struck by the concept of a 'low hurdle'. Here's a totally random example: As you took in your village, you were actually mildly impressed that the adult, fertile, female population seemed to only be around fifty percent impregnated. That's practically restrained from what you've seen and, frankly, come to personally accept is reasonable. Good on Horsedick for keepin'm guessing!

Then you poked your head into the castle and were immediately greeted by your small, cheerful, and as far as you can tell, one hundred percent knocked up staff.

Seven bright young maids blush and wave with the hand not cupping little baby bumps before being shooed back to work by the matronly yet voluptuous housekeeper who spares you a sultry wink before gliding away, cradling a swollen belly of her own. The two kitchen girls squish their growing breasts against your chest as they crane up to give you a hello kiss, though by the peachy-pink lip marks on their cheeks you can tell Roan got to them before you did. There's a near miss when the groom wanders in from the stable, brushing off his livery and giving you a cheerful wave. Then 'he' takes off her hat and shakes loose long tresses of golden hair, and sure enough her stomach bulges proudly through those breeches

You're almost surprised a buxom butler with a giant fake mustache doesn't bumble down the stairs with a baby suckling from each tit. Wait, is that hot? Maybe find out what Roan thinks about fake mustaches.

Matilda must be beyond desensitized to the ever-revealing scope of your brood, because she seems quite charmed with your castle. "This is so nice! In some ways it reminds me of my own castle, but it is so much more a home." She pauses, tilting her head to peer at you questioningly. "Though, I suppose I thought it would be a bit more...exotic? Maybe that's silly. But we always heard that your people were very different from ours."

You shrug as you start down the grand hallway, leading Matilda by the arm. "Not so different, Matilda. But I can understand why you'd be confused. This is my home, and these are my people but this is not where I was born and these are not the people I was born to."

The princess raises her eyebrows at that. "Oh! Oh, I see. Why were you sent away, then?" She gasps lightly, pressing a small hand to your chest. "Ah, what a rude question! My apologies!"

"You aren't being rude. I can't imagine you being rude. I will give you a_n_y horse from the stables if you can be rude right now."

Matilda's eyes widen and she stammers for a moment, drawing a blank. She tries to find inspiration in the a nearby chair, and the tasteful tapestries lining your walls, but is stymied at every turn by her blasted tact. At length she opts for a desperation move, turning around and waving frantically at the maid walking by. The pretty little thing peers over at Matilda politely, hands resting on her swollen tummy, as the princess stares back at helplessly. The maid grows more and more confused as Matilda grows red with effort, shooting worried glances your way as your companion struggles with her challenge. Just when it seems that the maid is about to continue on, and all is lost, Matilda wildly points at her and cries out in urgent fervor.

"BUTTS!!"

The maid stares up at the victorious, panting Matilda for a long moment, her cry of 'Butts' echoing endlessly through the castle halls. Then, she scurries off giggling and the princess throws her arms high in triumph.

You bow with all the grace of defeated royalty, your face somber and your tone sportsmanlike. "I was a fool to ever doubt your vulgarity."

Matilda is as puffed up as a peacock as she smugly loops her arm back through yours. "I'm going to pick a big horse. I am so sick of ponies.

"Aren't we all."

You're both all smiles as you reach the end of the hallway and you stride forward to throw open the ornate double doors before you. You're stopped, however, when an old woman who owns what may very well be the castles sole unoccupied womb bursts forth and immediately begins berating you.

She's clearly from the same people as you and Roan, her hearty frame and coal-black hair untouched by the ravages of her advanced age. She'd be short next to Roan, though she has more than a few inches on Matilda, but is very nearly as broad as you are, like some sort of boulder brought to life and told its grandchildren are misbehaving. Matilda seems stricken as the old woman prods a thick finger into your chest, having apparently moved past your lack of courtesy in announcing your arrival to your lack of sense in packing so few wet weather clothes. But Nan, you consider interjecting, there's been no rain! No matter, she's already moved on to the indisputable FACT that you have not been eating enough. You try not to smile as you gamely bear the **** of the **** because you know Roan's old Nan, and you know that would only renew the wrath currently raining down on your head.

Eventually the old juggernaut has to take a breath, and you sieze the opportunity to take the old woman who practically raised you-not-you by the shoulders and give her a kiss on the cheek. "It is good to see you too, Nan. Maybe I introduce Princess Matilda?"

She grumbles, waving you off irritably as Matilda squeaks and tries to smooth out her entirely smooth skirts. She needn't have bothered, however. The moment Nan sets eyes on Matilda a miraculous transformation takes place before your very eyes, the terrifying old woman cooing in approval as she takes the utterly blindsided princess's hands. "Ohh, isn't she the most proper little duckling! So sweet, so well-mannered..." She sighs regretfully, "Just like you when the prince was little...before I unleashed that half-mad sparrow Roan on the poor boy, Gods shame me."

Her doting expression takes a serious turn. "Though I will you've gotten your fill of yelling 'Butts' in my hallways, hmm?"

The color completely drains from the mortified Matilda as she frantically nods, a silvery laugh ringing from inside the chamber. "Ahaha, 'Butts'! That is the best!"

Nan turns around in a fury, roaring as she stamps into the room. "I will never forgive you if my little angels start saying 'Butts', Roan! NEVER!"

You can't keep the grin off your face as you follow the rampaging Nan, pulling the still-stunned Matilda in after you. Inside are what can only be the master bedchambers, furnished with the same modest taste as the rest of the castle but on a significantly grander scale that most nobles find they require. You suppose their bedchambers don't have the same attendance numbers that you and Roan manage.

The aforementioned valet-slash-mistress of the castle is currently propped up against the headboard of your castle bed with eyes shining and face aglow with happiness, her outrage over your baby naming snafu apparently forgiven. And you don't have to guess very long to place the source of her contentment. The young woman cradles a big, admirably healthy infant to her pert breast, the child peacefully suckling as she strokes the head of a stoic toddler with impressively bushy eyebrows who lifts his chubby arms towards you the moment he spies you enter the room. Matilda is instantly baby-smitten, the princess all but jabbering her praise of the little princes.

You, however, are very quiet as you lift the boy, the typically serious child giggling in delight as he towers above the room in your strong arms. You've seen more pregnant stomachs than you can count, and you thought you'd fully accepted the fact that they were yours, timeline be damned. But this is the first time you have actually seen one of your children, have actually held a child in your arms and known he was yours. You're quiet as little Phillip babbles and grabs a handful of your hair, and it's not because you're shocked, or uncomfortable, or unmoved.

It's because at this very moment, you've made the final decision that there is no Princes Horsedick, and there is no 'You'. You are a single person, and this is your family. You still remember your life before, just as you remember Horsedick's past, and honestly you couldn't say who took the place of who. Not that you care. This right here? This is your everything, and there is no going back.

Roan beams up at the both of you, eyes shimming with watery happiness. Then she winces, and gives a put-upon sigh and glances reproachfully at the infant at her breast. "Well, Andrew's drained me. If this next one is even half as greedy as his brothers, we'll need to bring even more nurses in from the Guild. Speaking of which."

The young mother takes hold of a nearby rope, giving it a quick pull to send a bell chime tinkling through the hallway. A few moments pass before the doors creak open and a young woman with red hair sticking out of her mob cap and one of the biggest racks you have ever seen squeezes demurely into the room.

She trots over to the bedside, her enormous breasts wobbling and straining against her top so proudly that her pink areola are plainly visible around the flaps that are fastened over her huge, lightly throbbing teats She primly takes baby Andrew from Roan and expertly unfastens one of her blouse's flaps, allowing her milk-beading nipple and enough titflesh for a Victoria's Secret model to ooze out of the small window. Her cute, taut little belly is all but hidden under her avalanche of boob, but you zero in on it immediately as Roan cheerfully remarks to a wide-eyed Matilda. "We've got something of a working relationship with the Wetnurse's Guild. They provide the castle with their most promising apprentices, and in return the prince helps given them that final bit of 'ripening' before they set out on their own."

The wetnurse brightly responds as your infant son greedily suckles her massive udder, ignoring the sympathy stream from her other tit that is soaking her entire front. "I'm up two sizes and I've tripled output since I started to show! The offers I'm getting from expecting households are so rich, I'll finally be able to ensorcell myself up a second set of breasts!"

Matilda is at a lost for words, but is too polite to leaving the radiantly milky girl hanging. "Oh, um, that's just lovely!"

Roan sighs, stretching out as the wetnurse gathers the infant and her rack up in her arms to fit through the cracked doorway. "Well this has all timed out perfectly, if I do say so myself. I am fairly certain that was my water breaking just now."

Matilda gasps in shock and delight, body seizing up. "Ah!! What do we do?!"

Nan pats the young princess on the head indulgently before starting to roll up her sleeves. "Now now duckling, this is Roan's third go around and I've birthed scores of babies over my years, including eight of my own. You just leave this all to us, yes?"

Roan serenely splays her fingers over her belly. "Maybe I'll name him Butts."

Nan roars out in fury, "DON'T YOU DARE NAME MY LITTLE ANGEL BUTTS YOU HORRIBLE GIRL!"

Home is a stupid, beautiful, insane thing.