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The Royal Line Pt. 01

By: abbotemily



Prologue:

From 'A History of House Greyleon' written by Scribe Baxtus in year 1213 of the Age of Truth:

King Potent of House Greyleon, 19th king of the Rivenlands, was sealed to his name, as was traditional, by the sacrifice of a white bull. The beast in question was, according not only to the more biased Palace Records, but also to the scribes of the Drover's Guild, of unusual size strength and size, particularly about its prodigious loins, which one scribe blasphemously compared in length and breadth to Orobu, the World Serpent. In any event, the ritual was to prove very efficacious, for never was a scion of Greyleon more truly named than this King Potent.

The king was wed at twenty years, only a fortnight after completing the Vigil of Manhood. His wife was the Lady Callipygia of House Shoareave, at the time a most prominent family for the controlled not only the rich fishing grounds of Bellegost Bay, but also the mines of the Diamond Isle. The lady was fully two years Potent's junior, and by all accounts was a lovely creature, blue of eye and raven-haired. She conceived within a month (Cottonhead, the royal fool, claimed with a minute) of the marriage ceremony and miraculously bore the king not one but five healthy sons. The wonder did not cease there however; the next year the young queen produced five newborn princesses, and five more the year after that. Things continued in this wise until the queen's seventieth year, at which point time at last stopped up the flow of her moon's blood. 

The king's desire for her was unabated however and the two spent their remaining years in relatively seclusion, seldom leaving their private chambers and spending long stretches at their private estate of Windlewoods. The governance of the kingdom during these years fell largely upon the shoulders of Lord Condign of House Inhren, Potent's boyhood friend and the Warden of the Rivenlands. Knaves referred to the incorruptible Condign as Old Ironneck but few questioned the wisdom of his decisions. Condign's greatest challenge was doubtless the political miasma created by the surfeit of royal heirs, though he was known to say, when pressed, that of Potent's two hundred and sixty offspring, perhaps six were truly dangerous. When pressed further, he would nevertheless refuse to say whom those six might be.

Chapter One: Satin 

Satin moved through chilly halls of Castle Grey with a silence and poise that would have startled his combat instructors, who thought the prince as clumsy with his limbs and he seemed to be graceful with his tongue. He paused a few yards before his passageway joined with another one, checking for the telltale change in light quality that indicated that the ensconced torches were being disturbed by the slight breeze of another human's passage. Satisfied that the coast was clear, he proceeded. 

Silently, he counted off the ironbound doors that ran along the right hand side of the corridor. Even for someone born and raised there, Castle Grey could be a warren. Which, given a certain rabbit-like tendency on the part of its owners, struck Satin as thoroughly appropriate. 

He paused at the ninth door and, after once again assuring himself of his privacy, bent his eye to its keyhole. The torches in the room beyond were extinguished, but the banked fire upon the hearth bathed the scene in a rosy glow. A young woman sat in a padded rocking chair, her eyes closed but her hands folded so neatly across her belly that one could hardly have supposedly she truly slept. Beside her stood a cradle of the same honey-colored wood as the clothes press and the changing table, decorated with inlays of mother-of-pearl. The rug on the floor was downy sheepskin, good for when the infant would begin to crawl. 

The babe in question was, Satin knew, the very youngest of his brothers, Prince Ultimate, whose name had been bound to him only that afternoon with the usual sacrifice of a white bull. It occurred to Satin to wonder if his parents had ushered in a new age of prosperity for the drovers, by so increasing the demand for their choicest animals. Now bull, roasted and spiced, was being served to those assembled in the great hall along with for of its fellows, a great feast in honor of the youngest litter of Greyleon princes. Prince Satin had, uncharacteristically, attended only briefly before slipping away. He had more succulent meats in mind. 

Now Ultimate began to whimper, a surprisingly low and urgent complaint. The woman in the rocking chair stirred at once, confirming Satin's suspicion that she had been less than fully adoze. She crossed to the cradle, her bare feet sinking into the down of the rug, and bent over it. Her pale blond hair fell down to form a shining curtain. The firelight caused it to glow the color of a fine white wine. She plucked the princeling from his blankets and settled back onto her rocking chair, speaking to the child in soft, crooning voice. 

"Hush now little love, hush now. You're safe and sound in a nice big palace. Nothing's going to hurt you."

Satin had to strain his ears to catch her words, but even so he thought he could detect a hint of melancholy. When the babe did not quiet, the woman sighed, and fumbled one-handed at the sash that held her heavy woolen robe in place. A thrill of anticipation shot through Satin's body. At last the sash parted, and the woman pulled the top of her robe open. 

Now, it was true enough that House Greyleon had a long tradition of hiring well-endowed wet-nurses, but this young woman—Mona Ferrier she was called—had something beyond the ordinary. Her long, thick nipples were the same rose petal pink as her sensuously full lips, an already beads of creamy milk were begin to spill from them, as if in eager anticipation. With a happy grunt, young Ultimate fastened onto one of these nipples and began greedily to suckle. His head was comically dwarfed by the bulk of the breast her fed from, as indeed would have been the head of a full-grown man. Or a full-grown cave bear. Each breast was a vast mountain of pillowy flesh, porcelain white and trembling. 

Mona let her doe-like brown eyes roll closed and leaned back in her chair, savoring the feeling of release as the tiny princeling relieved her breasts of some of their heavy burden of milk. The sight was driving Satin practically wild. He could feel his cock straining at the fabric of his loincloth. As silently as he knew how, Satin eased the ironbound door open with hands that trembled slightly. By rights, it should have been locked, but then again, by rights it should have had guards posted outside of it. Satin had long ago realized the usefulness of bribery. 

The sheepskin made Satin's careful footsteps all but noiseless as he entered the nursery, but as he drew close to Mona, she stirred, alerted by some subtler sense to the fact that was being watched. Those liquid brown eyes flew open and widened in alarm as she caught sight of the prince. 

"Your highness!" she gasped, striving to cover her chest with robe but finding that she was hampered by little Ultimate, who clung to her enormous breast like a particularly determined lamprey. 

"Miss Ferrier," said Satin, smoothly. "What a pleasure it is to see you."

Mona succeeding in extracting her nipple from Ultimate gums with an audible popping noise, which sent tremors through the whole mountain of her breast. She blushed a deep red, the warm flow slow spreading from her round cheeks down her neck and across her glorious bosom. Satin tried his best not to drool.

Face still burning, Mona stood, edged her way around Satin without looking at him and deposited Ultimate back in his crib. The child gurgled once and then closed his eyes in preparation for further sleep. Her back still towards Satin, Mona began to pull her robe back on.

"Please," said Satin, "Don't dress on my account. I'm really a quite informal person."

Mona froze in place, half in half out of the garment. The blood rushing through her ears sounded unnaturally loud. She heard a rustle of silks as Prince Satin stepped closer, and smelled the scent he wore, sandalwood and balsam, with a hint of something like lilies. It was altogether different from the rough smells of the men she was used to. Her father had smelled of sweat and cattle, her husband of coal and of horses, and both men had often reeked of drink. 

A soft, hand with long, deft fingers was laid upon her bare right shoulder, causing her to break out all over in gooseflesh. The hand slid slowly up the white curve of neck, running those long fingers through her corn silk hair, and then down the other side until it encountered the fold of thick wool where the neck of her robe met its left sleeve, through which her arm was till thrust. The hand brushed the bunched cloth from her as one might brush bust off a polished statue and the robe slithered at last to the floor.

Satin surveyed Mona's rear aspect, his heart beginning to pound insistently against his ribs. He could smell her now, the soft scents of milk and lavender that clung to her skin and her white-gold hair. The swell of round buttocks was as nothing to her colossal chest, but even so the mere sight of it caused Satin's already rock-hard cock to jut forward by almost another inch. The only detail that jarred was the scars.

They were the long straight scars left by a horsewhip, not the crazy crisscrossing that a cat would leave, and they ran, Satin could now see, from the nape of Mona's neck down the little dimples where her spine became her rump. Most were faded to fine silvery lines, but three still out raw and red, held together by the special alchemical glue that the surgeons used. 

"What happened?" asked Satin. His voice was gentle but as yet contained no trace of pity. 

Mona trembled as she replied, causing her buttocks to quiver invitingly. "I spoke out of turn to by husband."

"I see," Satin replied. He voice remained curiously empty. "You lost your child?"

Mona nodded quickly and spoke with a voice that seemed to catch in her throat. "The pain...it...things started happening and by the time the midwife arrived it was too late. She said it might have happened anyway, but I didn't care. I ran away."

"Here. To Greyport." It wasn't a question.

Mona nodded again. "I was still making milk something fierce, so I put out the word that if any needed a wet-nurse, I'd gladly serve. And one of the Castle's footmen heard about me and...well, here I am." Then added hastily, "Your highness." 

"What was you husband's name, Mona?"

"Your highness?" 

"Your name for example is Mona Ferrier, as I discovered from the footman who brought to Castle Grey. Your husband would then be..."

"Logan Ferrier, you highness."

"Very good," purred Satin. He still had not removed his hand from Mona's shoulder. Now he turned her gently to face him. Faint stretch marks could still be seen on her belly, if one could tear one's eyes away from the spectacle of her divine bosom, but her round face was unlined. She couldn't have been more than nineteen. 

"And do you know my name, pretty Mona?" asked Satin. "You seem to know my rank, but I've brothers aplenty and to spare."

"Yes your highness," Mona burbled. She felt strangely warm and boneless are the prince's hazel gaze. "You're Prince Mai...I should say Prince Satin."

Satin arched a sable eyebrow. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing, your highness."

"Mona, you're blushing again. It is most fetching but does little to improved your credibility." 

"I'm naked, your highness."

"I am keenly alive to this fact, but I will be answered."

There was a long pause, in which only the crackling of the hearth fire could be heard. Then Mona spoke. "Prince Maiden, your highness. Its what the serving men and the guards call you sometimes, because they think you look like a girl."

Satin withdrew his hand, which had been drifting ever so slowly southwards from its resting place on Mona's bare shoulder, and took a half step back form her, cocking his head to one side.

"And do you agree with them?" he asked. 

Mona raised her eyes from the sheepskin rug and studied the prince. 

He was scarcely taller than she, beardless, and built like dancer. He wore a doublet of powder blue velvet trimmed with sable and a topaz drop through his left ear. Like his mother, his eyes were blue and his black hair hung in elegant ringlets. His skin was smooth and clean, his lips full. He did not look like Mona's idea of a man. She felt a warmth begin in the pit of her stomach, quite unrelated to the blushes still crimsoning her face and neck. It spread like a licking candle flame, up to breasts until her nipples stood out hard as acorns and down to her loins, making her a little light headed. She could not remember a man who had moved her to such hunger. 

"No, your highness," Mona breathed. 

"Do I look like a man, then?" asked Satin, curiously.

"No, your highness," said Mona, her voice low and husky. "But I'd wager you'll taste like one."

She knelt down then, her knees cushioned by the warm sheepskin, and reached out to grasp Satin by the bulging crotch of his silk hoes. 

"God's horns," she blasphemed, as she drew him closer. "You could hang a pail of milk from it."

"And you could supply the milk," Satin observed. His normally light, sardonic voice had gone deep and throaty. Mona glanced down and saw that, indeed, pearly droplets had begun to ooze from her taught nipples. Somehow, the sight only aroused her further. Some animal part of her howled its triumph, exulting that it had found a mate to give it more babes to suckle. Mona began to tear wildly at Satin's hoes with her trembling fingers. Laces and loincloth gave way, and out sprung the prince's erect cock.

"God's horns and hooves," Mona swore again. She grasped Satin's cock gingerly, as if afraid it might vanish like a dream on waking, and pressed it wonderingly to he side of her face (she could feel the heat radiating into her cheek from the hard, throbbing flesh) placing her chin at the very base of the shaft, so that it was tickled by Satin's other, equally dark and curly hairs. Then, slowly, she felt up along the cock's length. She could not believe it; his cock was longer than her whole head by at least a handspan and so thick that her thumb could not meet her fingers as she clutched it. 

"If your father was hung so," Mona whispered, "They named him well indeed." 

Satin was on the point of making some clever remark, when Mona began to lick the head of his cock, and his words escaped him in a rattling sigh of delight. She kissed it and stroked it with her hot, wet tongue. Satin moaned, and Mona felt the warmth within her flare up to a bonfire blaze. She wrapped her full lips around the prince's enormous, throbbing cock and began to slurp on it as though she would consume it. Little rivulets of her own drool mingled with Satin's precum coursed down her chin and throat to spatter her huge, heaving breasts with bright and sticky drops. 

Satin twined his fingers through her white gold hair, gripping her fiercely but not cruelly. Inside her mouth, Mona's tongue writhed and twisted, trying to lick every inch of hard hot flesh, though Satin's girth left her little room to maneuver. Unable to help himself, Satin began to pump his hips, thrusting his cock deeper into Mona's hungry mouth. Mona knew a moment of fear as her body tried to gag, but then it passed and the prince's huge cock was sliding up and down her throat in smooth strokes. She could feel her gorge distending with each thrust, bulging outwards, as if she'd swallowed too large a mouthful. She gave a muffled growl, a low thrumming that Satin felt rather than heard, felt it running up the length of his shaft and into his stomach, feeling him with heat. He stared down into her wide brown eyes and was amazed by the intensity of lust that burned there.

Then Mona reached up from where she knelt and seized each of Satin's smooth buttocks in her two hands. She dragged on them as he thrust forward, forcing his cock even deeper into her gullet, until her each stroke was pressing her nose into the lean muscles of the prince's abdomen. Satin's balls were slapping rhythmically against Mona's chin. It was too much for him. 

He came, explosively. Semen, hot and thick, was pumped straight into Mona's stomach. It seemed to glow inside her, like strong brandy. A second spurt, like the aftershock of an earthquake, filled her mouth as he began to pull out, and a third painted her plump lips and dribbled off her chin. The final gush fell on her colossal breasts, mingling with the creamy milk that still oozed from her rock hard nipples. 

"God's hooves, that was..." Satin began, but Mona gave him no time to recover. She lifted her breasts—no mean feat for each utterly swamped the hand that supported it—and engulfed the prince's cock in them. She gripped her own nipples firmly and squeezed, causing more milk to pour out, like water escaping from a bursting dam. She bathed her breasts and Satin's cock in the milk, making everything slick and wet and warm. Then she began to rub his cock between her breasts enthusiastically. 

Satin's cock went from flaccid to rocklike so fast that a drop of milk was flicked from the end of it to spatter against Mona's already sticky lips. She licked it up with a wide, satisfied smile and continued to knead her breasts. Warm mountains of smooth, slick flesh rubbed back and forth across every inch of Satin's massive cock. He moaned and gasped, his head swimming.

"I'll come again if you don't stop," he warned. 

"In me," Mona managed to gasp. She dragged the prince to the floor, where he lay on his back, his curly hair very black against the sheepskin rug. Mona straddled him, positioning herself above the high tower of his cock. Then, slowly, she lowered herself onto him. She made a strangled little cooing noise as his long shaft slid slowly into her. Satin's girth strained the walls of her cunt, stretching her wider and wider. With an effort, she crammed the last few inches of hot, hard flesh inside, bringing her dripping wet lips down to the very base of Satin's cock. Never before had Mona felt so gloriously full.

Satin reached up to grab a vast milky breast in each hand. His hands were soft but his grip hard, as he fondled her, delighting in the way his finger disappeared into the pillowy bulk, a drawing his thumbs roughly across Mona's stiff nipples. Creamy drops appeared. With sticky fingers, Satin began to rub still faster and was rewarded with a veritable gush. Mona purred and began to bounce up and down on Satin's cock.

She came on the third stroke, a spasm of ecstasy that broke over her like a cresting wave. Another followed close on its heels. Satin could feel her cunt convulse, squeezing him tighter. Purple spots flickered before his vision as he too came. Mona cried aloud as she felt the eruption inside her and slumped forward, collapsing onto Satin's heaving chest. 

They lay quietly for a space, while the sweat cooled on their naked bodies, making them glad of warmth of each other and of the hearth. Satin ran his fingers through Moan's white gold hair and she snuggled closer to him, burying her nose in the hollow under his collarbone. 

"You know," the prince said at length, "It's something of a miracle that we didn't wake my little brother."

"Hardly," Mona replied. "There's no babe that could help but sleep with a bellyful of my milk."

"Oh?" asked Satin, hefting one her heavy breasts and raising it to his lips. "Shall I test that claim?"

Mona shivered in delight as his tongue brushed her nipple. "Please do," she whispered. 

***

Many hours later, long after most of Castle Grey was well abed, John Umber was disturbed by a knock at his study door. Being an assassin by profession, John Umber took a different view of the world than many people and so he did not immediately leap to his feet to find out what emergency was so urgent that he had to be sought out in the middle of the night. Instead he rose, slowly and quietly, from his arm chair, carefully obscured the coded document he has actually been studying under a map of the realm, drew one of the flat daggers hidden about his person, and only then eased his door open.


The Royal Line Pt. 01



In the doorway, stood Prince Satin. John gave a little sigh, in which relief and resignation were nicely mingled. 

"Your highness?" he inquired. Studying the prince, more closely, John noticed that he was disheveled, not at all usual for Satin. His curly hair was mussed and his doublet hung open over his bare chest. John decided not to mention this. Castle Grey was a place where it paid not to notice certain details. 

"I have another little job for you, Umber," Satin said. His speech was crisp and John detected no whiff of drink about him. Still, there was something...

"Yes you highness?" the assassin said aloud.

"I want you to seek out a man called Logan Ferrier."



The Royal Line Pt. 02



Duchess Delicacia of Brinmoore sat demurely by the hearth of her tower room, plying her needle. Her husband, the young Duke Bold, stood at the window with the shutters thrown wide, letting the cool night air wash over him. 

"I hate it here at court," Bold said savagely. "Endless councils and feasts and Lord Condign swooping around everywhere like an overgrown vulture."

"We could hardly avoid attending the celebration of my brothers' birth," Delicacia pointed out, in reasonable tones. She had indeed been the Princess Delicacia of House Greyleon until her wedding earlier that year.

Bold sighed heavily, unmollified. "You have endless brothers," the eighteen-year old complained. "And now they are all my brothers as well, though I can't even recall a tithe of their names. It really is too bad."

"Well, I doubt I shall get any more at least," said Delicacia. "The wise women have declared my mother's child bearing years over at last."

Bold was not listening. "But if it was only staying for the babes' naming rites, I shouldn't mind so much. But now it seems I've been roped in to attend another of Condign's damned hearings on the state of the navy. I could be out boar hunting back on our estates, not listening to clerks drone on about timber prices and harbor depths."

"Well," began Delicacia who had spent most of the feast that night in tacit negotiations that had earned Bold a seat at that hearing, "Brinmoore does stand to be one of the greatest gainers if the King can be convinced that his lords should be allowed to form their own fleets."

"Does it?" asked Bold listlessly. Then, "You know, I bet the new mastiff pups will be born while we're here. I hope Abernathy looks after them properly."

"I'm sure he will," said Delicacia soothingly. "And yes, it does. You just have to stress to Lord Condign how much we need those ships to combat pirate raids. If you can convince him it's a matter of national security..."

"Oh Deli," Bold sighed, turning away from the window. "You know I'll never remember what to say. I'll just end up sitting there with my head in my hands, wishing I was out hunting hares with Frost and Dancer."

Delicacia put down her needlepoint and stood. She was a tall, graceful woman of twenty-seven years, with her mother's deep blue eyes. "You can see your falcons soon enough. For now, you need to be my strong, shrewd husband and make sure we get those ships."

"It's no use," Bold insisted, coming and settling himself in the seat Delicacia had vacated. She suppressed a sigh and went to close the shutters. The stars shone down coldly from a black velvet sky. She fastened the catch with a click and made up her mind in the same instant. It was time for drastic measures. She turned back to face Bold, who was staring moodily into the flickering flames.

"What if I promised you a very special treat?" she said.

"What?" said Bold, glancing up.

"If you can promise me you'll remember to tell Lord Condign why Brinmoore needs its own fleet, I might have a very special treat for you," Delicacia said, injecting a slight purr into the harmonics of her voice as she stalked towards her young husband.

"Like what?" Bold asked. The Duchess saw the pulse in his throat quicken. 

"Anything your heart," Delicacia glanced down at the growing bulge between Bold's legs as she spoke the word, "desires."

Bold wetted his lips with his tongue. When he spoke, there was a slight tremor in his voice. "Well, I don't know Deli. I have you already. What more could my heart desire than that?"

"You have me?" Delicacia asked, settling herself on the arm of Bold's chair. "Or you have had me?"

"Both, I suppose," Bold mumbled. 

"But there are so many ways a man can have a woman," Delicacia pointed out. "Not just as a man has his wife, but as a stallion has his mare. As a hound has his bitch..."

She heard the sharp intake of breath from Bold, and she grinned, wide and wicked. 

"You'd let me..." Bold stopped. He tried again, "You'd do that for me?"

"Get us those ships, husband, and I'll do that and more for you every night of our lives." 

Bold reached out and pulled Delicacia down off the chair's arm and onto his lap. She could feel the hot spar of his cock through the layers of fabric, pressing against the flesh of her thighs. He buried his face in her night black hair.

"Oh Deli..." he whispered reverently.

Delicacia sighed contentedly and leaned back into the circle of his arms. Bold had broad, muscular arms and the chest and shoulders to match, along with a head of chestnut curls and a round, perpetually boyish face. The duchess considered that she could have done far worse for herself. 

She turned her head and ran her tongue along the line of Bold's jaw. She felt him shiver in delight. 

"Are you satisfied with my terms, your grace?" she whispered. 

Bold was cautiously sliding his hand along the length of her leg, his fingers slipping under the folds of her gown like pilgrims questing into uncharted territories. 

"They are intriguing terms, your grace," he said softly. "But I remain unclear on the specifics."

Delicacia squirmed slightly in her seat, letting her rump rub gently against Bold's loins. 

"Would a demonstration help alleviate some of your qualms?" she inquired sweetly. 

"Yes," Bold managed. His voice was thick. "Please."

Delicacia stood abruptly, looping her fingers through Bold's belt and hauling him to his feet as well. He reached for her, his fingers grasping at the curves of her breasts visible, above the dark silk of her gown. Light as a dancer, she stepped back, evading him. 

"Now, now..." she chided. "You are a hunter, my husband. You'll not catch your quarry with such clumsy lunges."

"You are my quarry now?" Bold asked, blinking.

"I am your hind now," she agreed, backing away. "The hounds pursue me, panting and slavering. I can feel their hot breath on my skin, so close do they dog me."

Bold, who indeed was beginning to pant, asked, "And what am I?"

"A mastiff," replied Delicacia, "The mightiest brute of all that cry. Your coat is steaming. The muscles beneath are like liquid steel. You will be the one to catch me. Yet I shall run."

And with these words, she turned on her heel and fled. Bold found himself growling, a deep rumbling sound filling his chest and throat, and he ran after her. 

Bold's legs were the longer and unimpeded by skirts, but their suite of rooms was small and well furnished. Delicacia danced and darted around furniture, light on her feet, always keeping one step ahead of her young husband. Around and around their rooms they tore, upsetting chairs and sliding on rugs. At last, face flushed and sides heaving, Delicacia stumbled. Bold lunged across the space between with a snarl of triumph. Even so, he only caught her by her long, dark hair. 

She yelped as he dragged her to him. The pain in her scalp was fierce and wonderful. She struggled and fought, but he threw a strong arm about her from behind and swung her about to face one of the grey stone walls. She braced her arms against it and arched her spine like a stretching cat so that her callipygian backside stood out starkly beneath her gown.

"I am your bitch now," she told Bold, as he fumbled with the laces of his hoes. "Half she-wolf and half silken. Take me, mastiff. Fill my up cunt with your cock and your seed and my belly with your pups to whelp."

Bold needed no further prompting. He swept up Delicacia's many skirts in a single violent motion. Her smallclothes were dripping wet with her sweat and musky juices. The drenched fabric tore like rice paper under Bold' frantic fingers. The heart shaped hillock of Delicacia's bared ass gleamed like soft ivory in the torchlight. 

The duchess let out a piercing yowl of ecstasy as Bold entered her from behind. His cock was as stiff as a hunting crop and felt nearly as long as it stabbed into her. Again and again he thrust, battering against her most secret places and filling her mind with lightning. 

"Harder!" she screamed. "Harder, you cur!"

Bold seized a plump buttock in each hand and began to pump his legs faster and faster. 

"Harder!" Delicacia screamed again.

Without slowing, Bold bent low over her, until his lips almost brushed the back of her neck. Every breath he drew was heavy with the scent of her. She was arching and rolling beneath him, straining against his every frantic sally, deepening the strokes. He reached around and seized her right breast through the cloth of her gown. She let out a hissing gasp. Her nipple was as hard as an acorn cap. He pinched and worried it, and was pleased with moans and whimpers he received. 

Bold grabbed Delicacia's neckline with both hands and yanked it roughly down along with her breast band. Her bare breasts swung free, shaking wildly with each thrust that shook Delicacia's slender frame. Bold took hold of them—no easy feat, for each was fully the size of sweet melon—and redoubled his nipple stroking. 

It was too much for Delicacia. She came, with an animal cry that split the welkin. Her whole body shuddered and twitched and her vision swam.

But Bold was not finished. 

After a last lingering squeeze, her released Delicacia's breasts and returned one hand to its place gripping her superb ass, fingers pressing deep into smooth, warm flesh. With the other, he seized the dark cascade of her hair, now tousled and sweat-slicked. He wove his fingers through its softness, and then closed his hand like a vise. 

With a snarl, Bold hauled back on his wife's hair arching her spine back like a strung bow. Delicacia fought to breathe, reveling in the sweet agony. The aftershocks of her first mindbending climax still wracked her body. Bold could feel the slick walls of her cunt spasm against the length of his cock. He delighted in it. It made the beast within him want to come too, come now and come hard. With a great effort, Bold fought the beast down and kept thrusting, harder and faster. His mighty strokes were like the waves that run before a storm, each higher than the last, arriving sooner and sooner upon the heels of its forerunner, until individuals are all lost in the roar of the tempest. Delicacia jerked and shuddered along, dragging her long nails down the stone wall before her in an effort to remain on her feet. The grating was drowned out by her loud yelps and moans, which grew in intensity and volume until at last she came again. 

Her legs buckled and gave way, like the legs of a mare that has run too fast for too long, but Bold threw a brawny arm about her waist, clamping her to him. Now new aftershocks chased the old up and down the length of Delicacia's quivering form. With each twitch her cunt clenched, hard as a fist, against Bold's cock. His eyes watered and swam with the effort of restraint. 

Bold lowered his mouth to his wife's ear. Sweat was running down his face, and hot drops fell to splash against Delicacia's bare shoulder and heaving bosom. In a ragged voice, Bold whispered, "You liked that, eh Deli?"

Delicacia could only whimper. 

"You liked coming twice with no room to breathe?"

"Yes," she managed to hiss between clenched teeth. 

Bold grinned and reached around with his free hand. His thick fingers brushed the tightly curled hairs of her bush and, like pilgrims at last entering the temple of their grail, forced their way past and deeper. 

Delicacia gasped aloud as she felt Bold's fingers join his massive cock in exploring her interior. He drew his thumb hard across the tight nub of her clitoris, drawing a still louder gasp from her. 

"How's that Deli?" Bold whispered gloatingly. "You like that too?"

Delicacia tried to choke out a reply, but only a gurgle escaped. Bold's fingers and thumb continued their work, moving faster and faster. Delicacia felt almost rawly sensitive already and when Bold began to pump his hips in time with his thumb's rough stroking, she could endure it no more. She came again, twice in quick succession, but Bold did not let up.

"You like coming for me, Deli?"

"Yes," Delicacia sobbed.

"You want to come for me again?" he asked. Finger, thumb, and throbbing cock still beat their wild tattoo. The arm holding her up against him had risen from its post about her waist and its hand was groping once more at the fat, sweat-slick melons of her breasts. 

"No," Delicacia pleaded. 

"Hard luck," Bold growled. "As your lord and master I command it. Come for me, Deli."

She did.

"Come for me, my wife."

She did.

"Come for me, my hind."

She did.

"Come for me, my bitch."

She did, and he came with her. Semen, hot and thick, burst from his pulsing cock like lightning from a storm cloud. It filled Delicacia up and spilled over, running down her legs and Bold's arm. When he drew his fingers from her with a sucking sound, they were sticky with their mingled juices. Gently, he slid those thick fingers into Delicacia's open mouth. Her soft lips closed around them, suckling the fluids from them as if she were a nursing babe. Their musky taste on her tongue was the last thing she knew, before exhaustion claimed her and her eyes fluttered closed. 

Bold carried his unconscious wife to their bed and laid her gently down. He stripped away the tattered remnants of her evening clothes away and, after a long look at (and quick grope of) her naked body, he covered her in their downy quilt. He himself changed into a simple robe and fetched a book from the case, before settling himself in front of the hearth, where a few coals still glimmered redly. The title on the leather-bound cover read, in gold leaf, A History of Naval Warfare by Scribe Unton. 

***

It was a little past noon on the following day. Almost no one ever visited to little garret at the top of the north-northwest tower of Castle Grey, which might have been considered a pity, since it meant that fewer people had the opportunity to enjoy the unparalleled view that room's little window offered of the Greyport harbor. Delicacia, however, did not consider it to be a pity. She was a woman who understood the value of privacy.

She did not hear the soft tread on the staircase leading up to the garret, but then, she hadn't expected too. Nevertheless, she greeted the man who entered without raising her eyes from the docks. 

"Hello Satin."

"Hello, dear sister," Satin replied, unperturbed. 

"How fare you this day?" she inquired.

"Quite well," Satin admitted. "Yourself?"

"Nothing that won't heal in time," Delicacia said placidly.

Satin raised an eyebrow and came to stand next to his sister. For a while they watched the ships loading and unloading together in silence. Eventually Satin spoke again.

"A little bird tells me that Lord Condign has formally promised to support the creation of new navies for the coastal fiefdoms."

"Really." Delicacia's voice was as mild as milk. 

"Indeed. Before witnesses, apparently."

"Oh yes?"

"One of those witnesses was the young Duke Bold, I understand."

Delicacia only smiled. 

"For my part," she said at length, "I have been given to understand that our old friend John Umber has recently left Greyport to visit his ailing aunt in country once more."

"Master Umber's aunt is notoriously sickly," Satin agreed. Then suddenly serious, he said, "There is much for all six of us to discuss. We must meet soon. " 

"And so we shall," said Delicacia said soothingly. "And so we shall."



The Royal Line Pt. 03



Chapter Three: Hale 

Baron Hale of Hawkshead, passed the reins of his horse to a waiting groom and, pausing to clap the lad on the shoulder, exited the stable yard in the direction of the Hawkshead Keep. Though it would have encompassed barely a tithe of the immense bulk of Castle Grey—Hale's childhood home—the Keep was still a forbidding structure. The first Baron of Hawkshead had ordered it to be built atop the high hill whose peculiar shape gave his fiefdom its name. From this place of strength he had commanded the loyalty of the lands for many miles around. Time had weathered smooth the heavy black stones since then, but had done nothing to make the walls less defensible or imposing. 

The two men-at-arms on duty outside the double oaken doors saluted smartly as Hale approached. 

"Good even, my lord," said the senior of the pair. 

"Good even, Haldric," Hale replied. He had become Baron of Hawkshead for less than a year, but already he knew each member of his staff, and particularly his guardsmen, by name. It was a habit of his years in Rivenland's military. A good commander knows his troops. 

Passing through the oaken doors and into the hall beyond, Hale noted the torches were already begin to burn low in their sconces. His evening's ride had taken him farther afield than usual. At thirty-six years of age, Hale still had a soldier's build and bearing. His blue eyes were sharp and piercing above a hooked nose and strong jawline. He wore no beard and kept his dark hair pulled back in a short tail. A few strands of silver already gleamed among the jet, giving Hale a slightly grizzled air. Broad shoulders and thick biceps strained the finely woven fabric of his doublet and a sabre scar adorned his right cheek. More scars and weapon calluses were visible on the baron's large hands, as he lifted one of the torches from its bracket, using it to light his way up the winding stairways of the Keep's central tower. 

On the second landing, Hale espied Goodwife Tyrol just entering the door the to servants' stair. She carried a guttering candle in a shallow clay dish. 

"Good even, Mistress Tyrol," Hale called softly. 

The elderly woman dropped Hale as deep a curtsy as her stiff limbs would allow. "Good even to as well my lord. Is there something you require?"

Hale smiled and shook his head. "Nay mistress, I am well. How fare the ladies of my house?"

The Goodwife had been the baroness' maid when she was a girl and a nurse to the baroness' four daughters' by her first husband. Though the girls were now well past the need of any nursing, the youngest two being fully eighteen years of age, it was still her habit to checking on the young ladies every evening. For this obvious devotion, and for other reasons, Hale was always careful to be nothing but courteous to the Goodwife. 

"Her ladyship is fitful," she admitted. "The babe in her belly wakes her with kicking and her back and feet pain her."

"Do you judge it serious?" asked Hale. "Shall I send for a healer?"

"Nay, nay milord," the Goodwife assured him, shaking her greying locks. "She endured worse during her last confinement, for all that she was not then one and twenty. And grumble though she will I know she is glad of the chance to make you an heir before her bearing years are done."

"That may be some ten years hence," Hale pointed out.

"Mays and ifs make beggars of princes," the Goodwife chided gently, as though Hale were a thoughtless boot boy and not the lord of the Keep. "Though, truth to tell, I hope you are right. I should like to see my lady thronged round with pretty children to keep her smiling when I am gone."

"That is what I hope for too," said Hale. "Though I pray she may have your company as well for many years to come."

"Thank you my lord," said the Goodwife smiling.

"And what of the young ladies?" Hale asked as Goodwife Tyrol turned back to her dusty stairwell. The look she gave him was sharp and knowing, but Hale thought there was more of indulgence than condemnation in it. 

"I would hazard that they fain more weariness than they feel, my lord, and a little of my raspberry tea seems to have quite settled their stomachs."

"What would this little family do with out you mistress Tyrol?" Hale said with feeling.

"I could not say, my lord" she replied wryly. "Though I dare to guess that with or without me it should not stay a 'little' family very long."

Hale chuckled warmly and the Goodwife bobbed another creaky curtsy before departing. The Baron of Hawkshead proceeded upstairs and, laying aside the snuffed torch aside, entered his solar. A great four-poster bed dominated the center of the round stone room. The heavy drapes of rich, wine-colored velvet were drawn, but Hale could make out the soft rustle of cloth and low whimpers that issued from behind them. 

Frowning, Hale moved to the foot of the bed, one hand upon his belt knife, and twitched open the curtains. In the center of the bed, lying on top of the tangled coverlet was Baroness Bountiful of Hawkshead. She was alone and utterly naked, her pale skin radiant in the moonbeams that stole in through the chamber window. Her eyes were fast closed, but her eyelids flickered and breathless noises escaped her slightly parted lips. Her long ash blond hair was damp with sweat and further beads gleamed on the swollen mounds of her belly and breasts. More than eight moons with child, Bountiful was a tight as a drum and large enough that the casual observer might have been forgiven for supposing that she carried a hippopotamus' foal rather than a mere scion of House Greyleon. Her bosom, which had been large enough to startle men into slack jawed wonder since she was a girl of thirteen, had only expanded further with every child she bore, while losing little of their exceptional perkiness. This new pregnancy was no exception and the mounds of quivering flesh that now bounced and shook as the baroness stirred and whimpered in her sleep were truly enormous. 

Hale's frown melted into in a broad grin. Quietly, he lifted his hand from his dagger and stripped out of his boots and clothes. His cock sprang free of the discarded loincloth with all the eagerness of a seasoned warhorse hearing the sound of trumpets once again. None could doubt that the blood of Greyleon ran true in Hale, for he had inherited King Potent's legendary length and girth. 

Yet it was not with this throbbing battering ram that the baron began his conquest. Instead he bent low over his wife's crotch. The deep musk of her dreaming need reached his nostrils, filling them the bouquet of a vintage wine. A wet stain was already spreading across the coverlet where Bountiful's cunt brushed it. At Hale's request, she had begun a shaving the hair around it once a again, a practice she abandoned some eighteen years ago upon the death of the previous baron. Now though her skin was smooth as silk once more, which made it easy for Hale to see how swollen and flushed—hot and almost purple—the lips between her legs had become. 

Hale's heartbeat quickened and he flashed out his hot, wet tongue. Gently, he licked up the hood that sheathed Bountiful's clitoris. The little nub was so stiff with desire that it might have been a wooden bead. Bountiful moaned aloud as Hale rubbed it with his tongue. The taste of her, warm and briny, flooded his mouth and his hunger mounted. He began to kiss Bountiful's clitoris, hard, fast, and without cessation until he was sucking on her nub like a lustful lamprey. 

Bountiful awoke from a dream of water monsters to find Hale sliding two thick fingers in and out of her dripping cunt, wriggling them inside her, while he sucked lustily on her throbbing clitoris. A disoriented wave of terror collided with her arousal and set off the orgasm that had been building. 

Hale felt his wife convulse under his touch and grinned as he lifted his mouth from her loins. Her juices gleamed wetly in his lips and ran down over his cleft chin. He ran both hands over the mountain of her swollen belly, up the length of her until his questing fingers brushed the quivering flesh of her mammoth breasts. He seized them roughly, drawing his thumbs hard over her stiff nipples. He was rewarded with a shuddering moan from Bountiful and a gentle trickle of pale milk. 

"Hale," Bountiful gasped out. "I dreamt...it was awful...Hale, listen!" 

"My ears are open," Hale said, walking himself forward on the bed so that he was bent over his pregnant wife, their eyes on a level. The tip of his rock hard cock just brushed the lips of Bountiful's cunt making her moan aloud.

"God trample on you, Hale," she hissed. "I had a nightmare."

Hale rolled his hips in a circle so that his cock rubbed more insistently at Bountiful's loins. "Really?" he asked. "You seemed to be enjoying it well enough."

"No," protested Bountiful, biting her lip in the effort of concentrating through the sensation of her lord's cock scraping over the swollen lips of her cunt. "It was awful. I was swimming in Hawkeye Lake and then there these...oh!...these things in the water, like...ooh...leeches with children's faces, only I was a child too, I think, except...ah!...except I can remember them sucking on my...oh, yes...on my tits, so I guess I can't have been. And then...oh...and then...oh, oh, never mind just hurry up and fuck me, you beast!"

"Are you sure?" asked Hale. "I can keep listening."

"Yes! Yes, I'm sure. God's horns, I just need your big cock in me right now."

Hale was happy to oblige. With a deep-throated growl and powerful thrust of his hips, he drove his cock deep into Bountiful's cunt. She hissed like a kettle boiling over and grabbed at him. One hand found the small of his muscular back and pressed down on it and in time with rhythm of Hale's thrusts, making each stroke harder and deeper than the last. Her other hand twined its fingers through his dark hair and drew his head down until his lips brushed against one of her leaking nipples. Hale licked at it, making her moan, then bit down, gently at first and then harder. Sweet milk flowed into his mouth, hot and creamy. He suckled at her and she moaned louder still. 

Hale hefted Bountiful's other breast in his hand and swept over so that it was crushed hard against its neighbor. Then he crammed both of the baroness' nipples into his sucking mouth as he worried each breast with a callused hand. Milk poured into his gullet Hale feared he might choke and Bountiful screamed, high and helpless, as she came again, so hard that the solar seemed wheel and flicker with purple lights. 

Hale felt he walls Bountiful's cunt ripple with the force of her orgasm, squeezing down hard on his enormous cock, and with a grunt he realized he was coming too. Hastily he pulled his cock free with a loud a sucking sound and raised himself back to a kneeling position. He spilled his seed on his wife's swollen belly, exulting over the way the rivulets of hot, thick semen oozed down the sides of the great dome of pale flesh to mingle with Bountiful's mother milk. Gripping his pulsing cock hard with his hand, he squeezed out the last few drops with a satisfied sigh. 

Gently, he kissed her, feeling her spasms slow and her frantic heartbeat calm under his touch. He kissed her brow and breasts, her nose and her navel, and lastly her lips, both north and south. Bountiful let out a long sigh of her own and whispered, "Thank you." 

She curled up like a cat and closed her eyes. Hale wrapped her up in the warm coverlet and lay quietly beside her until the rhythm of her breaths told him that she slept soundly at last. 

Then Hale rose from his marriage bed and donned a thick robe. By candlelight and moonshine, he crept from the solar and made his stealthy way through Hawkshead Keep. He halted at the door to large set of chambers in the eastern wing of the building and softly tapped a very specific series of beats on the old oak timbers. 

He heard a fierce hiss of whispering and a flurry of giggles. Then there was the quick swish of cloth and the patter of bare feet over a rush-strewn floor. The heavy bolt was drawn back with a squeak of metal on metal and the door flung wide. There was a flash of white silk and golden hair and then slender arms were twining themselves about Hale's neck. Hale smiled as he stared down into the hazel eyes of Lady Courtesy of Hawkshead, the eldest of his four stepdaughters. At twenty years old, she was tall and willowy, with berry-red lips and the hips of a dancer. 

"Hello Old Hawk," she whispered and leaned up to kiss him on the mouth. Her questing tongue found lingering sweetness of her mother's rich milk, and some old, animal part of Courtesy responded to the familiar taste. She deepened the kiss, biting down on Hale's lip until it nearly bled. She leaned into him, there in the doorway, one hand tracing the line of his powerful jaw, the other already fumbling with the belt of his robe. Hale could feel the hard points of her nipples straining beneath the fabric of her nightdress, pressed against his chest. 

"Come on, Courty," a voice within the chamber called. "Let him in the door at least."

Courtesy stepped back from Hale, though she did not relinquish her hold on his belt. He was forced to step quickly after her, making the candle he still held dance and flicker. By that wavering light he could clearly see how the thin silk of Courtesy's dress curled itself about the swollen roundness of her belly. She was not so far along as her mother, but against her narrower frame the bulge of the babe growing within her was even more pronounced. 

As Hale and Courtesy entered the chamber, another young woman sprang up from one of the three beds that lined every wall of the room save one, where heavy velvet drapes shut out the peeping stars. This young woman had green eyes and her long hair was a fairer blond, more silver than gold. This was the Lady Delight, the second daughter of Baroness Bountiful, a bare nineteen years of age. She crossed the room in a bound, for all that she was hampered by a belly scarcely smaller than her elder sister's, and closed the heavy door with a thud. 

"Now we have you, Old Hawk," she cried. Hale had just time to set the candle upon a table, before he felt Delight's warm breath on the back of his neck and the bulge of her belly brushing the small of the his back. She drew a line of burning kisses from his ear, down the length of neck across of across the broad expanse of his muscular shoulders. Hale laughed aloud, arching his back like a great cat stretching. Beneath the folds of his robe, his massive cock stirred and straightened to attention. 

"God's hooves and horns," Hale proclaimed. "Anyone would suppose you girls had not seen me in weeks, your welcome is so warm."

Courtesy stepped closer and slipped a hand under his robe, running her warm fingers along the length of the baron's cock. It was as hard as an oak stave and thicker around than her wrist. She bit her berry lip in anticipation and fairly purred, "Anyone should think you had not visited us in months, your body is so eager." 

She knelt down then, on the rushes and the flagstones, and let Hale's robe fall open. His cock stabbed out like the bowsprit of a mighty ship. She ran her hot, wet tongue along its length and felt her stepfather quiver at her touch. 

"No fair," called a voice from the third bed, "starting in on his cock before everyone's even naked."

"Yes," agreed a second voice, close beside the first. "Bring him over here so everyone can have a taste."

"You two could come over here," Delight pointed out, as she stripped off Hale's robe entirely and tossing it aside. Courtesy said nothing, having crammed her mouth full of as much cockflesh as it would hold. 

"But its cold," complained the first voice, which belonged to the eighteen year old Lady Bright.

"And we're already naked," the second added. This was the voice of Sweet, her twin.

"Already naked?" Hale laughed, as Delight bit down on his earlobe, her nails raking gently at the bulging muscles and curling hairs of his chest. "Now who's not playing fair?"

"No, Old Hawk," Sweet giggled. "We just wanted you to be able to judge."

"Judge?" Hale asked. "Judge what?"

"Who's bigger, silly," Bright explained. She slipped from beneath the goose down comforter she shared with Sweet and hurried around to where Hale could see her, Sweet following close behind. The twins were indeed naked and their matching bodies fairly glowed in the candlelight. They were shorter than their sisters, pixyish and intoxicating, with small high breasts and floating clouds of apricot colored curls. Both grinned pearly grins at Hale and stuck out their growing bellies for his inspection.

Hale leaned forward for a better look, absentmindedly driving his giant cock deeper down the kneeling Courtesy's throat. She moaned and half choked, precum and spittle oozing from the corners of her mouth. The twins arched their backs and held their breaths, each desperately trying to appear the more swollen with their stepfather's seed. 

Hale scratched at his chin, trying to conceal a smile. "Well," he ventured, "Bright's belly does seem to stick out the farther, but Sweet's is certainly the wider."

"You just don't want to have to choose," Bright pouted. She had a delightful pout. 

Overcome with curiosity, Delight ducked her head under Hale's arm to peer at the twins as well. 

"You know, I think he's right," she decided. "I wonder if that means one will be a girl and the other a boy."

"Mine will be a boy," Sweet declared. "A lusty little lad, who'll grow up to be a great warrior, just like his father."

"You don't know that," Bright complained, but Sweet was no longer listening. She dropped to her knees beside Courtesy and began mouthing at Hale's sack and kissing the sensitive insides of his thighs and the inches of thick, throbbing cock that Courtesy had not been able to engulf. Bright hastened to do likewise. 

Hale closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of all three of the young mouths pleasuring his enormous cock. He reached around behind him and his fingers brushed Delight's bulging belly. He ran his hand down over the taught flesh, the fabric of her gown so fine he barley felt it, down and further down, until his callused fingers found the warm wetness of his stepdaughter's cunt. Hale felt the rhythm of Delight's kisses increase to a frantic pace as he slid those fingers inside her, rubbing softly but urgently at her most secret of places. 

"I need you, Old Hawk," she whispered in his ear. Her breath was hot and ragged with emotion. "I need your big cock in me right now."

At that moment, Courtesy at last relinquished her throat-full of throbbing flesh, coming up for air with a gasp. Before Sweet and Bright could pounce and take her place, Hale scooped them both up, one under each arm, and bore them off to the largest of the three beds. He tossed them lightly onto the coverlet, making them squeak, and the turned back to Delight, who had followed hard upon his heels. He placed his hands on either side of her waist and lifted her, big belly and all, as lightly as thistledown. Then he sat back onto the bed, between the twins naked twins, and lowered Delight onto his lap. His cock slipped up under the skirt of her silk nightgown and into her dripping cunt. 

Delight threw her head back as she cried out in ecstasy, her green eyes rolling back upon themselves and her silver hair flaring out like spilt mercury. Hale tore off her nightgown, exposing the ripe peaches of her breasts. He took one in each hand, squeezing and then sucking on them, until milk began to trickle from her rock-hard nipples. Delight was rolling her hips and he was thrusting up to meet her, driving the hot battering ram of his manhood deep into her. She felt incredibly full, full and complete in a way she only felt with her stepfather's massive cock thrust balls-deep in her cunt. This was what she lived for, these perfect moments, when all her worries thawed and flowed away.




The Royal Line Pt. 03



Delight came, whooping and laughing, tears of pure joy sliding down her cheeks. She would have tumbled off Hale's cock, helpless as a boned fish, but Hale caught her by the shoulders and laid her gently down upon the bed. 

The twins were rubbing their naked bodies across his back and flanks, whimpering in anticipation and need. He could feel the warm wetness of their dripping cunts spreading across the coverlet. Hale ignored them and beckoned instead to Courtesy, who still stood a little ways from the bed, biting her berry-red lip. She had shucked out her nightdress and was fingering herself with one hand, while the other stroked the great dome of her swollen belly. 

"Did you like watching what I did to your sister?" Hale asked her. Courtesy nodded and blushed. She had a delightful blush. "I came" she admitted. 

Hale raised his eyebrows. "Just from watching and fingering?"

Again, Courtesy nodded. "It's carrying this babe of yours," she explained. "It makes everything more sensitive." 

"Show me," Hale ordered, patting his knee with the flat of his hand. Courtesy darted forward with a wicked grin, and sat down hard on Hale's giant cock. The weight of her bulging belly made every stroke harder and deeper as she rode him, and neither of them could long endure it. Them came together, the tenor of their wild moans running together like the trilling of mated turtledoves. Hale's cock fountain thick semen like a living geyser and Courtesy blushed a deeply red to find herself squirting like the commonest of trollops. 

Hale only laughed at her expression, but she hid her face as she slid off him, his seed coursing down her pale thighs, and curled up beside the supine Delight. 

"Now us?" Bright whispered in Hale's ear.

"Please! Please!" whined Sweet from the other side. "I'm so horny I could die."

"Now you," Hale agreed, shifting to face them. "But first you have to get me hard again."

"We can do that," laughed Bright, reaching for Hale's sticky cock.

Hale pushed her hand gently aside. "Not like that," he explained. "This is a challenge. You must get me hard without touching me at all." 

Sweet frowned, her pixie face wrinkling up in way that was unselfconscious and alluring. "Shall we touch ourselves then?"

Hale nodded. "Start with that."

Sweet did not hesitate, but spread her legs wide and at once began to rub her clitoris in slow, sensuous circles. With her other hand, Sweet began to fondle her breasts, rubbing and teasing her rosy little nipples. Her hazel eyes smoldered and her plump lips were parted invitingly. 

Not to be out done, Bright dropped face down on the wide bed, her pert backside lifted high in the air, pointing towards Hale. She turned her head so she keep watch him as she reached around and slid three of her slender fingers in and out her dripping cunt. The juices that spilled out trickled down across the bulge of her growing belly. 

"Do you like this, Old Hawk?" she asked, her voice soft and sultry. "Do like seeing me stick my little fingers where your big cock should be?"

"I like it," Hale admitted. "But its not making me hard yet."

"What would make you hard?" Sweet asked, as she too began to finger herself.

"Something a little more...shocking might do the trick," Hale suggested. 

Bright frowned. Her frown was as delightful as her twin's. "Like what?" she asked. Hale only smiled. Bright continued to look charmingly puzzled, but Sweet's already doll like eyes widened further in understanding. 

"But that would be..." she broke off and glanced over at Bright. Sweet growled then, a kittenish snarl that made her breast tremble. She reached out plunged her own fingers into Bright's slick cunt. 

"Sweet, no!" Bright gasped, her eyes going wide, but already she was arching her back, instinctually pushing her sensitive regions towards the source of the pleasure. Sweet ignored her sister's words, intent upon her task, one hand working at her twin's loins, one at her own. Hale felt his cock stirring at the sight.

"Stop it, Sweet," Bright protested weakly. "I mean it. Cut it out!"

Instead, Sweet seized one of Bright's breasts, kneading it as though she was milking a cow.

"Ooh, Sweet, really stop. I feel like I'm about to come."

Sweet growled again and there was more of the vixen than the kitten this second noise. She leaned forward and brought her mouth to Bright's loins. Her tongue flicked out, caressing and exploring with greedy slurping noises. 

"Sweet!" Bright moaned as she climaxed, her slender body shaking like a leaf in a gale. "Oh Sweet how could you? Oh! Oh no, oh no, not again..."

Bright's cries dissolved into a high wordless whine as she felt a second orgasm building under her twin's tongue. This was a forbidden pleasure, she knew, a sin beyond anything she did with her stepfather. Yet how could it be counted so, when she had once been of one flesh with Sweet? How could it be wrong to unite what had be sundered? What truer love was there than this?

Bright came again, hard enough to make her see spots, and she collapsed panting to the coverlet. 

Sweet turned back to face Hale. Her chin and lips shone with the tangy juices of her sister's cunt and she grinned wide and wickedly at what she saw. Hale's cock stood stiff and proud once more. 

"Take me, Old Hawk," she implored.

Hale pounced on her, pinning her to the mattress like a lynx pins down a swallow. His hungry lips found hers. He could taste Bright on her tongue as she kissed him, kissed him as though she would inhale him. He entered her roughly and she arched and writhed with his every sally, the curves of breasts and belly rubbing up against the muscled plain of his chest. He half feared he would crush, with all his weight bearing down upon her pixie's body, but lust drove him on. He would do what he pleased with her. She was his. They were all his, this place, these women. He would take them and keep them and protect them. He was their lord and master.

Sweet came and Hale came with her, pumping her full of his hot seed, and their triumphant cries echoed around the chamber. And then, for a while, there was a drowsy silence in Hawkshead Keep. 

***

It was the afternoon of the following day that the message reached the Baron. Hale was outside the guard barracks at the time, surveying the ground with Master Gatrim, the local stone mason, and Captain Quill, the commander of Hawkshead's men-at-arms. The three were discussing expanding the building so that more recruits could be housed come next spring. Above them, grey clouds were rolling in from the west. 

"My lord!" a hoarse voice cried. Hale turned to see a messenger in Greyleon livery jogging up the slope towards them. The man carried a leather scroll case, which he passed to Hale.

" A missive from Greyport my lord," the messenger explained. "I am charged that not but you yourself shall receive it."

Hale nodded and excused himself to the captain and the mason. A glance over his shoulder told him that all three men commenced whispered speculation as soon as he was out of earshot, but he paid them little heed. 

Hale slid the scroll out of its case and broke the wax seal. The message it contained was brief. 

"It is time our little circle met again. 

Your loving sister, 

Delicacia."



The Royal Line Pt. 04



Chapter Four: Rue

A bone-tipped arrow zipped down from the earthen ramparts that defended the little village, passing close enough that the wind of it ruffled Lady Rue's short black hair. Rue did not did not flinch and urged her mount on to greater speed. The shaggy pony's striped legs ate up the icy ground between her and the low wall. Icicles like daggers hung from the gaps where the sod blocks that made up the village's defenses did not quite align. Rue slung her shield over her back and stood in the saddle. Another arrow hissed by to burry itself in the frost and gravel. The wall loomed up, seeming suddenly much higher. Rue leapt from the back of her galloping horse and made a grab for the wall's top. Her gloved fingers scrabbled in a layer of dirty snow for a terrifying half-heartbeat. Then she found a hold. With a grunt of effort, Rue heaved herself up onto the rampart. 

At once, an iceman leapt upon her, a stone dagger clutched in his fist. Rue tried to brace herself against the impact, but her assailant had nearly a foot of height on her. Her feet skidded in more snow, trammeled to slush by the icemen's sealskin boots, and they went down in tangle of limbs. The iceman's dagger rent her tabard and raised sparks from the mail beneath, but mere flint was no match for Rivenlands' steel. 

Unable to reach her own blades, Rue settled for clapping both her hands hard over her attacker's ears. The noise and pain momentarily stunned the iceman, long enough for Rue to ram a foot up under his ribcage. She kicked out with all the power of her wiry frame. The iceman fairly flew backwards. Rue stood and drew her longsword in a single fluid motion. Before her attacker could recover himself, she lunged across the intervening space and stabbed him through the belly. 

Rue felt, rather than heard, another iceman approaching from behind. She snapped out a back kick and was reward with a cry of pain and a crunch of breaking bone. She spun on her heel to find the man on the ground, clutching his knee, which was bent back on itself. Rue cut the downed man's throat and stepped swiftly over his body. With the same brutal efficiency, she fought her way to the wooden gates. Captain Verence was waiting for her there; his battle-axe was a crescent of blood. 

"My lady," Verence said, saluting smartly.

"Let's get this door open, Captain," Rue shouted over the din.

"Right you are, my lady," said Verence. Together they lifted the heavy wooden bolt and shoved the gate wide. More soldiers on shaggy ponies, wearing the Greyleon colors under the furs they'd bundled on for warmth, poured through the gap. Hammered now from both sides, the icemen defending the walls did not last long.

A solider passed Rue the reins of a fresh pony and she scrambled up, keeping her sword drawn and unslinging her shield. The uncaring stars blazed down from velvet blackness of the sky. They seemed brighter, here at the roof of the world, and the silver lioness of Rue's personal device gleamed in their cold light. It was a device to command respect, for its bearer was not only Lady Rue, Knight of the Realm, but also Princess Rue of House Greyleon. Soldiers rallied to it, and Rue led them into the heart of village, cutting down fleeing defenders as they rode. 

Most of the icemen dwelt in round hide tents with beams of whalebone, nearly as solid as cottages. In the town center however, the local chief had a wooden long house, a luxury in a land with little timber. The icemen were not truly a nation, but a shifting collection of chiefdoms that inhabited the desolate and fjord-riddled island of Selkik. During the summer the Fanged Strait sundered the island from the Rivenland's northern fiefdoms, but in winter the strait was covered with a layer of ice thick enough for horses and sledges to cross. And so, every winter, the Rivenlanders would raid the icemen. 

The iceman chief stood upon the steps of his long house, calling out commands in the guttural tongue of his people. He was an old man, his leathery skin wizened like a winter apple, but he carried himself erect. A flaming torch guttered and spat in his left hand and he carried a club edged with shark's teeth in his right. He had arrayed his remaining warriors in a semicircle, two men deep, with himself at the center and cluster of archers at his back.

"Shields!" Rue bellowed in a voice of command, and there was rattle of bone arrowheads thudding against oak and steel. Had the icemen been trained warriors instead of a rabble of seal hunters and fishermen they might have though to shoot the horses out from under the Rivenlanders. But now it was too late.

Rue's forces collide with the ring of warriors, nimble ponies dodging between waving spears. Her sword rose and fell, cutting through furs and boiled leather like wet parchment. 

"Greyleon!" she cried as she rested a harpoon from a dying iceman. "Greyleon reigns!"

She flung the stolen spear along with her war cry at the iceman chief. The barbed point struck him in the chest and he toppled, his limp body extinguishing the torch as he fell. 

A howl went up from those icemen still living and they fled pell-mell into the night. Some of the soldiers were sent to hunt them down, while the rest got down to the real business of the evening: looting. 

Besides the shaggy ponies, Rue's company had brought sledges drawn reindeer and huge mountain dogs and they quickly loaded these sledges with the spoils of war. Bales of furs: otter and mink, beaver and bear, seal and snow fox. Whale ivory and walrus ivory. Barrels of fat and oil. Fistfuls of snowflake obsidian from the volcano on the north side of the island. The great spiraling horns of the narwhal, each one worth a king's ransom. These were the riches of icemen. 

Rue prowled among her soldiers, keeping an eye on them. Some would doubtless slip off to father half-Rivenlander children on screaming ice women. It was a part of war Rue had learned to accept. Soldiers were not knights, bound by a code of honor, and the prospect of a hot cunt waiting for them made the men more willing to trek across miles of ice to attack barbarian villages in the dark. The main thing was to make sure none of her troops were holding back plunder from their commander. 

Rue paused, her path having lead her back to the steps of the longhouse. With a booted toe, she flipped the body of the iceman chief over. The corpse had cooled quickly in the achingly cold air; a trickle of blood that had spilled from his mouth was already frozen solid. Rue just glimpsed the cord of cured leather that circled the dead man's neck, barley visible above his fur-lined collar. Rue reached down, undid the necklace's catch, and pulled it free. It was bulkier than she'd expected, a thick chain of ivory beads cunningly carved into the shapes of sea birds. The ivory had rosy color to it, giving the impression that the birds were flying out of some unseen sunrise. Rue raised her eyebrows, recognizing the hue of mammoth ivory. 

"An heirloom then," she murmured to herself. "An old one. And worth far more than its weight in gold."

She had just finished fastening the pink ivory necklace about her own throat, when she heard a noise from inside the longhouse. Rue frowned, her hand moving swiftly to the hilt of her sword. The longhouse had been the first building to emptied of its wealth. No one had remained inside. She glanced back over her shoulder. Some yards away, Captain Verence was overseeing the loading of the antepenultimate sledge. The wise thing to do would have been to summon a squad of soldiers before going to investigate the strange noise. But Rue had not become the most feared lady knight in the Rivenlands by being wise. 

She stepped quietly into the longhouse, her hand still resting on her sword hilt, and looked around. A fire pit in the middle of the floor still smoldered redly, giving her enough light to see by. The low tables had been overturned, along with the chief carven chair. Animal hide flaps had been used to partition the verges of the hall into rooms for the chief's household. The more valuable hides had been torn down and taken off to the sledges, but a few remained. It was from behind one of these that the noise issued.

It was, Rue realized as she drew near, sobbing. These were not the keening cries of agony or heartbreak, but the low, wretched sounds of despair. Rue swept aside the deerskin hanging with the flat of her blade. 

A young ice woman huddled against the far wall. She stared up at Rue, her canted eyes wide and fearful. Her face was round and lovely as the moon, even marred by the tear tracks that gleamed across her apple cheeks. She was naked, which was not altogether surprising. The icemen had no concept of nightclothes and generally slept bundled in furs. Indeed the ice woman had a white wolf's skin drawn about her, though it did little to conceal her tender body. Her skin was the color of maple sugar and while she was certainly not fat, there was a softness to her curves that doubtless helped to keep her warm. Her eyes were the same deep, seal brown as the hair that hung down in two ridiculously long braids, coiling on the rough floor. 

Rue realized that she was staring with her mouth open. Slowly, she knelt down and laid aside her sword. Her eyes were on a level with the ice woman's. God's hooves, Rue thought, she can't yet be twenty. 

She reached a gloved hand out towards the girl, palm up. She movements were slow and deliberate, the way she did when she had to deal with skittish horses. 

"Hello," Rue said softly. "Hello there. It's all right. I won't hurt you. Do you speak any Common?"

The ice girl just watched Rue, those canted eyes wary. 

"I guess not then," Rue decided. "I wonder how we missed you when we searched this place. You must be clever hider. It's too bad they don't teach their girls to hunt here. A lass that could slip under Verence's nose could be practically on the deer's back before it noticed she was there." 

The words weren't important, but the low, soothing tone seemed to be having its effect. The girl's breathing was more relaxed, the lines of her face softer. 

"What are you, I wonder?" said Rue, her eyes roving across the girl's face and form, lingering on the swell of her more than ample breasts. "The chief's daughter? His concubine? Well, you're mine now whatever you are."

Rue beckoned with her outstretched hand. The ice girl still hesitated. Rue sighed inwardly. She pointed to herself with her other hand and spoke clearly. 

"Rue." 

Then she pointed at the ice girl and raised her eyebrows in a wordless question. 

"Nuveya," the girl replied. Her voice was throaty and sweet. The sound of its tugged Rue's lips into a smile. 

"Come with Nuveya," said Rue, beckoning again. Nuveya reached out slowly and took her hand. Rue stood, hauling the ice girl to her feet. They were of a height and Rue had the sudden urge to kiss her captive on her wide, rose petal lips. Since this was Rue, she yielded to the urge at once. 

Nuveya started in surprise as Rue's lips brushed hers, but the lady knight's hand that was not gripping hers had already slid around to the back of Nuveya's head. The gloved fingers were gently as they stroked her seal brown hair, but their strength forbade any attempt to pull away. Instead, Nuveya leaned into the kiss, opening to Rue's hot, hungry mouth. Their tongues brushed and something like an electric shock went through Nuveya. She felt her nipples go suddenly hard, for reasons that had nothing to do with cold draft for the open longhouse door. 

Then Rue broke the kiss. Her deep blue eyes were blazing and she was panting like bitch in heat. She picked up her naked sword and dragged Nuveya out of the longhouse. The ice girl shivered violently as the arctic cold struck her. The expanses of bare skin not covered by her wolf pelt broke into instant gooseflesh. She shook even more agitatedly as Rue led her past the corpse of the dead chieftain, but Rue did not slow. She brought Nuveya over to where her stocky horse waited and hoisted the girl up into the saddle. She mounted behind her and pulled a long oilskin cloak out of one the saddlebags. She wrapped this about the shivering Nuveya and nudged the girl into tucking her toes into the bellyband of the pony's warm saddle blanket. She had no desire for her captive to lose a toe to frostbite. Finally, she took the horse's reins in one hand, throwing her other arm about Nuveya's waist and nudged to animal into a canter. 

Many of the soldiers stared in slack-jawed wonder as Rue took her place at the head of the column leaving the village. Even Captain Verence raised a startled eyebrow. He said nothing however, merely passed his commander a freshly warmed ember pot, which she set on Nuveya's lap. Rue was glad of the little pot's heat as the laden war party left the gash-shaped valley that had sheltered the icemen's village from the elements if not from raiders. Out on the sea ice, the wind was twice as cutting. Nuveya trembled and snuggled back against Rue, who radiated heat even through the layers of mail and fur. They rode through the remainder of the night, passing under shadows of frozen waves, black in the waning moonlight, until their mounts' hooves crunched on the familiar gravel of the Rivenlands once more. 

A pale sunrise kissed the dark spires of the sentinel pines, as Rue's company crossed the drawbridge into Fort Gaunt. Once the stronghold of House Gaunt, until the sweating sickness carried the last on that noble line to their graves, the crumbling castle now did service as a border fort, charged with protecting the kingdom's northern edge with only a skeleton garrison. 

Blood and Bile, Rue's two wooly mastiffs frisked about her as she dismounted in the courtyard, barking excitedly. Rue ignored them and helped Nuveya down from the saddle. The ice girl's numb legs would not take her weight and she fell against Rue, clutching at the lady knight's chest for support. Rue steadied her, but did not bother to removed the hand that gripped her right breast. 

Raising her voice, she called, "Captain Verence, ensure that the goods are safely stowed and every man is fed. If aught urgent should befall, I shall be in the hot springs below the keep."

Captain Verence saluted. "It shall be as you command, my lady," he assured her, silently and correctly concluding that anything short of the outbreak of a new international war would not be deemed sufficiently urgent for the messenger to escape a flogging. 

Seeing how Nuveya's legs still wobbled, Rue scooped the girl up in her wiry arms. She carried her carefully down the uneven flagstone steps that plunged down from the cellar of the fort's central tower. The air grew warmer and heavier as they descended. The light of a whale oil lamp showed moss, as green as springtime, growing on the damp walls. At last, they came out into a cavernous room full of round pools edged in pottery tiles. Rue chose the hottest pool she dared, and after stripping off Nuveya's cloak and wolf pelt, dropped her right into the steaming water. 

The girl, who had been close to dozing, came suddenly alive, splashing and squeaking in alarm. Rue laughed aloud, the sound ringing off the cavern walls, as she began to undress herself. The frost crusting her neckline and boot tops was already turning to water. Rue continued to watch with a smile as Nuveya's expression changed from one of panic to one of relief as the chill melted from her bones. She ceased to splash, keeping herself afloat with slow, graceful strokes, and smiled gratefully up at the now topless Rue.

"Qaĝaasakung," she told Rue, fervently, as the lady knight shucked off several layers of woolen socks. 

"I'm going to take it that means 'thank you' and not 'come here so I can drown you, Rivenlander scum,'" Rue told her, fumbling with buttons of her trousers with fingers that tingled with newfound warmth. The buttons came free and Rue slid out of trousers and loincloth in one easy motion before dropping into the pool. She let out a long sigh and her eyes flutter closed as the water, full of the heat of the earth's heart, caressed her body. 

Nuveya watched her captor. For an instant, it occurred to her to attack, to seize and strangle, now while Rue's eyes were closed, her sword lying yards away under a pile of clothes. Nuveya was strong swimmer. Perhaps she could drown the Rivenlander. 

And then what? She was in the heart of a an enemy fortress. There would be no escape for her if she killed their commander. If she was lucky, they might do no more than execute her, but she doubted it. 

But as she studied Rue, Nuveya found it hard to keep her mind on these dark thoughts. Rue, who Nuveya guessed to be twenty-three or four, was unquestionably a warrior. Muscles of steel ripple under her ivory skin and fine, silvery scars crisscrossed its surface, like rivers on a map. Yet for all that, she was still Queen Callipygia's daughter. Her curving hips flared out below a narrow waist and toning the muscles of her shapely legs had only served to increase the size a naturally superb rump. One could easily balance a brace of brimming tankards on Rue's buttocks with no fear of the drink spilling. Nor had nature neglected her upper slopes. There were no sweet melons growing in Nuveya's native land, else the prodigious size and mouth-watering roundness of Rue's breasts, now gratefully freed from her tight breast band, would doubtless have reminded her of them. She had an up-tipped nose and deep blue eyes set over a plump, cherubic mouth. Combined with the boyish shortness of her jet-black hair and the stubborn tilt to her chin, the whole served to give Rue a look that was equal parts mischief and granite determination. 

Rue opened her eyes and saw Nuveya watching her. The ice girl blushed, making her cheeks appear still rosier and looked down, her hands moving instinctively to cover her submerged nakedness. Rue reached out and caught the hand that she would have placed over her breast, gently but firmly moving it to rest on Rue's own instead. Nuveya could feel the stiffness of the lady knight's nipple under her fingers, hard as an acorn cap despite the luxuriant heat of the pool. Still, she stood like a statute, a savage's fertility icon perhaps, not meeting Rue's eyes. Because her gaze was thus down cast, Nuveya did not she Rue lean into kiss her, had no warning until those cherub's lips met hers, entreating and demanding. Had she had some warning, it is possible she would have pulled away. Not likely perhaps, but possible. 

Rue kissed Nuveya and Nuveya kissed her back, tongues darting back and forth from one mouth to another like courting finches. Nuveya squeezed down on the breast she held, kneading and stroking. Rue gasped in pleasure and Nuveya took the opportunity to shove her tongue deeper into Rue's open mouth. Rue seized Nuveya and pulled her in close so that their four tremendous breasts were crushed together. Nuveya writhed against her captor, rubbing bosom against bosom and sending waves of pleasure coursing up from her own rock-hard nipples. From he moans Rue was making, the ice girl guessed that she felt the same. She could feel the moans through their locked lips and the gentle vibration sent heat rushing to her already tingling loins.

Rue had a hand on Nuveya's rump, her finger sunk in soft, yielding flesh. Her other hand scrabbled at those ridiculously long braids. Seal brown hair fanned out through the steaming water, enveloping them both. Nuveya was running a hand through Rue's short-cropped hair, marveling at its velvety softness. Her other hand found the coarser hairs about her captor's loins, but she was not deterred. 

Rue yelped, an undignified noise for the fearless leader of a knightly host, as she felt her captive slide three wriggling fingers into her slick cunt. Nuveya only chuckled and redoubled her efforts. Her laughter was the tinkle of bright droplets as the fall from thawing icicles in the northern spring. Rue growled in the back of her throat and lifted Nuveya—the warm water made it easier—bringing her fat breasts within reach of the princess' hungry mouth. 




The Royal Line Pt. 05



Chapter Five: Sedulous

In the chapel of Castle Grey, Father Sedulous knelt before the altar. With closed eyes, he bowed his shaven head in silent prayer. Above him, torches illumined a great mosaic depicting God in the act of banishing the dark forests. Light, picked out in warm yellows and glassy beads, haloed His horned and bearded head, and gleamed upon His glossy hooves and the rippling muscles of His chest. Upon the altar itself lay two drinking horns, black as onyx and bound in gold. One brimmed, as it always brimmed, with salt water, the other with a wine so dark a red as to seem almost black in the torchlight. 

The sound that reached Sedulous' ears was not a loud sound, but in the cavernous silence of the chapel, it might have been a fanfare. It was the sound of a man clearing his throat.

Sedulous stood and turned round in one surefooted movement. His right hand gripped the crooked staff that was the symbol of his office. It might not have seemed like a deadly weapon, but in the hands of a priest of Sedulous' rank, it was a greater threat than any mere broadsword. 

Nevertheless, the dark blue eyes that met Sedulous' own were perfectly calm.

"God grant you good even, Father," said Prince Satin, smoothly.

"May He grant us that and more, little brother," Sedulous replied. He did not relax, but then he had never visibly tensed either. "I take it you are not here to say your nightly prayers."

"I am not," Satin agreed. "I had wondered if you had taken confession of our dear brother Prowess of late."

Sedulous ran a hand over his neat beard. He was a half-head taller than Satin, with the same dark hair and cobalt eyes. Beside the latter's silks and gems, Sedulous' white cassock and lambskin stole were striking in their simplicity. 

"Crown Prince Prowess still confides in me," Sedulous admitted. "Of course, such confidence is a sacred trust."

"Of course," said Satin with a small smile. "It just occurred to me that now that our royal parents have departed for Windlewoods he must find the weight of his impending crown sitting heavier upon his brow."

"So he has lead me to believe," said Sedulous, stepping away from the altar and beginning his walk down the long rows of empty pews. "Still, unless King Potent were to abdicate, dear Prowess would have little to fear in his immediate future."

"Quite," said Satin, nodding. "Alas the king is unlikely to take so momentous a step lightly." 

"He must be counseled then," Sedulous said, musingly.

"He will not hear our counsels," Satin remarked, putting a faint stress on the penultimate word. 

"No," agreed Sedulous. "At court, royal blood is a well-watered wine, with little force or body to command respect."

"Yet there are others whom our father does respect," Satin pointed out.

"I see we have been musing upon similar lines, little brother," said Sedulous, with a small smile of his own. "We will speak further on this soon, no doubt. The Lady Rue's journey proceeds smoothly I trust?" 

"I have had word that her company recently passed through Shepford," said Satin.

"Ah, Shepford," Sedulous said, the smile vanishing from his lips if not his eyes. "A charming little village, as I recall. I hear that they have tragically lost their blacksmith."

"How unfortunate," said Satin, his face a blank slate. 

"Indeed," Sedulous continued. "The poor man—a Master Logan Ferrier, I believe—seems to have fallen face first into his own forge."

"You are very welled informed, Father," said Satin.

"Are priests not to be the eyes and ears of God on earth?" Sedulous asked, spreading his hands wide in a gesture innocent goodwill. Together, they passed out of the chapel proper. The brassbound double doors swung shut behind them with a hollow boom. 

Satin departed for the upper keep, while Sedulous made his way to the suite of rooms set aside for the Greyleon chaplain. These were not ostentatious chambers, not by nobleman's standards, but the chaplain was still the second most powerful priest in the realm, and there were few comforts that his rooms lacked. Woven rugs and tapestries draped the carven stone of walls and floors. A fire of apple wood burned upon the wide hearth, filling the chambers with warmth and sweet smells. Leather-bound books, written by church fathers and heretics alike, lined Sedulous' many shelves. Feather pillows graced the high-backed armchair that stood at one end of the mahogany table. Covered dishes of chased silver sat on the table, steaming gently. And in the armchair sat Tara. 

***

One month ago, Tara Asher was crouched in the shadows of a dripping alleyway. Heavy clouds had rolled in from the sea around Greyport and now the rain was pissing down. Drainpipes belched out rusty water to scour the gutters of their filth. Tara's sackcloth shirt and ragged skirts were soaked through and clung to her rail thin body. She shivered and tried to duck farther back under the overhang of the inn's roof, knowing it was useless. 

Had she had any coin, she would have been inside the inn, warming herself by the fireside, maybe nibbling at some of yesterday's bread. But she had no coin. Tara was not above stealing and quick as she was, she could generally keep herself fed. This winter was a bastard though. Everyone knew that, up at Castle Grey, Queen Callipygia was nearing her time yet again and this litter, the wise women foretold, would be her last. As such, nobles and merchants were flocking to Greyport, ready to take part in the inevitable festivities. And following them, like wolves following a herd of deer, came the rogues. Cutpurses and robbers from all over the Rivenlands now prowled the streets of Greyport. Like predators everywhere, they'd soon staked out territories and dealt harshly with interlopers. They were an altogether more dangerous breed of criminal than Tara and she was unwilling to tangle with them. 

Tara had fallen back on begging but, with so many visiting nobles about, the city watch did their best to keep the thoroughfares clear of smut-faced beggars. The same largely applied to smut-faced whores, and besides, at eighteen years old Tara was too skinny to attract many clients. She'd made the odd penny sucking off farmers' lads or merchants too cheap to visit a proper brothel, but those pennies were long gone. 

The splash of heavy boots at the other end of the alley made Tara spin round. A great bear of a man, his face obscured by a matted beard and the tarred canvas blanket he had draped about him like a cloak, was walking purposefully towards her. 

Tara was on her feet and backing away before she knew what she was doing. "What do you want?" she demanded. 

The man didn't answer, but he slid a hand under the folds of his tarpaulin cloak. When it remerged, it held a knife. Tara turned to run, but her bare feet, numb with cold, slipped on the slimy cobbles. The man caught hold of her long, mouse brown hair. She felt the cold steel of a knife blade against the skin of her throat. 

Suddenly, the inn's back door banged open. Yellow light spilled out, nearly blinding Tara. She heard the thud of wood striking flesh and felt the hand gripping her hair go slack as her attacker howled in pain. She fell to the cobbles and rolled over in time to see the bearlike man slash at another man with his knife. 

The new man, who wore a long white robe, blocked the cut with the crooked staff he carried. The blade bit deep into the wood and stuck there. The robed man tossed both weapons aside and lashed out with an empty hand. He didn't even make a fist, striking instead with the heel of his palm. The blow caught the bigger man under the chin, bringing his teeth together with an audible crunch. Tara's attacker toppled slowly over backwards and lay still. 

Sedulous gazed down at the starveling girl he had saved. If one were inclined to believe in acts of God, always an occupational hazard, one might have supposed such an act had placed him there to rescue her. He had just concluded his meeting with an informant from the lower city and was stepping out for a breath of the admittedly damp night air, when he was suddenly faced with that murderous tableau. He had reacted, for once, almost without thinking.

The girl was staring back at him. Her eyes were huge, a tawny gold in color, and beneath the grime her skin appeared as pale as any noblewoman's. She was also waifishly thin. Her cheeks were hollow with hunger and her sackcloth shirt had slipped during her struggles, revealing a breast that was scarcely plumper than fleabite. Her nipple stood out pink and stiff in the chill night air.

Sedulous stooped and offered his hand to the girl. "Here now," he said gently. "Let's get you inside. What's your name?"

"Tara, if it please you Father," the girl replied. "Tara Asher."

"It pleases me greatly," Sedulous told her, helping Tara up. "I am called Sedulous."

His voice was wildflower honey, dark and sweet. He led her through the back door of the inn and into the private sitting room he had rented for the evening. 

"Sit," instructed Sedulous, motioning Tara to a chair by the fire. Obediently, she sat. Gradually, the sound of her chattering teeth quieted. Sedulous picked up a basket of rolls from the table; he and his informant had barley picked at them.

"Eat," he ordered, passing the basket and a pat of yellow butter to Tara. She tried not to show how eager she was as she tore into the first roll. It was barley bread, still hot beneath the crunchy crust. She gulped it down in two bites. 

Sedulous watched the starveling girl closely, cogwheels spinning in his mind. On the one hand, this was not a good time for him to be getting distracted. Once his mother bore her last litter, things would begin to change, he had no doubt. On the other hand, too much plotting and worrying would only prove destructive in the long run. He could use a project.

Seeing that the girl was staring at him again, a second roll clutched in her hands, Sedulous smiled widely. "Please, have another. Finish the basket, in fact."

She did so, licking the butter from her fingers, while Sedulous sent for a hot bath and more food. The bath arrived first, a tin basin that was filled with kettles of clean, steaming water. Tara stared at it as though it might explode. 

"Stand up," Sedulous instructed. Tara stood. Her belly, full of bread and butter, gurgled nervously. Sedulous walked over to her and, very calmly, undressed her. 

His big hands were soft and warm as they pulled the sackcloth shirt over her head and then undid the cord that held up her ragged skirt. The greying linen fell to the floor with barely a rustle. Tara wore no loincloth and kept her crotch well shaven to deter parasites. She hoped that the Father might think it only rainwater that left the naked lips of her cunt so wet. Priest or no, he was a handsome man, perhaps thirty years of age. He wore his short beard well and his dark blue eyes seemed to stare right through her in way that made her fleabite breasts tingle not unpleasantly. Beneath his robes, she could tell that he was all compact muscle. 

"Wash yourself, Tara," he instructed. "The warm water will do you good."

She did so while Sedulous watched from an armchair. His face was unreadable, though his interest was so intense as to be nearly palpable. Food arrived as she was drying herself, the serving men tactfully effecting not to notice the naked tramp in the middle of the chaplain's rented room. When they had gone, Sedulous motioned for Tara to join him at the table. 

"Are you still hungry?" he inquired, cutting a thick slice off glazed ham as he spoke. 

"A bit, Father," Tara admitted. "Father, may I put my clothes back on now?"

Sedulous shook his head. "They are still wet, and very dirty besides. I will have new ones obtained for you. In the mean time, I have a proposal for you."

"What kind of proposal?" asked Tara.

Sedulous met her question with another. "Would you say that to starve a living thing was an evil?"

"I would, Father," said Tara.

"So feeding a starving thing would be virtuous?" Sedulous inquired.

"I suppose so," said Tara. 

"What of training to become a priest?" asked Sedulous.

"Why, that could only be virtuous," said Tara, aware of her position. 

"Truly?" Sedulous said, raising an eyebrow. "Then what if that virtuous deed came at a cost?"

"All things cost, Father," said Tara flatly. 

Sedulous smiled. "The wisdom of cobblestones. Well, my proposal is to bring us both closer to virtue, as should ever be the aim of any man of God. I shall feed and clothe you, thus bettering myself, and you shall train as a priest, thus bettering yourself."

"And the cost?" asked Tara. She could smell the ham from across the table. Steam rose from the other dishes as well: gravy, long beans, onions, and stewed pears. 

"The cost to both of us will be the same," Sedulous said calmly. "We must defy God's wishes and indulge in lustful excess, untempered by the vows of marriage."

"'We must', must we?" said Tara, raising an eyebrow skeptically, though she could feel her loins growing hot at the very notion. She was glad her lap was below the level of the table. "I thought this scheme was going to bring us closer to virtue."

"Indeed it will," said Sedulous smoothly. "For every sin can be absolved, while good deeds stand forever, like pillars of adamant. And indeed we must, Tara Asher, for God has made me a thing of flesh and you are in no position to deny me." 

Tara gave a shudder of delight to hear the steel under the sweetness of Sedulous' deep voice as he spoke this. Beneath the table, her fingers, dimpled from the warm bath, began to toy almost unthinkingly with the nub of her clitoris. 

"True enough," Tara admitted. "Very well, Father. We'll do it your way. But..." she added with mock sternness, "your flesh won't get its seeing to until after I have some supper." 

"As you wish, Novice Tara," said Sedulous smiling widely. "But for expediency's sake I hope you will condescend to be fed. I imagine it might prove rather difficult to eat one-handed." 

He glanced pointedly at the place where the table obscured his view of Tara's hand, which, out of sight, had begun fingering her increasingly slick cunt. Tara blushed crimson but did not pause in her activities. Instead, she began to worry her stiff, pink nipples with her free hand and opened her mouth wide, like a begging fledgling. Sedulous inserted a forkful of the ham and she bit down. Gravy ran down her chin as she chewed and her own musky juices ran down the insides of her thighs. 

When at last Tara's belly was full, tight as drum beneath xylophone ribs, she leaned back in her chair and let the orgasm she had been nursing wash over her. Sedulous watched intently as her thin body trembled and shook. Silently, he moved to her side and undid the cord and clasps of his white robe. Tara's eyes were closed, savoring the sweet sensation of being warm and full as much as the orgasm, so the feeling of a hot tongue delicately licking a dribble of gravy from her bite-sized breast took her unawares. 

Tara moaned aloud and rolled her hips reflexively, her tawny eyes still closed. Encouraged, Sedulous began to suck on her little nipple, his hands sliding gently over that taught skin of Tara's stomach. She moaned louder and reached up one hand to the back of Sedulous' head, holding him closer. She ran her fingers through his close-cropped hair, delighting in the soft prickling of it. Her other hand groped blindly until it brushed by chance against the length of Sedulous' rock-hard cock. She tried to grasp it, but found it so thick that she could not bring her thumb and fingers together. 

With a startled gasp of disbelief, Tara opened her eyes. Her jaw dropped and the she began to smile. 

"A crooked staff for a priest," she giggled.

Sedulous' cock did indeed bend hard to the right, but even crooked it was still nearly as long and thick as Tara's forearm. She slid from her chair with a wondering sigh and, kneeling on the floor, began to lick the head of Sedulous' cock while she rubbed and stroked its curving length with hands still wet from her cunt's juices. Sedulous gripped the edge of the table for support as waves of pleasure rushed up from his loins, making his head swim.

"Are you still so hungry?" he asked, as Tara crammed as much of his cock as would fit into her warm, wet mouth, her tongue still working madly. 

"Mm-hmm," Tara grunted through a mouthful of throbbing flesh. "Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, mm-hmm, mm-hmm..."

Sedulous came without warning, filling Tara's mouth with his semen, hot and thick. She slurped it down greedily, squeezing his shaft with both hands to extract every drop. When he was finished, she licked her lips in evident satisfaction.

"Your turn now," she told him. 

Sedulous grinned and scooped Tara up as if she weighed no more than a ragdoll. He carried her to the low couch by the fire and laid her on it. Gently, he spread her legs apart, his strong hands resting on the insides of her thin thighs. Then he lowered his mouth to her cunt. 

No one had ever pleasured Tara before, not really. Men had taken from her, but never given. Sedulous gave. His tongue worked her clitoris, darting and coaxing like something molten, and stabbed in deeper to taste the secrets behind her swollen lips. Tara whined, high and animal, and this only seemed to make the tongue dance faster. Tara came, then screamed aloud and came again as his lips closed about her clitoris, sucking it savagely. 

Before she could recover herself, Sedulous was on top of her. He pinned her legs beneath his own and gripped her flanks with both hands. He could feel her ribs under the warm skin and the wild tattoo of heart that beat beneath. He placed each thumb over one of Tara's nipples and began to knead her fleabite breasts in slow, ungentle circles. 

Tara could feel Sedulous' crooked cock—hard again and huge beyond her imagining—pressing close against the lips of her dripping cunt. She writhed, arching her body and rolling her hips, and felt the great hook catch. Her cunt, still tender and trembling from the three orgasms it had already endured that evening, opened before Sedulous' enormous cock, which slid inside with tortuous slowness. Sedulous gave an involuntary grunt of emotion and began to thrust his hips in powerful, rhythmic motions. Tara gasped and moaned as she felt herself crammed full of hot, throbbing cock. It was a fucking like nothing she'd known before, because the priest's misshapen manhood not only pressed her most sensitive places but also plucked at them each time it was withdrawn for a fresh sally. 

"Faster," she begged, and Sedulous obliged. He was nearly frantic himself, in any case. This little street urchin's cunt was so tight...

"Faster!" Tara pleaded. Sedulous redoubled his efforts. The push and pull of flesh on flesh grew overwhelming.

"Faster! Please Father, faster!" Tara implored, her voice full of a desperate need. Sedulous snarled, an unpriestly, animal sound. He was gripping Tara bodily now, drawing her featherweight body toward him with each mighty stroke so that their loins collided with heart-stopping force. Tara threw her arms about his neck and arched herself towards him until they were nose to nose. Sweat beaded on Sedulous' handsome brow and ecstatic tears leaked from the corners of Tara's tawny eyes. Unmindful of the prickling of his beard, she kissed him with lips still sticky with his seed, kissed him as though she would devour him. 

They came as one, spurting and twitching and shuddering. Tara clung to Sedulous for support as her ears rang and her vision blurred. He held her close and lay back on the couch, wrapping them both in his robe. Soon the rhythm of Tara's breathing told him that she slept. Sedulous however lay awake yet awhile, considering the future and listening to the patter of the rain on the inn's roof.




The Royal Line Pt. 05



***

Back in the here and now, Tara rose from her chair with a wide smile as Sedulous entered the chamber. Had he not known it to be true, the chaplain scarcely would have believed she was the same girl he had pulled from that alley barely month ago. Tara's golden brown hair was shaved close to the scalp in the style of a novice and she wore the fawn-colored robe that befitted her rank. But it was the changes under the robe, Sedulous' knew, that were the most impressive. 

Tara was no longer waifish; she bulged. Freed at last from the shackles of hunger, Tara's body had blossomed. More than that, she had put on weight like she-bear preparing for a long winter. Admittedly, some of that weight was muscle. Tara had been training hard, learning to fight as the priests did, with staves and with the heel of the palm. But over that steely strength, layer upon layer of pillowy softness was draped. It was technically correct to say Tara had an hourglass figure. Her slight paunch was utterly dwarfed by her buttocks and breasts. It was as though her body, overjoyed to finally have something to work with, had declared a second and bountiful puberty. Tara's breasts, defiant of gravity, stood out like ripe watermelons and her rump bulged like an overstuffed armchair. And all that bounty was smooth, perfectly tender flesh.

Sedulous crossed the space between them in a flash, folding Tara in his arms and kissing her. Her lips were plumper than before, but no less sweet, and the tawny eyes that stared up into his when at last he pulled away burned with undimmed passion.

"You're late, Father," she chided him. "I thought I would waste away waiting for you to come." 

"Waste away?" smiled Sedulous, his hands slowly slipping down the gentle curve of her back until they rested atop the great hills of her buttocks. "With hot food sitting on the table?"

"Well, I was hardly going to start eating without you, now was I?" said Tara, shifting her weight from hip to hip so that her huge rump trembled deliciously under Sedulous' fingers. He began to knead her flesh, as a baker kneads dough. Tara shivered in delight, a ripple that was felt throughout the warm softness of her body. 

"Ooh, Father," she protested, sticking out her full lower lip in an enticing pout. "You're making me wet."

"Am I supposed to apologize?" Sedulous asked. He leaned in to kiss her again, biting that pouting lip until she squeaked.

"After supper?" she begged. "Please?" 

Sedulous shook his head, but nevertheless drew Tara towards the high-backed armchair. 

He settled himself and then pulled her down onto his lap. Even through the warm cloth of their robes, Tara could feel Sedulous' cock hardening beneath her voluptuous buttocks. She leaned back, tucking her head under Sedulous bearded chin, and reached down between her own legs. Her deft pickpocket's fingers found the thick curve of his cock easily, rubbing it gently through the layers of fabric. 

Sedulous could not keep a soft noise of need from escaping his lips. The little breath of air was warm against Tara's nearly shaven scalp. She giggled, and undid the knot of Sedulous' rope belt with a single practiced tug. The chaplain's robe fell open and his crooked cock sprang free. Tara continued to stroke it, marveling—as she always marveled—at its girth and the heat it radiated under her palm. 

Sedulous squirmed under her gentle touch. He seized the folds of Tara's fawn colored robe in both hands and dragged them roughly up past the level of her hips. Tara had been truthful; she was very wet. Slippery juices were already dripping down her plump, pale thighs, making them gleam in the firelight. 

"Inside," Sedulous ordered, his dark honey voice made rough and husky by his hunger for her. "Put it inside you."

It never occurred to Tara to disobey. At once she crammed Sedulous huge, misshapen cock into her. Even after a full month, her cunt had to strain to accommodate his enormity. Her swollen lips parted easily enough, but she had to lean her full weight upon him to force Sedulous' throbbing cock farther up the hot, slick tunnel that led to her waiting womb. She moaned aloud as flesh ground over flesh with awful slowness, until at last the Chaplain was sheathed in her up to the hilt. 

Tara began to roll her hips in tight, rhythmic circles, but Sedulous laid a hand on her shoulder, checking her.

"Take it slowly," he instructed. "Here."

He took her hands and gently guided them so that the fingers of one rested on the nipple of her bulging left breast and the other upon the hard knot of her clitoris.

"Must I pleasure myself then?" Tara asked petulantly. 

"Indeed you must," agreed Sedulous. "My hands will be occupied in feeding you."

He reached around her then with his long arms, and plucked the silver cover from the first dish. The rich scent of roast duck made Tara's mouth water and her fingers began, almost unconsciously, to move in rapid circles.

She brought herself to a climax before the duck was half-eaten, but Sedulous would not allow her to remove her hands or let them rest idle for more than a moment. He, meanwhile, remained evidently placid as he spoon-fed her course after course. Only the occasionally twitch of his rock-hard cock within her betrayed the depth of his arousal. 

Tara came again and again as the meal continued, her climaxes coming closer and closer together. Though Sedulous exalted to feel the walls of her cunt quiver and twitch against the length of cock, he was relentless. Each time Tara opened her mouth to gasp as a fresh wave of mind-swamping pleasure rolled over her, he was sure to fill it with some savory morsel. The meal was a large one, easily enough to sate two grown men, but under his care, Tara ate it all. Whenever she was certain she must burst, Sedulous would pause and gently massage her swollen belly and soon she would find she could eat a little more after all.

Finally, when the last scrap of piecrust had disappeared, Sedulous allowed Tara's hands to fall limply by her sides. He pushed back their chair from the table and stood, scooping Tara up in his arms. She was not the featherweight thing she had been back in that room at the inn, but Sedulous' arms and legs were strong from years spent training and sparring with his brothers in the cloth. His muscles stood out beneath his robe as he carried Tara towards the suite's bedchamber, but he did not grunt or break a sweat. 

Giddy from rich food and more orgasms than she could count, Tara ran her hands slowly over the taught muscles of Sedulous back and shoulders.

"'From purity flows strength,'" she quoted and giggled.

"Do you mock the holy teachings of the scriptures?" said Sedulous gravely, laying her down upon the white coverlet of his four-poster bed. 

"No Father," she assured him quickly. "The scriptures are fine by me." She began to giggle again.

"Clearly you need a further lesson in the awesome solemnity of priesthood," Sedulous informed her, letting his robe slither to the stone floor. His muscled body fairly glowed in the lamplight.

"Ooh, yes please," agreed Tara, tugging at the knot of her own belt and letting her robe fall open. Sedulous pulled aside the fawn-colored cloth, gazing hungrily at the silken skin and pillowy curves beneath. Her nipples, stiff and very pink, seemed foolishly small for the size of her giant breasts. Slowly, Sedulous leaned in and took one between his lips. 

Tara moaned as he began to suckle at her. His right hand strayed from fondling her other breast, stealing down between her legs. She felt almost raw down there from the dozen odd times she had come during dinner, but at Sedulous' touch her musky juices began to flow afresh and Tara knew she wanted—no, she needed—yet more.

"Please," she whimpered, thrusting her hips towards Sedulous' questing fingers. She sighed with relief as she felt them slip inside her. As he fingered her, Sedulous began to suck her nipples harder, first one and the other, then both at once, her great breasts pressed so close together that it became hard to say where one wonderful, wobbling hill began and the other ended. His fingering too increased in tempo, rubbing frantically at her most secret place, until with a gurgling cry, Tara came. 

At once, Sedulous mounted her, thrusting his crooked cock hard and deep into Tara's trembling cunt. He bucked and thrust wildly, making her cry out like some wild animal. He took hold of a huge breast in each hand, squeezing and kneading in time to the thunderous tattoo of his lusts. His dark blue eyes bored into Tara's tawny ones, reveling in their helpless rapture.

"From purity flows strength," he told her, his voice a throbbing whisper. "And I am purity, little girl. I am the pure power of God, unadorned. Feel my strength as it flows into you, as it fills as I have filled you, belly and cunt, making you mine."

Tara gasped and felt a final climax sweep through her like an electric current. Sedulous came with her, gushing as though a dam had broken. Tara could feel his seed pumping into her, hot and thick. Her mind still reeling, she reached out and drew Sedulous close, pillowing his head with the sweaty softness of her breasts. They lay there, tangled together, for a long time, while the lamps and the hearth burned low and the world turned its face towards the morning.



The Royal Line Pt. 06



Chapter Six: Vitalia 

Princess Vitalia of House Greyleon seated herself of the stone lip of the fountain and the center of the Lilac Garden and breathed in the night air. The fountain was silent, filled with nothing but grey-green ice, and the trees and bushes that lined the gravel paths from the keep were bare. Even so, Vitalia thought the place retained a certain austere beauty, bathed as it was in silvery moonlight. The high walls of Castle Grey sheltered it from the wind and in her long sable coat, Vitalia felt quite warm.

A bray of laughter and the crunch of boots on icy gravel caught her attention. She turned to see a party of men making their somewhat unsteady way along the path. There were six of them in all and under their warm cloaks Vitalia could see the tabards that marked them as men-at-arms in the employ of House Shoareave. 

"Good even, miss," one of them called as they drew near. He saluted clumsily, his gauntleted fingers clanging sharply against the steel of his helm.

"Good even," Vitalia replied levelly, eyeing the man up and down. He was too short for her tastes, she decided, and too drunk.

"That's not a 'miss'," one of the other men whispered loudly in his friend's ear. "That's a princess."

Vitalia smiled. She did indeed have the raven hair, currently coiled about her head in two long braids, and the deep blue eyes that marked her as one of the royal family. 

"Oh sorry miss," the first man said hastily, saluting again. "I mean, your Highness."

One of the other men began to snigger loudly, covering his mouth with a mail-gloved hand. "Hind-ass," he burbled to himself. "He called her a hind-ass."

"What are you laughing about?" protested the first man turning angrily on his comrade, before starting to giggle in turn. "You're so stupid. A hind-ass isn't even a word."

"Ah, ah, it could be," put in another man. "It could be like a donkey, right, a donkey crossed with a deer. A female one, obviously."

"Donkeys can't fuck deer," said the first man in the reasonable tones of a drunk. "On account of being domestic." 

"You shouldn't swear in front of the princess!" the man's friend whispered urgently. Vitalia just continued to smile. 

"They might do, if, for example..." the proponent of the donkey-deer breeding program began, but one of his fellows cut him off, saying loudly,

"I just thought he meant because your ass is always behind you, see?" 

"You shouldn't be talking about the princess' ass!" the whisperer said desperately. 

"Not if you don't want a beating, any road," said a new voice.

A tall man stepped out of the darkness. He too was dressed as a guardsman, but his tabard showed the insignia of House Greyleon. Six more men followed in his wake.

"Ah Tomair," Vitalia cooed. "I'd wondered if you were coming."

"Of course your Highness," the tall man replied, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Have these Shoareave dogs been bothering you?"

"Well, if you'd care to put it that way..." said Vitalia, her gaze fixed on her gloved hands, neatly folded on her lap. 

"Right," said Tomair, with a curt nod to the men who followed him. Then he spun round and punched the nearest Shoareaver in the gut. The unfortunate man doubled over gasping and Tomair took the opportunity to slam the man's head against his knee. There was a crunch as the Shoareaver's nose broke. 

Vitalia watched, smiling beatifically, as Tomair and his companions fell upon the drunken guardsmen like wolves. They were all men of powerful build, fit and well trained, and though they wore tabards that proclaimed a variety of allegiances, they fought as unit. They left their swords in their scabbards, confining themselves to kicks, punches, and a few well-placed elbows. That proved more than enough to send the Shoareavers off whimpering.

Tomair turned to Vitalia as the noise died away, and respectfully doffed his helm. His dark blond hair was damp with sweat from his exertions and his blue-green eyes were dancing.

"I apologize for the spectacle, you Highness," he told her. 

Vitalia laughed and stood, leaning up on tiptoe to kiss Tomair on the cheek. 

"Don't be silly," she chided him. "You know I love watching you boys work."

A low chuckle ran around the circle of men. She knew each of them. Adun was bearded and serious, with the swarthy complexion of a southerner. Calens looked almost boyish, with his wide blue eyes and roguish grin, save for the long scar across his brow. Harkun and Derrin were brothers, with dark curly hair and high cheekbones. Falstett had fox-colored hair that he wore in a long tail and eyes like green frost. Orac was the biggest of the lot, with a slow smile and fair hair shaved so close as to be little more than peach fuzz. 

"The pack's all here then," Vitalia said, looking around.

"That we are, your Highness" Calens replied grinning. There was blood on the knuckles of his gauntlet, though he seemed not to have noticed.

"It is cold," said Adun. "Shall we go in?"

"Thin southern blood," rumbled Orac, shaking his head. "In my village, the lads would be chopping the ice off the pond for a late night dip."

"That's because everyone in your village is crazy," pointed out Falstett. 

"I'd be happy to go in," said Vitalia, snuffing out the spark of an argument. Tomair smiled gratefully at her. 

"Shall we carry you, your Highness?" he enquired. 

Vitalia nodded and Tomair motioned to Harkun and Derrin. At once the brothers came and knelt down, side by side, in front of Vitalia. She settled herself on their shoulders and they hoisted her into the air. A bare twenty years of age, Vitalia was slender, even petite, and the big men carried her without difficulty. The others fell in around them and Tomair led the way, not towards the keep, but towards the old gatehouse set in great wall on the far side of the Lilac Garden. 

Guards on duty had not used the place for many years. A chunk of the cliff on which Castle Grey stood had crumbled and fallen into the sea during Vitalia's grandfather's time, rendering the section of wall the gatehouse guarded inaccessible to anyone without the wings of a gull. Still, the living quarters here were well, if sparsely, furnished. Harkun and Derrin set Vitalia down gently on a low couch, while Calens cheerfully built up the fire. Orac tossed his cloak on the back of a chair and strode over to the hickory the cabinet that held the bottles. 

"Orac," Tomair said. His voice was not loud but it stopped the bigger man in his tracks. 

"Oh, very well," Orac sighed. He caught the cloak up once more and hung it neatly from one of the pegs by the door before, making a great show of checking the chair for stray snowflakes. 

"It's only manners," said Tomair, more gently. 

"It wasn't as though I was going to leave it there indefinitely," Orac responded. 

Falstett passed him a leather jack with a generous measure of something amber in it. "Buck up, Orac. We all know that manners don't come naturally to you northern barbarians." 

Orac took the drink with a snort. "You'd best give one to Adun too. A few drams of Hawkshead Whiskey ought to warm even his thin southern blood." 

Adun glowered but accepted the proffered jack. 

"Speaking of Hawkshead," said Derrin, who had joined Calens before the fire. "Did you all see the Baron arrive today?"

"Aye," said Falstett, with a vulpine grin. "His lady wife looks like a conker about to pop."

"She's not the only one," put in Harkun. "Those step-daughters of his..."

"Please boys," said Vitalia, sighing and stretching herself out on the couch. "Don't speak ill of my nieces." She wordlessly held up her own snowy cloak and Calens sprang up at once to accept it and hang it by the door. 

"Your pardon, Highness, " said Harkun with a bow. "I meant no ill, I assure you."

Vitalia smiled and nodded at him, then turned back to Tomair. 

"What of my eldest brother?" she asked him. 

"Crown Prince Prowess?" said Tomair. "Why, well enough." 

"Happy with the new captain of his personal guard?" Vitalia inquired. 

"His Highness seems thoroughly satisfied with my services," Tomair replied with a smile, swift and sharp as a sickle. 

"I am glad to hear it," Vitalia purred. She patted the couch beside her and Tomair removed his mail shirt and tabard before joining her. The other men too were losing their heavier layers as the fire on the hearth warmed the room. Calens brought a pewter cup for Vitalia and she drank deeply before gesturing for him to be seated on her other side. The princess leaned back, curling a slim arm about each man's broad shoulders. Her fingers twined themselves almost absently through Tomair's dark blonde hair.

Orac came and knelt before Vitalia. With surprising delicacy for so large a man, he removed the princess' snowy boots and peeled off the warm woolen stockings beneath. Vitalia curled her little pink toes in pleasure as Orac massaged the soles of her feet with massive fingers. He chuckled and planted a courtly kiss on the top of her foot. 

"Such a gentleman," Vitalia laughed. "I fear you boys were wrong about northern manners. For this, Orac, you may be first tonight."

So saying, Vitalia lifted the skirt of her blue gown and the layers of petticoats beneath, hiking them up past her narrow waist. It was plain for all to see that the princess wore no smallclothes. The porcelain skin of her thighs and the flushed lips of her cunt fairly glowed in the firelight. 

"You honor me, Highness," said Orac, reverently. He lifted Vitalia's legs to rest on his great shoulders and then lowered his mouth. 

The huge man's broad tongue pressed its way between the lips of Vitalia's cunt, then swept upward in a slow lapping motion, rubbing across the hard nub of her clitoris. Vitalia moaned softly and arched her back, thrusting her hips towards Orac's mouth. The princess' fingers curled and her nails stabbed into Calens' and Tomair's necks. 

Orac arched his tongue against her nub, flexing the rough length of hot, wet muscle. Then her began to work his tongue like the clapper of an ever more frantically ringing bell, faster and harder, until the princess' individual moans ran together into a desperate keening, broken only by the occasional gasp for breath. Then he slipped a thick finger inside Vitalia's dripping cunt and began to gently probe that patch of tender skin that every member of the pack had grown to know so well.

Vitalia hissed like water spilled on a hot stove and Tomair leaned across to kiss her. She moaned into their locked lips, which only drove the guardsman on, his darting tongue tasting the heat of her ecstasy. As her vision swam, the princess felt Calens' hand slide down the front of her dress and cup the great swell of her plump breast. On her other side Tomair did the same.

Then Orac added a second finger and Vitalia came. Lightning coursed through her brain, the walls of her cunt shook, and a spray of her musky juice splashed Orac's grinning face, making him laugh. Undeterred, the big man added a third finger and redoubled his pace. A moment later, Vitalia came again with even more violence than before. 

Now Orac stood and dropped his trousers to the flagstone floor. His cock stood out proudly like the ram on a warship. It was not so long as one might imagine for a man of Orac's mighty bulk, but was thicker around than could be easily believed. 

Without preamble, Orac brushed his pack mates aside and pulled Vitalia's dress up over her head and tossed it on the floor. Then he bent low over the naked princess and thrust his fat cock into her. Vitalia moaned and rolled her hips, thrusting against. Orac responded with slow, powerful strokes, so that the princess' body trembled and shook to stead rhythm.

"Look at her!" Calens marveled. "Two already and she's still as hungry a she-wolf!"

"She's getting close again," remarked Falstett in neutral tones that belied the naked avarice in frost green eyes. 

He'd spoken truly and now Vitalia came again, her cunt clenching down hard on Orac's terrible girth. The big man let an impassioned grunt, sweat running down his temples, and without further warning he emptied his balls into her. He continued to thrust his pulsing, spurting cock into the princess, prolonging her orgasm. When at last she lolled back, gasping for breath, he withdrew. Thick seed spilled from Vitalia's cunt, splashing onto the flagstone floor. 

"Me next," cried Calens as Vitalia struggled back into a sitting position. She nodded and reached out for him, drawing him down onto the low couch. His hose were already about his ankles, revealing his throbbing cock. Vitalia dropped forward, sweaty strands of her raven hair slipping free from their braids to brush against Calens' thighs. The princess ran her tongue lightly over the swollen purple head of his cock. Calens shuddered in pleasure and pushed her head with both hands. Vitalia gagged and spluttered for an instant and then the hot flesh was sliding over the back of her throat. She could feel its heat, warming the blood in the veins of her slender neck and running down into the pit of her stomach. She let out a satisfied moan and began to suck and slurp lustily at Calens' cock. As she did, she arched her spine, lifting her pale, shapely ass and dripping cunt high into the air. 

Up stepped Falstett and plunged his cock into her from behind. His scarred swordsman's hands seized the tender flesh of Vitalia's rump and proceed to maul it, leaving blushing ghosts in the shapes fingers behind. He slammed their bodies together, fast and rough, his cock squelching loudly against the entrance to her royal womb. The sound seemed to drive Vitalia wild and in moment she was coming again. She yowled as her body shook with pleasure and the vibration of the sound and of the shaking thrummed along the length of Calen's throbbing cock. He came with a yowl of his own, his seed spurting into the princess' hungry mouth and spilling out over her rosy lips. 

Lifting her head from Calens' lap, Vitalia twisted to look over her shoulder at Falstett. Deep blue eyes locked with pale green ones. She ran her tongue around her mouth in a futile effort to clean up the seed that was already dripping from her chin. The sight was too much for Falstett. With a muffled curse, he came. 

Vitalia purred, her sticky smile wide and wicked. She hooked two outstretched fingers at Adun, drawing him in like a fish on the line. Slowly, she reached behind herself and trailed those fingers down Falstett's sculpted abdomen until they reached the place where his still twitching cock was slowing withdrawing of the dripping tunnel of her cunt. Her fingers continued to roam, coming to rest lightly upon her pink and puckered rosebud. Even more slowly, she slipped first one finger, slick with the many mingled juices of her loins, then the other into her ass. All the while, Vitalia kept her eyes on Adun's face. 

The swarthy man shoved Falstett roughly aside and thrust his own ramrod cock deep into the princess' cunt. Her hiss of boiling pleasure had not died upon her flower-petal lips before Adun withdrew his cock, now slick and shining, and plunged it with even greater force into Vitalia's ass. 

"God's horns and hooves," he swore, thrusting his hips wildly, "Your highness is so goddamn tight."

Vitalia did not reply, but her ravenous grin widened and she began to twitch and buck her rump in time to Adun's brutal pounding. Adun moaned and reached around, his clever fingers feeling out the princess' clitoris. He began to rub in tight circles, with a control and delicacy that was at odds with the raw force of his crazed rutting. For Vitalia, the thick cock in her ass seemed to make every other part of her more sensitive and when Adun set his other hand to work, she could hold out no longer. Vitalia came and Adun with her, emptying himself into her forbidden chamber. 

With tortuous slowness, Vitalia eased herself off of Adun cock, the tight ring of her asshole pinching every poppyseed of its oozing length. The southerner groaned, dark spots swimming before his glazed eyes. Once free, Vitalia rose from the couch and stalked over to the hearth where Harkun and Derrin stood like paired statues, guarding the sacred fire of some forgotten temple. The brothers had undressed and the flickering fire painted their muscled bodies with shadow and light like golden oil. Vitalia stepped between them. She was white as marble and a myriad matings could not sully the perfection her flesh. 

She ran her fingers lightly over the swell of her breasts. Even had those tender orbs belonged to woman a foot taller than the princess and outweighing her by seven stone, they would have been accounted bounteous. On her petite frame, they were riches beyond the ken of mortals. Under her fingertips, Vitalia's nipples stiffened to attention. The brothers stood transfixed, but not for long.

Hastily, they dropped to their knees, putting their mouths at the level of Vitalia's breasts. Each took one in his hands, cradling and caressing, then wordlessly and simultaneously, they slipped those stiff and rosy nipples into their watering mouths. The princess moaned, her head thrown back. Her raven hair was swaying the shudders of pleasure that washed over her. Fours lips, two tongues, and gently nibbling teeth coaxed and quested. Unbidden, her loins began to tingle. She laced pale fingers through the brothers' sweaty locks, crushing them to her. The feeling within rose to fever pitch and Vitalia gasped as a sudden orgasm, leaping from breast to cunt to brain like summer lightning, swept her legs from under her.

The brothers caught her as she fell, drawing her down with them to rest on the sheepskin rug the lay before the fire. Laughter bubbled freely from her lips, which shone like ripe berries in her flushed face. The brother's met Vitalia's dancing eyes and even through her giddiness she saw their raw desire.

"Fill me," she ordered. Her voice thrummed with that harmonic that none of the pack could hear and disobey. 

They did so, Harkun from above and Derrin from below. Vitalia hissed like cat in heat when the scalding tip of Harkun's throbbing cock brushed against her tender rosebud. He did not linger there however but continued to descend until he found the slippery seal where Derrin's thick cock was crammed deep into Vitalia's cunt. The princess whimpered, high and hungry, as Harkun mercilessly drove his own bulging cock slowly into her loins. She felt so full, full to bursting. The two cocks moved gently inside her, rubbing every slippery inch of Vitalia's cunt. 

"Harder," she whispered and they obeyed.

The first orgasm made Vitalia scream aloud and after that every tiny movement of the brothers' fat cocks, every slippery whisper of flesh over raw and quivering flesh, was enough to send her off into fresh paroxysms of ecstasy. She thought she must have come more than twenty times before the brothers' iron control finally broke. They released their seed together, flooding the princess and sending sticky rivulets cascading over her pale thighs. 

Now Tomair, as hard and naked as a barren cliff face, plucked Vitalia from the tangle of bodies and carried his waifish mistress to the center of the room. Her eyes were glassy with exhaustion and euphoria, but she rubbed herself feebly against him as he grasped her by the waist. Still standing tall, Tomair brought her down bodily, impaling her upon his giant cock. He drove into her with shallow, powerful strokes, his head bowed just enough for his hungry mouth to savage the princess' bounteous breasts. Neither of them could long endure this; one was too spent, the other too taught.

When they came as one, Tomair seated himself cross-legged upon the floor. Vitalia collapsed against him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The captain of the guard patted the flagstones beside him and the other pack members hastened to sit in a circle on the floor beside him. They were lusty young men, when all was said and done, and their cocks were already stiffening for another bout. 




The Royal Line Pt. 06



Vitalia was passed from lap to lap like a party favor, losing track of cocks and orgasms, of names and the passage of time. All was blur of flesh and heat, of pleasure and the pack. 

***

The hour was near noon, when Princess Vitalia awoke. She was in her own bed, with no recollection of how she came to be there, but this in itself did not unduly trouble her. The smell of the pack was still strong on her skin and from the hall outside she could distantly hear the low rumble of Orac's voice. As long as she had the loyalty of such men, she might count herself well guarded from ordinary threats. 

The woman seated beside her bed, however, was far from ordinary. 

"God give you good day, sister," Duchess Delicacia said quietly. 

"And you also," Vitalia replied. Her voice felt warm and rough in her throat. 

Delicacia filled a goblet from the silver ewer on the bedside table and passed it to her little sister. Vitalia sat up in bed to receive it, the coverlet slithering from her shoulders to reveal her nakedness. Delicacia made no comment and Vitalia no move to cover herself. 

"The Lady Rue arrived in Greyport late last night," Delicacia informed her as she set the cup down. 

"Ah." Vitalia sank back against her pillows, her eyes roving over the rafters, unseeing. "Then we are all here," she mused. 

"Indeed," agreed Delicacia. "Is your young hound ready to play his part?"

"Is yours?"

"Fear me not, sister. All is arranged."

"I think that failing to fear you would be a mistake I would likely not have the luxury of repeating."

Delicacia smiled at this and stood, with barely a rustle of her silken gown. Then she reached down and tapped Vitalia in the valley between the snowy mountains of breasts. Her fingertip pressed down gently over the princess' heart. 

"Flatterer," Delicacia whispered. 

Then she turned on her heel and strode over to a hanging tapestry. The cloth was twitched aside and there was the faintest rasp of stone on well-oiled stone. 

Then Delicacia was gone.



The Royal Line Pt. 07



Chapter Seven: Condign

Lord Condign of House Inhren, Warden of the Rivenlands, faced the semicircle of pale, blue-eyed faces, his hands folded behind his poker straight back. His iron-grey hair was cut close the scalp and his lined face was scrupulously clean-shaven. In his youth, Duchess Delicacia reflected, he must have been quite a handsome man, despite the severity of his straight nose and powerful jawline. Now he was merely imposing. The passage of time had done little to winnow the muscles of his broad shoulders and nothing at all to the dim the intensity of his dark eyes. 

"It doesn't take a sage to work it out," he informed them calmly. 

"To work what out, my lord?" inquired Prince Satin. The waifish princeling sat close beside Delicacia, who Codign judged to be there leader, for all that it was her brother Hale who now wore the golden circlet of the Crown Prince of the Rivenlands. 

"Every since Lady Rue returned from the north, it's been one damn thing after another. And now when all the smoke as cleared away, it's one of your little cabal who's poised to take the throne. You six have always been as thick as thieves."

"And how thick are thieves?" purred Princess Vitalia, leaning back in her chair so that her impressive bust strained at the cloth of her gown. For all that she was the shortest of her sisters there assembled in that tower room, the young princess seemed no less well endowed. Four months of pregnancy had only added to the lushness of outsized bosom. 

With an effort, Condign tore mind away from that line of thought.

"It seems plain enough to me that you six have conspired between you to take the throne of the Rivenlands, even if it meant the murder of your eldest brother, King Prowess."

"Ridiculous," snorted Hale. The eldest of the six, and the brawniest, this man had been a field commander before he became the Baron of Hawkshead, and now more recently, Crown Prince. "As you said yourself, my lord, these last few months have been just one thing after another. How could anyone have predicted all this, much less engineered it?"

"How?" Condign growled. "I'll tell you how. To begin with, there was the business with Duke Courage of Lorthwood."

"He was spreading seditious rumors, your Wardenship," Father Sedulous reminded him. The chaplain's voice was calming, deep and melodious. "A room full of witnesses heard him."

"A room full of witnesses would have dismissed his speech of as the ramblings of a drunk," Condign countered, "had not the Lady Rue challenged him to duel over it."

"He insulted the honor of my father and my late brother," growled Rue. She sat upon the very edge of her seat, wiry muscles clenching and unclenching. The sight reminded Condign of a wolfhound straining at its lead. "I will not apologize for defending the good name of my house."

"Very convincing, your Ladyship," snorted Condign. "At least it might have been, had not the Duke Courage's speech been immediately preceded by long hours of conversation and heavy drinking with Duchess Delicacia and Duke Bold."

"Are you suggesting my husband and I manipulated the Duke of Lorthwood into that shameful display?" asked Delicacia. Her regal countenance was as blank as a marble slab. 

"More than that. I also suggest that you deliberately used Lady Rue's fame to draw out a exceptional large crowd, mostly of off-duty soldiers, to watch the duel."

Hale shrugged his powerful shoulders. "My little sister is something of a legend within the realm's armies. We can't help it of lots of people turn out to see the Grey Lioness fight."

"Can you help it if you then play on the tensions between the coastal fiefdoms like Brinmoore and Shoareave and the inland ones like Lorthwood to incite the arms-men to riot when Duke Courage lost?"

Hale was unperturbed. "I myself rule an inland fiefdom, yet my soldiers managed to behave themselves."

"Yes," Condign said coldly. "Why risk losing your own men when your can call on Princess Vitalia's connections among the personal guards of a half-dozen houses to achieve the same effect?"

"Careful, Warden," Rue hissed. "Don't give me grounds to challenge you as well."

"Then of course," Condign continued, ignoring Rue's threat, "news of this great unrest reaches his Majesty in Windlewoods and he calls on me for advice."

"And what did you tell him?" asked Satin, innocently.

"I told him what I believed to be true. Duke Courage and his kind felt free to question the royal house because there was no king in Castle Grey to command their respect. A prince, even a Crown Prince like Prowess was, doesn't mean much when there's more than a hundred of them running about."

"I'm sure you did what you thought was right," said Sedulous gently.

"Don't patronize me, boy. In any event, King Potent heeded my advice and abdicated in favor of his eldest son."

"Prowess," said Delicacia in neutral tones. 

"Prowess," the Warden assented. "But he had not held the throne for three months when warning came to him from the captain of his personal guard, one Tomair Swerdeson..." Here Condign looked directly at Vitalia, but she only ran her tongue lazily around her mulberry lips. "...that his own children were plotting to murder him and take his crown."

"An egregious sin," Sedulous declared, his tone grave. "No man farther from God's love than is the kin-slayer."

'Quite. Tell me Father, is it true that you were his late Majesty's sole confessor?"

"It is."

"He trusted you?"

"I am gratified to think as much."

"Did you perhaps advise him during his emotional turmoil following the uncovering of his children's supposed plot?"

"Confession is a sacred trust, my lord," said Sedulous. "I cannot reveal what was said beneath its seal."

"How convenient."

"The Church is quite definite upon this matter," remarked Delicacia. "I shouldn't advocate further prying."

"Be that as it may," Lord Condign said, pacing now, back and forth before the assemble scions of House Greyleon. "His Majesty decided to foil such plotters by breaking with tradition and declaring someone other than his child his legal heir."

Lord Condign stopped in front of Hale. "You, your Highness."

"I was his brother," Hale pointed out. His hair was midnight shot with silver beneath the warm gold of his princely circlet. 

"And a landed lord in his own right," added Rue. "Much less likely to try for the crown than a princeling without a title of to his name."

Condign waved his hand dismissively. "His Majesty had many landed lords to choose from. And many, many brothers."

"You cannot dispute however," said Satin mildly, "that it was his choice to make."

"And legally binding?" Lord Condign, his voice hard and mocking. 

"This is true," agreed Delicacia. Her cobalt gaze was steady and unsettling. 

"A fortnight after he agreed to this folly," Condign said, wrenching his own gaze away, "His Majesty boarded a ship bound for Brinmoore, with the intention of inspecting and formally launching its new naval fleet. Prince Satin and his manservant, one John Umber, were also among those aboard."

"Tell me you aren't one of those dreary gossips who delight in accusing a man of sleeping with his valet," Satin begged, stifling a yawn with back of his lilywhite hand. 

"I had no such petty accusation in mind," replied Lord Condign. "During a spell of a rough weather..."

"God's Horns, man," barked Rue. "Call a storm a storm."

"...of rough weather, a spar cracked and fell, crushing King Prowess' skull."

The room was silent. On his chest, Sedulous traced the spiral sign against evil. 

"It occurs to me to wonder," Condign said at last, "how his Majesty came to be on deck during the midst of a storm in the first place."

"Sudden squalls are difficult to predict, my lord," said Satin.

"Which, I notice, is not to say that you didn't lure him out on deck so that your man Umber could drop a spar on his head."

"Are you making a formal allegation of regicide, your Wardenship?" asked Delicacia. 

"And if I were? I'm curious. What snares have you six prepared for me?" 

"Why none, my lord."

"Forgive me if I am dubious."

Delicacia shook her head, her raven hair shimmering in the candlelight. She was, Lord Condign could not help but notice, radiantly lovely. The swell of her growing belly was clearly visible beneath the dark silk of her gown.

"Consider, my lord," she said reasonably, "Even if, for the sake of argument, we were to imagine that your wild speculations were in any way true, what would the plotters have to gain by disposing of you?"

"My silence. A skull's tongue does not wag."

"But your Wardenship cannot prove anything. To make accusation with out evidence could only lead to unrest, perhaps even to civil war. And it is to prevent precisely that kind of chaos that your Wardenship has dedicated all the work of his life."

"My life's work has been to safeguard the kingdom of your father, my friend."

"Our father lives, content within the circle of our mother's arms..."

"Legs," Satin whispered.

"...and the peaceful glades of Windlewoods. He has lost a son and this grieves him. But how many more children would a civil war cost him? How much greater would be his grief to see his kingdom and his house thus torn to bloody tatters?"

"Sometimes chaos is preferable to tyranny," said Condign, but his words lacked conviction.

Hale stood then and stepped forward. "I promise you, my lord, I'll prove no worse a tyrant than my father. The people will follow me. They have grown used to the idea of their king as a strong, serious man with a flock of heirs to call his own, the kind of man my father was. The kind of man that I am still. 

"I loved my brother Prowess, but you and I both know he was too credible. His flatterers, and every king gains flatterers, would have led him down bad roads, led his kingdom to its ruin. I will able to rule not only with the strength that flows in all my father's line, but with the wisdom that Prowess never had." 

"And if you abuse your rule?" asked Condign. 

Hale laughed and gestured about him at his siblings. "How could I, when I rule at the sufferance of others? If I overstep my bounds, I shall find my harbors blockaded, my armies in mutiny, myself excommunicated, and a knife in my back."

"That hardly sounds like stability," Condign observed. 

Hale shrugged. "It is politics. And you can help to make it stable. You have done my father goodly service for many years. Will you do as much for me?"

The Crown Prince stuck out his hand. 

After a long moment, Condign took it. They grasped each other's forearms, the handshake of soldiers, and thus the pact was sealed. 

***

'Children,' Prince Satin reflected, as he moved through chilly halls of Castle Grey with a silence and poise that would have startled Lord Condign, who thought the princeling as clumsy with his limbs and he seemed to be graceful with his tongue. 'This place is always crawling with children. There's my littlest brother, probably still sucking away on Mona's fat teats. The little ingrate gets twice the milk now that my own babes are growing in her belly. Not that I mind, so long as I still get to taste.'

'Then there are my nieces and nephews. Hale's lady wife finally dropped her colt and now I hear she's starting to swell again. And I hear he got one heir apiece out of those pretty stepdaughters of his, save for that little one, Sweet, who gave him twin boys on her first try. I wonder if he's managed to knock her up again yet? If not, you can bet she and her sisters will be getting a visit tonight.'

'And then there are the children still on the way. Deli's going give that brat Bold a couple of sons, or else a brace of daughters she can dress up in lace and teach to throw poisoned tea parties. Vitalia's pretty far along too, I suppose. Well, that babe will have fathers and to spare. She'll never want for anything. Even the hard-bitten Rue decided she and her ice-woman cow needed to get in on the action.'

Satin smiled to himself, remembering the silken softness of Nuveya's seal brown hair, the tender plumpness of her buttocks, the scalding heat of her dripping cunt as he'd entered her, over and over and over, the wordless prayers she'd moaned in her lilting voice as he'd emptied himself into her. Rue had made it very clear that this was not an event that was going to repeat itself. Nuveya was hers and the child she bore would be Rue's as well. Satin was just a necessary inconvenience. 

That was fine by him. A taste of ice-woman every nine months was, he considered, the perfect amount of seasoning to round out his usual menu: three meals of day of Mona's sweet cunt and her creamy, behemoth breasts. 

Rue herself had, he understood, recruited the help of her loyal Captain Verence. It was early days yet, but come spring, the Grey Lioness would be big with cub. She and her mate would swell side-by-side, massaging away the other's aches and sipping the sweet milk of her expanding breasts. 

Satin reached the door to his chambers and, having satisfied himself that hair he left draped across the gap between door and doorframe was undisturbed, slipped. A single taper burned on the bedside table casting a warm glow over Mona. She lay atop the covers, her back to the door, naked and fast asleep. The candlelight gleamed in her corn-silk hair and pale satin of her skin. Even the marks of the bullwhip had faded by now to thin lines of silver. 

Satin undressed and lay down softly beside her. Gently, her rubbed himself against the tender swell of prodigious rump. Soon his massive cock, legacy of his royal blood, was hard as rock. He slipped it between the hills of Mona's glorious ass and into the welcoming warmth of her wet cunt. A great peace settled upon him. It was as though, after years of scheming, he was finally coming home. This was where he belonged. This was bliss. 

Satin reached over and lightly fondled the immense warm weight of Mona's breasts. Mona whimpered quietly in her sleep, and though she did not waken a dribble of creamy milk trickled over Satin's fingers. He sucked at them, savoring the sweetness, the bliss. 

'This will feed our children', he thought. 'This will feed the royal line.'