🔞🔞🔞🔞The heavy door to the guest wing clicked shut, sealing out the hollow laughter of the banquet hall and the stifling pretense of the court. Inside the opulent chamber, Lydia Darkmoor shed her royal decorum along with her silk robes. She lay sprawled across the expansive bed, her naked skin glowing like pale marble in the candlelight.
She was not alone. Two of her hand-picked attendants were draped over her like silk. One was buried between her thighs, her tongue working with a rhythmic, wet precision against Lydia’s clit, while the other sat astride her hip, catching a turgid nipple between her lips and sucking with a hungry intensity. Lydia let out a low, guttural moan, her back arching off the mattress as she tangled her fingers into the hair of the woman below her, pinning her face firmly against her heat.
"Suck me harder," Lydia commanded, her voice a jagged rasp of pleasure. "Lick every drop."
Her mind, however, remained as sharp as a razor, drifting toward the King’s sudden decree. Her brother, Clyde, was likely half-drunk by now, fumbling into the skirts of some lowly kitchen wench, oblivious to the war being waged in the shadows. But Lydia was a different breed of predator.
"Nevalis," she whispered to the ceiling, the word lost in a gasp of ecstasy as the woman between her legs found a particularly sensitive nerve. "A clever move, Your Majesty. But desperate."
Lydia signaled the women to pause. She sat up, her eyes dark and glazed with a mix of lust and cunning. At her gesture, one of the attendants reached for a leather harness and a thick, obsidian-black dildo. Lydia positioned herself on all fours, her high, rounded backside offered to the woman with the toy.
As the slick length slid into her, stretching her open with a sudden, full friction, Lydia let out a cry of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.
Simultaneously, she pulled the second attendant onto her back beneath her, opening the girl’s legs wide. Lydia’s fingers, slick with her own arousal, began scissoring the girl with aggressive, punishing strokes, her tongue lashing out to taste the girl’s neck.
Amidst the friction of flesh and the sounds of heavy breathing, Lydia’s thoughts remained on her prey. The King of Asch thought himself a master strategist by separating the siblings, but to Lydia, it was a confession of weakness. You do not exile your only daughter to the frozen edge of the world unless you are terrified of the fire she carries.
She had seen it clearly at the table. It wasn’t just the way Emrys looked at Callista; it was the way the air between them vibrated—a frequency of forbidden hunger that only another monster could hear. The "cold" Princess wasn't ice; she was a wildfire barely contained. And Emrys? He wasn't a brother; he was a man possessed.
Just as Lydia reached the precipice of her climax, the rhythmic thrusting from behind pushing her toward the edge, a soft, rhythmic knock broke through the haze of her orgy. One of her silent delegates slipped inside, bowing his head to avoid the sight of his mistress being ravished.
"Have they sought each other out?" Lydia gasped, her voice strained as the toy hit her G-spot again and again.
"The Prince bypassed his own chambers, My Lady," the delegate reported. "He is in the West Library. The Princess followed shortly after."
Lydia’s lips curled into a triumphant, manic smile. She let out a final, piercing scream of pleasure as her orgasm shattered through her, her body collapsing onto the bed as the three women drifted in a tangle of limbs and panting breath. She had been in the castle for less than a day, and she already held the noose that could hang the heir to the throne.
"Good," she murmured, catching her breath. She waved a hand dismissively, sending the two exhausted women away. "Get out. And bring me fresh girls tomorrow—young, innocent, but with slutty bodies I can break."
As the room cleared, Lydia reached for a chalice of dark wine, her purple eyes glowing. "Let them have their whispers. Let them cling to one another in the dark. The more they crave each other, the easier they will be to shatter."
"My Lady, about those two?" the delegate asked, referring to the witnesses.
"As usual, silence them," Lydia commanded coldly. "I want no loose threads."
She moved to her writing desk, still naked, the dampness of the encounter cooling on her skin. She pulled a fresh piece of parchment toward her. It was time to reach out to the North. She wondered exactly how much a Crowley would pay to know his betrothed was already being thoroughly used by her own brother.
She dipped her quill into the ink, the scratching sound a symphony of betrayal. She addressed the letter to Lord Alistair Crowley, the iron-fisted heir of the Nevalis throne.
To the Honorable Lord of the Frost,
News travels fast, even across the shivering expanse of the Frozen Sea. Tonight, the King of Asch announced a union between your ancient house and his daughter, Callista. On the surface, it is a match of iron and ice—strategic and sound.
However, one should be wary of ice that hides a boiling current beneath. Having sat at the King’s table, I feel it my duty as a future ally to warn you: the Princess you have been promised is not unattached. Her heart—and her bed—belongs to the one man who shares her blood.
The bond between the heirs of Asch is... profound. It is a fire that will melt any crown you place upon her head. If you intend to take her, come prepared with more than just a ring. Come with a cage. Or better yet, come early. Their desperation may outrun your ships.
A friend in the South watches on your behalf.
— L.D.
Lydia blew on the ink, her eyes shimmering with malice. "Let the North wind blow," she whispered to the shadows. "Let’s see how well the 'Princess of Ice' fares when the Crowleys come to claim a prize that’s already been spoiled."
