🔞🔞🔞🔞The air in the Kingdom of Nevalis was thicker, colder, and heavy with the scent of ancient incense and dark secrets. While the Asch Kingdom fractured under the weight of its own internal scandals, the Crowley bloodline thrived on the very sins that would burn other houses to the ground.
Prince Alistair Crowley sat back against the velvet pillows of his massive, four-poster bed, his dark hair disheveled. The letter he had just burned still left a faint scent of charred parchment in the air—a message from Princess Lydia of Calligo.
Lydia, the younger sister of the drunkenly observant Clyde, was officially betrothed to Prince Emrys of Asch. But Lydia was far more than a political pawn; she was a woman who knew that to survive a marriage to a man like Emrys, she needed leverage. In her letter, she had shared the rumors of the "unbreakable bond" between her future husband and his sister, Callista—a warning to Alistair that the alliance he was being offered was built on a foundation of incestuous obsession.
"Alistair..." Ava whispered, her voice a low, melodic vibration.
The Saintess of Nevalis was a vision of corrupted purity. Her cousin, her lover, and her future sovereign—Alistair was the only god she truly worshiped. She pulled back from his lap, her skin glowing like moonlight in the dimly lit chamber. She watched the flickers of thought behind his eyes.
"You're thinking of her again," Ava teased, her fingers tracing the jagged scar on Alistair’s ribs. "The 'Cruel Princess.' Is the thought of a marriage alliance with a woman like Callista so distracting?"
Alistair’s hand shot out, his fingers tangling in Ava’s hair to tilt her head back. "Lydia warns me that Callista and Emrys are more than just siblings. If I take Callista, I take a woman who belongs to her brother. It’s a mess of blood and steel, Ava. But it makes the hunt much more interesting."
Ava smiled, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. She moved down his body, her breasts brushing against his thighs. "Then let me ensure you don't think of their tangled bloodline at all tonight."
Ava obeyed her own proposal. She urged Alistair to lie flat on his back, his muscular frame sprawling across the dark furs. She looked at him with a hunger that defied her holy title, her gaze dropping to his thick, throbbing length, still slick and heavy from their first encounter.
She didn't hesitate. She leaned down, her hair spilling over his lap like a golden curtain. She took him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the crown with a practiced, desperate greed. She swallowed him deep, her throat working rhythmically, making Alistair growl and dig his fingers into the bedding.
"Gods, Ava..." he hissed, his hips bucking slightly.
She looked up at him, her eyes dark and glazed, never breaking the suction as she used her hands to stroke the base. She wanted to consume him, to remind him that no alliance, no matter how powerful, could ever replace the raw, incestuous bond they shared.
After a few moments of her hungry ministrations, Ava rose, straddling him. She guided his head into her, the tip of his dick finding her still-dripping entrance. She let out a sharp, high-pitched moan as she lowered herself, taking all of him in one slow, agonizingly perfect slide.
"You are the only King I serve," she gasped, her hands flat on his chest. She began to ride him, her pace frantic and uncoordinated, fueled by the jealousy she tried so hard to hide.
Alistair reached up, his hands bruising her hips as he helped her find the rhythm. He watched her—the Saintess of the Realm, the woman who was supposed to be the moral compass of Nevalis—undone by his touch, her body arching and her voice breaking into sinful litanies.
"Ride me until you forget there's a world outside this room," Alistair commanded, his voice a raw authority.
The thrusts became violent, a collision of desperate needs. Ava’s climax hit her like a wave, her internal muscles clenching around him in a frantic, rhythmic squeeze. Alistair followed her seconds later, his body tensing as he spilled his seed deep within his own bloodline, a silent pact made in the heat of the night.
The Library of Asch: A Quiet Smile
Back in the halls of Asch, Clyde leaned against a stone pillar in the dark hallway, a flask of spiced wine in his hand. He was still smiling from what he had seen in the library. He didn't know his sister Lydia had already reached out to the Prince of Nevalis, but he knew the family dynamic was reaching a breaking point.
He took a long swig of wine. Princess Callista, his future sister-in-law, was playing a dangerous game with Prince Emrys. And his sister Lydia was about to walk into a viper's nest.
"Everyone is in love with someone they shouldn't be," Clyde muttered, stumbling slightly. "At least I'm only in love with this bottle."
In Nevalis, Alistair pulled Ava’s warm, exhausted body against his. He looked at the ashes of Lydia’s letter. If Callista and Emrys were as close as the letter suggested, the marriage alliance wouldn't just be a treaty—it would be a war.
"Prepare the horses, Ava," Alistair whispered into her hair. "We leave for Asch at dawn. I want to see this 'Cruel Princess' and the brother who cannot let her go."
Novel: I Love My Brother: Callista and Emrys
