Disclaimer: I do not own the cover image.
NSFW Warning: Strong sexual content including incest.
Alessia watched from the balcony of the castle as the long column of victorious soldiers filed through the city gates far below. At their head, she knew, though she couldn’t see him clearly from her vigil, rode her brother, Marius.
He had been gone seven years now, fighting the vicious northern hordes, and had just recently wrestled a triumphant victory from their barbarous hands. While he had been gone, she had ruled in his stead. Keeping the ever-scheming lords of the city under her firm heel. She had held tight the reins of their loyalty, ensuring that her brother would have a secure throne to return home to.
Now that he was home, however, she knew that all of her hard work would be shunted aside. He would marry, her brother, and it would be his new bride who would reap the rewards of Alessia’s toil. No doubt she would be married off to some prince of some other land, if she were lucky, or else be handed to the ravenings of the city lords. A prize pony sold to the highest bidder to secure their pact to the king.
With a haughty up-turning of her nose, Alessia swore that this would not come to pass. It was she who should rule the kingdom. Her brother, after all, was an accomplished warrior but had no head for statecraft. With his return would come the reemergence of the power of the privy council, something she knew for a fact they were all drooling to have come to pass.
It would not come to pass, not if she had anything to do about it. Though there was little, admittedly, that she could. Unless she were able to secure her position within the castle, to rule alongside her brother. That was the only avenue left open to her and it was one she swore she would do everything within her power to utilize.
There was, after all, one powerful tool at her disposal. Something she knew but none other did, save her brother. The fact that, ever since they were children, he had yearned for her. A yearning they had but toyed with in the past, fearing their father’s wrath should he discover their intimate little secret.
She scoffed at the memory. It was their father’s fault, after all, that such lusts had blossomed to begin with. It was he who had locked them together in a country estate for the majority of their adolescence. Fearing for their safety should they remain within the caste which admittedly had, at the time, an alarming amount of daggers lurking within its shadows.
This was all due to the machinations of their uncle. An uncle who had, ultimately, slain their father.
She remembered that night as if it were that very moment, she recalled, the long fingers of one of her hands falling pensively upon the curve of her slender throat. Marius had been informed by loyalists among the nobility of the deed in the dead of night. Those men who had come to the estate whilst the moon hid its face in grief at the evil act, their torches blazing in the cold mountain air, the hooves of their horses thundering up the secluded lane, had sworn fealty to her brother and pledged that they would fight beside him to gain the throne that was rightfully his.
After speaking with them, he had come to her and, clutching her near, she could still feel his calloused fingers through the thin barrier of the night gown she had worn, demanded he be given leave to lay with her for on the morrow he would ride to the castle and confront their treacherous uncle.
She had denied him then. A small smile curving her lips, she remembered what she had told him. That only a king could penetrate her and if he desired his prize so much, he would fill a tub with the traitor’s blood so that she might bathe in it before she took him within her.
She had fully meant the words, she knew, recalling the fire in his gaze when she denied him. She had feared, in that moment, that he might disregard her wishes and take his prize with force, so impassioned was he. Yes, she mused, her other hand falling to her thigh, feeling her heated flesh through the thin barrier of the gown she now wore, not so different than the night gown, recalling the firm, blazing head of his cock that he had already freed from his garments, so insistent was he of inserting it within her.
He had relented then, however, drawing from her and storming from her chambers at the estate. He had succeeded in slaying their uncle but, in a cruel twist of fate, had almost immediately been called away to war as the northern tribes, no doubt wishing to take advantage of the power vacuum, had chosen the day after for the onset of their invasion.
When she arrived at the castle, having lingered behind at the estate in case Marius had failed in his mission, she had found him gone, the nation’s armies marching northward with he at their head and she left behind, surrounded by enemies.
He had, however, before leaving, left instructions that she was to rule in his stead. This had not gone over well with what lords had also been left behind, most notably the privy council, and they had immediately set about attempting to coerce, or else outright undermine, her authority. She had proven more wily than they had anticipated, however, and had quickly managed to identify and surround herself with those who she knew upon which she could rely. The rest swiftly found themselves within the outer ring of the court, unable to gain audience with her and left to watch helplessly as their carefully erected private empires withered.
They would be the first to flock to her brother, she knew, as she strode from the balcony and back within her lavish private quarters. No doubt they were already doing so upon the steps of the castle, where he had slain their murderous uncle seven years hence. She had anticipated this, however, and had instructed her loyalists to make the king’s way clear to her chambers, where he and she might discuss the matters of state in private.
This had caused some stir among them of course, she being a woman after all, and he a man. For them to be sequestered together in private was scandalous indeed, even though they were siblings. Rumors had abounded that during their upbringing they had indeed been lovers, given their isolation.
In Convincing them she was aided greatly by what reports they had received from the front lines. That King Marius had been a complete savage in battle, showing little, if no, remorse to both his enemies and those within his own ranks he perceived of treachery. She had assured them that she could save their own heads from ending up on pikes should she be able to speak with him privately first. Thus, they had relented.
Striding onto the plush furs that carpeted her chambers, Alessia slipped her feet from her felt slippers, padding barefoot to the room’s center. She had not been completely absorbed in matters of state since she had last seen her brother. Discreetly, she had made inquiries and had met secretly with a high class prostitute whose only clientele were among the castle’s highest nobility. Initially their meetings had been merely a way for her to gain information on her subordinates. Gradually, however, she encouraged the other woman to teach her the ways of pleasing a man, a topic on which she, sadly, lacked almost any knowledge. Beyond the exploratory touchings of youth she had shared with Marius, or else the odd house servant, she had had absolutely no knowledge on the topic. If she were to successfully seduce Marius upon his return, after whatever brothels or forced couplings he had experienced whilst on campaign, she would need to be able to properly manipulate both his mind and his member. On this front, the courtesan had proven most helpful.
Standing at her room’s exact center, Alessia adopted a suggestive stance, half-turned towards her bedroom door, her gaze appropriately downcast to receive her lord, the long slits cut into the sides of her gown exposing a measured hint of the soft flesh of her thighs, the low cut of the neckline exposing the shapely slope of her chest, as well as an eager suggestion of breasts. She had purposefully left the tall shutters to the balcony open so that the cold mountain air would tease the garment, as well as harden her nipples.
She had already instructed her servants to array a veritable feast of fruit, sweet meats and small cakes, as well as several decanters of wine upon a long table she had set along one of the walls. This would be what would draw his gaze first, perhaps second to her as she would hope, whilst hanging satin curtains would obscure the rest of the bedroom behind her.
This was a ruse her courtesan had taught her. Layers allowed intrigue to be more fully drawn out and thus she was to present herself as an offering, alongside the food and drink, allowing conversation and to initial touches of intimacy to occur before the rest of the room, namely the bed, was fully revealed.
“You do not offer cake before supper,” the courtesan had chided her when she had inquired as to how she should offer her body to the King. “You let them nibble. Take small bites and thus glean hints as to what the full reward is to be. That way, it will always be to their satisfaction, for as they yearn, you learn.”
And so, Alessia decided, pushing her forward knee a bit further outward so that the dress fell more fully from the curve of her thigh as she heard heavy footfalls ascending the staircase towards her. I shall present for him a choice piece upon which to nibble.
Soon after, the chamber echoed with a heavy knock upon her door.
“Enter,” she bid her guest, her voice light yet commanding.
Doing as they were bid, the latch slid from the portal and it swung inwards to reveal the towering silhouette of her brother, Marius.
It truly has been seven years, she marveled as he crossed her threshold. Always a tall boy, her brother had grown into a colossal man. Well over six feet he stood, with broad shoulders and a well-muscled physique, honed by hard years of combat and a soldier’s diet. His face was slimmer than she remembered, his cheeks robbed of their youthful fats and replaced by a rough beard, and in his dark eyes a hard edge shone, though she yet caught a glimpse of the fire that smoldered within them that night all those years ago. He wore his armor, though his arms were bare, as were his legs below the leather skirt, both of which were covered by a thick growth of hair that curled and glistened in the candlelight set to flickering by the shutters she had left open.
This truly was a man, she admired, aware of the slickening that was occurring betwixt her thighs. She hadn’t expected how much she would want him on any sort of primal level, so caught up had she been in her plans to secure her position within the kingdom. Now she knew for sure. She wanted him, yearned for him as much or more as she ever had that night in their country estate.
She mustn’t get distracted by her own desires, she knew. At least not until she had secured all that it was that she wanted.
“My King,” she greeted him, casting her gaze to the floor in a demure fashion.
“Alessia,” he replied, his voice a cultured rumble as he closed the door behind himself.
She listened for the satisfying click of the latch reset before lifting her gaze to his, encouraged to see that he was watching her closely, in his eyes a most hungry look as they grazed upon the soft meadow that was her form.
“I was most pleased to hear of your victory,” she purred. “Snapped from the jaws of defeat they say. Though,” she cast her gaze from his once more. “I was saddened to not hear of your campaigns from your hand directly.”
“I sent letters.” he replied evasively.
To the Privy Council, she fumed privately. Never to her directly. All of them curt and without any emotional assurances.
Careful to hide her inner thoughts, she forced her noble features into a practiced smile.
“Tell me of your victory,” she encouraged, ensuring the sultry tone remained in place.
In reply, her brother merely snorted derisively before striding over to the table she had arranged for him on sandaled feet. Grabbing a pitcher of wine, he poured himself a hearty mug from which he took a deep draught, the potent liquid streaming into his beard, before he replied.
“My victory was not so complete as I would have hoped,” was his sour reply once he had surfaced from his mug.
Concern lanced through her. Had the reports she had received been false? Had some nugget of information been withheld from her?
She got her answer soon enough.
“I had them cornered, the barbaric horde,” he continued, his voice retaining its sour tone. “I could have crushed them, I felt it. Though they yet outnumbered us by a hefty score, I knew that victory was ours…”
He trailed into silence then, contemplating the contents of his mug.
“What happened?” She asked, forcing calm into her voice.
Marius did not respond immediately, continuing to examine the cup he held, seemingly small in his hand, before meeting her gaze with one quizzical.
“You wouldn’t poison me, would you sister?”
She was shocked. Her initial concern being that he indeed was feeling the effects of some toxin and that one of her servants had betrayed her.
“Are you feeling unwell?” She took a half step towards him, her seductive facade cracking.
“Not particularly.” His smirk was infuriating. “I have merely been advised by my generals that it may be your wish to remove me, taking power for your own.”
A rueful smirk twerked the corners of her mouth.
“I am sure that I could name for you what generals spoke thus,” she said. “Chiefly those whose personal estates have suffered here at home due to their families’ treasonous actions.”
“There was some such grumbling,” he nodded. “Your actions here made keeping them in line most tiresome.”
“My actions here ensured that you remained king,” she was quick to counter, approaching him slowly until she hovered by the table’s far end. “Without which you would have received more than complaints, of that I am certain.”
“Am I to believe you?” He gesticulated with his mug, before pacing in a wide semi-circle around her. “Were your actions here on my behalf, or your own?”
“Those are one in the same, brother.”
“I am nothing without you.”
“And I without you?”
“You tell me.”
As he paced, she turned, keeping him within direct line of sight and so now paused as he did, her back to the table of food.
“I don’t know who to trust,” he admitted, avoiding her gaze, once more inspecting the contents of his cup.
To any other his stance would suggest nothing more than a contemplative king, but to her keen gaze she saw the confusion and helplessness within him. More than anything though, she perceived sadness.
He’s lonely, she realized, he needs someone he knows he can trust. Someone he knows will not betray him. It was a marvel to her, who had grown so accustomed to the intrigues of court that she never dwelt upon the emotion of loneliness any longer. She now knew that she would not have to seduce him, what she needed to do was comfort him.
“You can trust me, Marius,” she spoke firmly, bringing his gaze back to her’s. Striding towards him, she easily slid the dress she wore from her shoulders, leaving it pooled upon the soft furs as she approached him fully nude.
He stood frozen, helpless before her. Coming right up to him, she laid one elegant hand upon his armored chest.
“You can trust me,” she assured him. “More deeply, you can trust this,” she took his wrist in her hand and guided his rough palm to her naked breast.
At first he remained frozen, unsure of himself, then slowly his fingers enclosed over the soft, heated flesh, squeezing gently as a calloused thumb passed over her hardened nipple. She gasped at the contact, her eyes rising to meet his and seeing the fire that had smoldered there ignite into a full-fledged inferno.
Wrapping his other arm about the small of her back, he crushed her against him, lowering his lips to hers in a rough, wine-soaked kiss. She felt his tongue invade her mouth wantonly, tasting strongly of the intoxicating grape he had recently imbibed. Knowing that she must remain in control of the situation, she filled a fist with his thick, curly locks and wrenched their lips apart.
“Temper your steel, brother,” she urged him breathlessly. “This is something both of us have waited for for a long time, and I am no roadside wench.”
Though confusion and frustration knitted his brow, he allowed her to disentangle herself from him and retreat towards the room’s center.
“Relieve yourself of your armor,” she entreated him, casting a coy look over her shoulder as she continued sauntering towards the light curtains she had draped to obscure the room’s further reaches.
She heard him obey, the heavy leather beginning to fall heavily to the floor as she parted the curtains an inch. Casting an inviting look back towards the now half-naked king, she slipped within, disappearing from his sight.
Once the last of his armor fell hollowly to the chamber’s floor, Marius pursued, intrigued despite his frustration at being denied. As he peeled open the curtains, he spied Alessia reclining upon the footboard of her massive bed, her chest shoved outwards in a slightly arched pose, the soft bed of curls between her thighs glistening in the flickering candlelight.
In truth, the paleness of her flesh, combined with the gentle light of the candles, gave her an almost statuesque appearance, one that intrigued him greatly. She was not, in any way, comparable to the camp followers or slaves he had lain with previously. All of those encounters had been for the basic need of release. This, he knew, was something altogether different. Compared to them, she was a goddess, a creature of his own blood, birthed from the same mother and the only being that could ever truly be considered his equal.
For her part, Alessia took in his imposing appearance with satisfied approval. Other than the occasional scar, his deeply tanned physique was flawless to her eyes. His flesh stretched over corded muscle, his forearms and chest covered with a thick growth of hair to match that which decorated his cheeks and mouth. As for his member, it was long and thick, standing proudly before him, straight as a spear’s shaft and the sack beneath was heavy, bulging with unspent royal seed.
Reaching for him, she beckoned him forward. He came with determined steps, surprising her by taking a knee before her. His rugged hands sliding up her calves to grip her thighs, urging them open to grant him access to the fountain of succulent nectar between.
He fit perfectly there, she saw with satisfaction, before her eyes rolled back due to pleasure gifted on behalf of his eager tongue parting the slickened folds of flesh and seeking the helmeted watchman who guarded the entryway to her deeper regions. Regions he invaded soon after with a pair of digits more accustomed to gripping the handle of a blade than plumbing the depths-most-holy. Not that this detracted in any way from the pleasure they promulgated within her. Rather, the coarseness of his fingers, combined with the gentle flicking of his tongue, made for a most erotic combination and sent her spiraling quickly towards the epicenter of ultimate orgasmic release.
He held her steady as she came, her fingers digging into the dense locks of the crown of his head. It was a sensation she had never felt before. Yes she had orgasmed by her own hand on repeated occasion, but there was something more here, something beyond that which could be garnered by her own, slim digits.
Ensorcelled by the waves of pleasure rocking her, she barely perceived his strong arms lifting her and depositing her upon the thick furs that lay heavy upon her bed.
She regained the majority of her wits as he climbed atop her and urged him to pause with a firm hand upon his chest.
“Lay down,” she encouraged him, an inviting smile ensuring his obedience in the act. As he did so, she flipped herself astride him and, reaching behind her, encircled his manhood with her long, slender fingers.
“You have your throne, dear brother,” she murmured, slowly sinking towards the glistening tip of his spear. “Let this be mine.”
As she spoke these words, she lowered herself upon him, impaling herself fully on his manhood and crooning at the feel of him stretching and filling her. He groaned in turn as she enveloped him. The wet heat of her sex fully encompassing his shaft.
“I will…forever…be loyal,” she said breathlessly as she began to ride him. “I am…the only woman…worthy of your seed. Keep me….forever at your side. Place a child…of royal, pure blood…within me…”
His hands gripping her hips, he urged her to greater speed, his jaw clenched, grunts of pleasure escaping between tightened teeth.
“You are my queen,” he assured her. His soldier’s hands bruising her porcelain flesh.
It wasn’t long after that he came, his back arching as she felt his phallus pulsate, the searing heat of his semen filling her deepest reaches. That sensation alone was enough to send her into her second orgasm and she cried aloud the name of he who she had deemed the only one worthy enough of filling her thusly.
“There are those who will not look kindly on this,” he said some time later as they still lay intertwined upon her bed. Alessia, who was resting her head upon his barrel chest, enjoying the feeling of the rivulets of his cum running down the inside of her thigh, did not respond immediately. When she did, she lifted herself so that they could look directly into one another’s eyes.
“All that matters is us,” she assured him. “The rest will either fall in line, or else discover what a fatal mistake it is to question their king and queen.”