Page 3

RUAROK

I return to my room, anger thrumming inside me.

I’d expected to be replaced, especially with the new queen taking my seat beside the king’s throne, but I hadn’t expected this.

A child.

It’s no secret that my father has…issues…

in conceiving. I was an outlier, something so unexpected that he hadn’t been able to turn his back on me.

With the amount my father whored around, he should have bastards all over the place.

But he’d never conceived with his first queen, and stories say she died of heartbreak from not being able to mother a child, and none of his whores had ever fallen pregnant either.

Until me, that was.

Of course, it was questioned whether my mother had conceived me from another man, but since my father had kept her prisoner for years, to be his own personal concubine, and there was no possibility any of his staff would have been so foolish as to sleep with her behind the king’s back, it was clear he was the cause of her swollen belly.

Then I was born, and he had no way of denying me. I might only be half Fae and look nothing like him, but I have the royal birthmark like a tattoo behind my right ear. All of our line had some variation of it, including my father.

But now he has a full-blooded Fae child, who may not be his biologically, but who he’ll see as far more suitable to take over the kingdom when he’s gone. He’s always hated the idea of me being on the throne when he passes, diluting the royal Fae bloodline, but, until now, there was no one else.

My mind races. What can I do?

I stand at my bedroom window and gaze out across the kingdom.

My father’s flags containing our emblem, the dragonfly, with its lethal sting at the tail and its ability to fly faster than any other creature in the lands, flutter in the breeze.

The numbers here have swelled over the last few years.

A rot is setting in, something dark and magical that no one understands yet, but it’s eating away at the very ground beneath our feet, sending entire villages plummeting into the darkness of whatever is lying far, far, far beneath the world’s crust.

What if I need to get rid of them? Could I do it? Murder a young child and her mother? I search my heart for even a flicker of potential remorse or regret but find nothing. It wouldn’t be a pleasant job, but if they stand in the way of me inheriting the kingdom, then yes, I could.

Or maybe there’s another way…

Instead of killing them, maybe I could make Lorith my queen instead. While I have no use for the daughter, I know the mother won’t be able to resist me.

I’ll bend her over the king’s throne and fuck her until she can’t retain a single thought in her pretty little head. If she were to choose me instead, that would really screw up my father’s plans.

I’m sure I can sense her in the castle.

Something has changed. A different kind of energy vibrating within the thick stone walls. I’m used to being surrounded by Fae magic, but this feels more…Incubi.

I shake the thought from my head. There’s no possibility my father would allow another Incubi into the castle.

He’ll have demanded to know the new queen’s ancestry for generations back.

He wouldn’t risk making the same mistake again.

Maybe this is a different kind of magic—one I haven’t come across before.

It pulls to me, though, like she’s a beacon in the castle, the only light I can see, and I’m drawn to it.

Should I go to her? I’m tempted, but I also know I can’t be too obvious.

I can’t risk my father wising up to my plans and using it as an excuse to banish me.

I don’t believe even he would do such a thing, but if he knew how I was thinking about his new bride, he might change his mind.

I’m quite sure Queen Lorith would rather have me fucking her than the old man who is my father.

Blood rushes to my cock at the idea. I didn’t get the chance to finish myself off earlier. The thought alone of how much it would piss off my father for me to climax over the new queen is enough to make me even harder.

I throw myself down on my bed, lying on my back, one arm over my head. The other reaches down to open my pants. My cock springs out, and I wrap my fingers around my length.

I’ve got a few hours until the feast in the Great Hall, and I plan to make the most of them.

Closing my eyes, I bring forth the image of the new queen.

She is delicate in every way. That long, white-blonde hair, the clear skin, the rise of her breasts beneath her dress.

She just screams the need to be defiled.

I imagine taking her roughly, of tearing away the front of her dress to expose her naked tits, of her crying out and trying to cover them with her hands.

My cock grows even harder in my hand, and I slowly pump myself.

My fantasy of ravaging the new queen takes shape.

I want her to fight me, to force me to take her against her will.

I make no attempt to use my magic on her, to try to seduce her.

In my head, I tear away her undergarments and grab her hand and wrap it around my dick.

Now my hand has become her hand, and she masturbates me, despite her insistent cries telling me she doesn’t want this.

She tells me how angry the king will be, how furious he’ll be when he finds out his son has defiled his new queen.

The idea only makes me harder. I picture myself pushing my hand between her thighs, of finding her wet and hot and swollen, ready for me, despite her insistence that this isn’t what she wants.

I force two fingers into her greedy pussy and imagine they’re my erection.

What if I was the one to get this new queen pregnant? What if I filled her with my cum, and my seed made its way to her womb, and then I would be the one to create the next heir to the throne ?

In my imagination, I hold her down, my arm around her throat.

I cover her body with mine, pressing myself between her thighs, and ram my cock inside her.

Even while she cries about how the king will find out, I fuck her hard and fast. She continues to protest, but I swallow her words by covering her mouth with mine.

My orgasm builds deep with my balls, rising through the base of my cock. My ass clenches, my thighs trembling. All my focus goes to my climax. I come hard, semen jetting from me in a hot, forceful surge. I jerk my hips into my hand and spurt again and again.

Wrung out, I slump onto the bed. I don’t bother to open my eyes again. A blissful wave of relaxation sweeps over me, and I let out a sigh as my heartrate and breathing slow to normal.

Sleep takes over.