The stables reeked of horse sweat and fear—mostly Adrian's.
Prince Adrian pressed his back against the wooden stall, three men in black leather advancing with clubs and cruel smiles. Lord Blackwood stood behind them, counting coins with theatrical slowness.
"Five thousand gold crowns," Blackwood said, voice smooth as silk over steel. "That was our wager, Your Highness. Cards don't lie, even when princes do."
"I need more time," Adrian stammered, trying to maintain royal dignity while cornered like a rat. "I can get the gold, I just—"
"Time?" Blackwood laughed. "You've had a week. My patience has... limits."
The largest thug stepped forward, club raised. Adrian squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the blow.
It never came.
"Gentlemen." Damien's voice cut through the stable like a blade. "Lord Blackwood."
Adrian's eyes snapped open. His bodyguard stood in the doorway, hand resting casually on his sword hilt. The three thugs turned, suddenly uncertain.
"Sir Damien," Blackwood nodded. "Palace business?"
"You could say that." Damien stepped into the stable, movements predatory. "The prince is under my protection. Always."
"He owes me money."
"And you'll have it." Damien produced a heavy purse, tossed it to Blackwood. "Five thousand. Count it."
Blackwood weighed the purse, surprise flickering across his face. "Well. That's... unexpected."
"The prince is young. Foolish. But he's still a prince." Damien's eyes were cold. "This debt is settled. Your business here is finished."
"Of course." Blackwood pocketed the gold, gestured to his men. "Pleasure doing business."
They left quickly, sensing the violence that radiated from Damien like heat from a forge. Adrian sagged against the stall, legs weak with relief.
"Thank you," he gasped. "Damien, I don't know how to repay—"
"You already are."
The words hit Adrian like ice water. Before he could react, Damien's fist connected with his temple. The world exploded into stars, then darkness.
As consciousness faded, Adrian heard Damien's voice, distant and cold: "Sorry, Your Highness. But you need to learn the price of stupidity."
---
Adrian woke in darkness.
His head throbbed, mouth dry as parchment. He tried to move and discovered rope binding his wrists behind his back, more rope around his ankles. A gag filled his mouth—silk, expensive, muffling any sound he might make.
Panic flared. He was trapped in some kind of closet or wardrobe, barely large enough for his body. Slats of wood allowed thin lines of light to penetrate, giving him glimpses of...
His mother's bedchamber.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. The ornate four-poster bed, the golden mirror, the silk curtains—this was Queen Seraphina's private room. And he was hidden inside her wardrobe like a criminal.
*Why?* The question screamed in his mind. Why would Damien do this? What possible purpose—
The door opened.
His mother entered, and Adrian's breath caught. She looked... different. Her usual regal composure was gone, replaced by something hungry, desperate. The golden crown sat askew on her head, and she moved with an odd, restless energy.
"Where are you, my master?" she said to the empty room, voice breathy with anticipation. "Your whore queen is ready."
Adrian's world tilted. *Whore queen?* His mother—the perfect, virtuous Queen Seraphina—had just called herself a whore. It had to be some kind of joke, some misunderstanding.
But then her hands moved to her breasts, kneading them through the silk of her gown. Her head tilted back, a soft moan escaping her lips.
"Please," she whispered. "I need you inside me. I need to be used."
The door opened again.
Damien entered like he owned the room—which, Adrian was beginning to realize, he did. The bodyguard's eyes swept over the queen with casual possession, taking inventory of his property.
"On the bed," Damien commanded. "Spread your legs. Show me what belongs to me."
Adrian tried to scream, to move, to do anything. But the ropes held firm and the gag muffled his cries to barely audible whimpers. He could only watch as his mother—his perfect, untouchable mother—eagerly obeyed.
Seraphina climbed onto the bed, hiking up her gown with shameless haste. Her legs fell open, revealing her most intimate flesh to Adrian's horrified gaze. She was soaked, glistening with arousal in the candlelight.
"See how wet I am for you?" she panted. "I've been touching myself all day, thinking about your cock."
"Good girl." Damien began unlacing his breeches, revealing the weapon that had conquered the queen. Adrian had never seen another man's cock before, but even he could tell Damien was... impressive. "Now beg for it properly."
"Please, Master," Seraphina whimpered, fingers working between her legs. "Please fuck your slutty queen. Use me like the whore I am. Harder than my pathetic husband ever could!"
*Pathetic husband.* His father, the king, dismissed like garbage while his mother begged another man to defile her. Adrian felt tears streaming down his face, soaking into the gag.
Damien climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between the queen's spread thighs. When he entered her, she screamed—not in pain, but in ecstasy.
"Yes! Oh god, yes! Fill me!"
Adrian watched his mother's face transform as Damien began to move. Gone was every trace of royal dignity, replaced by animal lust. Her mouth hung open, eyes rolled back, body arching to meet each thrust.
"Tell me who owns this royal cunt," Damien growled, his pace brutal and deep.
"You do!" she sobbed, legs wrapping around his waist. "Only you! This pussy belongs to you!"
The obscene words from his mother's lips shattered something in Adrian's chest. This woman writhing beneath another man, begging to be fucked harder—this wasn't the mother who'd sung him lullabies and taught him about honor and duty.
Yet it undeniably was her.
Worse, some traitorous part of his body was responding to the sight. Despite his horror and heartbreak, blood was rushing to his cock. The ropes prevented him from hiding his shame, forcing him to confront his body's betrayal.
"Harder!" his mother demanded, fingernails raking down Damien's back. "Destroy me! Make me forget I was ever anything but your whore!"
Damien obliged, his hips slamming against hers with enough force to shake the bed. The wet sounds of their coupling filled the room, punctuated by the queen's increasingly desperate moans.
When her orgasm hit, she nearly screamed the palace down. Her whole body convulsed, back arching impossibly as pleasure tore through her. And through it all, she stared at the ceiling with an expression of pure, grateful bliss.
"Thank you," she whispered as the spasms faded. "Thank you for using me properly."
But Damien wasn't finished.
He pulled out of her roughly, ignoring her whimper of loss. "Turn around. Hands and knees."
Adrian watched his mother scramble to obey, presenting herself like a bitch in heat. From this angle, he could see her profile in the mirror across the room—could see the desperate hunger on her face as she waited for Damien to take her again.
"Face the mirror," Damien commanded, gripping her hips. "Watch yourself being taken like the slut you are."
When he slammed back into her, the queen's eyes locked onto her own reflection. She watched herself being fucked, and Adrian could see she loved every second of it.
"Look at yourself," Damien said, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. "Look at the mighty Queen Seraphina, reduced to a cock-hungry whore."
"I see her," his mother gasped, one hand moving to rub her clit while Damien pounded her from behind. "I see what I really am. What I was always meant to be."
The degradation continued for what felt like hours. Damien pulled her hair, making her arch her back. He slapped her ass, leaving bright red handprints on royal flesh. And through it all, she begged for more.
"Your husband's cock could never satisfy you like this, could it?" Damien asked, his voice mocking.
"Never!" she cried. "He's nothing compared to you! A pathetic excuse for a man!"
Adrian felt something die inside his chest. His father, the king he'd looked up to his entire life, being mocked by his own wife while she was being taken by a servant. The humiliation was almost unbearable.
"Say it louder," Damien demanded. "Tell the whole palace who the real man is."
"You are!" his mother screamed. "Damien is the real man! The only man who can make me feel like a woman!"
Her second orgasm was even more violent than the first. She collapsed forward, ass still raised, sobbing with pleasure. Damien wasn't far behind—he buried himself to the hilt and filled her with his seed, marking her as thoroughly as any brand.
But even that wasn't enough.
After a brief rest, Damien lay back on the bed and guided the queen to straddle him. "Ride me," he ordered. "Show me how grateful you are."
She faced toward the wardrobe as she sank down on his cock, and for a terrifying moment Adrian thought she was looking directly at him. Her eyes seemed to meet his through the slats, though he knew it was impossible for her to see him in the darkness.
Still, the feeling of being watched—judged—by his mother while she fucked another man was almost too much to bear.
"You like this position, don't you?" Damien asked, hands roaming over her body. "You like being in control of how deep I go?"
"I love it," she panted, grinding her hips in slow circles. "I love feeling you so deep inside me. I love knowing I'm taking what I need."
She began to bounce, breasts swaying with each movement. The crown remained on her head throughout—a mockery of everything she was supposed to represent.
When her final orgasm claimed her, she threw her head back and wailed like a banshee. Her inner muscles clenched around Damien's cock, milking every drop from him as he filled her once more.
Afterward, she collapsed against his chest like a satisfied cat.
"I love you," she whispered, and Adrian's heart broke completely. She'd never said those words to his father with such naked honesty.
"I know," Damien replied, stroking her hair. "Now clean up. The king will expect his perfect wife at dinner."
They dressed in comfortable silence, Damien tucking himself away while the queen smoothed her gown and straightened her crown. Within minutes, she looked every inch the regal monarch.
But Adrian knew better now. He knew what lay beneath the royal facade.
After they left together—the queen needing to be escorted back to maintain appearances—Adrian was alone with his shattered worldview and the smell of their coupling.
Time passed. An hour? Two? His legs had gone numb and his arms ached from the bonds. But worse than the physical discomfort was the knowledge burning in his skull like acid.
Finally, Damien returned alone.
The wardrobe door opened, and Adrian was dragged out onto the chamber floor. Damien cut his bonds with clinical efficiency, removing the gag last.
Adrian tried to attack the moment his limbs were free, launching himself at the man who'd destroyed his family. But his muscles were too stiff, his coordination too poor. Damien caught him easily, pushing him back to the floor.
"Now you understand the real hierarchy in this palace," Damien said calmly.
"You bastard!" Adrian's voice was raw from the gag, barely recognizable. "How could you do this to her? To my father?"
"Do what? Give her what she needed? What she begged for?" Damien crouched beside him, expression almost pitying. "Your mother is happier now than she's been in years. More alive. More herself."
"You corrupted her!"
"I freed her. There's a difference." Damien stood, brushing off his clothes. "But that's not your concern anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"Your debt is paid, but now you owe me something far more valuable than gold." Damien's smile was sharp as winter. "Silence."
The implications hit Adrian like hammer blows. "You can't... I won't..."
"You will. Because if you speak of this to anyone—your father, the court, even a trusted servant—I'll tell your father about your gambling debts. About how you nearly brought shame on the royal house. And I'll make sure he knows exactly how much your mother enjoyed being properly fucked."
Adrian stared at him in horror, understanding the trap completely. Reveal the truth and destroy his father. Stay silent and become complicit in his mother's adultery.
"Choose carefully, Your Highness. Your family's honor hangs in the balance."
Damien moved toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "Oh, and Adrian? Tomorrow you'll thank me for protecting your family from scandal. Because that's what good princes do—they put duty before personal feelings."
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Adrian alone on the floor of his mother's defiled bedchamber.
In the silence that followed, he could still smell their coupling. Could still hear his mother's cries of pleasure echoing in his ears.
And knew he would carry this secret to his grave.