I wake to the sound of soft moaning. Queen Isolde is still sprawled across her royal bed, her body marked with evidence of our night together. Beside her, Lyra the handmaiden sleeps fitfully, equally well-used. The morning sun streams through the ornate windows, illuminating the aftermath of royal submission.
"Wake up," I command, already hard again despite the hours of debauchery behind us. "The king will be expecting his wife at breakfast."
The Queen stirs, wincing as she moves. Every muscle in her body must ache from positions she'd never experienced before last night. Her eyes flutter open, confusion giving way to remembrance, then to renewed hunger when she sees my erection.
"One more," she whispers, reaching for my cock. "Please, before I must return to being queen."
I slap her hand away. "You don't give the orders here. Besides, I have other plans this morning."
Disappointment flashes across her face, quickly replaced by jealousy. "Who? Not my daughter—"
"Worried about competition?" I laugh, pulling on my clothes. "You should be. The princess has been watching us, you know. I saw her at the peephole."
The Queen's face pales. "Rosalind? But she's innocent, she's—"
"Exactly what I need," I interrupt. "Fresh royal flesh to corrupt. But don't worry, there's plenty of me to go around."
I leave her there, naked and used, with instructions to prepare herself for tonight. "I'll want both of you," I tell her. "Mother and daughter together. Make sure she's ready."
The palace corridors are already bustling with servants and courtiers, all of whom give me a wide berth. Word has spread quickly about the strange visitor who commands orcs and beds noblewomen. Some look at me with fear, others with barely concealed desire.
I find my "diplomatic team" in our assigned chambers. Grishka paces like a caged animal, clearly unhappy about being left alone while I enjoyed the Queen.
"You smell like human royalty," she growls when I enter, her nostrils flaring. "You promised I would always be your first choice."
I grab her by the throat, lifting her powerful green body until her feet barely touch the floor. "I promised you nothing except ownership," I remind her. "You belong to me, not the other way around."
Instead of fighting, she melts against me, her pussy already wet through her leather garments. "Punish me," she begs. "Remind me who I belong to."
"Later," I promise, releasing her. "First, we have business with the king."
Lady Elara helps me dress in the finest clothes they could find—still simple by royal standards, but I don't need finery to command respect. My power comes from something far more primal.
"The king has requested a private audience," she informs me, her eyes downcast as befits her new status as my property. "Just you, without your... entourage."
"Perfect," I smile, already planning how to handle the monarch whose wife and daughter I intend to claim completely.
The throne room is a marvel of architecture and wealth—soaring ceilings, stained glass windows, and gold everywhere. The king sits upon a massive throne, looking every inch the powerful ruler in his ceremonial robes and crown. But I can see the weakness in him, the soft living and political maneuvering that has replaced true strength.
"Jamal of the Borderlands," he announces as I approach, using a title I never claimed but which sounds appropriately diplomatic. "You've caused quite a stir in my court."
I bow just slightly—enough to observe protocol without showing true deference. "Your Majesty. Thank you for your hospitality."
"Hospitality that you've taken full advantage of," he says, his voice carrying a hint of steel. "My servants talk. My guards talk. Even my wife's handmaidens talk."
I meet his gaze directly. "And what do they say?"
"That you've bewitched half the women in my palace. That you command orcs who should be our enemies. That you carry yourself like a king rather than a visitor in my realm."
I smile, not bothering to deny any of it. "And yet you've summoned me alone, without guards. Curious."
He shifts uncomfortably on his throne. "I want to understand what I'm dealing with. Man to man."
"You're dealing with the future," I tell him bluntly. "A new order where strength determines leadership, not bloodlines or politics."
"And you believe you're stronger than a king with ten thousand soldiers at his command?" he asks, though there's uncertainty in his voice.
"I know I am," I reply. "Your soldiers follow you out of duty. My followers serve me out of desire and fear—a much more powerful combination."
He stands, descending the steps from his throne to face me directly. He's taller than I expected, broad-shouldered and still fit despite his years. In his prime, he might have been formidable.
"What do you want?" he asks finally. "Gold? Land? A formal alliance with your... clan?"
"I want what's already mine," I tell him. "Your wife. Your daughter. Eventually, your kingdom."
I expect rage, calls for guards, perhaps even an attack. Instead, he laughs—a hollow sound with no humor in it.
"My wife," he says bitterly. "You're welcome to her. Our marriage has been a political arrangement for decades. As for my daughter..." His expression darkens. "She is promised to Prince Aldric of the Eastern Kingdoms. That alliance is non-negotiable."
"Everything is negotiable," I counter. "Especially when the bride herself has other ideas."
His eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"
Before I can answer, the throne room doors burst open. Princess Rosalind enters, resplendent in a formal gown of blue silk that matches her eyes. Behind her walks Queen Isolde, her face carefully composed though I can see the slight wince in her movement—evidence of our night together.
"Father," the princess announces, her voice carrying through the vast chamber. "I've come to inform you of my decision regarding the Eastern alliance."
The king's face hardens. "This is a private audience, daughter. We will discuss your betrothal later."
"There's nothing to discuss," she replies, moving to stand beside me. The gesture is not lost on anyone present. "I will not marry Prince Aldric. I have chosen another."
The king's eyes dart between his daughter and me, realization dawning. "This is absurd. You are a princess of the realm. He is a—"
"A man who commands the loyalty of orcs and men alike," she interrupts. "A man who could be a powerful ally instead of an enemy."
Queen Isolde steps forward, her regal bearing at odds with what I know of her private submission. "My king, perhaps we should consider the diplomatic advantages. An alliance with the border clans would secure our western territories."
I watch with amusement as the royal family fractures before my eyes, the women already mine in all but name, the king struggling to maintain control of a situation that slipped from his grasp the moment I entered his castle.
"This is your doing," he accuses me, hand moving to the ceremonial sword at his hip. "You've corrupted them somehow."
"I've shown them what real power looks like," I correct him. "Something you've forgotten in your comfortable throne."
His face flushes with rage. "Guards!" he calls, and armored men step forward from their positions along the walls. "Arrest this man!"
But the guards hesitate, looking uncertainly between their king and me. They've heard the rumors. They've seen how the royal women look at me. Some have even witnessed what happened in the royal bathhouse.
"Are you sure that's wise?" I ask quietly. "Your men know what I'm capable of. They've heard their queen screaming my name through these very walls."
The king's hand tightens on his sword hilt, but he doesn't draw. "What do you propose, then? That I simply hand over my kingdom to you?"
"Not at all," I smile. "I propose a contest. Traditional, fair, and binding. If I win, I claim your daughter officially, with all the political advantages that entails. If you win, I leave your kingdom and never return."
"What kind of contest?" he asks suspiciously.
"Combat," I reply simply. "You were a warrior once, before you became a politician. Prove you still deserve to rule."
The throne room falls silent. Even the princess and queen seem shocked by my directness. Challenging a king to personal combat in his own throne room is either madness or supreme confidence.
For a long moment, the king considers. I can see the calculations behind his eyes—the political ramifications, the risk to his authority, the possibility of simply having me killed instead.
"Very well," he says finally. "Combat it is. Tomorrow at noon in the tournament grounds. The royal court will witness."
"Agreed," I nod. "And to show my good faith, I'll even let you choose the weapons."
"Swords," he says immediately. "The traditional weapon of kings."
I bow slightly, hiding my smile. The orb's power flows through every part of me—my strength, my speed, my stamina. The king has no idea what he's facing.
"Until tomorrow, then," I say, turning to leave. As I pass the princess, I whisper just loud enough for her to hear: "Come to my chambers tonight. It's time you learned what your mother already knows."
Her sharp intake of breath is all the confirmation I need. By this time tomorrow, I'll have claimed every royal woman in this castle and broken the king before his entire court.
The kingdom is falling into my hands, one royal at a time.