Hamstung Imperial Palace.
The steam coiled off the surface of the imperial bath like morning mist, veiling the vaulted ceiling in shifting veils of vapor.
The bathing arena, a vast marble chamber sunk into the earth, glowed with the amber flicker of oil lamps, their gold light dancing upon columns carved with intertwining vines.
A pool larger than a garden pond stretched ahead, fed by slender aqueducts that hissed gently as warm water flowed down stone carvings shaped like seashells.
Four young maids, bare-shouldered, stood ready on terraced steps, jugs of perfumed oil balanced between delicate hands.
In this sanctuary the king of Hamstung, Orain, a tall chubby man in his late sixties, stepped in.
His dark hair curled wet at the nape of his neck as he stepped into the pool of water in the bathing arena.
Water lapped around his thighs, glimmering over the firm muscle his age had not yet diminished.
He made his way towards the corner of the pool of water and reclined his spine on the hard edge.
His breath became more steady as the steamy water relaxed his nerves.
Raising his hand, he signaled one of the maids standing dutifully outside the pool of water, just lingering at the threshold.
The maid understood his intent.
In a single strip, she undid her dress and then stepped into the pool of water. Just when she was halfway towards Orain….,
"Get me undressed."
A voice behind her commanded.
The maid froze and then turned around only to meet the straight gaze of the queen, Friya.
"Get out."
Friya directed her words to the maid, who was making her way towards her husband.
By now the other maid had fully undressed her, leaving only a transparent linen.
Friya stepped into the pool of water, her hips swaying beneath the sheer linen that clung to every curve.
She untied the cloth at her shoulder and let it drift away, exposing full breasts and the soft curve of her belly she once believed time had ruined.
"We need to talk."
She said as she made her way towards her husband.
"We always do when it involves you being naked."
He murmured, then closed the distance in two strides, arms closing around her waist, lifting until her breasts met his chest and their mouths collided.
Their lips parted swiftly, allowing tongues that tasted of cinnamon and red wine to mingle in her tongue.
When they drew apart, she saw steam bead upon his strong jaw and watched the droplets follow the line of his throat.
He, in turn, watched a bead slide between her collarbones and toward the swell of her breast.
The lamps cast faint rays in the droplets, making her skin luminous, fragile, and perfect.
"What do you plan to do about my daughter, Nafteni?"
"Our daughter."
He corrected, and she smiled in a lewd manner.
"Doesn't seem like it."
His palms traced her arms, then swept in to cup her breasts.
His thumbs teased across her nipples, testing them to stiffened peaks. She drew a shuddering breath as pleasure jolted down, coiling between her thighs. In response her legs rose, thighs sliding over his hips.
The movement pressed her center against the solid line of his arousal, still hidden beneath the water, and he groaned against her neck.
"I still mourn Omelia."
She whispered in his ears.
"As it should be done, she was our daughter."
Behind them the maids adjusted their stance; they dipped their hands into golden pitchers and tipped warm water over the royal shoulders, as ritual demanded.
He kissed her hard, swallowing her moan; a slight tremor rippled through Friya's body.
"I have heard that the king of Galvestone is still in mourning after he lost the war to Decreash, a tempting time to offer him our daughter…
"I will not let my daughter Nafteni be handed over to an old bastard."
Friya raged, but as Orain's hands kneaded her breasts again, slower this time, as if exploring new territory. Each squeeze drew a sigh; every release invited another.
Friya trailed her fingers down his spine.
She mapped each contour of strong, older muscle until she reached the cleft above firm buttocks. There she pressed, dragging him tighter against her core, silently spelling the word faster.
"The king of Decreash has taken ill; our daughter, Jia, is yet to have a swollen stomach. She has no intentions of bearing his heir. One daughter was killed; another is wasting away.
Neither shall be the fate of Nafteni; she must marry, and in due time."
The water rippled as Orain shifted one hand from her breast to her hips and supported her weight as he angled forward. She felt the blunt heat of him glide along her, once, twice, a tease that had her writhing.
"What will you have me do then?"
He whispered and then pulled back only enough to guide himself to her entrance.
Her legs tightened around his waist, her inner muscles already fluttering with anticipation.
He met her gaze, storm-blue eyes holding hers with utter concentration.
"Have Nafteni wedded to her brother, Vagor."
With the full length of his dick seated in her core, both exhaled, breaths turned to ragged sighs.
"Do you want the subjects to think their king has gone mad?"
There was displeasure in his voice as he spoke, but Friya knew so well how to handle her husband.
Her fingertips brushed the nape of his neck. "Deeper, my love."
She said, feeling aroused by the kisses he planted on her neck as he began to ride her slowly.
He drew back, watching her face for every trace of response, then slid forward again.
The warm pool sloshed in tiny waves against their chests. His name spilled from her lips with each return thrust, softer at first, then louder as waves lapped higher against the marble ledge.
"Faster," Friya breathed, and he amplified his pace.
Each thrust drove him deeper, her inner walls clasping him in wet heat that rivaled the pool. Her fingernails carved half-moons into his upper back, urging and demanding more.
An answering blaze lit behind his eyes. He hooked an arm beneath her knee, lifting it so her back arched. The altered angle let him fill her completely; when he thrust again, she cried out.
The maids watched with cheeks flushed rose.
One younger girl, no more than twenty, pressed her thighs together as desire pooled warm and treacherous between them.
Another bit her lower lip, eyes tracking the king's glistening back, the play of muscle each time he plunged.
Friya reached out to grip the back of his neck. Between stuttered moans she found words.
"Your subjects will not think you are mad. It is already a known fact; your son has taken a liking to his fellow man, a bigger taboo than getting married to his sister if you think of it."
He groaned against her ear, and his next thrust answered, harder.
"The boy has gone out of control. He will ruin her… But in the end our bloodline shall indeed be preserved.
Orain's thrust grew less.
Each drag hitched Friya's breath higher, spiraling toward the precipice. She felt his length throb within, and she answered by flexing, drawing him, milking him with every inch she could.
She arched her spine; their lips found each other once more, this kiss sloppy, breathless, and fierce.
His hand left her knee to knead her breast again, pinching the hardened peak and rolling it. She whimpered against his mouth. Around them water rocked back and forth like a tide drawn by two moons.
"Listen to me, my love."
She cooed, already knowing she had him exactly where she wanted.
"Vagor will never truly accept his sister as his wife, but he will learn to cherish her, because the same blood runs in their veins. It will not be frowned upon; Hamstung has a tradition, traced back to the time of siblings being wedded to each other.
Friya clenched around him, inner muscles rippling, and that flutter sent him over. With a groan he buried himself to the root. She felt the hot pulse of his release, matched by her own cascading contractions, pleasure crashing in.
For a long beat they stayed joined, slick foreheads touching, hair soaked. Steam rose in slow curls around them.
"Nafteni has the heart of a caged dog, seeking freedom. She will make a good queen but is too frail-minded."
He said before withdrawing his dick from her core.
Friya shuddered a bit before inhaling the intoxicating scent of the jasmine oil from the rising steam.
"When Omelia was killed, you failed to catch the fool who snatched my daughter from me. What I have asked is only a request, a redemption for the loss that has been accorded to me."
Making him break while he was inside her wasn't enough; now she wanted to play the victim, and it worked.
With a simple wave of his hand, Orain gave his permission, and a leering grin tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Do what you must."
With a strained breath, he dragged his body out of the water, muscles trembling as rivulets streamed down his limbs and pooled at his feet.
The maids rushed in at once. One steadied him while another wrapped thick linen around his shoulders, blotting away the warmth and scent of herbs.
He did not resist, nor did he speak—he only allowed himself to be handled and dressed piece by piece.
Fresh garments were slipped over his damp skin, fastened carefully and reverently as he was guided out of the bathing arena.
Friya watched until silence returned, the bathwater slowly settling in and her nerves relaxing.
Only then did she release the breath she had been holding.
She slowly closed her eyes and lowered herself deeper into the water, the warmth rising to her chin as it dulled her thoughts.
For a fleeting moment, there was only the hush of steam and the faint lap of water against stone.
Then a scream tore through the stillness.
It was sharp and sudden, followed by a piercing growl that seemed to claw its way down the chamber and into the bathing arena.
Friya's eyes flew open, panic flooding her senses. Her breath hitched as she twisted toward the sound, heart hammering violently against her rib.
She held herself utterly still, scarcely daring to breathe. The steam hung low, muffling the chamber, every heartbeat loud in her ears.
Then came the sound of steel striking stone. The metal skidding across the floor as if torn from trembling hands.
The noise sent a chill racing through her, raising gooseflesh along her arms despite the heat of the water.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
She shifted slightly, the bathwater rippling around her, and listened, waiting for the next sound to tell her whether to flee or remain hidden.
She waited, motionless, for what felt like hours. Each passing moment stretched thin, heavy with dread. When no further sound came, she finally gathered what little courage she had left and rose from the bath.
Water streamed from her as she stepped onto the cold stone floor. She snatched a discarded linen from beside the tub and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, the fabric clinging to her damp skin. Her hair hung loose and dripping, tracing cold paths down her back as she moved.
Barefoot, she crossed into the main section of Orain's chamber, leaving the bathing alcove behind. The warmth of the water faded with every step, replaced by an uneasy silence that pressed in around her.
When she finally stepped into the main section of the vast chamber, a familiar scent crept into her nostrils.
Blood.