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The lady’s maid who has been assigned to her leaves the room, and the door swings shut behind her. Milena can hear the lock click into place.
There is only the one door, and the windows in these rooms are arrow-slits, too narrow for even a child to slip through. There is no fire in the fireplace, and the chimney has a well-made grate in it. And there are, of course, no knives in the rooms; Milena has been denied even the use of an eating-knife or a penknife since the announcement of her betrothal was made. Even her jewelry is held elsewhere, lest she use the brooches or hairpins for an unintended purpose.
It would not do for another of Duke Velen’s betrotheds to escape him into death.
Milena sinks down on the cold hearth and puts her hands over her face. She is too weary and terrified to keep the tears from falling. Tomorrow she is going to marry Duke Velen, and then tomorrow night, she will -
Whatever Duke Velen does to his brides is terrible enough that even the rumors do not describe it. She only knows that it will be a miracle if she survives her wedding night, and thrice a miracle if she lives long enough to bear a child.
She doesn’t want to die, not by her own hands, not at the hands of a sadistic old man. She wishes this was a dream - it would be a nightmare, yes, worse than any she’s ever had before, but nightmares can be woken from. Dreams fade in the morning light.
The stone is cold beneath her legs and the taste of the dinner she forced herself to eat is ashes in her mouth and her tears make her eyes sting and this is not a dream.
She bites her lip to bleeding to try to keep in the sobs, and fails at last, gasping her misery into her tear-damp hands. All unbidden, a useless, childish plea rises to her lips. “Please,” she whispers to the cold, uncaring hearth. “Please.” She doesn’t even know what she’s asking for, just - “Please.”
“Three tears, three pleas, three drops of blood,” a man’s lilting tenor says. “Oh, it is long and longer since we’ve had such an offering laid before us.”
Milena looks up, jaw dropping in shock, to find three men standing between her and the empty fireplace. She didn’t hear them come in - the door is still closed and locked, the windows still far too narrow for anyone to clamber through them -
They move in perfect unison, all dropping to one knee to look at her more closely, and she draws in a sharp breath as she sees their eyes.
The man in the middle has green eyes, bright as emeralds; the two flanking him have yellow eyes, the left-hand man’s as dark as topaz, the right-hand one’s as bright as honey in the sunshine. And all three have slit pupils like cats.
Milena stares in bafflement, too astonished even to scream.
“Hello, little supplicant,” the green-eyed man purrs. The lilting tenor is his, apparently. He’s as beautiful as his voice suggests, with dark brown hair falling in gleaming ringlets to his shoulders and skin the warm bronze common in the sun-kissed countries to the south; his beard and mustache are neatly trimmed to accentuate the lines of his face. Milena has the fleeting, irreverent thought that her eldest sister would kill someone to have his cheekbones. He is a little taller than the man with topaz eyes, and far less terrifying in aspect.
The topaz-eyed man has short-cropped dark hair receding into a deep widow’s peak and a short-cropped dark beard, which in combination with his sharp features and slightly beaky nose and the smirk on his lips make him appear entirely wicked. If he had horns, Milena would think him a demon without hesitation; as it is, she wonders only if he has concealed such marks of deviltry somehow.
The third man, the one with sunlit honey eyes, is taller than the other two, and looks younger - boyish, almost, though there’s something ancient in his eyes. His hair is blond and wavy and cut to just above his ears, and he is clean-shaven; there are freckles scattered across his pale cheeks, and a soft smile on his lips. He looks kind, Milena thinks. Perhaps he is an angel, match to his companion’s devil, but then what is the green-eyed man? Fae, perhaps, a representative of the otherworld which is neither heaven nor hell?
The green-eyed man reaches out with one graceful hand and presses a single long finger to her chin, closing her mouth gently. His touch is very warm, and the warmth lingers as he lets his hand fall. “Well, little supplicant?” he murmurs. “Three tears, three pleas, three drops of blood - what do you wish for so devoutly? And what do you offer in return?”
Milena swallows hard. “I,” she says, falters, swallows again. “I don’t want to die.”
The green-eyed man’s eyebrows arch elegantly. “Few mortals do.”
“Not -” Milena gestures weakly with a hand. “A death of old age, or of illness, even a death in childbed I could accept as simply fate, and go to whatever awaits me without regrets.” All three men look startled by that. “I do not wish to die at Duke Velen’s hands, as three wives and countless peasant girls have done already.”
“Ah,” the green-eyed man breathes.
The maybe-demon looks around the room, topaz eyes narrowing. “You are a prisoner here,” he says thoughtfully, in a low rumble that makes Milena shiver. “That door is locked, you’d never fit through those windows, there is no fire - hells, they’ve even taken the bed canopy. Worried you’d hang yourself, were they?”
“Duke Velen’s last betrothed did so,” Milena says. “It was a dreadful scandal.”
“But not dreadful enough to keep you from being betrothed to him,” the possibly-angel says softly. His voice is as warm as his eyes.
“No,” Milena agrees sadly. “It was…Duke Velen is the king’s uncle, you see, and so the king agreed that if my father would give one of his younger daughters to the duke, then his eldest daughter would be allowed to marry the crown prince.”
“So here you are,” the green-eyed man says softly, “waiting for a terrible death, while your eldest sister holds out her hands for a crown?”
“Even so,” Milena says miserably.
“I see,” the green-eyed man says, and glances left and right, meeting his companions’ eyes. “And what would you give in order to be spared such a fate, little supplicant?”
Milena hesitates. “I would give much for my own life,” she says slowly, “but I would give anything at all to know that no other girl would suffer at his hands, nor those of any other men of such foul appetites.”
The green-eyed man’s eyebrows go up again. “Anything?” he asks softly. “That is a generous offering indeed.”
“Anything,” Milena confirms, staring up into green eyes and shivering with cold and fear. “If I could know that no other girl would die as terribly as all my predecessors have - yes. Anything.”
“Thrice said is a vow,” the green-eyed man purrs, lips curling in a worryingly hungry smile. “And yet…”
“And yet?” Milena breathes, trembling.
“We cannot act upon the world by our own wills,” the possibly-angel says softly. “Else much would be other than it is. We can only act through conduits: mortal men and women, who open themselves to our power.”
“It’s been a long damn time since someone offered us a blank writ,” the maybe-demon adds. “But we’re none of us fond of taking what someone doesn’t know to give.”
“A choice,” the green-eyed man says softly. “A choice, little supplicant. We can save your life, tonight, and bring you far from here, and for that mercy we will take - hm -”
“A single favor,” the possibly-angel says. “Of equal worth. Perhaps the raising of a child, or the tending of a certain woodland dear to us.”
The green-eyed man nods. “Even so. Or.” He smiles down at Milena. “You may choose to be our conduit, and we will not only save your life, but give you the power to save others - our power, channeled through you. And in return, little supplicant, we will take you. All that you are will be ours.”
Milena licks dry lips. “What - what would that mean?”
The green-eyed man’s smile is definitely hungry. “You’ll still have your own mind, never fear, little supplicant. But you’ll do as we command, when we command it -”
“Rarely,” the possibly-angel puts in. “That which you so desire is well in line with those changes we would make to this cruel world.”
“Rarely,” the green-eyed man allows.
“An’ you could argue,” the maybe-demon adds. “Might see somethin’ we don’t, after all.”
Milena’s head is reeling.
“And you could argue,” the green-eyed man laughs softly. “But the other half of the price, little supplicant, is this: you’ll have no other man in your heart or in your bed, but only us, for all your days.”
Milena swallows hard. Terrible as Duke Velen is, there is only one of him.
But she knows he will hurt her terribly before she dies. And for some reason she does not think these three men - these three fae or devils or angels, whatever they may be, for mortal men they surely are not - are…cruel.
If nothing else, they are offering her a choice, as no one else in her life ever has.
“I do not wish to be commanded to do harm to any who do not deserve it,” she says carefully. That is, after all, the whole point - she doesn’t want anyone else to be hurt the way her predecessors were, for no reason but Duke Velen’s vicious lusts.
“We will not give such commands,” the possibly-angel says at once, giving her a warm and approving smile.
“Anyone we tell you needs to die will have fuckin’ earned it,” the maybe-demon agrees.
Milena takes a deep breath. She said anything, and they have given her the only assurance she thinks she can ask for without angering them. She does not dare ask for any promise that they will do no harm to her. If she is theirs entirely, they will do as they choose.
But if they want her to do their bidding, to be their conduit, they will surely not slay her, and that must be enough.
“I will be your conduit,” she says steadily, meeting emerald and topaz and sunlit eyes in turn. “I will serve you, and all that I am will be yours.”
All three men smile, oddly similar expressions on very dissimilar faces. “Accepted,” the green-eyed man murmurs, and leans forward, warm fingers tilting her chin up so he can press a kiss to her mouth, tongue tapping against her lips as she gasps but not quite entering. There’s a strange shiver in the air around them.
“Accepted,” the maybe-demon echoes as the green-eyed man leans back, and his kiss has teeth to it, a tiny threat that draws no blood. The shiver in the air grows stronger.
“Accepted,” the possibly-angel says softly, and his kiss is soft and nearly chaste, and as their lips part there’s a great soundless shudder, like being at the heart of some enormous bell as it is rung.
Milena feels like all her bones have been filled with painless fire. She thinks she could fly, or topple the keep with a gesture, or set a forest ablaze.
Conduit. This is what that means.
The men are all grinning now, bright and eager as they watch her, and Milena expects them to take…well, whatever they please. She has sworn herself to them, and all that she is is theirs.
But to her surprise the possibly-angel reaches out and draws her to her feet as he himself stands. The green-eyed man produces a handkerchief from somewhere and wipes her face gently clean of tear-stains. The maybe-demon pours a mug of water from the pitcher standing on the table nearby, then breathes over the mug and hands it to her full of what proves to be the sweetest mead she’s ever tasted.
“Little conduit,” the green-eyed man purrs, smiling down at her as he tucks his handkerchief away again. “Sit, and drink, and let us discuss how best to arrange matters.”
Milena sits down in the only chair in the room, cradling her mug of mead carefully in her hands. The maybe-demon leans back against the cold hearth, drawing a dagger from his belt and flipping it in one hand. The possibly-angel draws the footstool over and sits on it. The green-eyed man sits down at Milena’s very feet and leans against her knee, smiling up at her.
“So,” he says. “What is your name, little conduit?”
“Milena. Milena de Roggeven.”
“Milena,” all three men murmur, and the sound makes shivers run down Milena’s spine.
The green-eyed man beams up at her. “A beautiful name, little conduit. As for us -” he gestures at the maybe-demon. “That’s Lambert; he’s an avatar of vengeance.” Lambert gives Milena a sharp-edged, wicked smile. “Our sweet lad is Voltehre; he’s an avatar of justice.” Voltehre gives Milena a much sweeter smile, honey-yellow eyes gleaming in the scant lantern-light. “And I’m Aiden. There’s not a good word in your tongue for what I’m the avatar of - the closest I can come is just deserts. Whatever you’ve truly earned, be it good or bad.”
“I see,” Milena says wonderingly.
“Now,” Aiden continues. “We’re perfectly capable of showing you how to use the power we’ve given you to raze this keep to the ground and make yourself a witch-queen out of legend, with the heads of your enemies on spikes before the gates of your fortress, but that sort of thing is a little bit…”
“Lacking in subtlety,” Voltehre says, chuckling.
“That,” Lambert agrees. “Tends to end with armies showing up at your gates, and then you’ve got to deal with that instead of doing whatever you actually want to be doing. Fuckin’ annoying, really.”
Milena muffles a giggle with another sip of mead.
“So,” Aiden says smoothly, “does this Duke Velen have any heirs?”
“He does not,” Milena says. “His first wife died in childbed, and the babe a bare day later; none of his later wives have survived long enough to bear a child. And as far as I know he has no bastards, either.”
“So if he died after your wedding,” Aiden says, grinning wickedly, “you’d be Duchess of Velen, correct?”
“I…suppose I would, yes,” Milena says. She hadn’t actually put any thought into that, since she had no reason to believe she would outlive her prospective husband.
“Well then,” Aiden purrs, as Lambert’s grin grows wickeder and Voltehre hums a pleased little note, “here’s what I suggest we do…”
*
Milena keeps her head bowed as she follows the lady’s maid into her husband’s rooms. The maid makes quick work of undressing Milena and shrouding her in a white nightgown, adorned with lace at collar and cuffs, then hurries out without speaking.
Milena takes a deep breath and raises her head.
The three avatars are lounging against the wall beside the fireplace. As Milena meets their eyes, they push away from the wall and come towards her, surrounding her neatly. Voltehre’s hands settle on her hips as he brushes a kiss to the top of her head; Lambert wraps an arm around her waist; and Aiden puts one long, warm finger under her chin and tips her head up to meet brilliant green eyes.
“Remember what we taught you last night, little conduit?” he murmurs.
“I remember,” Milena says. She didn’t get much sleep last night; they taught her to use the power thrumming in her bones to light and douse the fire, to make shields and swords of light and air, to cloak herself in power so that she cannot be harmed, and many other things. It was a very educational night, and with the assurance of that protection, she managed to keep her composure through her wedding and the feast that followed.
She made her vows to the avatars, and spoke them again before the altar; if Duke Velen thought she spoke to him, that is his own affair.
Now she brings up one of the shields they taught her, shrouding the rooms in silence; no sound will escape them except by her let and leave. That is the first part of the plan.
“Nothing shall harm you,” Aiden promises, and the other two avatars murmur, “Nothing,” in her ears. Milena smiles up at them.
“I am yours, my lords,” she replies softly. “I trust in your protection.”
“Perfect little conduit,” Aiden murmurs, and then they all hear the key in the lock.
The avatars fade from sight, and Milena turns to face her husband as he enters. Duke Velen chuckles nastily, a filthy, chilling sound, and locks the door behind himself.
He is a reasonably tall man, and quite strong despite his years. He doesn’t look like the monster Milena knows him to be.
“Hello, wife,” he leers. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing.”
Milena curtsies, bowing her head so he will not see her smile. “Hello, my lord duke,” she says quietly.
Duke Velen crosses the space between them and puts a hand under her chin, jerking her head up to sneer down at her. “Let’s see how sturdy you are,” he snickers, and Milena -
Straightens up to her full height and puts a hand on his chest, and draws on the fire thrumming in her bones. She can feel the avatars behind her, their hands coming to rest on her hips and waist, steadying her and lending her strength.
“All that you have given those who came unwilling to your bed, I now return,” Milena says, meeting Duke Velen’s astonished eyes evenly, and shoves.
Duke Velen stumbles backwards, more out of surprise than from the actual force of her arm, and then the power rushing through her floods out to surround him.
Milena stands there as the avatars fade back into view around her, and watches calmly as Duke Velen screams and screams and screams.
The twist of power that makes his agonies sound to those listening outside like they are her weeping is simplicity itself.
It takes him a surprisingly long time to die, and the rug beneath his thrashing form is soaked in blood and fouler things before he breathes his last.
“Well now,” Aiden says, into the echoing silence as the last scream fades away.
“I’d call that vengeance,” Lambert rumbles, sounding very pleased.
“I’ll call it justice,” Voltehre counters, pressing another kiss to the top of Milena’s head.
“And I shall call it exactly what he’d earned,” Aiden finishes smugly. “But ah, little conduit, this does leave you lacking a husband for your wedding night.” Gentle hands coax Milena to turn around, and she looks up to find them all smiling down at her, looking hungry and yet - and yet not terrifying, as Duke Velen’s hunger was.
“It would hardly be just deserts to leave you wanting,” Aiden purrs. “It seems only fair that we should remedy this lack.”
Milena shivers, not in fear, really, just…apprehension. She doesn’t know quite what they intend. But she doesn’t think it will be unpleasant, not truly.
“I am yours, my lords,” she says softly. She vowed it, and she meant the vow; their claim upon her thrums within her bones.
“Ours,” Aiden says. “So you are, little conduit.”
“Yet we’ll not take what you do not give freely,” Voltehre adds quietly. “There’s no justice in that.”
Milena swallows hard, feeling warmed all through by the sunlight in his eyes. “I give you freely all myself, my lords,” she says. “You have proven yourselves fine teachers of new skills, and gentle with what is your own. Give me a wedding night to seal my vows to you.”
“Damn,” Lambert breathes. “Aren’t we lucky bastards.”
“So we are,” Aiden agrees.
Voltehre just bends and kisses her, soft and sweet and slow. Milena finds herself clutching at his shoulders as he deepens the kiss, and he picks her up, not seeming to notice her weight at all. Milena clings to him as they move; faintly, she hears a door close, but she can’t seem to think about anything but the firm press of Voltehre’s lips on hers and the heat of his broad hands holding her close.
He puts her down again gently next to a positively enormous bed. “Perfect little conduit,” he murmurs, smiling down at her. “Who would you like first?”
“Ah,” Milena says. “I - I -”
She has no idea. Voltehre is sweet, but Aiden is so very gentle, and then if she chooses either of them it might offend Lambert -
“I cannot choose,” she says.
“Better be Aiden,” Lambert says. Voltehre nods.
“He’ll give you what you deserve,” he says, smiling down at Milena. “Which is pleasure, little conduit. As much pleasure as you can bear.”
Milena shivers. “As you think best, my lords,” she says weakly.
Voltehre sinks gracefully to one knee and lifts the hem of her nightshirt, and Lambert takes it and draws it gently over Milena’s head, tossing it aside. And then all three avatars are staring at her. Milena can feel herself blushing, and keeps her hands at her sides with an effort. She wants to cover herself, but -
She is theirs. If they are pleased to look at her, it is not her place to object. And the clear appreciation in three sets of inhuman eyes is remarkably flattering.
“Beautiful,” Aiden says softly. “Our perfect little conduit, lovelier than sunrise over the mountains.” He steps forward to put a finger beneath her chin and tilt her head up, and leans down to kiss her, not chastely as Voltehre did but deeply, tongue sweeping into her mouth and leaving her breathless.
She braces her hands on his shoulders to keep herself upright, and feels his clothing vanish beneath her fingers. It’s startling enough to make her pull away from the kiss. Aiden lets her, chuckling softly, and she takes a shaky step backwards, running into the bed, and gets her first look at a naked man.
Three naked men.
Aiden is lean and lithe, skin a perfect golden bronze from head to toe. Voltehre is pale as fallen snow, with freckles scattered across his skin in endless constellations, and broad across the shoulders as a young ox. Lambert is paler than Aiden, darker than Voltehre, and solid, sturdy as a wall.
All of them are. Well. Milena doesn’t think it would be polite to stare, but they are very prominently male. She has no idea what a usual size for such an endowment is, but they are…definitely a little intimidating.
“Nothing shall harm you,” Aiden murmurs, reaching out to brush a finger over her cheek. “Nothing, I swear it.”
“Nothing but pleasure at our hands,” Voltehre agrees.
“Um,” Lambert says, and they all turn to look at him, the other two avatars starting to scowl. Lambert raises his hands, open and empty. “No harm,” he says hastily. “Never harm, I would not hurt our conduit for the fuckin’ world. But if we’re makin’ it look like she survived a night with that piece of donkey shit, she should…uh…have some marks.”
There’s a pause while they all consider that. “He has the right of it,” Milena says unhappily. “I would not come unmarred from Velen’s hands, even if he had chosen to get an heir upon me before he slew me.”
Aiden wrinkles his nose. “I am ever so glad he died screaming,” he says. “Well. Marks we can give you, little conduit, but there need not be any pain in the getting of them - or at least, no pain you do not enjoy.”
Milena blinks at him. “Pain I enjoy?”
“Ah,” Aiden says. “Let me demonstrate? And if you like it not, then we shall give you marks without any pain at all - that is within our powers, if it is our conduit we are marking.”
Milena nods, not entirely sure what she is agreeing to but willing to at least see what he might mean, and Aiden bends to kiss her again, deep and sweet and overwhelming enough that she sags against the bed. He chuckles and moves away to let her gasp for breath, brushing more kisses along the line of her jaw and then down her throat; she tilts her head back, clutching at the sheet and shuddering as his lips send unfamiliar shivers down her spine.
And then he reaches the crook of her neck and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the tender skin - and bites.
Milena makes a noise that’s half a squeak and half a moan, astonished at the sudden spark of what isn’t quite truly pain - or at least, not the sort of pain she understands from saddle-sores or stubbed toes or accidentally stabbing herself with a needle. This goes right through her like the thrumming power in her bones, and nestles warm and shivery in the pit of her stomach.
Aiden kisses his way back up her throat, all soft lips and quick flickers of his tongue. “Well, little conduit?” he breathes in her ear. “Is that a type of pain you enjoy?”
“Y-yes,” Milena gasps. “I do.”
“Perfect little conduit,” Aiden croons. “How did we get so lucky?”
“No fuckin’ clue,” Lambert rumbles. “Go on, then. Leave your claim. And then fuck her better’n that heap of shit out in the other room could ever have dreamed of doing.”
Aiden snickers. “That’s not hard,” he points out, and wraps his hands around Milena’s waist, lifting her up onto the bed properly. “Lie down, little conduit. Get comfortable.”
Milena shuffles a little awkwardly up the bed until she can stretch out. It’s more than large enough for four people, and the sheets are soft against her skin; the pillows are full and firm beneath her head.
All three avatars stand beside the bed for a long moment, staring at her, and then Aiden shakes himself a little and prowls onto the bed on his hands and knees. It should look awkward and a little silly, but all Milena can think of as he moves towards her is a stalking cat - one large enough to devour her. His eyes gleam in the light of the banked fire, brilliant as emeralds, and his teeth glint as he smiles.
He braces himself over her, not quite touching anywhere but so close she can feel the more-than-human warmth of his skin against her own, and brushes their noses together. “Little conduit,” he purrs. “Don’t fret. You have only one duty tonight.”
“What duty is that, my lord?” Milena breathes.
“You must tell me if anything does not feel good,” Aiden commands her. “Can you do that for me?”
Milena swallows. “Yes, my lord.”
“Perfect little conduit,” Aiden murmurs, and kisses her as a reward. Or at least it certainly feels like a reward. Milena melts against the bed, gasping into the kiss as Aiden lowers himself just a little further and presses their bodies together from chest to hips. She can feel his prick throbbing where it’s caught between them, and it’s half terrifying and half terrifyingly appealing; she makes a tiny, startled sound against his lips, and Aiden laughs.
He breaks the kiss when she’s gasping for breath, and shifts down the bed slightly, nudging her chin up to bare her throat. Milena shivers as he presses kisses to the tender skin, lips so very gentle, and then shivers harder as he chooses a particularly sensitive spot to bite, teeth sharper than she thinks a human’s could be, the pressure somehow just sideways of true pain and into that odd shuddery feeling that goes right into the pit of her stomach. She gasps through the sensation, grateful for his weight atop her - it’s grounding somehow, keeping her in her body instead of floating above it.
She lets her head fall to the side so Aiden has better access, and finds herself looking at the other two avatars. Lambert has found a chair somewhere and drawn it up to the side of the bed, and is lounging back in it like a prince on his throne; Voltehre is perched on one of the chair’s arms. Both of them are watching her with ravenous expressions, and Lambert has one hand wrapped around his prick and is stroking it slowly. He grins when he sees her looking.
“We’ll have our turn, never fear,” he rumbles.
Voltehre nods. “We’ll give you as much pleasure tonight as that monster would have given pain,” he promises.
Aiden bites down again, a little lower, and Milena hears herself moan, high and thin and shaky. Voltehre bites his bottom lip hard. Lambert groans.
“Fuck, you sound so good. I want to hear what she sounds like when she peaks, Aiden.”
“In good time,” Aiden murmurs, licking gently at the bite-mark he’s just left on Milena’s throat. “In good time. Never fear.”
Milena whimpers as Aiden slides a little lower, kissing and biting along her collarbones, and Voltehre rises from the arm of the chair to plant one knee on the bed and bend over, kissing her softly. It’s a sweet counterpoint to the not-quite-pain of Aiden’s biting kisses, and Milena sighs and closes her eyes, caught beneath two of her lords and blissfully content.
Aiden shifts down again, and somehow Milena was not expecting him to put his mouth on her breasts. She also wasn’t expecting it to feel so good. She moans into Voltehre’s mouth. Aiden chuckles. “Perfect little conduit, so sweet and sensitive,” he purrs, licking a stripe over her nipple as he pinches gently at the other.
Milena makes a sound she can only describe as a squeak, which is rather embarrassing, but none of the avatars seem to mind. “Here, Voltehre, give me a hand,” Aiden adds, which is rather confusing until he shifts to the side, mouth still warm and teasing on one breast, and Voltehre’s big hand gently cups the other. Which leaves Aiden’s hand free to -
Milena shudders hard as long, warm fingers trace her lower lips lightly enough that it nearly tickles. “Spread your legs, sweetheart,” Voltehre murmurs. Milena swallows and obeys.
Those clever fingers press a little harder, parting her lower lips and tracing through the wetness there. “Perfect little conduit,” Aiden groans against her breast, and his fingers brush against something that makes her gasp, a tiny shock of pleasure shooting through her.
“What,” she asks breathlessly, “what is -?”
“Your pearl, sweetheart,” Voltehre murmurs. “Does it feel good?”
“Y-oh, yes,” Milena gasps, as Aiden’s fingers toy with her - her pearl, making her shiver helplessly as the pleasure builds on itself, joining with that shivery heat in the pit of her stomach and coiling tighter and tighter.
“Shall I make you peak like this?” Aiden murmurs against her breast. “Or do you want to wait until I’m inside you?”
Milena…has no idea how to answer that. “I - wait,” she says, not so much an answer as a plea, and to her surprise Aiden’s fingers move away from her pearl, his palm cupping her mound gently without pressing, and he and Voltehre both lift their mouths from her. She blinks her eyes open to stare up at them, worried that she has erred, but Voltehre’s expression is soft and warm, and Aiden’s eyes are brilliant as stars.
“Too much?” Voltehre asks softly.
“A - a little,” Milena admits.
“Perfect little conduit,” Aiden purrs. “Doing exactly as you should.” His hand moves, stroking gently over her stomach, somehow soothing the jittery too-muchness beneath her skin. “Perfect,” he assures her again.
Slowly, Milena relaxes. Voltehre scatters kisses across her face - forehead, cheeks, the tip of her nose - before pressing a very, very gentle kiss to her lips. “Can you tell us what was too much, sweetheart?”
Milena blushes hotly, squeezing her eyes tight shut in embarrassment. Voltehre kisses her again. “None of that,” he murmurs. “No shame here, sweetheart. You’re our perfect little conduit - you’re ours, and we want to bring you pleasure.”
“It’s - too many things,” Milena admits hesitantly. “All at once.”
“Oh, good little conduit,” Aiden breathes. “Perfect little conduit. We can work with that.” He curls around her, laying his head on her shoulder, and Voltehre kisses her again, softly and sweetly.
Aiden’s hand drifts lower again, over her stomach and her mound until his fingers can dip between her thighs. “Is this alright, little conduit?” he murmurs.
“Yes,” Milena gasps against Voltehre’s lips, and Aiden hums a low approving note.
She doesn’t know how long Aiden lingers there, stroking gently at her lower lips and teasing at her pearl to make golden sparks light behind her eyelids. Slowly but surely, she relaxes, sighing into Voltehre’s gentle kisses, weighed down and grounded by Aiden’s head on her shoulder and his leg slung over one of hers. And as she relaxes, she realizes that she - that she wants.
What, precisely, she wants is a question to which she does not know the answer. She whines softly into Voltehre’s mouth, wriggling a little, trying to tilt her hips up, and the tip of one of Aiden’s clever fingers slips effortlessly into her.
Milena goes still, gasping. It’s not painful, not in the slightest, and it isn’t all that much, really, just the very tip of a single finger, and yet - and yet -
“Alright, little conduit?” Aiden asks. “Will you let me in?”
“Yes,” Milena whispers. “I am yours, my lord.”
“Perfect little conduit,” Aiden purrs, and that single finger starts to move, tiny little thrusts in and out, each one sliding a little deeper into her. It still doesn’t hurt, which is something of a surprise. Milena had thought - all the rumors she has ever heard had seemed to promise - that losing her maidenhead would be an unpleasant process. But Aiden’s finger doesn’t hurt at all. Indeed, as he sinks it into her all the way until his palm is pressed against her pearl, she discovers that it doesn’t seem to be enough.
“Please,” she whispers.
“Please what, sweetheart?” Voltehre asks, brushing kisses to her cheeks and down her throat. “Ask and it’s yours.”
“More?” Milena says, blushing hotly. A proper noble daughter would never say such a thing -
But she is theirs by her own sworn word, and so it is proper to do as they desire, and they desire that she tell them what she wants.
“More,” Aiden says, sounding very pleased indeed, and draws his finger out, which is exactly the opposite of what she wants - but then there are two long fingers pressing into her, and Milena moans quietly as she feels herself open around them. It still doesn’t hurt even a little.
“Fuck,” Aiden whispers. “You feel divine, little conduit, and I assure you I know whereof I speak.”
Lambert laughs, somewhere off to the side. It’s a surprisingly warm sound, not mocking at all, just pleased.
“You sound divine, too,” Voltehre murmurs in her ear. “You are a treasure, sweetheart. Our perfect conduit.”
“Even so,” Aiden agrees. His fingers move in steady, gentle thrusts, and Milena discovers she’s trying to move her own hips to meet them. She wants - she wants -
She wants more of the golden sparks that light behind her eyelids when Aiden’s fingers curl a little as he draws them out, more of the feeling of astonishing fullness as they sink in again. Just…more, of all of this. Of feeling…wanted. Desired. Cherished.
Of being told she is perfect, is precious, is divine.
“Perfect little conduit,” Aiden whispers. “So open for me already - will you give me all of you, little conduit, little Milena? Will you let me have you?”
Milena swallows hard and opens her eyes, turning her head to see brilliant emerald gleaming. “I am yours, my lord,” she says quietly. “All that I am is yours.”
“Yes,” Aiden agrees. “But we’ll not take what you do not give freely, little conduit - not in this.”
Milena licks her lips. “I give it freely,” she whispers, and Aiden grins, sharp and hungry, and surges up to kiss her; Voltehre shifts out of the way as Aiden draws his fingers out of her and moves to kneel between her legs.
“Here,” Lambert says, and to Milena’s surprise Aiden holds out his hand - sticky and gleaming with her own slick, she realizes with another hot flush of embarrassment - and Lambert -
Lambert leans forward to catch Aiden’s hand and licks it clean, taking Aiden’s fingers into his mouth and suckling on them as if they taste like the sweet mead he conjured for Milena only the night before.
Aiden laughs softly as he draws his hand away, and Lambert licks his lips and gives Milena a smile - no, a leer, but one so strangely good-natured she cannot help but find it charming. “Taste as sweet as you sound, darlin’,” he rumbles.
“Oh,” Milena says weakly. Lambert winks.
“I’ll feast on you later,” he says, and it sounds both a promise and a threat. Milena shivers in half-terrified arousal.
“You’ll like it,” Voltehre murmurs. “He’s got such a clever tongue.”
“He does,” Aiden agrees. “But for just now, little conduit, I think you should be focusing on me.”
He’s grinning, though, not offended or annoyed, and Milena gives him a shaky smile. “My lord,” she says. Aiden leans down, bracing his elbows on either side of her shoulders, and kisses her softly.
“Tell me if aught feels unpleasant, little conduit,” he murmurs, and then his prick is pressing into her, slow as dripping honey.
It is quite substantially larger than two fingers, but it doesn’t hurt, not as slow as he is going and with so much slickness easing the way. And the fullness of it - so much more than two fingers, so much better -
Milena realizes the high soft whimpering she is hearing is her own, and cannot stop making the sound. It’s so much and so good and oh, this is not what losing one’s maidenhead is normally like - it cannot be - well, usually one is not losing one’s maidenhead to an actual god or something like one, after all -
“Shh, shh,” Aiden whispers, and she realizes he has stilled, his hips pressed to hers, his prick as deep in her as it can go. “Perfect little conduit, is this good?”
Milena opens her eyes, not quite sure when she closed them, and blinks up at him. “It’s - so much,” she says, not sure how else to explain.
“Yes,” Aiden agrees. “Too much?”
“No,” Milena says at once. “Not too much.” She shifts slightly, bracing her feet on the bed so she can spread her legs wider and tilt her hips up a little further, and shivers again as she clenches down without quite meaning to and the sensation of blissful fullness intensifies. “It’s good,” she says, feeling very shy all of a sudden. “Is it - pleasing to my lord?”
“You feel divine,” Aiden purrs. “Our perfect conduit.” He kisses her again, very gently. “Ours.”
“Yours,” Milena agrees.
Aiden grins, fierce and hungry, and draws his hips back again, and Milena cannot quite restrain the whine - she did not know that fullness was such a pleasant feeling, but she wants it - she grabs at Aiden’s shoulders, trying to pull him back.
Aiden laughs, and so does Voltehre. “Shh, sweetheart,” Voltehre murmurs, reaching between them to spread one big hand across her stomach, nearly spanning it. “He’ll give you what you need.”
Aiden smirks. “I will indeed,” he says, and presses in, faster this time but no less smoothly. Milena lets her head fall back against the pillow and clings to his shoulders and just - trusts in her lords.
Aiden moves with the steady inexorable rhythm of the tides, she thinks dazedly through the haze of pleasure as he fills her again and again. Like a force of nature - well, that makes sense, he is a sort of god. She thinks she is moaning, but her sounds please her lords, so she does not try to bite her lip and force herself to silence.
It is as well she did not, because she does not think she could keep silent when Voltehre’s broad hand slides down a little and his thumb finds her pearl.
The strange deep pleasure of being full is joined by sharp golden sparks of ecstasy, and Milena cries out helplessly. All three avatars make pleased little sounds.
“Perfect little conduit,” Aiden pants.
“Sound so fuckin’ sweet,” Lambert agrees.
“Let me make you peak,” Voltehre breathes against her ear. “Sweetheart, let us give you that.”
She doesn’t quite know what he means, but everything else they have given her has been so good. She trusts that this will be the same.
“Yes,” she gasps, and his thumb moves again, and Aiden leans down and sets his teeth into the soft skin of her throat and bites down hard enough to make her lose her breath in a desperate, helpless moan. The heat coiling in the pit of her stomach seems to wind ever tighter, each movement of Voltehre’s thumb and steady thrust of Aiden’s hips stoking it further, and she doesn’t know what will happen when the tension finally snaps -
Which it does, as Aiden brushes his lips against her throat and then bites down again.
The world goes away for a moment, replaced by a wash of such pleasure that Milena cannot even breathe with the rush of it, and she thinks perhaps she screams. She isn’t entirely sure. She’s a little preoccupied with the shuddering ecstasy running through every limb - almost like the first feeling of her lords’ power filling her with divine fire, but sharper somehow, or perhaps more real.
She comes back to herself, panting for breath, to discover that Aiden has stilled and his prick is twitching deep within her. It’s a very odd but not at all unpleasant sensation.
“Perfect little conduit,” he breathes, and kisses her. “Absolutely perfect.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Milena says.
Aiden grins. “Thank you, little conduit,” he says warmly, and draws himself slowly out of her; Milena makes a little bereft noise at the feeling, and then a startled noise at the sudden increase of slickness between her legs. Aiden chuckles. “Filled you up to overflowing, did I?” he murmurs.
Oh, that’s - that’s his spend. Milena’s face goes hot again.
“No shame,” Voltehre reminds her gently. “You’re ours; that is Aiden’s claim upon you.”
“Even so,” Aiden agrees. “That and these marks upon your throat -” he bends his head to kiss one of the bruises he has left, and Milena shudders at the spark of almost-pain. “Our perfect conduit,” Aiden adds thoughtfully. “Can you bear any more, tonight?”
Milena takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, taking stock of herself. She feels…good, astonishingly good. “I think I can,” she answers, opening her eyes again and shivering at the expression of pleased lust on Aiden’s handsome face. “And I - I trust you,” she adds softly. “If you wish to make me able to bear what you wish to give me, I would - I would not object.”
Aiden’s eyebrows go up. “You are a marvel, little conduit,” he murmurs. “Such an offering as we have never been given before.” He glances up at Lambert and Voltehre, and Milena thinks some silent speech passes between the three of them, though she knows not how. “Well then, little conduit. You will be strong enough for all that we wish to give you, and we will give you as much pleasure as you can bear.” He kisses her again, gently, and shifts to the side, scooping her up into his lap and cradling her close as Lambert comes over to the bed with another mug of that sweet mead. Milena drinks gratefully; her throat is a little dry.
Voltehre is piling up a startling number of the pillows a little distance back from the edge of the bed. Milena watches curiously, wondering what he could be meaning to do. Once he has them arranged to his satisfaction, he sits down on the side of the bed, leaning back against them and nodding at the way they hold him up half-reclined, then sits all the way up again. “That will do,” he says cheerfully. “Have you finished your drink, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” Milena says. Lambert takes the empty mug away, and Aiden grins and rolls to his feet with Milena in his arms.
“Remember,” he murmurs against her ear, “you’re to tell us if anything is unpleasant.”
“I remember,” Milena promises.
“Perfect little conduit,” Aiden praises her, and passes her over to Voltehre, who takes her weight easily.
“Lambert and I like to share,” he says, grinning down at her. “Do you mind, sweetheart?”
Milena isn’t quite sure what he means, but she shakes her head all the same. Whatever it is, she trusts that it will be as astonishing and as pleasing as the night thus far has been already.
“Sweetheart,” Voltehre purrs, and shifts her around effortlessly until her back is pressed to his broad, warm chest and her legs spread wide over his own. “Open for me,” he adds, and presses her down, and Milena lets out a warbling sound she didn’t even know she could make as his prick slides into her where she is already so very wet and open.
He’s larger than Aiden, she thinks - thicker, at the very least - and as she comes to rest on his lap she clutches at his arms and whimpers at the fullness.
“Alright, sweetheart?” Voltehre asks softly, breath hot against her ear.
Milena trembles for a long moment before she manages to nod. It’s overwhelming, but it’s not bad at all, just…a lot.
“Good,” Voltehre praises. “So good for us, sweetheart.” He spreads his legs, which means she has to spread hers, too, almost far enough to ache.
Lambert drops to his knees on the carpeted floor beside the bed and grins up at her with an expression Milena can only describe as ravenous hunger. “Said I’d feast on you later,” he rumbles, and licks his lips.
Milena swallows hard. “Ah,” she says weakly, not quite a protest. Lambert raises an eyebrow in silent question. “I am - Aiden -” She is wet with his spend, surely Lambert will not want -
Lambert smirks. “Yeah, you are,” he agrees, and licks his lips again, more slowly. “I like the way he tastes. I’ll like it better mixed with you, darlin’.”
“O-oh,” Milena falters. “Then. Ah. By all means.”
“Such pretty manners,” Lambert laughs. “Maybe I’ll get you swearing properly, one of these days.” He leans forward before Milena can figure out any reply, wrapping his hands around her hips and breathing hot against her pearl and the slick stretched skin of her entrance. Voltehre shivers a little and presses a kiss to the nape of her neck.
“He’s got such a clever tongue,” he murmurs in her ear.
Lambert snorts. “Gonna mark you,” he says quietly, looking up again to meet Milena’s eyes. “If you’ll let me.”
Milena nods mutely. Lambert grins and turns his head to brush a kiss, soft as a feather, against the pale skin of her inner thigh. Milena shivers at the touch. Lambert makes a low sound, almost a growl, and kisses her thigh again, then licks at it, cleaning the mess of slick from the soft skin, and then as Milena is just starting to relax into the caress, he opens his mouth and bites, the same way Aiden did against her throat.
The almost-pain sends her reeling back against Voltehre, clutching desperately at his arm around her waist and whimpering as she clenches down around his prick and the combination of fullness and sharp not-quite-pain makes her head spin.
“Fuck,” Lambert growls. “Oh, fuck, that’s pretty,” and then his tongue is on her pearl and Milena makes a high, thin, helpless sound and thrashes as best she can, caught on Voltehre’s prick and spread wide and held steady, entirely at her lords’ mercy.
“That’s it, sweetheart, so good for us,” Voltehre is murmuring in her ear, and Lambert is growling deep in his broad chest as his tongue licks and curls and laps, that coil of heated pleasure in her gut going from banked coals to roaring bonfire so quickly it makes her dizzy. “How does she taste, Lambert?”
“Perfect,” Lambert rumbles, and the reverberation against her pearl makes Milena wail again, head fallen back against Voltehre’s shoulder and hands clawing at his arm. It’s so much. She doesn’t know how a purely mortal body can hold such pleasure - she feels as if she’ll fly apart, turn into golden sparks and scatter to the four winds, and only her lords’ broad hands are holding her together.
“Sweetheart,” Voltehre says again, “our perfect conduit, so good for us.”
Milena pants a broken sound that’s meant to be a yes, though she has no idea if they understand. Theirs, their conduit, theirs to do with as they will, and what they will is this, this terrifying pleasure surely not meant for mortal forms -
Something brushes against her entrance, where Voltehre is buried deep within her, and she manages somehow to lift her head and look down. Lambert looks up to meet her eyes and winks, tongue curling over her pearl again, and then -
And then -
She doesn’t know what to call the noise she makes when Lambert’s finger slides into her, but it’s high and desperate and wavering. It doesn’t hurt - somehow, it doesn’t hurt. It’s just so full, she’s stretched so wide -
She manages to pull together half a coherent thought as Lambert moves his finger gently, so gently, in little careful thrusts that make her shudder and moan. This is what Aiden did, to ready her for his prick - but Voltehre is already in her, so deep and so thick, and she is so full -
They like to share, Voltehre said. And she gave them leave to make her able to bear anything they wished to give her.
“Both?” she asks, voice trembling as Lambert suckles gently at her pearl. “I - you - both?”
“Will you let us, sweetheart?” Voltehre asks softly.
“Oh - oh gods,” Milena gasps, and claws for rationality. But - really, what can she say but - “Yes, gods, yes.”
“Sweetheart,” Voltehre murmurs. “Oh, perfect little conduit, finest offering we’ve ever had.”
“Fuck,” Lambert growls, and there’s another finger teasing gently at her entrance. Milena closes her eyes and rests her head against Voltehre’s shoulder and just - relaxes. She is at their mercy, and their mercy is assured.
A prick and two fingers is so much. She is making little desperate sounds with every movement, shuddering in Voltehre’s steady hold.
Three fingers, and she loses all her breath in a great shivering gasp, and when she opens her eyes it’s to find Aiden looking down at her, green eyes brilliant as stars.
“Good, little conduit?” he whispers.
“So good,” she says weakly. “So - oh gods - so much.”
“Yes,” Aiden agrees, and chuckles. “It is a lot.” And there’s something about that rueful acknowledgement that sends a fleeting thought across her mind that he sounds like he speaks from experience -
Lambert’s tongue curls around her pearl again, and she loses that thought entirely as pleasure washes over her as unstoppably as an ocean wave. It isn’t quite a peak, but it leaves her limp and shuddering all the same.
Aiden presses a kiss to her slack mouth and moves away again, and Lambert rises to his feet, fingers still buried deep within her, and looms over her, giving her a grin that shows off all his inhumanly sharp teeth. He looks dangerous, and wicked, and yet -
And yet he is her lord, and has brought her only pleasure.
“My lord,” she whispers.
Lambert’s grin gets wider. “Lean back,” he says - not to her, but to Voltehre, who lounges back obediently onto the heap of cushions, pulling Milena with him.
“Hold still a moment,” Aiden purrs. Lambert turns to raise an eyebrow at him, and Milena watches in blank astonishment as Aiden leans forward, over Voltehre and Milena’s legs, and swallows Lambert’s prick to the root in one easy motion.
“Ah fuck,” Lambert snarls, throwing his head back and shuddering as he tries to hold still. Aiden’s head bobs once, twice, again, and then he pulls away, leaving Lambert’s prick glistening with his spit.
“That’s better,” Aiden says smugly.
Lambert growls, a deep noise that echoes from the walls, and slides his fingers free of Milena’s entrance. She makes a startled, unhappy noise - she was getting used to being so full! - and Lambert smirks as he lifts his hand to lick his fingers clean.
“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he rumbles as he leans down, wrapping his hands around her waist. “We’ve got you.”
His prick presses against her, and for a moment Milena thinks there is no way it could ever fit -
And then it does, sliding into her a tiny fraction at a time, and Milena wails with the fullness of it. Surely this is too much - surely she cannot survive such pleasure, such overwhelming sensation.
Yet somehow she endures, shuddering and gasping as Lambert comes to rest fully hilted within her. He grins down at her, feral and hungry, and leans in -
Not to kiss her, but to kiss Voltehre, who moans and licks eagerly at his lips. “Yeah,” Lambert growls as they part. “Tastes divine, doesn’t she?”
Voltehre grins. “Sweet as honey,” he agrees.
Lambert leans in again, this time to rest his forehead gently against hers. “Ready, darlin’?”
“Yes,” Milena whispers.
Lambert grins and kisses her, a soft brush of lips on lips, and then straightens and plants his feet more firmly and shifts his grip from her waist to Voltehre’s.
And then he moves, and Milena cries out.
It’s so much. It’s so much. She is full to overflowing, and the tiny rocking thrusts are pressing against something within her that makes golden sparks flash behind her eyelids. The sound of it is filthy, and she blushes to hear it - a sort of liquid squelch which may be the most undignified noise she has ever made - but Voltehre is whispering compliments in her ear and Lambert is breathing fervent curses and she can’t think at all, not through the pleasure filling her brimful.
“Come on,” Voltehre murmurs in her ear. “Let us feel you peak, sweetheart.”
And he sinks his teeth into the curve of her neck and shoulder, and the shock of almost-pain snaps the coil of heated pleasure and sends her hurtling into ecstasy again. Lambert roars, a deep reverberating sound; Voltehre lets out a rather startling growl.
The golden sparks behind her eyes merge into a blinding golden wave, and then the world goes white.
When Milena comes back to herself, she is cradled in Voltehre’s arms. Aiden is very gently wiping her down with a warm damp cloth, and Lambert is kneeling next to them, another mug of mead in his hands.
“Hey, darlin’,” he murmurs as she blinks at him. “Shh, don’t talk. Drink a little.”
He holds the mug to her lips so she doesn’t even have to try to grasp it, and Milena sips at the cool mead, finding it soothes her throat marvelously. Come to think of it, it might not be mead. Do not gods drink nectar of some sort? Whatever it is, it quenches her thirst entirely.
She is…a little sore, she discovers, and feels oddly empty in a way she isn’t sure she likes. There are bruises blooming on her hips, and one on her thigh where Lambert bit her, and she suspects quite a few on her throat and shoulders.
She feels amazingly good.
“Back with us, sweetheart?” Voltehre asks softly.
“Yes,” Milena says. “Though I think that I am…perhaps not quite sturdy enough to endure any further pleasure this night.”
Aiden laughs. “Perfect little conduit,” he purrs. “All we want of you for the rest of tonight is to rest easy in our arms. Already you have given us a priceless offering; we are not so greedy as to demand more. Or not tonight, at least.”
Milena laughs a little. “My lords are merciful,” she teases.
“Only for you,” Voltehre murmurs, kissing her forehead. “Only for you, sweetheart.”
“Our perfect conduit,” Aiden agrees.
“Our priceless offering,” Lambert adds, setting the mug aside and bending to kiss her, soft lips and just a hint of teeth. “For you, even I can learn a little mercy.”
Milena reaches up to touch his cheek. He is still wicked-looking, fierce and terrible, but his topaz eyes are beautiful and his touch has only ever brought her pleasure. “My lords,” she says, smiling up at all of them, basking in the brilliant gleam of three pairs of jewel-bright eyes. “I am yours entirely, and glad to be so.”
“Ours,” they chorus, sounding very smug indeed.
Milena laughs softly. “Yours,” she agrees, and nestles closer to Voltehre’s warmth. She can feel a streak of their spend drying upon her leg, where Aiden hasn’t gotten with his damp cloth yet, and that does bring up a question. “My lords,” she says slowly, “I know that in the normal course of affairs, a wedding night will not uncommonly result in the birth, some nine months later, of an heir.”
There’s a pause as the avatars all look at each other. “Um,” Lambert says, frowning.
“I don’t actually know if we can sire demigods,” Voltehre says thoughtfully.
“It’s rare,” Aiden says, sitting back on his heels and contemplating her with his head tilted to one side. “But there are three of us, and you have given yourself over so very thoroughly…you know, I don’t know.”
Milena laughs. “I suppose we shall find out,” she says. “It will be an interesting scandal, if I do so in a few years’ time.”
“In a few years you will be duchess in your own right, and no one will dare to speak against your having taken a lover,” Aiden says smugly.
“It’s amazing what sort of shit a noble-born mage can get away with,” Lambert agrees. “Might as well use that for good once in a while.”
“Worry about that in the morning,” Voltehre suggests. “Or next week, perhaps. Sleep, sweetheart; we have you.”
As weariness draws her into slumber, Milena sighs and curls against Voltehre’s broad chest, knowing she is safer here than anywhere else in the wide world.
*
The servants of the Duke of Velen are very surprised when the door to his rooms opens the morning after his most recent wedding and the person who emerges, straight-backed and proud for all her bruises and the slight limp she does not bother to conceal, is the duke’s new wife.
“My lord husband died in the night,” she says to the chamberlain, and indeed, his body is found laid out upon his bed, face twisted in what could be either wrath or lust. With the late Duke of Velen, either is quite possible.
But there is blood upon the sheets, and those bruises which the duchess did not wear during the feast the evening before, and so…
Well, if there were a male heir, there might be some objection, but as it is, the widowed Duchess of Velen takes control of the duchy with very little trouble at all. Whatever trouble there might have been is sharply curtailed when she demonstrates - by banishing a particularly importunate adviser out a window and into the moat - that she holds in her dainty fingers a vast and terrible store of magical power.
Also she has three absolutely terrifying familiars, two great hulking yellow-eyed wolves and a sleek tawny mountain cat with a piercing emerald gaze, who accompany her everywhere. At first, the servants of the late duke fear that they have fallen from the frying pan into the fire; the duke was terrible, but he could be avoided or placated sometimes, and those who were not beautiful young women could often escape his cruelty almost entirely. What atrocities a sorceress might commit are quite unknown.
But the new Duchess, it turns out, uses her magic not to torment her vassals, but to aid them. She heals those who dare to ask for her blessing, summons rain to save the crops, stops a forest fire from devouring a village. And her familiars harm none who does not offer harm to her, though they are swift and merciless in her defense.
The years roll by, and the people of Velen begin to forget that they once had a duke as cruel as famine. Surely they have always been ruled by their ageless, beautiful, merciful Duchess, aunt and great-aunt and grand-aunt to the line of kings, whose touch brings healing and whose protection reaches from river to forest, from kingsroad to marshes, so that all those who bend their knee to her may dwell in safety from all cruelty and injustice.
And if at night she bares her throat and spreads her legs for her three lords, and gives of herself utterly to those whose power runs thrumming through her bones - those to whom a priceless offering was given, and who have given in return all the blessings their perfect conduit deserves -
Well, that is their business, and no one else’s.