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Annette Delafosse hitched her skirts as she hurried through the empty halls of the Sun Palace. Gritting her teeth, she pulled a vial from her starched yellow dress’ voluminous sleeve, and swirled the contents, a thick black liquid that swished languidly in the thin glass. Curses! She had minutes, at most. His Royal Majesty would be visiting the Delafosse chambers for dinner that evening, and it was Annette’s best possible chance to slip him a dose of love potion!
The only problem? It wasn’t done yet.
Two weeks earlier, when Annette had not long discovered the date on which His Majesty would be dining in the Delafosse family chambers, on a dreary, rainy day, the old hag in the village had been very clear with her. “To capture a heart...” she had croaked, peering at Annette’s pretty face beneath the hood of her expensive cloak, “… ye must gather and then add these ingredients, in order. Two measures mercury, a drop of kenweed sap, a pinch of charcoal dust, the pish of a common housecat-”
“Hold on, could you write this down for- sorry, what?” Annette gaped at the old woman, whose expression betrayed no hint of mirth or mockery.
“Aye, a dash of cat pish. And if ye turn yer nose up at that, ye will never have the heart of the man ye desire. As for my writing it down…” Now her expression shifted, the old woman giving Annette a toothless grin. “Ye make generous assumptions of us country folk’s capabilities, Madame Delafosse.”
“Right, right…” Annette muttered, fishing a roll of flimsy, ink, and a quill from the depths of her cloak. “Mercury, kenweed, charcoal… feline… urine…” She wrinkled her delicate, button nose. “What else?”
“A drop of yer own blood, and a drop from the man ye wish to woo.”
Annette nodded, scribbling that down. That would not be an issue; there was an entire cottage industry within the palace trading in tokens, keepsakes, and, yes, even fluids from His Majesty. Ah, His Majesty…
His chronic haemophilia meant there was a roaring trade in his blood, salvaged from any number of bumps, cuts, and bruises. Annette was not the only royal suitor with a penchant for dabbling in devilry, after all . And the haemophilia was only one of his debilitating health defects! Syphilitic, old, senile, possibly gout-ridden… Annette sighed dreamily as she indulged the well-worn fantasy, of marrying His Majesty, herself resplendent in flowing golden silks and extravagant jewels, only for him to drop dead the second their union was sealed! Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as Annette dared to dream of snapping up all of his money, power, and prestige. So what if she needed to ruin an outfit chasing down a poxy cat for it to work? As gold investments went, this one would pay out handsomely.
“And lastly…” There was a mischievous glint in the old woman’s eye now. Annette gulped. Could it be worse than the cat pee?
“To spark your love’s desire, a vital emission of seed must be added to the potion!”
“Of…” Annette blinked. “You don’t mean… semen?”
“Aye, that I do, that I do. I see how ye look at me, and worry not, it need not be his! Any will do, in sufficient quantity.”
Annette sighed, and scribbled the final ingredient down. At this point, why not? She had enough desperate suitors that getting her hands on some of the stuff should be relatively trivial, if rather taxing. The Madame stood, reaching into her cloak again, and extracting a heavy sack of florins. The old woman snatched it out of Annette’s hand.
“Thank you for your assistance,” Annette curtsied politely, before beelining straight for the door of the tiny, stinking hut. But before she could get out-
“Beware, Yer Grace! ‘Tis rare indeed that one on a quest such as your succeeds only in ensnaring the heart they desire… or avoids becoming ensnared herself...” the old woman called after her. Annette ignored her prattling. Their business was concluded, and she had no desire to stay out in the muddy, miserable Sunlands countryside for any longer than she had to. She had a potion to mix.
***
Unfortunately, despite knowing two weeks in advance when and where she would attempt to dose His Majesty, Annette’s brewing was agonisingly slow. First, she blinded herself for three days while handling the mercury base of the potion, and then had to start again when she added henweed instead of kenweed sap. The charcoal was thankfully not a challenge to acquire, Annette just pulled some from her makeup supplies, but the cat… the goddamned cat. The details were humiliating, and secondary to the far more significant fact that word got out about what Annette had been doing. She acquired the ingredient, and was able to get her hands on His Majesty’s blood without issue, mixing it with her own, but her stock had fallen significantly at court. Her suitors melted into the background at the Sun Palace’s parties, and even the servants gave her a wide berth, while the ladies tittered from behind paper fans at her. Annette had assured herself that this was a passing thing, that she’d be able to get the final ingredient soon, but to no avail. Now, as the fading orange light of the evening sun streamed through the palace’s wide west side windows, Annette was starting to panic. Even now, His Majesty was surely settling down for dinner in the Delafosse chambers. There was no way Annette could let this opportunity slip through her fingers!
But the palace halls were quiet; an enormous hunting party led by the Duke of Gauthier had removed most of the men in the place. The other noblewomen were no doubt sequestered away, scheming just as Annette was to win His Majesty’s favour as a concubine or perhaps even a queen. Annette muttered dark curses to herself as she stalked the halls, fidgeting with the potion vial. Surely it couldn’t end like this!
“U-um! Pardon me, Madame Delafosse!” a soft, accented voice brought Annette back to the here and now. She blinked, turning to face whoever it was.
“Y-you would not happen to know where Duchess Gauthier is hosting her salon, would you?” the speaker was a woman, taller by over a head compared to Annette’s diminutive stature. Her hair was silvery, as was her gown, and a small pair of half-moon spectacles perched on the edge of her nose. Annette squinted, trying to remember where she recognised the taller woman from.
“You are… Princess Olfild, are you not? The dignitary visiting from Thrudberga?” Annette asked. Thrudberga was a large kingdom to the east of the Sunlands, famed for hardy folk and great warriors. Suffice to say that it had been a topic of conversation in the Court when a dignitary from that nation had arrived, and had been like… well, like Princess Olfild, who mostly hid away in the corner at social functions, sipping Thrudbergan tea and looking decidedly un-warriorlike.
“Wh-why, yes, I am!” Olfild replied, evidently delighted to be remembered. “The ladies invited me to the salon this evening to talk about my homeland, but when I arrived at the appointed room and time, they weren’t there… did they perhaps have to move, or-”
“They gave you the wrong location. As a joke,” Annette cut across her, impatience overriding tact. Such behaviour was incredibly common with new arrivals, especially those who seemed as credulous as this princess. Olfild’s face fell.
“A-ah… I see… so you don’t-”
“Do not have the faintest clue where they are, no,” Annette lied, knowing full well that Duchess Gauthier’s salon was usually held in the East Wing function room. She turned her back on Olfild, intending to sweep dramatically away. She needed to end this conversation now, and get back to hunting for someone to provide the ingredient she so desperately needed; the last thing she needed was getting caught up in some conversation about Thrudbergan traditions-
Annette froze. A distant recollection tickled the back of her mind. Something she had read about Thrudberga, while researching foreign herbs, looking for potential love potion ingredients for His Majesty, clicked into place alongside her knowledge of Olfild’s usual behaviour at parties, sitting in a corner drinking Thrudbergan tea. Her mouth curled upward into a devious smile. Maybe her efforts weren’t entirely doomed.
She turned back to Olfild.
“So… you were going to give a talk on Thrudberga’s culture?” Annette asked, casually. Olfild nodded, still looking crestfallen.
“Y-yes, but I can see now that the topic is perhaps less interesting than I had thought-”
“I have a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind,” Annette’s tone flipped on a dime, years of experience in the backstabbing, two-faced politics required to survive socialising in the Sun Palace allowing her to step smoothly from icy irritation to deeply interested, bordering on flirtatious. She took a step closer to Olfild, whose expression immediately brightened.
“O-oh, of course, Madame! What would you like to know? I’ve been fascinated since coming to the Sunlands to see how different your villages’ churches are, despite our shared faith, and I’d be happy to elucidate you on-”
“Is it customary among your people to drink so much tea at formal functions?” Annette shamelessly interrupted Olfild. The princess paused.
“U-um… no, that is just… a personal peculiarity of mine, I am afraid. It calms me. A-as you may be able to tell, I have a rather nervous constitution-!”
“It’s interesting, because I hear all sorts of fascinating stories about Thrudbergan tea,” Annette continued to run roughshod over the young princess.
Olfild froze. “U-um… well, they say a lot of things about our culinary culture. Best not to pay it any mind. B-but back to the churches-”
“I hear,” Annette said, stroking her chin, the very picture of polite curiosity, even as she took another step, hemming Olfild into a small alcove in the large, empty corridor, “that in Thrudberga, in the northern mountains, there are herbs, which, when mixed with tea, produce all manner of fascinating transformative effects on the body… that these herbs, when taken regularly, and in high enough dosages, can… blur the lines, somewhat?”
O lfild’s eyes darted back and forth across the hallway, searching in vain for an escape. Her eagerness to speak to Annette had vanished utterly. “ I-I… I don’t know what you’re … I mean I haven’t taken any… I wouldn’t know about such a thing... ” Olfild’s cheeks were flushed, and her voice was shaking again . The poor thing was panicking! Annette fought down a smirk. Despite her smaller stature, Annette had easily corralled the nervous foreign princess into a corner. She knew very little about the politics of Thrudberga’s royal family, but Olfild’s height and gawky awkwardness, along with Annette’s half-remembered herbalism knowledge, had given Annette a notion about the woman, a notion which represented a last-ditch opportunity to get what she needed to finish her potion… and Olfild’s panicked reaction had all but confirmed her suspicions .
A nnette leaned in close, her breath brushing against Olfild’s ear, drawing a delicious shiver from the taller woman.
“Do you still have… it?~”
“It? U-um, no, I don’t know what ‘it’ is-?”
“You know full well, my lady.” Annette’s face was inches from Olfild’s now. She licked her lips. “Show it to me~”
Olfild looked like she was about to faint, her face clammy… she opened her mouth to issue another stammering denial. Annette pre-empted her by gently but firmly brushing her hand between the princess’ legs… and was delighted to have her suspicions confirmed as something twitched against her fingers.
Olfild gasped… then whimpered, “I-I’m sorry, Madame, I, I, but I can’t show you it, not here-!”
“Show me,” cooed Annette, “and I’ll tell you where Duchess Gauthier’s salon is being held~”
Olfild’s lip quivered. Annette steeled herself, ready to push even harder… and found that she had overestimated the princess’ resilience, as she took a shaky breath, and hitched her skirts up! Olfild was even more desperate for approval than Annette had imagined.
“Th-there… n-now, please, don’t tell anyone...”
Sure enough, tucked into Olfild’s thin silk undergarments… was a tiny, adorable little bulge. Annette’s eyes widened, excited. Jackpot
Olfild averted her gaze. “As you have determined… I-I was not always a princess of Thrudberga… I-I was once… gghh… y-you know… a prince- hhhaaaa!!”
Annette dropped into a squat, legs, spread, totally unladylike, peering closely at the twitching outline, admiring how Olfild’s ragged speech became desperate whimpers as Annette’s hot breath caressed the princess of Thrudberga’s cock. A cruel smirk twisted her features. “Wow. To think Thrudberga’s royal family is so… permissive.”
“L-look, please, Madame… haven’t you s-seen enough?” Olfild whimpered. Annette giggled, the sound sinister in the echoing Sun Palace hallway.
“Not just yet…” and in one swift motion, she hooked her fingers into the band of Olfild’s underwear, and tugged them down to her knees.
“Hhhaa!! What are you-!!”
“You said you’d show it to me!” Annette cooed, admiring the princess from up very, very close. “Just be a good little princess and hold still. Think of this as… cultural education~” She felt a flutter of excitement. Annette had gotten briefly caught up tormenting the poor woman, but seeing Olfild’s cock up close had reminded her of her objective… she licked her lips.
“Does it still work?” she asked, her voice polite again.
“U-umm! It… it’s smaller… and takes a little more effort, but- hhhhhh!!” Olfild squeaked, as Annette dragged a single long fingernail lightly down the tiny length of the thing, right down to the tip.
“Are you sure? It seems rather sensitive,” Annette mused, continuing to fondle Olfild’s hardening cock with one hand, and pulling the potion vial from the depths of her dress with the other.
“Nnnhhh! B-because… nnhhhaa… M-Madame Delafosse…” Olfild moaned lewdly, hips bucking.
“Hold still, Olfild, or not only will I withhold the location of Duchess Gautier’s salon, I will also inform the entire palace about your… history~” Annette delivered the threat sharply, delighting in how quickly the implication turned Olfild from shaky, quivering mess, to frozen, ramrod stiff. She wrapped a hand, lightly, around the princess’ cock, felt her jump. Annette knew full well how much her suitors enjoyed the feeling of her smooth, silk elbow-length gloves against their nethers, and it seemed Olfild was no different, despite her distress. “On the other hand, stay where you are, and let me do what I want for the next few minutes, and I’ll guard your secret jealously, and give you Duchess Gauthier’s salon schedule for the next month… what do you say, princess?”
Annette couldn’t help the mocking edge she gave the title, nor the surge of pleasure as she felt as Olfild whined in despair at Annette’s vicious cruelty. Still, at least the poor woman was getting something out of this; the ministrations of one of the Sun Court’s most eligible bachelorettes (or at least, the woman who had been so before, and would be again once the scandalous rumours about her potion-collecting activities were forgotten)!
“I imagine this variety of cultural education is rather more enthralling than you had imagined~” Annette teased, working her hand up and down, expertly coaxing the shaking, obviously inexperienced princess towards orgasm. The Madame held up her vial expectantly.
“A-ahh! Madame Delafosse, this is… m-m-most improper…” Olfild protested, a sentiment rather at odds with the way her tongue lolled out of her mouth, and the way her half-moon spectacles fogged up as she was quickly brought right up to the edge, and-!
“Nngghh!!~”
“… hmph.”
Annette glared at the thin, watery dribble of semen that she had collected in her vial, while Olfild collapsed against the wall, cheeks flushed bright red, silvery hair mussed.
“M-Madame… I… that was…” Bliss had briefly overridden Olfild’s anxious demeanour… and it vanished in a moment when she saw Annette’s stormy expression. “A-ah! I’m so sorry! I… th-that was most unbecoming of me, I-I beg your apology-!”
She stopped talking, eyes widening as the tip tap of expensive leather shoes against the tiled floors of the Sun Palace approached. Olfild tried to drop her skirts, made to run, and the poor thing looked so frightened, like a scared little rabbit, that any noblewoman with even an ounce of compassion in her heart would have let her flee.
Naturally, Annette leaned forward, keeping Olfild cornered in the small alcove of the hall, as she maintained her squat, and glared at the contents of her vial. “I thought you said it still worked,” she spat, accusatory.
“I-I said, my- our herbs attrit our f-function…” Olfild croaked, her voice a hoarse whisper. Her eye caught on the vial. “W-wait, are you collecting my-?”
“What little of it there is,” Annette grumbled.
“O-ohh, oh no, why are you… is this… some sort of b-black magic? Madame, are you… oh no, I heard the rumours about the dark practices in the Sun Court, but- hhhhh!!”
Olfild’s inane babbling was cut off by a gasping little squeal as Annette leaned in… and effortlessly slipped her tiny cock into her mouth.
“M-Madame… please… there are… we’ll be caught…” Olfild gasped, too breathless to do anything but whisper… which was for the best, because those footsteps were still approaching. Annette was worried about that, but right now that worry was number three on her list of priorities, below getting the ingredients for her potion, and even further below enjoying just how cute Olfild’s cock was, the way it quivered and pulsed in her mouth, already coated in a thin layer of watery cum that had a far milder taste than Annette usually favoured, but which suited the demure princess rather well. And that was to say nothing of Olfild’s reactions, as the woman clamped her hands over her mouth in a vain attempt to keep quiet.
“… her? No, no, her star has fallen significantly of late, Duchess Gauthier.” Annette’s ears perked up. She continued blowing Olfild without missing a beat. This wasn’t the first time she had been in a position to eavesdrop on rival courtiers while squatting, legs open, sucking cock.
“I rather agree,” came the arch, refined voice of Duchess Gauthier. “Disinviting Annette Delafosse from my salons for the foreseeable is a reasonable step. She missed tonight’s anyway.”
What?
Annette's eyes narrowed. She must have been wearing a truly vicious glare, because Olfild managed to draw just enough breath to let out a terrified whimper. Annette pushed her again, secluding them further into the tiny alcove... before continuing to slurp and lick at the poor princess’ cock utterly mercilessly.
"And to think, only a short while ago, she looked to be angling for the king's hand..." Duchess Gauthier's flunky or handmaiden or whoever tittered.
"Yes, to a downright whorish and unseemly degree," Gauthier agreed, and Annette's long fingernails dug into the soft flesh of Olfild's thighs as her frustration mounted, leaving thin red scratches and drawing even more delicious sounds from the Thrudbergan. But that didn't come close to angering her as much as what she heard next.
"So, who shall we invite to replace her?" the duchess asked.
"Well... perhaps for the next salon, we might invite someone new. A breath of fresh air. What about that dignitary from Thrudberga?"
"Oh, Princess Olfild? Yes, I met her earlier... she seemed eager to attend, certainly. She seems a little dim when it comes to courtly intrigue and politics, but that will make her a refreshing presence, I suspect. And as long as she doesn't smart too much from getting the cold shoulder this time, it should be no issue. She seems rather eager to pl eas e," Duchess Gauthier mused.
Not eager enough, Annette thought bitterly to herself, as she slipped her hands around Olfild's rear, forcefully pushing the girl's hips forward. Annette’s eyes rolled back as her nose was nestled into the princess' soft, well-trimmed pubic hair, which had nonetheless picked up a distinct scent of musky sweat from the exertion and distress of the past several minutes. Olfild continued to whine incoherently into her hands, her entire face flushed red.
Ugh, this was demeaning. Annette was huffing the musky fumes from the shaking, whimpering wreck who was to supplant her place in the Sun Court's hierarchy. It was absurd!
Not if I can push her over the edge, she reminded herself. She just needed Olfild to hurry up and cum already-!
"Besides..." Gauthier continued, her footsteps ceasing. She had stopped, not far from the alcove. Olfild froze, clearly terrified, but Annette wasn't discouraged at all.
"That girl has a certain way about her. Demure and mousy, certainly, but there's something appealing about her, in a way that differs even from most other foreign women. Perhaps it's that height, or the set of her jaw, or that charming voice..."
Anger surged through Annette. Not at the objectifying and condescending way Gauthier was describing Olfild; in fact, Annette rather agreed with all of it. R ather, the anger was instinctive, violent , and possessive. Duchess Gauthier could keep her filthy hands to herself; the Madame decided, then and there, that the Thrudbergan princess belonged to Annette, and Annette alone.
Which was why it galled Annette even more when she glanced up, and saw the hopeful look in Olfild’s eye as one of the finest ladies in the Sun Court sang her praises. Annette would have snarled if her mouth wasn’t otherwise engaged. This would not do at all. Olfild would have to be made to forget all about Gauthier.
Her ministrations only intensified, completely overwhelming the princess, and so eager was Annette to make sure Olfild knew that she belonged to her, that she carelessly pushed the princess right up to the edge! Olfild was so weak and woozy that her arms flopped down, clutching uselessly at Annette's hair... and leaving an unrestrained whimper to echo off the walls as she approached an orgasm-!
Annette acted on instinct. In a moment, she was standing again, on her tip-toes as she pushed her mouth against Olfild's, smearing her lip paint across the other woman's as the forceful, wet kiss muffled the loud moan Olfild let out... as she came again. Annette shivered, enjoying the feeling of Olfild's long, lanky body melting against her... for a moment.
As Gauthier and her attendant finally tip-tapped on their merry way, tittering about the Thrudbergan princess’ adorable innocence , Olfild returned Annette's renewed glare with an apologetic whimper... as they both looked down at where Olfild's second load had splattered under Annette’s gown, against her thigh, staining her stocking, and even showing through onto her dress. Olfild's cum was thin, but so was the ruinously expensive fabric of Annette's skirts , which had managed to soak in nearly all of the watery cum. The dark stain was obvious against the bright yellow fabric.
Annette's eye twitched. Her dress was ruined, her position at court compromised, she still didn't have the ingredients she needed, and her window of opportunity to dose the king was narrowing by the moment. Not to mention, that bitch Gauthier was already sniffing around Annette's new favourite toy.
Fortunately, Annette had an idea of how to resolve all of these issues in one fell swoop.
***
"Nnnhh!! M-Madame!" Olfild's voice echoed off the walls of the small chamber Annette had dragged her into. Olfild was splayed on her back on a long couch, the ruinously expensive cushion fabric soaked in her sweat... as she raggedly pumped her hips up and down, meeting Annette's as she, now straddling Olfild’s lap, took the taller woman’s virginity without a second thought, years of experience fucking her way through the nobility of the Sunlands reducing the Thrudbergan to a shuddering mess.
“Nfff… good princess~” Annette grunted. Olfild wasn’t anywhere close to the largest she had ever taken, but something about feeling that cute, tiny little cock twitching inside her set off something dark and urgent in the Madame. The power trip of having a foreign royal totally wrapped around her little finger was really kicking in now, and Annette shivered as Olfild’s eyes, glazed and unfocused with mind-melting pleasure, still found their way to gaze admiringly up at her.
The small chamber was filled lewd, rhythmic, wet noises, to a degree that Annette almost worried might be audible from outside; the Sun Palace was soundproofed against scandal, but Olfild’s moans were very loud, her soft voice giving way to unrestrained rapture as Annette’s hands found their way under her dress, nails digging into the no doubt sensitive flesh of the princess’ small breasts.
“God… you are… so pathetic…” Annette gasped. “Princess of a proud nation like Thrudberga… descendant of a long line of warrior kings and queens… and you can barely look a woman in the eye! In fact, you fall apart as soon as a pretty girl pays the slightest bit of attention to you~”
Olfild covered her flushed face with her hands. “I-I’m sorryyy…” she gasped, without missing a beat as she continued to hilt inside Annette’s cunt.
“Honestly, you’re so naive… gghh… or perhaps not…” A wicked smile crept up Annette’s face. “Maybe you knew acting like that would put you in the sights of a woman like me?”
Olfild squeaked in terror, cringing from Annette’s utterly unfounded accusation… but the Madame did not miss the way her cruel words made Olfild twitch inside her. As much as she was enjoying herself, Annette was still on a strict timetable; there was no time for mercy.
“Perhaps that’s why you wanted to come to the Sunlands? You knew that in a world of courtly scandal and gossip, someone like you would become an object of fascination, moreso even than other foreigners… that soon, curious women like me and Duchess Gauthier wouldn’t be able to keep our hands off your… rather unique body~” She leaned in, cooing softly in Olfild’s ear, her soft body pressed against Olfild’s bony, skinny one, sweaty and overheating in her stained gown.
“N-nooo… I… I just… I admired the ladies of the Sun Court… I w-wanted to be…”
One of us? Annette couldn’t suppress a cruel snicker at that. Her derision was founded in Olfild’s bumbling yet charming obliviousness, a straightforward and kindly nature that made her ill-suited for life in the backstabbing world of Sun Court politics, even if it did make her a refreshing evening companion. But she knew how Olfild would interpret that laughter, knew that even as her lip wobbled, the princess, seemingly only now fully awakening to the extent of her depraved masochism, was teetering right on the edge once again, churning up a thin, watery load to shoot inside her tormentor-!
Annette planted another kiss on Olfild, further ruining the woman’s already smudged lip paint, admiring how dishevelled she looked with her silvery hair spread on the couch and her steamed-up half-moon spectacles askew. And then she broke the contact, and as a thick line of drool connected her lips to Olfild’s, and right as the princess bottomed out inside her once again, hissed “ You’ll never be one of us, but you’ll make a perfect pet ‘princess’ for me~”
This was too much for Olfild, whose ragged breath became a high, keening whimper as she clutched desperately at Annette’s body, hips shaking as she painted the Madame’s womb with… well, splattered it lightly with a coating of thin, watery semen. It was warm, and Annette groaned in pleasure as she finally crashed over the edge too, enjoying the warm comfort of clutching Olfild in her arms as an intense orgasm rocked her body.
“Good princess…” she whispered, stroking the woman’s hair as the exhausted and overwhelmed Olfild finally passed out, lapsing into unconsciousness on the ruined couch.
No such rest for Annette; she staggered to her feet, holding her vial between her legs… and collecting the last of the ingredients she needed as Olfild’s cum drooled out of her. She lifted the vial up to eye level, as the liquid inside bubbled, then turned a bright, almost glowing shade of pink, casting sinister shadows on Annette’s smirk as she examined the potion… before slipping it back into her dress, adjusting her hair, and leaving Olfild behind as she swept out of the chambers, with just barely enough time to catch the tail-end of her planned rendezvous with His Majesty.
***
“Heavens, is that…”
“It is! It’s Princess Olfild-!”
“No, not ‘princess’, you dullard!”
Olfild froze, her hands balling up the smooth purple material of her gown.
“Oh, yes, my apologies, I forgot…”
“That’s Queen Olfild.”
And she breathed a sigh of relief. Olfild heard such confusion rather frequently of late, and when it was phrased that way, it almost made her heart stop.
But it was inevitable. She was the talk of this party, and of the Sun Court writ large. The strange foreigner, who had been taken under the wing of the ruler of the Sunlands-!
“Olfild, my dear, are you having a good time?~”
Who had snuck up on the former princess while she was lost in thought.
“A-ah, of course, Your Majesty…” she turned, tried to make eye contact with Annette, and failed miserably. The Sun Queen was resplendent in a flowing golden gown, an extension of the gaudy golden décor of the chamber itself, with long sleeves that almost brushed the floor, and a scandalously plunging neckline that Olfild couldn’t help but stare at, knowing full well the smug grin she would see when she looked back up. Annette was apparently enjoying being able to wear something with a little colour, rather than the customary black garb that had been her staple after the Sun King, who had in a shock move taken the Madame as his bride, passed away only a week after their wedding! And then, in a further shock move, she had rewritten centuries-old marriage laws that allowed her to take a mousy Thrudbergan princess as her bride (shortly after banishing Duke and Duchess Gauthier on trumped-up treason charges, which had put a swift end to any giggling about Annette’s previously marred reputation).
Naturally, Olfild’s family had jumped at the chance to hitch their troublesome daughter to the queen of the Sunlands, and so in the space of less than three months at court, Olfild was suddenly married to to the sovereign of the entire kingdom !
“Well, do enjoy yourself, but be sure to meet me in our chambers after the party, my dear,” Annette smiled up at Olfild. “Speed has bought our union some protection from scrutiny, but people are starting to talk… especially about the lack of an heir. It’s a good thing we both know that isn’t really an issue, is it?~”
O-oh. Another night of being pinned down on Annette’s bed, being mercilessly ridden as the Sun Queen whispered wicked accusations and insinuations in Olfild’s ear, just to see her squirm… the Thrudbergan’s face was flushed bright red, and she had to shuffle her gown to hide her erection.
“Um. Y-yes, my queen.”
“It’s important we appreciate our one-on-one time together, don’t you think?” Annette asked innocently. “After all, once you knock me up… I wonder how many curious hands like mine will find their way onto you, when people discern why you are able to provide me with an heir…” Annette laughed softly… her face now inches from Olfild’s, her hand wrapped around the outline of the Thrudbergan’s twitching cock, right in the middle of the bustling crowd of partygoers.
“I… I do not know, my queen…” Olfild whimpered, the thought of dozens of grasping, perverted, greedy hands tugging at her gown, groping her sensitive body, satisfying their ‘curiosity’ with her almost too much for her to bear-
“Don’t worry about it,” Annette cooed. “I’m quite happy to allow my queen to sate the court’s interest… as long as you remember who you really belong to, Olfild~”
“Y-yes, my queen…” the terrified consort squeaked, her cock harder than it had ever been in her life as dozens of courtiers stared at her and Annette’s scandalously intimate public display.
“Good princess,” Annette whispered, planting a kiss on Olfild’s cheek… before melting back into the crowd, leaving Olfild alone, heart racing, trapped a thousand miles from home in a court packed full of backstabbing liars, eternally bonded to the most devious of the lot… and with a steady drip-drip-drip of thin cum drooling down her thigh.