The gentle hymn of violins echoed throughout the Red Room, their solemn, tender cadence betrayed by the rising tension that was festering within. Assembled across velvet carpet and between marble columns awaited a host of powerful figures: The remaining Lords and Ladies of Eriadel, nestled impatiently between the foreign ambassadors and dignitaries from neighboring nations. Such an assembly of powerful Lords had been amassed only a few times before; usually whenever the Empress herself sought to make a gruesome example of an unruly or incompetent retainer. This time, however, things were different. No longer did there linger that overarching cloud of dread that bound them. No longer were the Lords and Ladies of the Empire gripped by fear. Rather, there was a restless anger that continued to boil and brew within those very halls.
Whatever terror that Empress Vilheim had once commanded had been lost, replaced instead by an even greater Tyrant that threatened Eriadel's very existence. Indeed, the vast rows of empty chairs that once belonged to their peers did not go unnoticed to the noblemen, whose owners had been butchered only a fortnight ago at the Battle of the Three Peaks. Only a handful remained, their numbers uncomfortably matched by the foreigners which sought to pluck the Empire's corpse like vultures.
"We must sue for peace. With the Royal Army crushed, Eriadel does not have the strength to protect the capital." A greying Lord spat, his treasonous words riling the crowds of Eriadel nobles that still remained. "Looters and vagrants are already eyeing our granary stocks and the people are panicking. At this rate, the city watch will crumble before those accursed barbarians even reach the city gates!"
"And what do you suggest, Lord Harkon? The Empire does not negotiate with barbarians. If the capital city falls, should our dignity fall with it? Even if they conquer our lands, they do not have the numbers for a prolonged occupation. The people will rise up— and it shan't be long until werewolf heads are piked across every village in our kingdom." A younger nobleman retorted, which commenced the incessant bickering between the nobles.
"Are you foolish? What would peasants accomplish that the Royal Army could not?"
"Enough." A feminine voice shrilled from the crowd, drawing the clamor of Lords to silence. The men fell quiet, each one turning towards the slim, brunette silhouette that rose from her seat, "The capital city will not fall." The voice belonged to the Duchess of the rich winelands of Hironedein, Kaera Elysia. Of the bickering lords, she was perhaps the only one that still maintained an army worth anything. The rich duchy to the south had always been an untapped resource, one that the Empress' late father staked great importance in. "My army is preparing to march on the capital city as we speak. They can be at the city within the month, all I need to do is give the command."
"Your army?" A lord interjected. "You speak treason, Duchess. May the Empress remind you that we are all her sworn vassals. They are her soldiers, not yours."
"Oh? Then perhaps the Empress needs a refresher on economics." The Duchess began to shift away from the crowd, sauntering her way up the steps of the Imperial Throne: an act that would have warranted her head just a few weeks prior. "Tell me, your Majesty, who is it that pays the salary of my soldiers? The gold does not come from the Royal Treasury, I assure you." The Lords froze, practically in awe by the Duchess' candid and raw display of not giving a royal fuck. A slender hand reached out, feminine digits placing a commanding grip upon the Tyrant Empress' shoulder. A grimace formed across her sultry lips, knowing full well that her seething monarch would have loved to part that hand from her body. "An unmarried Empress is certainly a powerful tool." She leaned closer, before her hand made its way to the Empress' cheek. "I just hope that your Majesty considers all of her options... as unconventional as they may be." Her words dribbled with venom underneath their surface, her demands met by the possessive caress of Astraea's cheek. At this moment, she wanted the beleaguered Empress to know exactly who was in charge.
"Even if your army marches tomorrow, the enemy will be here within days. How do you expect the capital to hold until they arrive?" "I suppose that is for you lot to figure out." The Duchess finally released the Empress from her hand, turning toward the men standing behind her, "If you will excuse me, I must return to Hironedein to assemble my banners." With that, the Duchess bows, making it a point to bend herself at the waist like a man, rather than take upon the more gender-appropriate curtsy. "I do hope her Majesty makes the right decision while I'm gone." The room was silent as the Duchess disappeared from the throne room. It wasn't until the rhythmic clatter of heels had finally subsided that the bickering continued once again.
"The Duchess cannot be trusted! We do not know if she marches to protect the capital, or to take the throne for herself." There was murmurs among the crowd, though it seemed like finally, everyone had agreed on something. "And she wants to marry the Empress, how preposterous. A woman marrying another? Is she daft?" The nobles began to cackle at the very thought, amused by the Duchess' brazen attitude.
"If anyone is to marry the Empress, it should be me. My family is the oldest and the Empress should keep the Eriadellen bloodline pure."
"Marry you? Can you even have children still, Lord Harkon?" Another nobleman chimed, "I should marry the Empress. I am of good stock— and I can provide the Empress with many healthy heirs."
Once again, the nobles in the Royal Court began to squabble once more, each one listing off reasons they should have the Empress' hand. It wouldn't be long until the foreign ambassadors began to jump into the conversation, demanding that the Empress be wed to men from their kingdoms in return for their support. As the clamoring voices grew louder and more uncontrollable, the violinists that had been playing in the background suddenly ceased, terrified by the rowdy nobles that were beginning to raise their voices against one another.
In the midst of the chaos, another familiar figure drew up from his seat. He suddenly emerged at the Empress' side, whether she noticed him approach or not, "My, my— I don't think I've ever seen you this flustered." Standing beside the Empress was Prince Casimir of House Aenarth, Heir to the Throne of Ecclesia. "Once you grow tired of the squabbles of old men, come find me in the East Hall." He leaned inwards, lips hovering dangerously close to his rival's ear. "I have a proposition for you, one that does not have to do with marriage— but also one you would do well not to refuse." Just like the Duchess, the Prince would see himself out of the throne room, followed shortly thereafter by his royal entourage.
City of champions, gold, and valor. Long thought to have been eternal, for who could have known that their benevolent Emperor would produce an heir quite so cruel, and that a tyrant from afar could prove crueller still?
ASTRAEA IL VILHEIM First Empress of Eriadel
She had once enjoyed royal deliberations; gatherings of allies sworn beneath the name of their Fair Lady Astraea, and held tightly beneath her continual excecises of power. Such confluences provided the essential opportunity for fear-mongering, and the solicitation of reminders that it was she who allowed them to continue breathing air. Days like these had once been populated by careful negotiation and the pitching of policies, with calm voices not daring to tread on her feet. But such days were history, and the Empress sat in brooding silence, forced to address a court which was finally beginning to see her for what she truly was:
A dragon, made of glass.
She sat upon her throne with an air of silent indifference, though those who knew her - even vaguely - could see the quiet fury betwixt her grey eyes. The notorious temper of Empress Astraea remained sealed under a thin veil of learned temperance, which somehow still maintained itself as the southern duchess dared to ascend the dais steps.
"I just hope that your Majesty considers all of her options... as unconventional as they may be."
Stationed guardsman seemed to shift with minute movement, hands rested upon the pommels of their sword as they expected the ignition of her Highness' wrath. But, no such command came. Rather, the bold caress of her cheek was met only with a wry smirk which crawled upon crimson lips. Her gaze lifted and narrowed as their eyes met, for the day was new, and Astraea was still conceited, emboldened by the taste of challenge.
"We will see, Kaera." Her voice was hushed, devoid of formal titles out of spite. Still, the fact that she hadn't immediately called for reprimand showed that even she could feel her control begin to slip. For the first time in her life, she found herself needing to swallow down dread, afflicted by the duchess' unwelcome lecture and the prattling of vagrant lechery which ensued.
Talks of marriage and bloodlines caused her stomach to turn, and her nails dug into the outer curves of the throne. Her teeth grit behind closed lips, and her brow knitted into a blatant scowl as she stared distantly at the marbled floors. The concept of consorting with any of them was sickening; her ascension was through her own grisly effort alone, and she aimed to keep it that way, forever boldened against the challenges of even her late father's insistence that she take a husband in early adulthood. Like vultures to carrion, they circled her with promises of glory, adamant that their miniscule armies and her impregnation would deter the tyrant beast at her door.
Astraea inhaled, and her lips parted to finally speak, but her motion was startled into silence by the cadence of a horribly familiar voice.
"My, my— I don't think I've ever seen you this flustered."
Her head turned with a snap-like motion, eyes widened as her emotions threatened to leak. She caught her breath in her chest, watching his every movement. If there was any man that could immediately play on her temper within the great kingdoms, it was Casamir. Her opinions on him were complex, though for the first time, he might've provoked a desperate sense of intrigue within the Empress. Her options seemed few, and her waning influence was beginning to back her into a corner of atonement -- it was perhaps natural for her to ponder the details of his proposition, even as she watched him walk away. The rowdy squabbling faded back into her attention, her eyes closing if only for a moment of peace.
"Enough."Her voice was raised into everyone's earshot, and the mingling of voices quickly dispersed. She could feel their eyes upon her, prying for an answer. "It seems you have all forgotten where you stand, and who it is that... allows you to stand." She continued with silken venom, her legs uncrossing as she moved to stand from her throne. Quiet guises noted that her usual composure seemed burdened by anger; she was rigid, and her hands seemed to tremble as she caught them in balled fists. "Me, marry the likes of you? When did you all dare to become so gluttonous? Thus far, Duchess Kaera has been the only one to present a somewhat viable option." Accusations were accompanied by a cold glare, beholding her court as she stared down her nose.
"Eriadel is mine, and mine alone." The Empress' spite ran crystal clear. "Or it is a graveyard."
She descended from the throne in fluid motion, exercising every conscious thought to keep herself composed.
"And where are you going?" A voice cracked from the retinue, belonging to a hasty southern baron as he rebuked the Empress' early departure.
Her motion paused, and her head turned over her shoulder, gaze alight with provocation. "Who do you think you are asking?!"
The room held its breath -- there were still some dregs of fear left, after all. Many had distaste for the Empress, but many also revered her as one would a malevolent goddess. She would exercise such advantages for as long as she had them, made clear by the method in which the baron dipped his head and offered sincere apology.
"Forgive me, your Highness. I... we are all mightily distressed."
Astraea's impromptu stroll served one of two purposes, with the first and foremost being an opportunity for her to breathe. This moot would last for days, no doubt, dragging thinly until a solution was nigh in sight, and no doubt 'til the Empress had been exhausted to a husk. Heels clicked rhythmically amidst empty corridors, laden with portraiture of her forebears and the occasional presence of statue-like guardsmen. Many of them had witnessed the Empress since her first, infantile steps, and remembered the way in which she would smile and hold her breath as she watched the execution of her late father's enemies.
Until now, and during her short reign, there had never been a problem that she could not resolve with a guillotine. This brought her to her second purpose: Casamir.
Despite her reputation, she was not entirely incapable of diplomacy, and curiosity twinged at her otherwise stubborn mind. The doors to the East Hall were opened for her by silence footmen, though she would find it initially empty as the palace's populace had migrated entirely to the throne room. Still, she spoke openly, convinced that the Ecclesian heir would be lurking somewhere.
"Make haste with your words, lest I be chased here before long." Her voice echoed across the painted ceiling, adorned with arcs of alabaster and accents of gold which almost emulated the black laced embroidery of her dress. "What solution would the Prince of Ecclesia hope to offer?"
The Eastern Hall of the Red Court had been eerily quiet, the labyrinthian corridors conveniently devoid of servants and nobles alike. Perhaps the Empress herself would have overheard the gossip that was spreading among those within the palace. Wisps of doubt, driveling on about an incompetent monarch and criticism about how her father would have never allowed such an enemy to encroach upon their borders. To the Prince, however, Astraea's tribulations were little more than a show to him, one that he enjoyed watching thoroughly. His amusement would be only further stirred when the Empress came searching for him; a foreign concept to the both of them, he was sure.
"As terse as ever— your Majesty." The Prince had been lounging upon a velvet couch, arms splayed across the back of the seat as he tilted his head towards the Empress. "Why the rush? The two of us have so much catching up to do." When it seemed that the Prince's attempts to beat around the bush would fail spectacularly, Casamir let out a sigh, "Fine. I shall make this quick."
Vibrant, iridescent kaleidoscopes fixated themselves upon Astraea, as if his languid demeanor had finally given way to the severity of the situation. "My father has shown a vested interest in protecting Eriadel. It would do us no good if Ecclesia shared a border with the Lycan, you see." While Ecclesia and Eriadel had been political rivals for some time, it was not uncommon for them to join forces in times of war. It had only been a few, short years ago that Casamir and Astraea had been betrothed; an effort to solidify the relationship between their kingdoms.
"As such, my father has entrusted me with providing aid to Eriadel in any manner that I see fit." Before Casamir continued on with his propositions, he would turn to his guards before dispelling them, "Leave us." The knights that bore Ecclesian heraldry immediately dispersed at their Prince's command, before he turned towards the Empress' guards as well, "All of you."
"You do not command us, Princeling. You would do well to remember that, lest the Empress command us to have your head."
"Hm, well— if that is to be the case, then perhaps Eriadel can protect itself. Now, my memory is quite hazy, please remind me: the Duchess is how far with her army again?" Nearly a month away. By then, the capital city would be a smoldering ruin. Everyone knew that the city would be defenseless in the face of the oncoming hordes. The guard bit his lip, before turning toward his Empress for approval.
"We will be outside." The guard bowed, "If he attempts to lay a hand on you, just scream and we will carve him in two." With that, the Empress' guardians vacated the room, leaving the pair to their own devices. It wouldn't be until the door was slammed shut behind them that Casamir would continue.
"You might be pleased to know that I have assembled three-thousand mercenaries for you. Paid for by my lands. They can be at the capital city within three days, along with enough supplies to feed the city for an extra month." If there was something that the Empress should have learned in her short-lived betrothal to the Prince, it should have been that there was always a caveat to his kindness. "However, my kindness does not come for free." The Prince stood from his seat, drifting closer towards the Empress.
Casamir was tall, his oppressive size enough to smother his petite rival underneath his shadow. He possessed noble features, with an unerringly stubborn jawline that traversed upwards into high, attractive cheekbones. "My pride has been wounded ever since you broke off our engagement, my little Empress." His hand reached forward, capturing Astraea's chin and tilting it upwards so that he could better study her features. He knew how much she loathed him, but that only made the Prince obsess over her more.
Without warning, he brought his face closer towards hers, lips hovering dangerously close together. It almost seemed like he was going to stop— but he didn't. Suddenly, he forced his lips upon her, crashing plush pillows together in a passionate, bruising kiss. A masculine arm would slither its way behind the crux of her slender waistline, pulling the virgin Empress closer to him as lips opened to introduce his tongue in his relentless assault. His other hand staked claim upon her slender throat, commanding a powerful grip upon her neck to hold it in place as he leaned his frame deeper into hers. That hand upon her neck would tighten, until her lips would finally give way to the slick appendage that pressed against her lips like a battering ram.
His tongue was merciless, rolling its way inside of the Empress' mouth and swirling its way upon her tongue. Lathers of drool began to pass between mouths, until dribbles of hot saliva webbed and trailed down from their corners, cascading down the silhouettes of their royal portraits. It was a kiss that seemingly lasted an eternity, one that Casamir felt that he was more than entitled to. The Prince's tongue would ravage Astraea's own, pinning it down before trying to wrestle and bind itself around hers as a series of hot, primal growls emanated from the Prince's chest, reverberating their way deep into her throat.
After what had felt like a century, Casamir would finally pull himself away, tongues still interwoven with a sweltering cable of saliva that would finally break and pool downwards as his face continued to retreat back.
"If you want my assistance, then I want one thing from you." It seemed that the kiss was far from enough. Casamir had been far from satisfied. "You will get on your knees—" The Prince's hand tightened once more upon the Empress' throat, his fingers pressing deeper into her dainty windpipe. "—and you will open your mouth."It was only after he had finished his command that he released her from his stranglehold, a deep glare watching to see how she would respond to his demand.
Small creases formed at the dip of the Empress' brow, head tilted in bitter observation as the Prince addressed her from his seat. There was sardony laced upon his tongue, and he did not bow where others would have, quietly challenging her composure with a presence she had long come to despise. Astraea resented the concept of marriage, and by extension, the nation of Ecclesia and its nobles; surrendering her autonomy and birthright, for the purpose of her father dying worriless, was an idea irredeemably ludicrous. She had dissolved such arrangements at the moment of her coronation. against all better advice.
"Must you insult me with every breath? You disgust me." She spoke coarsely, her visage showing little more than disdain as dark eyes watched the way her guardsmen dismissed themselves from the room. Relinquished by the dire situation, she was not ignorant towards their questioning gaze, and she could feel the chains of her control over them slip from her grip. She would reprimand them later, no doubt, for daring heed a foreign prince's voice before her own. "How genteel that must make you -- carrying out your father's will. As if your assistance was not already compulsory." Her lips curled into a wry smirk, though it did not last.
For a fleeting moment, the Empress was taken aback by his assurance of mercenary forces, and the tiniest feeling of hope caused her firm expression to waver. Visions of victory, and the notion that there were still options for her... alas, the brief drop of her guard proved more than enough for him to draw close to her, and take her lips with her own.
Astraea's eyes grew wide, and a gasp was stifled in the form of a sharp hum against Casamir's mouth. She braced herself against him with her forearms, pushing against him with desperate strength yet hindered by both her own sheltered fragility and the grip at the small of her back. Betwixt her struggle for breath, there was anger; a grave sense of humiliation inflicted by his uncouth hold and the taste of his tongue as it violated her mouth. Pushing her palms into his chest, her nails dug into his clothing, pushing herself up on her toes so that she might relieve some of the pressure at her throat. The Prince's assault felt endless, and hungry, and when it finally ended, the Empress staggered backwards in a strangled stupor.
She had caught herself on a table not far from where they stood, leaning back against it with her palms flat on its surface as she caught her breath. Her eyes had begun to water from the air deprivation, no doubt, and her face burned with the heat of fury and humiliation. What was it that he said?
"You will get on your knees—" his words spun around her dizzied mind. "—and you will open your mouth."
The Empress' teeth grit, and if looks could kill...
"How dare you. How..." Astraea's voice was quivering, her usual elegance unravelling beneath the weight of her own temper. One hand lifted to caress the light bruising which formed on her neck, horrifically offended by the audacity of his advancement. "How dare you even lay a hand on me?!" Her words echoed across the antechamber, and in her ire, she reached backwards, sweeping her palm against the contents of the table and hurling them in the Prince's general direction. Plates shattered across the floor and the components of a brass candelabra clattered as it fell apart, hot wax spraying against marblework.
"Have you lost your mind, Casamir? Do you think the beast will be sated by Eriadel alone?" Tears had begun to streak her complexion, and she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand. "Fuck your mercenaries. If this palace falls, I'll be glad to know that Ecclesia is soon to follow! Where were your forces when the Gate Towers fell? Where were you when the last of my outer guard were sent to meet him? Why would I prostrate to you, when this is the fault of you and your kin?"
Since youth, Astraea had developed a habit for deflecting blame, even if her duress had been obviously caused by her own poor decisions. The racket she had raised would've no doubt been audible from beyond the hall, yet... no one came. She turned to the doors her guardsmen had departed through, and they remained soundly shut, with nought but silence sitting behind them. Why? Her heart seemed to flutter, and her blood felt cold.
"What did you do?"
Once again, her deflective habits and blinded her to the slow abandonment of her own subordinates.
"Have you lost your mind, Casamir? Do you think the beast will be sated by Eriadel alone?" Though he tried his best to disguise his annoyance, the Prince of Ecclesia couldn't help but wince at Astraea's comment. Ironic, how she saw him as the madman in consideration of the situation at hand. Yet Casamir did not interrupt her, allowing her to hurl both insults and porcelain in all of the anger and frustration she could muster. "Fuck your mercenaries. If this palace falls, I'll be glad to know that Ecclesia is soon to follow! Where were your forces when the Gate Towers fell? Where were you when the last of my outer guard were sent to meet him? Why would I prostrate to you, when this is the fault of you and your kin?"
The brooding Empress would not be graced with an immediate answer to her incessant tirade. Instead, a single hand would raise itself in the air just out of the corner of the Empress' visage. Before Astraea could realize what was happening, Casamir brought his open palm down across her face in an resounding 'SMACK!' The slap across her face would ring louder than any crashing silverware, a crimson streak instantly marring delicate flesh. The Prince had struck her with vigorous strength, enough to send the disoriented and flustered Empress reeling from his attack. He knew well that nobody had ever dared to touch her in such a way, that such a humiliating assault would have usually been answered with blood.
But now, the Empress was powerless.
"What did you do?"
The question would go ignored, at least at that very moment.
"Do you think us allies— Astraea? Tell me then, little Empress, what obligation do my people have to protect Ecclesia?" The Prince retorted with vexation to match Astraea's own, "You— who had a maid poison your father so you could slither free from our betrothal." Casamir growled, revealing his rival's darkest secret within closed doors, "Oh? Did you think that nobody knew? Did the terrified, virgin princess think she had outsmarted her beloved Empire?"
A hand lunged forward once again. Calloused, masculine digits found their way into the Empress raven strands before pulling her dark scalp painfully taut, "It has been my intelligence network that has kept you alive for so long. My spies that have uncovered every rat that has dared conspire against you." If Eriadel had been known for its powerful armies, then it had been Ecclesia whose eyes reached to every corner of the realm. The folklore that Ecclesian spies dwell within every court would not be an unfounded mystery, the Empress would soon find. "You would have faced that guillotine you adore so much by now if not for me. Or worse— you'd be a whore for one of your barons." The Prince's hand tightened behind Astraea's head, forcefully pulling her towards the nearest horizontal surface before unceremoniously throwing her over it. He would bend her over the wooden veneer of a nearby desk, pinning the back of her head to it so that the cheek which still singed hot with his touch could be snuffed by its cold surface.
"But fear not, sweetheart." Casamir's devilish lips glissaded downwards, his finger pushing away shadowy locks so that his hot whispers could breathe directly into her ear. "I will not let any of them have you." With one hand holding the humiliated Empress against the desk, his offhand began roaming towards her waistline; trailing slowly down the back of her dress before possessively grabbing at the globes which peered from underneath.
"Because you belong to me."
Though it was clear that the Prince had no intentions of stopping, his attentions were seized momentarily by the stirring of the door. To Astraea, it might have seemed like her guards were finally heeding their oaths in protecting her, albeit with languid tardiness. But when the door barged open, the Empress would be able to see from her humiliating position a terrifying sight: the metal-clad bodies of her royal guard were strewn about the floor. Some of her most trusted warriors lay face down and motionless, while others gargled on the bubbling pools of their own crimson fluids. While the majority of the men had been slain, the leader of her guard was dragged on his knees, blood seeping from a suckling bolt which jutted out from his chest.
"The snakes have been exterminated, just as you requested, my Lord." One of the soldiers holding the wounded Eriadellan knight remarked.
"Your Majesty! Whatever they say, I— we—..." The guard's voice was interrupted by a swift strike to the back of his head by the soldier holding him.
"Silence, fool. Your plot was a poorly guarded secret." The guardsman's Ecclesian captor retorted, "You only live so that you may tell the Empress the truth of your treason. So that you may die with some dignity, unlike the rest of your kin."
"Lord Harkon! It was Lord Harkon! He offered us gold and safety to kidnap the Empress tonight. He wanted us to bring her to him. He told us how the outer guard were butchered at her incompetence. That we would be next. He said that a woman is unfit to rule— that he wanted to rape her— that he wanted to—" Before the soldier could finish his explanation, the man that was holding him drew a knife to his neck, running the blade across his throat. In macabre, gruesome fashion, blood began to pool down his neck, as the horrified guardsman tried to plead for mercy through the gurgling.
"Hm. I knew that your guards conspired to have you kidnapped, but Lord Harkon? What an unlikely surprise." Casamir cackled at the very thought, "To think that old man thinks he can touch my Astraea." As he spoke, the hand that reached below her waistline grabbed at her rear, giving the Empress a firm, objectifying squeeze.
"Shall we move on him? Lord Harkon will discover quickly that his plot has been foiled." The soldier cleaned the blood from his dagger, placing it back within its sheathe.
"No. This moot will last several more days. It is unfortunate but Lord Harkon is far too powerful for us to touch right now. Lest we risk civil war with the invader at Eriadel's doorstep." The Prince sighed, "Leave us. I am not finished punishing the Empress just yet."
"My Lord, need I remind you that your father explicitly commanded the Empress' safety. He would not appreciate you...—"
Casamir yanked upon Astraea's raven scalp hard, as if to directly challenge the soldier's insubordination, "My father need not be afraid. I know well that my little Empress' virginity has political value attached." The Prince's patience was beginning to wear thin. "Now leave. I grow tired of your presence."
"Yes, my Lord." With that, the soldiers turned, dragging the deceased guardsman with them before shutting the doors closed once again.
With the guards finally dispersed, the Prince once more turned his attentions back towards Astraea, who was still pinned underneath his weight. "Now, where were we?" Casamir's hand that had been groping at her rear this entire time was now pulling up the bottom of her dress, lifting it upside down so that it pooled upon the desk and exposed the blessed mounds that teased underneath. "Ah yes, you were telling me how my assistance was compulsory." From her position, Astraea would be able to look up at the grimacing Prince, whose eerie smile foreshadowed nefarious intentions. His hand reached backwards, open-palmed once more, before falling down upon the Empress' voluminous backside in another, humiliating slap.
"Go on, tell me more about my obligations to protect you, little girl." The Prince would give her barely a moment to register the new assault, along with the degrading words that dribbled from his lips before spanking her again. Then again. Then again. Each spank increased in vigor and veloicty; submerging wobbly, uncontrollable cheeks in a dozen shades of crimson palm marks. The vulgar, enrapturing melody resounded with each increasingly resounding impact. Louder and louder... faster and faster. The Prince struck her rear until her flesh had been properly smothered by his strong hand. Until the unending orchestra of depraved spanking would bring about the utter humiliation of the Empress.
Finally, when the Prince's assault would finally cease, he would once again lean over her. "I am going to take one of your holes tonight, Astraea." He whispered once more into her ear, before the hand that was behind the back of her head reached down towards her lips. "Whether you offer your throat," Slowly, his fingers pressed themselves against her plush pillows, until they would finally give way to an intruding digit. His index would find her tongue, pinning it to the base of her mouth as it pushed deeper inside her throat. "Or I forcibly take the other option," The hand that had so crudely spanked the Empress rear once again moved towards those mountainous, freshly abused cheeks. This time, however, dexterous fingertips spread them apart, so that the Prince could prod the Empress' puckered star that hid beneath thin, silk intimates.
"Make your decision quick, little girl. Your Prince is growing restless."
