𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙱𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚊𝚕 (Kiie & Flex)

[Kiie]

Flex

˚✩
☪ . ˚
┊
-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-
°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°

𝒱𝓎𝓇𝒶 𝒜𝒶𝓇𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓃​

╭┈ .★ˋ .*ೃ✧₊ ˚ ༘♡══════════════════════════════╗

╰➢ ꒥꒷꒥꒷꒷꒷꒷꒥꒷꒥꒷꒷꒷꒷꒥꒷꒥꒷꒥꒷꒥꒥꒷꒥꒷꒷꒷꒷꒥꒷꒥꒥꒷꒷·₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ══ .★.╝​

​

Vyra, one of the exotic beauties, found solace in the celestial sky above. The stars, diamond-bright and scattered across the dark sky, pulsed with a silent, ancient rhythm. The moon, a serene sentinel, bathed her in its ethereal glow, drawing her gaze like a whispered secret. She was a tribute, a carefully chosen offering from the dying kingdom of Aethelgard, sent to the opulent, formidable court of the most powerful kingdom.

Aethelgard, nestled in a valley rich with herbs and the scent of earth, had long thrived on its deep connection to the natural world. Its people, the Aethelari, wove their lives with the rhythms of the forest, their spirituality a living, breathing thing. But this reverence, this aversion to conflict, proved their undoing. The expansionist kingdom of Kryos, driven by a hunger for resources and territory, descended upon them like a winter storm.
Kryos, a land of iron and ice, saw Aethelgard's peaceful ways as weakness, their verdant lands as ripe for conquest. The Aethelari, skilled in healing and harmony, were ill-prepared for the brutal efficiency of Kryos's warriors. The siege was swift, the losses devastating. The king of Aethelgard, his heart heavy with the impending doom of his people, made a desperate gamble. He reached out to the most powerful kingdom, a kingdom whispered about in hushed tones, a realm of sun-drenched palaces and formidable power, a place where wealth and influence were as potent as any weapon. To everyone's astonishment, its King responded, its armies sweeping across the ravaged lands of Aethelgard, forcing Kryos to retreat, their ambitions thwarted.
Vyra, now a resident of the said powerful kingdom, understood the price of this salvation. She was a living symbol of Aethelgard's gratitude, one of the dancers, the carefully selected untouched beauties from the Aethelgard to please the royals. As she gazed at the stars, she wondered if she would be able to return home...The image of her home, her family seems like a distant memory.

"Vyra! Stop daydreaming and get ready! The royals will be present soon," Ela exclaimed, her voice a flurry of excited anticipation. Vyra turned, her gaze landing on her friend, a dazzling spectacle of adornment. Ela's head was a crown of intricate accessories, her neck draped in heavy gold, her hands shimmering with jeweled bracelets. Her emerald eyes, amplified by artful makeup, sparkled with an almost feverish intensity, and her lips, plump and painted, curved into a knowing smile.

​

Vyra couldn't suppress a soft chuckle.
"You'll blind the entire kingdom with your beauty, Eli," she teased, gently adjusting her headpiece, ensuring it sat securely. Ela, flitting about like a hummingbird, helped Vyra with the veils, draping them with practiced ease, adding delicate gold accents.

"Well! I have the assets… why not use them to seduce the king? We'll live in luxury, Vyra! Think about it," Ela declared, her voice laced with playful ambition as she placed a final, ornate head accessory on Vyra. A flicker of unease crossed Vyra's face. She noticed that some of her own gold accessories were missing, replaced with lesser, non-gold pieces, while Ela herself was resplendent in them---'Ah, so that's why my accessories are suddenly missing'. Vyra remained silent, a quiet disappointment settling in her heart. She understood Ela's desire for a better life, but the lack of even a whispered request for her belongings left a sour taste. 'At least ask for my permission' she thought, 'don't simply take'. She knew that the girls were all under pressure to catch once in a blue moon opportunity, but a small part of her felt betrayed. She pushed the feeling aside, focusing on preparing for the task ahead, reminding herself that she just needed to plan her way to go back home.
'it's not like the kingdom will care if I gone missing'

The air in the chamber thrummed with a nervous energy, a palpable tension mixed with the scent of exotic perfumes and the shimmer of excitement. Each woman, a carefully cultivated bloom, had meticulously prepared herself, a living canvas of artifice and allure. They were poised, statuesque, their faces masks of practiced composure, yet beneath the surface, a whirlwind of anxieties and hopes churned. Vyra was also nervous.

Every gesture, every carefully placed accessory, every shimmering veil, was a weapon in their arsenal, a tool to amplify their natural beauty. They had rehearsed tirelessly. The dance they were about to perform was not merely a display of skill; it was a silent language, a seductive ballet of glances and movements, intended to weave a spell around the royal audience.
A hush fell over the chamber, a pregnant silence that amplified the frantic beat of their hearts. They waited for the grand entrance, the moment when the king and his court would finally take their seats. Every sense was heightened, every nerve ending tingling. Then, a fanfare echoed through the hall, signaling the arrival. With practiced grace, they moved, a fluid wave of shimmering silks and delicate limbs, gliding towards the center of the polished dance floor. It was their stage, their moment to shine. As they took their positions, the world narrowed to the rhythm of the music, the intricate choreography, and the piercing gaze of the royal audience. Their minds, honed by hours of practice, became a silent symphony of instructions. The subtle sway of the hips, the languid curve of an arm, the deliberate flicker of an eyelash – each movement was a calculated stroke, a brushstroke on the canvas of their performance.

They were a vision of ethereal beauty, moving with a hypnotic grace that held the promise of untold delights. The air crackled with unspoken desires, the silent language of seduction filling the space. Each dancer, a star in her own right, was poised on the precipice, ready to unleash the full force of their carefully cultivated charm, their focus laser-sharp, their goal unwavering: to captivate the king and his court, to etch the unforgettable image into their memories, and perhaps, to change the course of their destiny.
She was caught in a bewildering current, a conflict between her past and the uncertain future that stretched before her. 'Home' her soul whispered, but another voice, a seductive whisper of opportunity, urged her to seize the moment.

With a newfound resolve, she channeled her inner turmoil into the dance. Her movements, already graceful, gained a sharper edge, a subtle undercurrent of defiance. Her hip sway, previously fluid, now held a tantalizing tease, a silent challenge to the royal gaze. She was a paradox, a delicate flower with a core of steel, a captive who dared to command attention. Her eyes, usually filled with a quiet melancholy, now flickered with a spark of defiance, a silent declaration that she was more than just a tribute. She was a force, a presence, and she would not be ignored. The conflict within her fueled her performance, adding a layer of raw emotion, a depth that captivated the audience. She was dancing not just for the king, but for herself, for the chance to reclaim a fragment of her own destiny.

°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°
-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-
┊
☪ . ˚
˚✩​

 

[Flex]

Melandria. The height of civilization. A kingdom wrought in beauty, an empire founded from power and wealth. Their might touched every corner of the continent. Whether by territory or influence, there were none who’s lives weren’t effected by the Melandrian way.

For centuries, and even now its rulers had embodied the core of what Melandria was: overwhelming strength, graceful beauty, and endless wealth. King Damian Illius the III came from that bloodline. Like his forefathers, his own reign had expanded Melandria, and he wore the Melandrian legacy like a second skin.

Nearly lounging on his throne, comfortable in his power, his robe laid open. The definition of power written into every detail of his powerful frame. Dark brown eyes dimmed with satisfaction, he calmly observed his gift. Gifts. Exotic, beautiful women dancing in a way that even tugged at the needs of a man who was observed to have everything. One held his attention more than others. The movement of her hips, the subtle difference in her eyes, her lips. It challenged him. Dared him to step out from the comfort of all he’d amassed and want more. She was more.

“Beautiful.” The word, his decision on what he was watching. They all were. It was the one, however, who’d brought the word to mind as he sat, arms along the rests of his throne.

“Indeed.” The voice of his brother, Prince Darius who lounged in cushioned seating beside the throne. White trousers, like the king’s, all that he wore. The royal Melandrian way, flaunting their aesthetically pleasing figures.

Missed by most was the malcontented side eye from Darius before his light brown eyes returned to the dancing women. It was he who’d crushed the forces of Kryos. Now, as in all things, his brother received everything. All for simply being born first.

Damien leaned to the side opposite where Darius sat, gesturing for the Aethelgard emissary who’d presented the dancers to lean down to him. Pointing towards Vyra, the dancer who’d held his eye more than the others, he turned his head towards the emissary. “I want her brought before me. Tell your leader, I find his offering pleasing.” Damien motioned lazily with a hand for the man to do as he said before he settled back against his throne.

 

[Kiie]

˚✩
☪ . ˚
┊
-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-
°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°
𝒱𝓎𝓇𝒶 𝒜𝒶𝓇𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓃
╭┈ .★ˋ .*ೃ✧₊ ˚ ༘♡═════════════════════════════════╗

╰➢ ꒥꒷꒥꒷꒷꒷꒷꒥꒷꒥꒷꒷꒷꒷꒥꒷꒥꒷꒷꒷꒷꒷꒷꒷꒥꒷꒷꒷꒷꒥꒷꒥꒥꒷꒷·₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ══ .★.╝​

​

The spotlight, once diffused across the entire ensemble, seemed to coalesce around a single point: the King. Ela, her senses sharpened by ambition, registered the shift in the royal gaze with a jolt of alarm. It wasn't her, his gaze wasn't on her but on someone else. A tremor of frustration tightened her features, and she frantically searched for a way to reclaim the attention she craved.

In a flurry of calculated movements, she subtly altered the choreography, disrupting the carefully rehearsed patterns. The other dancers, caught off guard, stumbled momentarily, their expressions a mixture of confusion and suppressed panic and anger. They quickly recovered, smoothing over the disruption, but the ripple of unease remained. Ela, undeterred, maneuvered herself to the front line, repeatedly stealing positions, ensuring she remained directly in the King's line of sight. She offered playful, fleeting eye contact, a shy smile that belied her brazen actions, ignoring the unspoken rules of the court. Her movements became exaggerated, her body bending and swaying to showcase her form, a deliberate display of her most alluring assets.

Vyra, however, remained focused, her attention drawn to the subtle undercurrents of the court. She noticed Ela's disruptive tactics, the brazen attempts to steal the spotlight. When Ela usurped her position during the rotational shift, Vyra responded with a quiet, decisive move, stepping into the space beside her, directly facing the Prince.

The music shifted, the vibrant tempo fading into a slow, romantic melody, signaling the closing performance. The dancers moved with deliberate grace, their movements now infused with a languid sensuality. As the music swelled, golden mugs filled with rich, ruby wine were presented. Ela, ever vigilant for a chance to elevate her position, saw her opportunity. The golden mug, intended for Vyra's service to the King, was within reach. With a swift, almost imperceptible movement, she intercepted it, her fingers closing around the ornate handle. She would serve the King, she decided, claiming the privilege for herself when she should have not done that.

Meanwhile, Vyra, unfazed by Ela's maneuver, simply shifted her focus. She recognized the other golden mug, the one designated for the Prince, one that was supposed for Ela to take, and with a quiet grace, took possession of it. There was no outward sign of annoyance, no flicker of resentment. Her actions were deliberate, a silent assertion of her own agency. She would not be deterred, nor would she engage in petty squabbles. She had her own path, her own purpose, and she would pursue it with unwavering resolve.. The two women, designated to serve the King and Prince, approached their royal patrons with graceful dance.

Vyra, her gaze unwavering, moved towards the Prince with her slow dance. Ignoring the hushed warnings and the unspoken rules of the court,she refused to break eye contact. It was a bold move, a silent declaration of her presence, a challenge to the rigid formality of the court. Instead of kneeling in subservience, she ascended onto the Prince's seat, her hand lightly resting on his arm, her knee positioned between his legs. The court held its breath, a collective gasp echoing through the hall. Ela, along with the other dancers, watched in stunned silence, their blood running cold.

Vyra's movements were fluid, almost ethereal, a blend of grace and audacity. Her smile was subtle, a mere curve of her lips, yet her eyes held a depth that seemed to penetrate the Prince's very soul. She raised the golden mug to his lips, allowing him a delicate sip of the wine. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she ran her hand down along his arm, gently guiding his hand to grasp the mug. It was a gesture that was both intimate and commanding, a silent assertion of her own agency.

Her departure was as swift and graceful as her approach. As the final notes of the melody faded, the dancers were cued to exit the dance floor. Vyra, with a final, lingering glance at the Prince, turned and glided away, her movements a symphony of controlled elegance.

The air in the chamber crackled with unspoken tension. The court, still reeling from Vyra's audacious display, watched as she retreated, leaving behind a trail of stunned silence. She had broken the mold, defied expectations, and in doing so, had etched herself into the memory of the court. Her movements were not merely a dance; they were a performance, a carefully orchestrated act of defiance, a reclaiming of her own narrative. She was no longer just a tribute, a pawn in the game of courtly politics. She was a force, a presence, a woman who dared to challenge the very foundations of the Melandria court.

°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°

The moment the heavy doors of the dancers' chamber slammed shut, the carefully constructed facade of composure shattered.
"Have you lost your mind?!" Ela shrieked, her voice a raw, furious sound that echoed through the room.

"You just went against the rules!" Said Ela. Vyra stood unyielding, her chin held high, her eyes cold and unwavering. She met Ela's furious gaze with a chilling stillness, offering no apology, no explanation. Ela's face, flushed crimson with rage, contorted with a mixture of disbelief and fury.

"I can't believe you're so desperate for their attention that you dared to disrespect them!" Ela continued, her voice rising to a near-hysterical pitch. She shoved Vyra, a clumsy, impulsive gesture fueled by her boiling anger. Vyra, however, was not easily moved. With a swift, decisive movement, she caught Ela's wrist, her grip surprisingly strong and unforgiving. She held Ela's arm down, her eyes boring into her with a silent intensity.

"So, you stealing others' opportunities is permissible?" Vyra snapped back, her voice low but sharp, cutting through Ela's tirade like a honed blade. Before Ela could unleash a retort, Vyra released her wrist and, with a swift, controlled movement, a slap landed on her across the face. The sound echoed through the room, a sharp, resounding crack that silenced Ela instantly while other dancers winced and gasped along with Ela. Ela's eyes wide with shock and disbelief. She stumbled backward, clutching her stinging cheek, her face contorted with a mixture of pain and outrage.

"You… how dare you—" she stammered, her voice choked with emotion. Before she could finish her sentence, a series of loud, insistent knocks reverberated through the room, cutting through the charged atmosphere like a thunderclap. The sudden intrusion silenced them, their anger momentarily suspended as they waited.


°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°
-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-
┊
☪ . ˚
˚✩​

 

[Flex]

The atmosphere had changed, at least for Darius. Until now he’d watched with only mild interest. None of this was for him. In fact it was a reminder of how everything belonged to the man who sat to his left. Yet the dancer who had stolen the rooms attention now had the eyes of the one person who’d been disinterested in the display. Darius held her gaze.

They were moving closer, two of them, the one before him with his golden mug. He’d seen who his brother desired most. This woman who dared; it offered him a moment of defiance towards his brother. Glancing over at Darius briefly, it was clear who he’d wanted. Smiling with feigned humility, he brought his attention back to her, chin tilting upwards.

The challenging stare wasn’t lost to him, he welcomed it. A knowing smirk creeping across his lips as she came closer, too close. Several soldiers moved too intercept her, the prince raised his fingers to halt them, letting her continue.

Forgoing where she should bow, she instead entered his space. A knee between his legs, now over him, his eyes dimming, amused, still holding her soft alluring stare. The touch on his arm made him inhale deeply. Bringing the mug to his lips, he sipped, eyes still on hers. Then she brought his hand to take it, all gestures, contact, that was unprecedented for guests in the throne room.

As she withdrew, for all his outward appearance of control, she’d taken his breath away. A long exhale causing his chest to fall as he remembered such a simple function like breathing that she’d taken away from him. Just a few graceful moments later, the dancers were withdrawing. Gone from the throne room.

“Bring that one to me, Darius.” The King’s attention hadn’t missed the enticing actions of the very woman who had equally stolen his gaze.

Darius’ jaw tensed slightly, his teeth clenching hidden behind his closed lips. “Of course, and where will I be bringing her?”

“I’ll be in my private study,” he said, standing from his throne, as he went on to give the Aethelgard emissaries his approval of their gift to him.

Eyes darkening, Darius knew why he had been given such a task. A simple reminder from his brother that everything was his. Just in case. In case he’d found any interest from the woman who’d stolen his breath.

---

The knocks on the large rounded double doors were only a warning. A few moments notice for the dancers to prepare for them to enter. As the doors swung open Prince Darius along with several armed soldiers emerged. Unlike the men wearing plated armor and white untarnished cloaks, the Prince only wore his trousers and soft boots. Customary of royalty, flaunting themselves.

They’d interrupted something, the Prince could sense it as he strode in confidently; patient like he had no where in particular to be. The women were tense, the unnamed dancer who’d awed the throne room seeming to be the center of the tension. His steps took him to her until he stopped just before her.

Light brown eyes scanning the room, regarding each woman, they stopped at her a knowing smirk curling at his lips once again. The thought of addressing her dance fleeted through his mind, but he said nothing of it. “It seems you’ve caught the King’s eye quickly. Come with me.” His hand took hers, leaving suggestion out of the equation, gently tugging her to follow.

It wasn’t until they’d reached the doors and turned into the palace halls that he spoke again. “A rather bold display today. What is your name?” From his amused tone, it was clear her dance was well received, at least from him.

 

[Kiie]

˚✩

☪ . ˚

┊

-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-

°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°​

The heavy doors swung open, revealing the prince, his presence filling the dancers' chamber with an air of authority. Vyra stood her ground, remaining in the center of the room, while the other dancers, including Ela, instinctively retreated, forming a respectful semi-circle. They recognized the prince's focus, the way his gaze was fixed on Vyra, a silent declaration of his purpose.

As he approached, the guards flanking him cast threatening glances at Vyra, their eyes conveying a clear message: lower yourself, show respect. But she met their gazes with a silent defiance, refusing to be intimidated. Her attention then shifted to the prince, their eyes locking as he returned his gaze after a brief scan of the other dancers. There was no curtsy, no formal greeting, no outward display of deference showed towards him. Then, he spoke directly to her, his voice commanding yet laced with an undercurrent of amazement-- or so she thought, there was also something hidden in his voice, suppressed.

A soft smile played on Vyra's lips. Despite her lack of formal respect, she would expect him to demand it out of her but his touch was surprisingly gentle, no anger within, a subtle contradiction to the power he exuded. She allowed him to take her hand.

"My prince…" she said, her voice a low murmur. This time, finally, she lowered her body slightly, a gesture of belated respect, her gaze also dropping. From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the guards shake his head, a silent reprimand. She ignored it, her focus entirely on the prince as she allowed him to lead her from the dancers' chamber, into the grand halls beyond.

The rhythmic clinking of Vyra's trinkets and accessories, a delicate counterpoint to the hushed grandeur of the hall, filled the space with a subtle, almost melodic sound. It was a constant, shimmering presence until his voice, smooth and resonant, broke the delicate silence.

Vyra lifted her head, her gaze meeting his. His eyes, a warm, honeyed brown, caught the light, and subtle golden flecks danced within their depths, adding a touch of brilliance to their gentle expression. She allowed his question to linger, the unspoken words hanging in the air, as she took the opportunity to observe him.

Her gaze swept over him, taking in the details of his appearance. His expression, though regal, held a warmth that put her at ease. She noted the way the light played across his features, softening the sharp angles of his jawline, and highlighting the gentle curve of his lips. Her eyes then drifted downwards, taking in the simple yet luxurious attire. He wore only trousers and soft boots, yet the quality of the fabrics, the subtle sheen of the leather, spoke of wealth and refinement. His physique, visible for the eyes to see, was lean and athletic, screaming out his health and fitness. He possessed the kind of physique that fueled the dreams of many, a blend of strength and grace that radiated an undeniable masculine allure.

Vyra, having completed her subtle assessment, returned her gaze to his, a mischievous glint in her eyes. A slow, knowing smile curled her lips, as if she had just uncovered a delightful, perhaps slightly naughty, secret. The smile hinted at a playful confidence, a sense of control that belied her seemingly submissive position.

"𝒱𝓎𝓇𝒶 ...𝒱𝓎𝓇𝒶 𝒜𝒶𝓇𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓃 is my name" she finally answered, her voice a smooth, melodic cadence. She paused, allowing her name to linger in the air, a subtle emphasis on her individuality.

"I am pleased to have this opportunity, speaking directly with you, my prince" she continued, her tone laced with a playful formality. The phrase "speaking directly with you" was delivered with a subtle emphasis, hinting at a deeper meaning, a suggestion that their interaction was more than just a formal audience. It was a subtle flirtation, a playful dance of words.

°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°
-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-
┊
☪ . ˚
˚✩​

 

[Flex]

There was no rush to fulfill his brothers command as Darius walked leisurely with Vyra at his side. For a concubine who held the same status as a servant, her place was to be a pace behind him. Yet, from what he could tell, she wouldn’t follow the rules and traditions that were surely ingrained in her. Aethelgard couldn’t have possibly overlooked training these women on Melandria’s customs.

The Prince wasn’t bothered by such things. The lack of bowing. Not taking her place on the side of the room when he’d entered. Or, how suggestively she’d taken up space in his little personal royal bubble in the throne room. He too pushed boundaries, and she’d quickly learn his brother quite the opposite of him. It was better to let people discover he was much more agreeable company than his brother on their own.

"𝒱𝓎𝓇𝒶 ...𝒱𝓎𝓇𝒶 𝒜𝒶𝓇𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓃 is my name"
Exotic. Everything about her was. From her dancing, to the way her trinkets and accessories made her presence known beside him, all of it was unfamiliar, yet enticing.
"I am pleased to have this opportunity, speaking directly with you, my prince"

The words caused his head to turn towards her, his eyes settling on her emerald gaze. A soft subtle smile forming at his lips with an amused breath passing through his lips. “A brief opportunity, my brother is an impatient man.” Letting his light brown eyes travel over the details of her face, all beautifully accentuated by just the right of makeup. Without it shed no doubt still naturally draw a mans focus. “But, I can walk slower.” Softly smiling he turned his head forward, focusing on the direction they were moving.

As they reached a hallway crossing the one they were in, Darius placed a hand boldly on the small of her back, steering her to turn right with him. “Being direct will get you far it seems. First day in the palace and a prince is required to escort you to the King.” Darius had slowed down immensely, hand still behind her, looking down at her now. For a woman he towered over physically, her presence seemed to command so much attention. “Seems your little dance made quite the impression.” It had. To him, just as much as the king.

 

[Kiie]

˚✩
☪ . ˚
┊
-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-
°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°​

The moment she saw him turn his head, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch, a flicker of surprise danced across her features. Had she truly struck a chord? Had she, in her audacious display, managed to penetrate the layers of royal reserve? A subtle lift of her brow betrayed her intrigue. She couldn't help but mirror his smile, a soft, genuine curve of her lips. Her eyes, however, remained sharp, observant, meticulously cataloging every detail of his expression. She watched as his gaze traced the contours of her face, as if committing her image to memory, etching every nuance into the foreground of his mind.

"I could walk slower," he murmured, his voice a low, resonant sound that sent a shiver down her spine. His playful remark elicited a soft, genuine laugh from her, a sound that resonated deep within her, a melody of pure..

Then, she felt his hand on her back, a light, almost fleeting touch against her bare skin. Despite the carefully crafted persona of a seductive enchantress, a woman well-versed in the art of allure, a core of innocence still remained within her. Touching hands and linking arms were within her comfort zone, but this, the warmth of his hand against her bare skin of her back, was something new, something that stirred a flutter of unfamiliar sensations within her.

A faint blush crept up her neck and painted her cheeks a delicate shade of rose. Her eyes, usually so steady and confident, flickered downwards, momentarily lost in a sudden wave of shyness. Though her composure remained intact, a subtle vulnerability softened her features, betraying the unexpected rush of emotions.

He gently guided her to turn right, and she followed his lead, her eyes flickering back to his face as he spoke. She found herself drawn to the shape of his lips, the way they moved as he spoke, then her gaze drifted upwards, this time, she was drawn to the gentle warmth in his eyes once again.

"It was the risks that I decided to take… but being direct does not work all the time, your highness" she replied, her voice a soft, melodic whisper. Her delicate fingers brushed lightly against his hand, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt of electricity through her veins, before she withdrew, clasping her hands together, focusing on the path ahead. There was a mischievous urge to tease the prince but a deeper instinct, a cautious wisdom born of precarious position, held her back. She understood the delicate balance of power, the subtle game of courtship played within the royal court. Overconfidence was a dangerous indulgence, a misstep that could shatter the fragile connection she had forged so far. She needed to tread carefully, to navigate the treacherous waters of the Melandrian royals.

"But I'm glad that it left a strong impression…" she continued, her voice trailing off as her gaze landed on the imposing entrance ahead. The heavy doors, flanked by stoic guards, signaled the abrupt end of their intimate exchange.

"This is it..." she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, as they came to a halt before the imposing entrance. Vyra turned to him, her movements fluid and graceful, and offered a low, respectful curtsy, acknowledging his royal status. As she rose, a soft, almost hesitant smile played on her lips. Her cerulean blue eyes, wide and innocent, searched his, as if seeking a silent reassurance.

"I hope we'll talk with each other again soon..." she said, her voice laced with a delicate blend of hope and anticipation.

"I hope you'll still remember my name until then." The moment, so fleeting yet so charged, was over, leaving behind a lingering sense of anticipation, a silent promise of more to come.

Without waiting for a response, she turned, her movements decisive, and stepped forward. The guards, with practiced efficiency, swung open the heavy doors, granting her passage. As she crossed the threshold, a final, lingering glance over her shoulder, a subtle turn of her head, allowed her to catch a fleeting glimpse of him before the doors began to close. The moment stretched, suspended in time, until the heavy panels finally met, sealing them apart. The image of him, his expression, the lingering warmth of his gaze, was the last thing she saw.

Vyra's gaze drifted down to the polished floor as she turned her head back towards the room's center. The lingering echo of their conversation faded, replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence. Slowly, she lifted her gaze.

The King.

The room was huge, spacious even but felt suffocatingly small. His presence, a noticable force, filled the chamber, pressing down on her, making it difficult to breathe. The air crackled with an unspoken power, a weight of authority that made her acutely aware of her own vulnerability.

She was alone. Alone with him.

The realization sent a shiver down, all over her body. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the soft rustle of her own breath.

"My king..." She began, breaking the silence as she lowered her body down, down to her knees as if she was there to beg for his forgiveness.

°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°
-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-
┊
☪ . ˚
˚✩​

 

[Flex]

It was amusing to watch her have a bout of shyness from his touch. All the more reason to keep his hand where it was. So much smaller than him, it was almost cute in its own way to think of how much attention she’d demanded from him silently. Yet, now here she was vulnerable from a simple touch.

“Of course not. It never serves well to leave all of your intentions laid bare.” The words came in sync with her hand subtly grazing his. As if she knew very well what he spoke of. The touch could have been coincidental, yet it made him wonder. Was she showing interest?

“This is it…”

“It is,” Damien confirmed, his fingers gently tensing against her back, letting her know he wished to keep them there. However, before the doors would open he slid his hand away from her lower back slowly.

“We will meet many more times, Vyra,” he answered, giving her an uncustomary bow of his head. Treating her like a possession wouldn’t serve any purpose for him. Not that she was a possession of his to begin with. When she walked in, he stayed, watching her until the doors closed behind her.

---

The king was in no rush. Patience, all things were meant to be savored when one had everything. Rushing would only wear on the excitement of something new. He’d heard her formal greeting addressing him as her king. From his peripheral vision he’d seen her drop to her knees.

Letting her stay in her humble position he began to pour a rich red wine into two goblets. Still not having addressed her presence, he sipped from his goblet, humming in approval at its taste before turning to where she knelt. Just like the prince Damien’s tall lean figure was laid bare save for white loose trousers and now white slippers to lounge about in his glory with.

Eith a grace that belied his size, he quietly walked to where Vyra knelt with both goblets in his hand. “You may rise,” he said in a soft yet commanding tone, as if the time he’d left her on her knees was of no consequence.

His hand extended offering her a goblet of wine, jewels encrusted around its frame. Once she’d taken it he stepped around her, slowly his eyes grazing over her. The perfection of her form, the details taken to accentuate and highlight her beauty.

“Walk to the balcony,” another soft command, as he gestured nodding towards a large opening where opened silk drape rippled gently in the days breeze. A marble platform protruded from its opening that gave one a view of Melandria’s vast expanse: wealthy structures, paved roads, and a thriving populace that stretched into the horizon.

When Vyra would find her place on the balcony, Damien moved behind her. Gently pressing behind her, an arm wrapped around her, his hand settling on her naval, his other bringing his goblet to his lips. “It is beautiful isn’t it?” Oh, how he loved to flaunt what was his. Showing off Melandria, his kingdom to the woman who held his attention for now for a heady feeling.

“It’s not often I get to walk those roads and enjoy what Melandria is. But, it is some relief to have something just as beautiful in my company.” His lips gently placed against her cheek, extremely comfortable in closeness with what was deemed his. This was nothing new, though she was certainly the most beautiful of his harem. Another kiss, on her cheek before he withdrew from behind her.

“When we are alone you will call me Damien, and only when we are alone. What is your name,” he asked, setting his goblet down as he leaned back against the arm rest of a cushioned seating area.

 

[Kiie]

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Vyra waited patiently, her head bowed, her keen ears attuned to the subtle sounds of the palace. She took a slow, deep breath, calming her nerves, before the sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention.

"You may rise," his voice commanded, and Vyra lifted her head, her gaze meeting his. She rose slowly, gracefully, accepting the offered goblet, her eyes never leaving his as he circled her, taking in her appearance.

"Walk to the balcony," he instructed, gesturing towards the large opening, the silk drapes swaying in the gentle breeze. She obeyed, her eyes widening at the breathtaking view that unfolded before her: a sprawling cityscape of opulent structures, their gilded domes and spires gleaming in the sunlight. Market squares buzzed with activity, and grand avenues were lined with elegant buildings, the city's wealth and prosperity in a clear view.

Her brows arched, her hair dancing in the wind, as she absorbed the panorama. 'So this is the view from the top' she thought, a sense of awe mingling with a hint of ambition. 'To command such a city, to orchestrate its every movement'

The sudden warmth of his presence behind her startled her, flushing her cheeks. Before she could react, his arm encircled her waist, his hand resting on her navel, sending a flutter of butterflies through her stomach----Everything just caught her off-guard. She nodded silently, agreeing with his assessment of Malandria's beauty, her voice caught up in her throat.

Then, His lips brushed against her cheek, making her body jumped slightly, her hands trembling as she struggled to hold onto the goblet. Another kiss followed, and she fought to regain her composure, the unexpected intimacy threatening to unravel her carefully constructed facade and hen he finally withdrew, she took a deep subtle breath, the air rushing to her head.

His suggestion that she call him by his name when they were alone caught her completely off guard, the unexpected intimacy of the request sending a wave of surprise through her. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a momentary lapse in her carefully maintained composure. She felt a sudden rush of conflicting emotions, a mix of excitement and apprehension, as she grappled with the implications of his suggestion. It was a gesture of familiarity, a subtle invitation to cross the boundaries of formality that separated them. She found herself momentarily speechless, unable to formulate a coherent response, her mind racing with a flurry of thoughts and questions. 'Why would he offer such an intimate request? What did it signify? no, it could possibly mean nothing..'

The unexpected intimacy of the moment had thrown her off balance, leaving her feeling vulnerable and exposed. She had been prepared for formality, for regal distance, but not for this sudden, unexpected closeness. It was a subtle shift in their dynamic, a hint of something more personal, something more intimate, that left her feeling both intrigued and slightly unsettled.

"…M…My name…" she stammered, turning away, biting her lip, mentally berating herself for her lack of composure. With a sigh, she turned back to him but her gaze fixed on the city below, her confidence wavering. 'Where is my confidence?' she thought, desperately seeking the strength she needed.

"My name is..𝒱𝓎𝓇𝒶 𝒜𝒶𝓇𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓃…" she finally said, her voice regaining its composure. However, She took a large gulp of wine soon after, the liquid burning a pleasant warmth in her throat, calming her racing heart.

"I am pleased to be here, Damien… truly… I am" she said, placing the goblet on the concrete parapet. The wine had emboldened her, restoring her confidence.

Vyra turned and leaned against the parapet, then gracefully lifted herself to sit on it. A mischievous smile finally returned to her lips, she didn't know when the alcohol would kick in but she wanted to take the opportunity, to see what kind of reaction she would get from the King with her way of seducing him.

"Come closer…" she demanded, her voice laced with playful authority and as soon as he approached, she hooked her foot behind his leg, pulling him closer, closing the distance between them. She tilted her head, her eyes locking with his. Her garments fluttered in the wind.

"Why did you call me here, Damien?" she asked, her voice a soft, breathy whisper, a delicate hum trailing off her words, leaving a sensual echo in the air. As she spoke, her hand, playfully slid up his toned chest, her fingertips tracing the contours of his muscles. The touch was light, almost a caress.

°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°
-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-
┊
☪ . ˚
˚✩​

 

[Flex]

Damien had a knowing little smirk slightly tug at his lips at Vyra’s suddenly vulnerable appearance. It was a heady feeling, the ability to do whatever he wanted, with any woman he wanted. Flexing just a bit of that, and seeing how it affected a woman in his company, especially one so desirable, was pleasing.

"…M…My name…"
Eyes dimming in amusement at her little struggle, he folded his arms patiently waiting.
"My name is..𝒱𝓎𝓇𝒶 𝒜𝒶𝓇𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓃…"

Tilting his chin up, his eyes gleamed watching her take a long drink from her goblet. A little hum of a laugh sounding from his throat at the sight. Such a gorgeous woman, every little movement from her only added to her allure.
"I am pleased to be here, Damien… truly… I am"
His name sounded so pleasant coming from her lips. A guilty pleasure letting a woman he lusted for bypass formalities and say his name in secret.
"Come closer…"
Oh, even more pleasant surprises. Damien obliged, why not? If she were going to frequent his company, he didn’t want a woman who just bowed and silently obeyed his every command. That little spark of boldness from her was what had drawn him to her to begin with.
Close wasn’t close enough it seemed as she hooked a foot behind his leg, drawing hun closer. A low agreeable noise sounding from him as his hands roughly planted against her thighs, his eyes meeting hers as she tilted her head up to look at him. From this close, she was beautiful, overwhelmingly so. Like he could get lost in her company for days on end and never tire of it.
"Why did you call me here, Damien?"

She set the mood so well. If this was an act, forcing herself to be affectionate, it was enjoyable nonetheless. It would suit her and her future well to keep him entertained. Having such an enticing woman’s hands on him, appreciating the definition and workings of the body he flaunted, well that was exactly what a man like him would enjoy.

“I wanted to be alone with the woman that awed my entire court,” his voice calm, soft, as would any man’s receiving affectionate touches. “Sometimes I need a woman to take me away from my duties, briefly.”

There was no asking. His words were soft, tone almost soothing, but his actions hinted at something else. The freedom of knowing she was his, regardless of any feelings she may have, or lack thereof. Leaning down, he nudged with his nose against her chin, urging her to expose her neck to him.

“We should know each other…” his words were a murmur against her neck, lips gently pressing against her skin in several plush kisses. “…in a much deeper way if you’re to frequently be in my company.” Several more slow kisses followed as his lips trailed up her neck just below her ear.

“You could be my most favored concubine in no time,” he whispered near her ear. It always helped to make a woman, even a concubine, more loving when given the hope of her affection having meaning.

 

[Kiie]

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-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-
°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°


The minutes dissolved into a haze of intimacy, the air thick with unspoken desires and the subtle scent of wine. Vyra's mind began to drift, a pleasant fog settling over her senses, yet she clung to the edge of consciousness, her awareness heightened by the intoxicating blend of his presence and the potent wine. She was not accustomed to such indulgence, her upbringing in Aethelgard, a land of herbal remedies and cautious restraint, instilling a deep respect for self-control. The loss of one's faculties, the surrender to the intoxicating sway of alcohol, was seen as a weakness, a dangerous relinquishment of power. Yet, she had known the cost of her selection, the unspoken agreement that came with her position, and she allowed the wine to loosen her inhibitions, to blur the lines between duty and desire.

His hands, rough, moved against the soft skin of her thighs, igniting a trail of fire that spread through her body. Their gazes locked, a silent conversation spoken in the language of lust, a raw, primal connection that transcended words. She understood the nature of their interaction, the unspoken contract that bound her to him. She was a concubine, a vessel of pleasure, a distraction from the burdens of his royal duties.

Her purpose was to provide him with a fleeting escape, a taste of heaven on earth, a moment of respite from the weight of his crown. The realization, though familiar, brought a pang of sadness, a quiet ache in her heart. She knew her fate: a life of luxury, followed by a swift dismissal when her beauty began to fade, when the bloom of youth was replaced by the subtle signs of time. He, on the other hand, possessed a power that transcended the fleeting nature of physical beauty. He would age like fine wine, his allure deepening with each passing year, his power growing with his experience. He would always be desired, always sought after despite getting older and senile. Age really didn't matter when it comes to power--It's infuriating.

'Ah… so frustrating' she thought, a soft sigh escaping her lips that would be easily mistaken as a lustful response, she lifted her chin, offering him the delicate curve of her neck, a vulnerable gesture of surrender. A shudder ran through her as his lips touched her skin, the sensation sending a wave of heat through her body. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, as she closed her eyes, surrendering to the moment.

She turned her head slightly, granting him greater access to the sensitive skin of her neck, her breath catching in her throat as his lips trailed kisses along her neck then up to her ear. Even when his lips moved away, she could still feel their phantom presence, the lingering warmth of his lips, the imprint of his desire. The sensation was intoxicating, a heady mix of pleasure and lust.

A soft, throaty laughter escaped Vyra's lips, a sound that mingled amusement and a touch of defiance. She tightened her grip on his hair, pulling his head back, creating a small space between them. Taking advantage of the moment, she pressed her soft breasts against his chest to cover up her audacious act. She leaned closer, her lips hovering just above his ear, her hot breath brushing against his skin.

"Lies…" she whispered, her voice a seductive hiss, like the alluring call of a siren. The word hung in the air, a challenge, a declaration of her own understanding of the game they were playing. She loosened her grip on his hair, her lips tracing the delicate curve of his ear, planting soft kisses along its edge. A low hum vibrated against his skin, a sensual melody designed to burrow deep into his mind, to leave an indelible mark on his consciousness.

"I know this game…" she began, her voice regaining its strength, her words laced with a raw honesty that cut through the pretense of their interaction.

"You'll have your eyes on this gem," she continued, her fingers tracing a delicate pattern on his chest,

"then, as soon as you find another that shines brighter… you'll go for it and abandon the one you used to claim as your favorite." Her words were unfiltered, a stark reflection of her own observations. It was a blend of confidence and honesty, a fearless declaration of her understanding of the power dynamics at play. She wasn't naive, she wasn't blind to the realities of her position. She knew the rules of the game, and she wasn't afraid to call him out on them. Her honesty was a weapon, a shield, a way to maintain control in a situation where she was inherently vulnerable. She was refusing to be a passive participant, refusing to be just another pawn in his royal game.

Vyra unwrapped her arms from his neck, creating a small space between them, allowing the lingering warmth of their embrace to settle. She looked up at him, her gaze unwavering, her expression a mixture of defiance and a quiet sadness. One hand remained on his chest, slowly sliding down his abdomen, tracing the contours of his muscles until it rested just above the waistband of his trousers. Her fingertips brushed and slid beneath the waistband slightly, a tantalizingly close touch that threatened to ignite a fire within him. She pressed her fingertips slightly, digging in just enough to feel the heat radiating from his lower region, before withdrawing her hand, leaving a lingering sense of anticipation in its wake.

"I don't think you'll be fond of me… Your Majesty…and I'm being honest about that" she said, her voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the playful banter that had preceded it.

"I advise you to find another gem to favor… you can't make me give my heart to you…" She got off from the concrete, standing on her feet as she looked up at him. Her words were a declaration of independence, a refusal to play the role of the devoted concubine. She was laying down her terms, setting boundaries that he couldn't cross. She wasn't willing to surrender her heart, her body, to become another fleeting object of his affection. She was offering him a choice: accept her on her terms, or find someone else who would willingly play the game---though, she knew that death would be one of the possible routes but her self-respect was beyond the fear of death. Her honesty was a challenge, a test of his character, a way to see if he was truly willing to accept her for who she was, or if he was simply seeking another beautiful ornament to add to his collection. She was daring him to see her as more than just a concubine, to recognize the strength and independence that lay beneath her alluring facade.

Vyra finally broke the intense eye contact, her gaze drifting away, her expression unreadable. She braced herself, anticipating the sharp retort, the swift punishment that she expected to follow her defiant words. She had challenged his authority and she knew that such boldness rarely went unpunished in the royal court. She waited, her breath held captive in her chest, for the inevitable storm to break, for the words that would cut her down, remind her of her place. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension, as she waited for the consequences of her audacity.

°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°
-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-
┊
☪ . ˚
˚✩​

 

[Flex]

Vyra. He could get lost in her so fast. Such exotic beauty, she moved and responded with perfection. The arms around his neck, the hand in his hair, all of it caused his kisses to grow more hungry; filled with more desire the longer he continued.

The small laugh from her that was followed by the sudden tug at his hair, pulling his head back made his breath catch. It could have been anger he responded with had she not pressed her breasts against him, softening that flash of anger that threatened to coarse through him.

"Lies…"

The little touch of defiance was easily masked with her lips. “Mmm..” he hummed, relishing in a concubine that took actions in her own hands. So soon after arriving, he hadn’t expected her act on her own. It was welcomed.

"I know this game…—You'll have your eyes on this gem,"

Seduction mixed with defiance. She continued on to tell him how she knew he’d eventually abandon her for the next beautiful woman. Of course he was guilty of such things. Even now concubines sat in their chambers who hadn’t been in his company in years. Previously they frequented his chambers almost nightly. A king with everything, who could have anything, had desires that were fleeting.

Pulling away just a bit, her hand trailed down. Silencing any immediate response. His abs tensed, her hand didn’t stop there, teasing near his waistband. Keeping his focus locked with her gaze, he wondered just how bold she’d be. To defy him, yet keep him dangling on the cusp of pleasure, it was a perfect balance to keep her safe from his wrath. A break of the rules that kept his mind clouded just enough to not punish her.

Inside his waistband her soft hand sent heat rushing down just beneath it. Just as soon as it had happened she withdrew her hand.

"I don't think you'll be fond of me… Your Majesty…and I'm being honest about that"

It was hard to agree, especially after what she’d just done. Though she added to her words saying she wouldn’t give him her heart, at least not in a force fashion. That was enough to make his anger rise. Still in front of him, so close, she looked away finally after holding his gaze in so daring a manner.

Since when had anyone challenged him? Those who had, no longer lived. Men, women, kingdoms: all had been crushed for daring to do what she’d just done. Bring a hand up to her chin, he tilted her head back to look at him, his gaze on hers intense.

“Don’t speak so boldly to your king and then look away.” A deep breath followed as his eyes shifted their focus between hers while he spoke, still holding her chin. “I will have your heart, Vyra.” Jaw tensing, it was clear her little bold statements had angered him. Though all things considered, he was showing restraint by not striking her out right.

“But..” his thumb traced over her bottom plump lip slowly before withdrawing his hand. “..I will allow you to give it when you are ready.” Looking past her, down at the city, his jaw tensed again, he wasn’t happy with obliging a woman’s rebellion against his right as a king. Yet he was a man, and her beauty and touches had done enough to spare her his wrath. Looking at her one last time he stepped away, no longer interested in a woman’s company lest he be angered further.

“You may leave, Prince Darius will be summoned to take you back to the concubine quarters,” without looking at her Damien waved his hand dismissing her. “Wait for him outside the doors.” How he wanted to simply take her, show her he could have whatever he wished and there was nothing she could do about it. But, he felt challenged. Like making her submit, perhaps even fall, was something to be accomplished. Just not now, not when she’d contested him, right to his face.

 

[Kiie]

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Her heart leaped as his hand cupped her chin, drawing her gaze back to his. A flicker of her notorious defiance sparked in her eyes, a mocking smile threatening to surface, but she suppressed it, knowing that such a display of insolence would only invite further wrath. She had witnessed this kind of anger before, the cold, controlled fury of those in power, and it held no novelty for someone of her lowly station. Her brows furrowed slightly as she stared into his eyes, searching for a hint of his true intentions. His declaration that he would have her heart only fueled her rebellious spirit, reminding her of the precariousness of her position, the thin thread upon which her fate hung.

A subtle softening touched her eyes as he gently traced the curve of her bottom lip, parting it with a feather-light touch. The warmth of his fingers lingered for a fleeting moment before he withdrew, creating a distance that felt strangely cold. She watched as he dismissed her, his words a silent command to leave. Without hesitation, she turned and strode towards the grand doors, pushing them open before the guards outside completed the task. The rush of cool, fresh air against her face was a welcome relief, a stark contrast to the stifling tension of the chamber. She shook her head slightly, clearing the lingering haze of emotions, and walked away, disregarding the protocol of waiting for his escort. She would either explore the palace on her own terms, or they would inevitably cross paths again.

Her chest rose and fell with each deep breath, the uninhibited rhythm a stark contrast to her earlier composure. Her senses, her resolve, returned to her, the intoxicating spell of his presence broken. A wave of longing washed over her, a desperate yearning for the familiar comfort of home. The palace, with its opulent grandeur and intricate power dynamics, felt alien and suffocating. The constant competition with the other concubines, the unspoken threat of being discarded when her beauty faded, the unfamiliar environment – it all became too much to bear. The carefully constructed facade of strength and composure crumbled, and tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. She was still a woman, with a heart that yearned for genuine connection, for appreciation beyond her physical appearance. She longed for the fairy tale of enduring love, the promise of a life shared with a partner who valued her for who she was, not just what she could offer. But the reality of her situation, the feeling of being merely a vessel of pleasure, made those innocent wishes seem impossibly distant.

As she rounded a corner, she collided with someone, stumbling slightly, her balance momentarily compromised. She quickly regained her footing, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"M-My deepest apologies" she stammered, her voice thick with unshed tears. She hastily wiped the moisture from her cheeks, attempting to regain her composure, hoping that the encounter would be brief and uneventful, not realizing that it was the Prince Darius.
°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°
-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-
┊
☪ . ˚
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[Flex]

Darius was in no rush whatsoever. Summoned again to escort this new concubine, Vyra. No doubt his brother’s subtle way of showing off what he had. Damien didn’t like that the woman the whole court was staring at got so close to him. This was just his way of letting Darius probably see, in the end the king always got what he wanted. Some post mess of whatever he’d made of Vyra in their time alone.

Rounding a corner, he was caught off guard to find that very Vyra right in his face. Not paying attention she walked right into him, and he reached an arm out, grabbing hers to steady her when she stumbled.

"M-My deepest apologies"

Darius face immediately turned to concern with her current state. Voice wavering, tears staining her cheeks. What had happened? What did Damien do to her? This wouldn’t be the first time Damien had been far to rough with some concubine. Sometimes making a statement with his intimate actions with them. Normally only if they’d done something wrong, or came from a kingdom that defied him.

“What happened,” he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer so he quickly asked another question before she could answer. “Are you okay?”

He shouldn’t be concerned. This wasn’t his place, nor was it his problem. That dance had left far too much of an impression on him. Perhaps the way he coveted all the things his brother had that could be his, had he not been born second. Added to him he could handle all those things better, including this woman.

“Come on, you can’t go back to the other concubines like this,” Darius said, placing a hand less suggestively than before, higher on her back to lead her through the halls. Somewhere where she wouldn’t be in the open for all to see.

 

[Kiie]

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°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°

Vyra slowly raised her gaze, her eyes meeting the familiar, concerned face of the prince. Her cheeks and nose were flushed a delicate crimson, a stark contrast to her pale skin, and her eyes shimmered with a glossy sheen, reflecting the ambient light like polished gems.

"Are you okay?"

His simple question, imbued with genuine concern, acted as a catalyst, releasing the torrent of emotions she had been struggling to contain. Tears, like a sudden downpour, streamed down her cheeks, glistening pearls and diamonds in the soft light. She had managed to regain a semblance of composure, her facial expression relaxed, but the emotional turmoil within her chest remained a tempest, a wild storm she couldn't immediately subdue.

Silently, she allowed him to lead her away, the warmth of his hand a comforting anchor in the chilling air. Her dancer's attire, designed to accentuate her allure, left much of her skin exposed, making her feel vulnerable and chilled.

"I don't feel like I want to be seen by anyone" she confessed, her voice raw with emotion, her vulnerability laid bare. She took a deep, shuddering breath, attempting to stem the flow of tears, each drop tracing a path across her bare skin, disappearing between her breasts.

"I… I just miss my home, Your Highness… I miss Aethelgard" she whispered, her voice thick with longing, her gaze fixed on a distant point, lost in the memories of her homeland. The name of her home, Aethelgard, was a soft, plaintive sound on her lips, a whispered prayer for a return to a place of comfort and belonging. She missed the smell of nature and herbs around her while the moonlight would softly casting its light down to Vyra.


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[Flex]

Asking only seemed to release the mental dam that was holding back her emotions. Tears poured, but she was trying to remain strong as he guided her, deciding on where to take her. His own chambers seemed to be the only place where she’d have any privacy.

"I don't feel like I want to be seen by anyone"

Darius hand subtly rubbed her back trying to soothe her somewhat. Anger welled up inside him though it didn’t show on his face. Seeing such a beautiful woman, and him not knowing exactly what happened, all the blame in his mind was being placed on Damien.

“I… I just miss my home, Your Highness… I miss Aethelgard”

“Of course. I can’t pretend to imagine what it’s like to be torn from my home,” Darius said, his voice calm as they came to the large rounded doors leading to his chambers.

Damien’s chambers was lavishly furnished, with a beautiful view of the land where the city didn’t extend from its large windows. “Perhaps the next time I visit Aethelgard my brother can be convinced to allow you and the other girls to come as well.” Was that a possibility? Very unlikely. Especially if he asked. Damien was prone to dent his brother any request, just to remind him of his control.

“It is a curse sometimes to excel at something, yet receive nothing that is good for it.” Darius almost seemed to be speaking to himself as he walked deeper into his chambers to a dresser. The words held such a deep meaning for himself. There was so much he’d accomplished as a prince, yet there was nothing he had which he was not born with. The fruits of all his labor went to Damien, the woman now in his chambers proof of that.

From the dresser he pulled out a robe of soft white fur. “Here,” Damien said softly bringing it to Vyra, opening it to help her put it on. “It will raise questions if you leave with it, but for now it will keep you warm.”

 

[Kiie]

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-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-
°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°​

Vyra lifted her gaze, taking in the spaciousness of the prince's chamber, the light streaming through the windows, illuminating the room with a comforting, inviting glow. The view from his window, though beautiful, differed significantly from the panoramic vista she had witnessed in the king's private study.

"Perhaps the next time I visit Aethelgard my brother can be convinced to allow you and the other girls to come as well" he offered, his words sparking a flicker of hope within her. She wondered when that day would come, but the mere possibility was enough to lift her spirits, a welcome distraction from the weight of her emotions. She listened attentively as he spoke further, his honesty regarding the situation striking a chord within her while she also felt it also felt close to his own.

Vyra turned, allowing a soft, white fur to envelop her body, its luxurious texture a comforting contrast to her bare skin. She brought the fur close to her face, inhaling its subtle scent.

"It gives me a comforting warmth… I can even smell you" she chuckled softly, her words laced with a playful, flirtatious tone. She then approached the window, opening it wide to allow the gentle breeze to enter, stirring her hair and reminding her of the nights she had spent immersed in nature, connecting with the spiritual essence of her surroundings.

Vyra was not one to readily display her vulnerability. She mentally chastised herself for allowing her emotions to spill forth so freely in the prince's presence. With a deep sigh, she turned her attention back to him.

"My prince… Darius…" she began, stepping closer, allowing the fur to press against him, a soft barrier between their skin.

"I have angered the king… I challenged him by saying that I won't give him my heart… Tell me, my prince…" She lowered her head, resting her forehead against his chest, her voice a soft murmur.

"Will there be a day… I am considered a woman with a heart? Not just an object for entertainment?" Her questions were laden with unspoken anxieties, a desperate plea for understanding and acceptance. She waited, her breath held captive in her chest, for his response, eager to discern the true nature of his character through the way he would frame his answer. She wanted to see if he was different from his brother.

°.✩┈┈∘*┈┈*∘┈┈✩.°
-ˋˏ ༻♡༺ ˎˊ-
┊
☪ . ˚
˚✩​

 

[Flex]

Something inside told him he should be more careful with her. Watching her bring the fur up by her face, her flirtatious way about it as she stepped closer, it all made him want her more than he should. Like she stroked every chord of feminine attention that he wanted. It kept him from moving when she leaned her head against his chest. Quite the opposite he put an arm around her upper back, keeping her there.
Defying his brother was what had caused this? Somewhere deep down he was pleased to hear that. Knowing she hadn’t given herself to him already, or that he’d taken it from her helped ease his worries.
"Will there be a day… I am considered a woman with a heart? Not just an object for entertainment?"

Darius brought his other arm up around her. It felt so natural to be affectionate with her, she made it so easy. Surely she had to know they absolutely could not be seen like this, even though it was quite harmless what they were doing now.

“An object for entertainment,” he repeated her words softly, it sounded terrible. The entire court had seen her in that way, it was the purpose she’d been given to Damien. Intimate entertainment. Even worse she was just one of many for him to select from depending on his whims for the day.

“With Damien, he’ll see you for whatever he wants you to be. You did the right thing defying him, I’d just …be careful how often you do that.” It was her beauty of course. Even for him that made him care as much as he did. A privilege of her allure that made a man care more than he would for others.

“You are…entertaining, I’ll admit. But, you’re far from an object without a heart or feelings to me,” he dared, though it wasn’t his place to see her as anything at all. She belonged to his brother after all. The truth was, from the moment she’d broken the customs of the court and danced right into his personal space, he’d wanted what wasn’t his. Just as he always did. This time his desire was for this woman in his arms.

 

[Kiie]

She listened intently to the timbre of his voice, the deep rumble emanating from his chest, a sound that resonated against her hand as she placed it there.

His strong arm remained wrapped around her, a subtle yet firm embrace, as if anchoring her to his side, preventing her from being swept away.
A soft laughter escaped her lips as she processed his response. The playful sting of him echoing her own words, reminding her to tread carefully, was then softened by the subsequent comforting acknowledgment, the recognition of her having a "heart." It was a delicate balance of warning and genuine regard.

"Oh, my prince..." she murmured, her voice laced with a playful slyness. She lifted her head, her eyes heavy with the practiced allure that had become her signature, and took a deliberate step forward. Her hand, light yet firm, gently pushed against his chest, urging him to take a step back. She continued to apply subtle pressure, guiding him backwards, slowly retreating towards the plush expanse of his bed.

"I was taught a lot..." she purred, her voice a silken whisper.

"How to please a man...how to make them...happy...while remaining untouched by any man...but throughout the practice...one thing I was sure of..." She continued to guide him until the soft edge of the mattress met the back of his knees, applying pressure against one last push, just to make him lay down upon his back.

"Lust can work out without the need to have two hearts involved..." she finished, her voice dropping to a low, seductive murmur. She gazed down at him, her expression a mixture of playful challenge and undeniable allure. With a slow, deliberate movement, she began to slide the fur stole from her shoulders, pausing just before it cascaded to the floor.

"But you..." she whispered, her voice a silken thread of intrigue.

"Do you think that you are ready to lay your heart bare?" The question hung in the air, a delicate challenge, a subtle provocation. It was a question that went beyond the surface of their encounter, delving into the deeper, more vulnerable aspects of his being. She wasn't simply asking about physical intimacy; she was probing the depths of his emotional capacity, questioning his willingness to expose his true self.

She wanted to see if she was right about him, she wanted to see the hatred he has for his brother;The King. She wanted to see where his loyalty lies.

 

[Flex]

"Oh, my prince..."

This. How was he supposed to not want this. The hint of playfulness, the allure, the way she could make the atmosphere seductive at a moment’s notice. Backwards he went, slowly. A smile just barely on his lips, his eyes looking down at her knowing what she was doing, but giving in to it all the same.
Every word caressed at his desires. A woman who could make the greatest prince in all the kingdoms breath go still. She’d captured his attention, made him go silent, and sparked a need within him. Before he knew it, he was laying on his bed, looking up at her, now the one in a vulnerable position.
"Do you think that you are ready to lay your heart bare?"

The question held so much meaning. To answer it truthfully would be to cross a line of defiance. One that many knew was there, but he never openly expressed. Even his brother knew the truth, and constantly kept him suppressed. Damien made sure that Darius never rose to a position to threaten his rule, or appear anything near the status that he held.

“I want …things. Things that I can not have, but that should be mine…” it was hard to say the words for him. To admit to such things further would make it clear there was no love for his king, his brother.

“Wealth, power…I watch as someone else receives and basks in all the fruits of my labor. And now..he has you, another thing I desire, that I can’t have.” Darius propped up on a bent arm on the bed, the definition of his muscles tensing under his weight. She had a way of making a man open up to her. Or, even make them act uncharacteristically. Just as the king hadn’t punished her for her defiance.

“In a way, I’m like you. An object, a weapon, craving to be recognized as more.”

 

[Kiie]

His answer resonated in the charged silence between them, it gave her a wave of satisfaction, it gave her...control. Vyra saw it clearly: a flicker of hidden jealousy, a deep-seated frustration born from the knowledge that she was forbidden fruit, while also having everything credited down to the King. He desired her, yet the rigid constraints of his royal position, the inescapable fact that she belonged to the King, created an unbridgeable chasm between them.
A soft smile touched her lips, her eyes softening as she beheld his vulnerability. 'Perhaps', she thought, 'there was an opportunity here'. A forbidden dance, a venomous yet intoxicating game, a step outside the carefully constructed boundaries of her own comfort zone.

With a slow, deliberate movement, she lowered her body, her silken garments whispering against the plush fabric of the mattress. She moved with a languid grace, each motion calculated to heighten the tension, to draw him further into the intricate web she was weaving. Her eyes, dark and mesmerizing, never left his, holding him captive in their depths. She crawled across him, her touch feather-light, a mere whisper against his skin, yet hoping to send shivers of anticipation through his body. She pressed him further into the surface of the mattress, her weight a subtle yet undeniable presence, a gentle assertion of her dominance. She hovered above him, her form a tantalizing silhouette against the soft glow of the chamber's lighting. Her gaze, intense and probing, lingered on his features, meticulously cataloging every subtle shift in his expression, every flicker of desire that danced in his eyes. She sought to unravel the secrets hidden beneath his royal facade, to decipher the unspoken longings that stirred within his heart. The air crackled with unspoken promises, with the intoxicating anticipation of a forbidden encounter.

"I forbid your hands from touching me, Darius..." she whispered, her voice a silken command.

"...and you shall not...defy me." Her voice trailed off, leaving a lingering sense of anticipation in the air. She traced a line of feathery kisses along his jaw, down his neck, her touch light yet tantalizing. Her hands, moving with deliberate slowness, slid across his skin, exploring the contours of his chest, then the strength of his waist, just to let the rush of heat running down...below.
"I know you are no stranger to this kind of touch..." she murmured, her voice laced with a hint of playful challenge.

"...but it's my first."
She lifted her gaze, her eyes locking with his, her expression a mixture of vulnerability and playful defiance.

"And we will stop as soon as you touch me..." she said, her voice a low, seductive warning. She continued her exploration. Her touch a blend of promise and restraint. Her lips, soft and warm, traced the sculpted lines of his abdomen, each delicate press a silent declaration of her control. She moved lower, her breath ghosting across his skin, creating a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The delicate curve of her lips followed the enticing V-line that disappeared beneath his garments, each touch a subtle provocation, a tantalizing glimpse of the forbidden.

 

[Flex]

Just her lowering to the bed was sign enough boundaries were going to be further crossed. Every movement from her was a seduction of his mind. Light brown eyes raked over her feminine features: her legs, the swell of her backside to her hips, the arch in her back, the view of her breasts, and then they settled on her eyes.

Everywhere his eyes had gone, she had seen it. There was no secret now that he was utterly infatuated with her actions. Now his gaze held hers, softening, not daring to stray over her body again. For now.

His bottom lip tucked between his teeth when he felt the warmth of her body crawl over him. A deep sigh as she pushed him down, his mind already beginning to cloud into a haze of desire.

"I forbid your hands from touching me, Darius..."

The words came just as he had begun to raise a hand to pull her down to him. That hand withdrew back to rest at his side.

"...and you shall not...defy me."

A command. His body, unmoving was his consent. Laid vulnerable, relinquishing the control his station gave him. Her soft lips against his jaw were a reward for his compliance. Subtly, he tilted his head back, granting her access as her kisses trailed down. Then her hands, moving low to his waist sent a shuddering breath through him as the beginnings of his arousal took place.

"I know you are no stranger to this kind of touch..."

A slightly ashamed breath of humor passed through his lips. “I am a stranger to women like you, Vyra.” It wasn’t flattery, his tone soft, pleased, sincere. There was no woman who had taken control from him like this. Nor was there one who could make him give it so quickly like she just had.

No touching. The threat of her stopping was more than enough to help him refrain from the desire to run his hands over every lusciously delicate feature of her body.

The muscle where her lips touched tensed. Chest rising and falling as she made her way down, every kiss making him more aware of where she was headed. It was impossible for his body not to respond, regardless of the forbidden nature of this union. Heat had rushed down below his waist, fully arousing him under the restraint of his trousers.

“Vyra..”Her name was a whisper on his lips, all he could think to say as she neared the proof of his desire. Those plush lips of hers had already sent his mind to thoughts of where they would end up. An act that would solidify the ultimate defiance against his brother, the king. He’d spent his life carefully staying within the confines of his station despite his resentment of Damien. Now this seductive woman of unmatched beauty was taking him into waters that would lead to the beginning of secretly betraying his brothers authority.

 

[Kiie]

His words were met with a low, humming sound from her throat, a noncommittal response that neither acknowledged nor dismissed his words.

She paused just below his navel, her breath warm against his skin, a whisper of heat. Then, with a fluid motion, she lifted herself, her hands finding his thighs, her touch firm and possessive.
Her eyes gleamed, a predatory glint that betrayed her inner excitement. She relished the sight of the Prince beneath her, vulnerable and exposed. There's always a first time for everything, she thought, it was not his but hers, a thrill coursing through her veins. And who cares when I, the dancer, the King's concubine, get to control the Prince first?

The king.....perhaps, later.

But a conflicting emotion, a sharp pang of guilt, pulsed through her chest. She was acutely aware of her actions, of the potential consequences of using him as a pawn in her own game. Nobody likes being used…and he would get into serious trouble if anyone finds out.

'No...you'll get into trouble instead..'

'Vyra, they only care about your body… once they get what they want… they’ll dispose you…' The harsh reality echoed in her mind, a reminder of her precarious position once again. She brushed aside the flicker of hesitation, masking her turmoil with a calculated air of confidence.

With a swift, decisive movement, she unbuttoned his trousers, her fingers working with practiced ease. The fabric parted and slid down, revealing his arousal, stiff and throbbing in the cool air.

"You know what to do, Darius… All you have to do is touch me…" she murmured, her voice a low, seductive reminder of the boundaries she had set. Then, with a final, deliberate movement, she pulled down the fabric, exposing him fully.
A moment of hesitation flickered across her face, quickly masked by a surge of excitement. She wrapped her hand around the thick shaft, marveling at its heat and strength.

She observed its size, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, before lowering her head, her gaze flicking back to his face. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she opened her mouth, the warmth of her breath enveloping the sensitive tip.
Her movements were initially hesitant, a subtle indication of her inexperience, but she quickly masked her uncertainty with a display of practiced skill. Her tongue, a delicate instrument, traced circles around the sensitive head. She closed her eyes, allowing her hair to fall around her face, a silken curtain that concealed her reddening cheeks.

Pride warred with a burgeoning sense of embarrassment, a conflict between the seductive persona she projected and the innocent virgin beneath.
She pushed deeper, her head bobbing rhythmically, her saliva glistening on his skin. The rhythm became more confident, more assured, a display to her innate sensuality.

 

[Flex]

"You know what to do, Darius… All you have to do is touch me…"

The reminder only amplified just how much he had given in to her. A reminder that he could do the right thing and stop her, yet he wasn’t doing it. Almost as if the blame for this was on him. He could have not brought her to his room, stopped her from getting in bed with him, and now he could stop her from this.

He wouldn’t.

Trousers down, he felt his aroused member freed from the fabric that had held it down. Air sucked through his teeth when he felt her hand wrap around him, a little throb beginning from the sudden pleasurable contact.

His lips parted in anticipation, gaze locked with hers as she lowered. This wasn’t supposed to happen, a forbidden act in the privacy of his room. It seemed to only fuel the heat building between his shaft and her hand as it was allowed to continue. The warmth from her breath, her lips on just the tip, it made him smile through the pleasure seeing her hesitation. A sign she wasn’t a woman who’d done this before. Yet, it was in her nature to quickly make it feel as if she had.

Chills ran through him as her tongue circled him. His thighs tensed as he fought the desire to raise his hips and push more of himself through her soft lips. Not that he needed to, she soon sank down more, then came up, only for her lips to glide back down.

Each direction of her lips would illicit either a heavy breath, or a soft moan. The sound mingling with subtle wet noises between her lips and his arousal. An arousal that was beginning to swell overtime. A sign that her first encounter of this nature was brining pleasure even to a prince who had indeed experienced this before.

“Don’t stop…please,” he murmured. Asking. An acknowledgment that she was in control, and his only power was to the end this. Either through touching her, or through his release. A release that was nearing.

 

[Kiie]

His plea washed over her, igniting a wave of satisfaction within her. 'A good prince deserves a good reward', she thought, a mischievous glint in her eyes. He had asked so nicely, and she was more than willing to grant him his pleasure. It was her little souvenir, a lingering memory she hoped would etch itself into his mind.

His shaft filled her mouth, stretching her to her limits, barely leaving any room for air. The tip brushed against the back of her throat, yet she hadn't even taken his full length. As she enveloped him, she inhaled his scent, a heady mix of musk and raw aroma that spoke of his virility and power. A subtle hint of sandalwood and something distinctly masculine, a natural pheromone blend, filled her senses. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her skin, the heat of the moment washing over her like a warm wave. She pulled her head away, her gaze lingering on the slick length of his member, and ran her wet, hot tongue along the slit, savoring the taste of his pre-come, before taking him back into her mouth.

'He is… huge' she thought, marveling at the size and fullness of his engorged member. The rushing blood pulsed within him, keeping him rock-hard. Drool spilled from her lips, tracing a glistening path down his length, as she slowly pushed him deeper, past her uvula. A momentary gag reflex seized her, her fingers digging into his thighs, but she quickly regained control. She pushed him all the way in, feeling the tip brush against the depths of her throat, a sensation that bordered on suffocation, yet surprisingly, prevented her from choking. She paused, allowing her body to adjust, before slowly pulling her head back, regaining her momentum. She didn't even notice the tears that came from her gagging, staining her cheeks.

Wasting no time, she resumed her rhythmic ministrations, her head bobbing with a practiced fluidity, her movements both sensual and urgent. An idea sparked in her mind, and she moved one hand to cup his balls, gently cradling their weight, feeling the smooth, taut skin beneath her fingertips. She gently squeezed and stroked them, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him, a guttural groan that vibrated through her. She noted the actions that elicited the most intense responses – a hitch in his breath, a twitch of his cock – and filed them away for future use, knowing that these subtle nuances would allow her to control the rhythm and intensity of his pleasure.

She pulled his length from her mouth, her hand wrapping around him, stroking him with a firm, steady rhythm, her fingers gliding along the silken skin, while her mouth focused on the sensitive head, sucking and lapping at the engorged tip. It was a moment of respite for her, a chance to catch her breath and savor the taste of his arousal, before she plunged him back into her throat, taking him deep, eager to let his member feel the warmth of her throat.

She noticed the subtle shift in his body, the tensing of his muscles, the trembling that ran through him. She recognized the signs: he was close to climaxing.