by Ava Sinclair
To test this, I take hold of a nipple and pinch. There’s a sharp intake of breath. The sensation has her rising up on her tiptoes, but even so she’s still so very tiny next to me.
“Does my little queen seek to know what it is to be mastered?”
Her eyes hold the answer. They are glazed with passion. Her lips are parted. She wanted this when she walked in. Her pussy was wet from the thought of how her final claiming might push against the boundaries her body has been testing.
I lift her from the floor, letting her torn gown fall from her body, and take her to my bed. I sit down on the edge and throw her across my lap. She is not expecting this, and begins to struggle.
“No!” My voice rings with stern authority. She looks back, questioning, then her eyes widen as my large hand begins to roam her little bottom. I start with a rub, then begin to squeeze, each squeeze getting progressively harder. When her bottom is tender from the impressions of my fingers, I raise my hand and bring it down.
Queen Zara cries out in genuine pain, but just as quickly as the blow lands do I rub the heated patch of skin, massaging firmly but gently. I repeat the action, and from between her kicking legs I can see the effect it’s having. Her inner thighs are slick, the folds of her engorged labia a shade pinker than her spanked bottom.
She’s writhing on my lap now, crying out alternately in pain as I spank and then pleasure as I slip my finger between her thighs to stroke her throbbing clit. When I delve my finger into her slit, her hot, tight pussy clamps down so hard I feel as if the rock-hard cock jutting into her belly may erupt.
“Such a naughty little queen.” She moans as I taunt her, pushing her sweet round ass up to meet the blows of my hand. “One must not tease a Drakoryan unless she wants her bottom to be made hot as dragon fire.”
“Oh, my prince!” She pushes back against the two fingers I slide into her pussy, and I am mesmerized. Zara may be small, but she was made for fucking. She revels in it, and it’s hard to marry the image of the shy, sad woman I first saw with this shameless, hot-blooded minx.
“Take me my prince. Please!” She’s frantic with need, but I am not quite ready.
“Not yet, little queen.” I take her off my lap and position her face down on the bed. “There’s something I’d like to show you first.”
She looks back at me almost warily as I go to my wardrobe and retrieve a small box. Once back at the bed, I position it in front of her and open it. Inside are glowing stones of all shapes and sizes. I point to one that is oblong, and about twice as thick as my finger.
“Pick it up,” I say.
She smiles at me as she obeys, then looks at me in wonder. “It feels…alive. Like it’s breathing and humming at the same time.”
“Yes. These occur only in a narrow passageway in the Mystic Mountains. They are of all shapes and sizes, and the Sisterhood of the Wyrd, who have little cause for men, make good use of cockstones.”
“Cock—” Her eyes widen as the reality of what I’m saying dawns on her. “So they use these instead…”
“To great satisfaction, apparently. It is said witches are as passionate as dragons.” I take the stone from her hand and slide it through her slit. The queen gasps in pleasurable surprise. “But there are other places to put a cockstone besides a hungry pussy.” With the stone lubricated, I press it against the tight crinkle of her bottom hole, my other hand stroking the tight bud of her clit as I increase the pressure. Zara wriggles, but does not move away. I move my hand to squeeze a still-pink ass cheek just as the resisting ring of muscles gives way to the rounded head of the pulsing stone. It sides into her, stopping where it widens at the base.
The queen is wriggling and moaning as I move behind her. I pull her to all fours and sink into her slowly. I close my eyes, willing my cock to mimic the stone. Pulsing and buzzing, it presses and vibrates against the clenching inner walls.
Her shrieks of pleasure fill the room. They are music to my ears. I may have been last to take her, but I am certain I’ve given my lusty little queen the most unique experience of all her mates, although I’m sure once this story reaches them, my brothers will no doubt try to top it.
I can no longer hold back. The quivering grip of her hot little pussy milks me of my seed. I hold her hips, gushing into her, marveling at her capacity for both pleasure and pain.
I have exhausted her, however, and she soon falls asleep in my arms. I lay her gently down, unable to sleep myself. I take a cloth and gently wash her clean. I remove the stone, which I’m sure will be used again.
Finally, I am able to relax as I crawl in bed beside her. No sooner do I get to sleep than there is a pounding at the door. It is a maid bearing urgent news.
Lyla of Fra’hir is in labor.
Chapter 20
Queen Zara
The minutes I spend waiting for the maid to fetch me a gown stretch by like hours. I’m sick with worry as I dress, and hasten to the ladies’ chamber at a run, my maids trailing behind me.
I see Lyla’s concerned mates before I reach the ornately carved doorway. Lords Drorgros, Tythos, Imryth, and Zelki are pacing about the hall. King Bymir is with them. Even though the lords are worried, they still bend their knee when I approach.
“Rise,” I say immediately. “What word of your mate? Why are you not in with her?”
Lord Drorgros speaks for his brothers. “The baby is early. Lady Lyla is afraid. It was Lady Thera’s opinion that our distress would increase hers, but another female may be a comfort.”
“Of course.” I nod to them and the king and go inside.
The ladies chambers are not unlike the queen’s chambers. There is a large anteroom, with lighted tunnels leading to smaller rooms. I hear Thera’s comforting voice, and Lyla’s groan, and follow the sounds to a chamber where the Lady Lyla of Fra’hir is laboring in one of the Mountain of King’s famed pools.
“Lady Lyla!” I rush over and kneel by her side. “I fear this is my fault. The walk back from my chamber to here is long. You should have stayed with me…”
“No,” Thera says. “There is no finding fault. A baby comes when it is ready. Lyla has gotten large. This will be a big son she births.”
A spasm crosses Lyla’s face. She is naked, and the large mound of her belly tightens like a knot.
“Is the pool helping?” Thera asks.
Lady Lyla nods. “Yes.” She smiles at me. “I feel fortunate to be laboring here, in a castle with such strong pools. This one isn’t even the strongest, but is as strong as the ones at home. I feel pressure, but little pain.”
“Hush now.” Thera eases Lyla back, then looks at me before disrobing and joining the laboring mother in the pool.
“Aaaahhhh!” Lyla’s huge belly contracts again. The water around Lyla is tinged with blood, but Thera does not seem alarmed. She puts her hand between Lady Lyla’s spread legs.
“The baby is coming fast,” she announces with a reassuring smile. “I can feel the head.” Thera looks Lyla in the eyes. “This world is drawing your baby from you. Let it. Help it, when you feel the urges.”
“I feel it!” Lady Lyla leans forward, supported by the healer-turned-Drakoryan bride. I kneel by the pool, grasping her other hand. She squeezes hard, translating her effort and discomfort through her grip. I can see the small head bulging from between her legs. Her belly is so big. Her son must be large indeed. But when Thera moves to catch the emerging head, she looks surprised and concerned. The head is small, as is the body that follows. The healer pulls the infant from the water between Lyla’s legs. It is perfectly formed, ruddy, and angry. A healthy but tiny baby boy. Thera puts the baby its mother’s chest, and Lyla instantly cradles it just as another spasm of pain crosses her face then.
“She’s not finished,” Thera says. She reaches back down between Lyla’s legs, and if the Lady of Fra’hir has heard the healer, she doesn’t react. She’s too busy concentrating on a renewed effort to bear down once again. Another baby is coming. With one hand on her infant son
and another reaching to again clutch mine, she pushes hard to bring the second child into the world. Thera catches this one, too.
“Well done!” The baby has slipped out face down. “Your second son is…” She stops as she turns it over. “It’s not a son.”
“Not a son?” Lyla’s eyes meet hers. The infant has begun to wail, its tiny fists balled up beside its furious red face.
“No, Lady,” I say. “It’s a girl child!”
“A girl…” Lyla stares at the baby in disbelief, then holds out her arm. “Give her to me!” Thera lays this child on Lyla’s chest beside the first infant. Her chest and upper body are above the water, and the babies are instinctively rooting around for their mother’s nipples. Each finds one, which pleases Thera. The healer says the nursing will help Lyla deliver the afterbirth.
When that is done, maids who have been standing by come to assist in getting the babies cleaned up and swaddled while others are called to help the new mother be cleaned as well. When Lyla is tucked into bed with an infant under each arm, her lords are called in.
The looks on their faces register relief, surprise, and shock in learning they not only have two children, but that one is a daughter. I know daughters are rare in the Drakoryan Empire. They are considered natural witches, and at age three or four, have traditionally been sent to be raised by the Wyrd in the Mystic Mountain. Perhaps this is why Lady Lyla has begun to weep softly. Thera and I stand by as we listen to her tell her mates to promise not to send her daughter away.
“I was separated from my own mother once,” she says. “I would never do such a thing to my own child. Promise me that we will raise her just as we raise her brother!”
Her lords gather around her, kissing her, kissing the babies.
“You do not have to worry, love,” Lord Imryth says. “The witches have gone Inward. Much has changed, especially for women of the empire.”
“But when they return…they will want to take her! Promise me!” Despite what she has been through, Lady Lyla is fierce in her determination to extract this vow. The Lords of Fra’hir look at one another, nodding.
“We promise to do all we can,” Lord Drorgros says. “We will do what we can to keep both babies with their mother, and their fathers.”
There is no discussion as to which lord fathered these children, which bear the most resemblance to Tythos, who studies them intently, his eyes tearing up as he strokes their ruddy cheeks and examines their tiny hands. But even if one is the sire, all Drakoryan males treat the children in their household as their own, and the Lords of Fra’hir all gaze at the twins and their mother with the same love and affection.
“Come, let us leave them together,” I say to Lady Thera, who smiles as we exit.
“Yes,” she says. “They need to rest. And I believe you have something to do.”
I’d almost forgotten. The Deepening. Thera knows this marked the night I was taken by the last prince. Now is the time for the final step. I look back at the babies, and consider them a sign of new beginnings for us all.
Chapter 21
Queen Zara
“A daughter?”
When I come to King Bymir with the news, he’s momentarily stunned into silence. The last daughter born in the kingdom was to Lady Syrene. Her little one was sent to live with the witches, and has now gone Inward with the Wyrd.
“Her lords promise to keep them together,” I say. “It seems cruel that the practice has been to send the girls away.”
“It is only because female Drakoryans have the gift of sight. They are natural witches, Zara. It is our way.”
“I believe Lady Lyla will change your ways.”
“Much has changed.” The king sighs and comes to sit beside me. After the birth, I sought him out. As queen, it was my place to deliver news of what had just happened under our own roof. I don’t realize until now how confidently I am slipping into my role of power and authority. I, a former ShadowFell captive, tortured by the enemy. I, a woman used as a pawn by the dark forces. I’m a queen now, and for the first time can see a way for myself, one that includes using my own power to defeat those who have wrought such destruction.
“How long will the witches stay Inward?” I ask.
The king shakes his head. “I know not. Neither does Ezador, although the portents seem to show it is a span of time. War may return to this land before the witches do.” He pauses. “It’s likely that this daughter of Fra’hir will grow up before the Wyrd come back to the Mystic Mountain.” He turns to me. “That doesn’t mean there’s no magic in the land. Since strife has returned, we Drakoryans have seen it worked time and time again in our own households through the strength and resolve of the brides. I expect no different from you.” He puts my hand to his lap. “See how you’ve already summoned my lust?”
His bearded face beams with a mischievous smile, which I answer by sliding my hand beneath his leather skirt. “It is not every village girl that grows up to hold the royal staff, my king.”
“Indeed.” He lifts me, throwing my long skirts aside as he impales me on his cock. “It is not every skinny lord who grows up to fuck a beautiful, flame-haired queen.”
I’m getting better at this. I begin to move, sinking up and down on his hardness. I trace his handsome face with my fingers. The king turns his head to capture my thumb in his mouth. He nibbles and sucks on it, the sensation sending the first waves of climactic pleasure washing over me.
“My queen is easily pleased,” he says.
“And my king is easily spent.” I rise up suddenly and then sink down on his shaft, gripping him tightly with the walls of my pussy. King Bymir’s expression registers surprise as he loses control, and I plant my laughing mouth to his as his seed floods into me in hot spurts.
He moans throughout our kiss, his hands moving up and down my body. When our lips part, he stares down at me.
“I could have you beaten for your impudence.”
“I would bend over and bare my ass for it, but only if you fucked me afterwards.”
He throws back his head and laughs until tears of mirth are flowing from his eyes. “Oh,” he says. “What have you done with that shy, frightened virgin I brought to my bed?”
“She’s changed, your majesty. She’s a woman now, whose every thought is for her king, her princes, her kingdom.”
“Yes,” he says. “And it is time for the final step.”
Chapter 22
King Bymir
The Deepening is a vital part of the Drakoryan bond. It can be a hard-fought goal, and for our family, it has been no different. Jealousy, past hurts, and old rivalries are often obstacles to the full mating that must precede the final step of blending thoughts, feelings, and memories in an ancient ceremony that also allows bonded mates to communicate through thought.
As important as the Deepening is for all Drakoryan households, it is the most important for a queen and her mates.
“The Empire is only as strong as the bond of the family that rules.” Those were the oft-spoken words of our fallen father and king, who now leaves us to carry on his legacy of steady rule.
We gather in Ezador’s chamber for the Deepening, and I believe he is as pleased as we are. Zara, who has become so much more confident, teases the oracle that his robe is finer than her gown, and Ezador does seem to have taken the occasion to array himself with even more elegance than usual. His cobalt blue robe is embroidered with constellations sewn with enchanted threads. The star charts shift and move on the cloth, and under the robe’s hood, his beautiful face shines with a celestial glow.
The queen is wearing a violet gown trimmed with silver, the neckline dipping to reveal the swell of breasts that are fuller now. Her red hair is plaited to hang down her back. Some of the hair has been threaded through with tiny gemstones so that the braid shimmers when it catches the light.
“Are you certain she is not a fey creature?” Ezador asks with a quirk of his brow, for surely no mortal can have such beauty without the aid of some
sorcery. His tone is teasing, but his words are true. I can feel our shared pride as we gaze at our beautiful queen.
Ezador takes her hand and gently leads her to a chair in the center of the room, the backrest carved with a dragon scene. The arm rests are dragons, too.
“Only Drakoryan queens have settled in this chair,” the oracle explain as he guides her to sitting on the cushioned seat. “Like the mountain castles, it was wrought from magic, a gift to the very first queen to celebrate a Deepening with her shared mates.” When she is seated, Ezador smiles down at her. “I have known most of them, you know. They were all strong in their own way, and I mourned their passing. They are in the Summerlands now, sad to be separated from their lord husbands and sons, but happy to see a new queen become the loving mother and sister to this Empire.”
I see sadness pass over Zara’s face, and I know it pains her to think of death separating us without hope of the reunion promised to mortals. But the hurt passes to be replaced by resolve. “I long to make them proud,” she says.
“You will.” Ezador nods to me and my brothers, and we approach to place our hands on Zara. He is holding the ancient book with the spell that will begin the Deepening. His voice takes on a deep timbre as he reads the words in age-old dragon tongue.
I am the first to share my life with Zara. I feel myself swirling back in time, back and back until I gasp from the pressure of being squeezed out of my mother’s body. My lungs fill with air and I scream. I feel cold and hunger and somewhere in the recesses of my consciousness, I know that Zara experiences this, too. Through my eyes, she watches me grow up. She sees my small hands grapple for salamanders in the caves beneath the castle. She hears my father scold me as a nurse bandages the arm I’ve injured when I pretended to be a dragon and jump from a high rock. I was eight then, and father king would not let me mend it in the healing pools. He said feeling the pain would make me less likely to repeat my folly. I let her feel the agony all Drakoryans must endure, and the solitude, of the first shift. My brothers and I were so wild we had to be chained to the walls of a cavern beneath the castle, where we screamed and raged in madness. I let her feel the pain of the first shift followed by the freedom of being reborn through fire as a dragon. I let her feel the joy of flight. Through me, Zara relives the pleasures and tragedies of my life, from my first time with a woman, to the last embrace of my dying mother, to the pride in my fathers’ eyes as I proved myself as a man, to the unfathomable grief and rage when I watch him die.
