Royal Affair Ch. 02 (Patreon)

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! Here's chapter 2! Considering just writing chapter 3 right now, since the parts I wanted to add to this chapter would have dragged a bit. Enjoy!

Lyanna sat languidly on a cushioned chaise in her private leisure chamber, the late afternoon sun bathing the room in a warm, honey-gold glow. She wore one of Verdantia’s customary lounging robes. It was a soft, pale ivory, airy silk, split high along the sides and loose around her shoulders. The thin fabric clung lazily to her curves, revealing far more than it hid. Her long legs were bare, stretched out along the chaise, her delicate feet adorned with intricate anklets and toe rings resting atop the embroidered pillows. Anywhere else, this choice of attire would be considered distasteful, depraved even. But here in her homeland of Verdantia, it was the norm. 

A bowl of fresh dark grapes from the countryside sat on a low table beside her. She plucked one lazily, rolling it between her slender, ringed fingers before slipping it past her lips. She chewed slowly as her thoughts roamed. 

She still couldn’t quite believe it. 

Her violet eyes stared blankly at the open arch that peered directly into the palace gardens. The chamber was quiet aside from the occasional chirps of birds and the faint chatter of servants passing by below. She crossed her legs, thoughtfully bouncing her foot in the air as she brooded.

By the gods… what have I done?

She swallowed the grape and exhaled sharply through her nose, sinking deeper into the plush cushions. Her head tipped back, and she rested her arm over her eyes, kicking herself for what she had allowed to happen just days ago. A queen—a descendant of dragonlords, monarch of the great nation of Verdantia, a symbol of grace and wisdom—had allowed a visiting duke, a shameless, indulgent lecher, to lay his hands on her. To kiss her neck, part her thighs, and fuck her like she was just some tavern wench. 

Lyanna’s fingers anxiously twitched against her knee, her mind swirling with a storm of conflicting feelings. She plucked another grape, almost squishing it with her unknowingly tight grip, before she caught herself. She brushed a loose strand of her silver-white hair from her forehead, a shaky breath leaving her. 

She had let him.

Not out of duty, or out of diplomacy. 

She had wanted it. 

Her legs subtly squeezed together, and her cheeks flushed at the thought of how that fateful evening played out. There were so many opportunities she could have easily shut him down. But she kept letting him in, allowing him to creep inch by inch until it was already too late. She was a married woman, for god’s sake. Then again, her husband, as ideal as he appeared, didn’t give her the thrill and desire she secretly had been craving. 

I let that horny bastard have his way with me.

She closed her eyes, absentmindedly popping another grape into her mouth and chewing while she crossed her legs again. As depraved and scandalous as it was—

She enjoyed it.

Lyanna brought her fingertips to her lush lips, touching them lightly as if trying to remember what Oberon’s mouth felt like against hers. She could still taste the remnants of wine on his tongue. Her other hand drifted lower, unconsciously sliding down her exposed thigh, tracing where his firm, pudgy fingers had held her, squeezed her, worshipped her like the queen she was.

She knew better than to dwell on this. She shouldn’t be craving this memory. For her own sake, she should bury this forever. It was a simple stolen night. Moods were high; perhaps she had one too many drinks. It happened, and the best thing to do was move on, forget about it. 

Yet she bit her lower lip involuntarily, humming to herself as she fell deeper into the lewd memory. 

Gods… it was good. 

Better than good. Mind-shattering. Shamefully needed. 

She had spent time with a husband who treated passion as a chore, who touched her only to fulfill his duty, and even then, rarely, or without care. She couldn’t even remember the last time they made love. It wouldn’t surprise her that the last time they did was all the way back during their consummation night. But Oberon… vulgar, greedy, insatiable Oberon… had devoured her like a man starved.  

Lyanna pulled her robe a little tighter across her chest, a faint heat swelling low in her belly. Her legs clenched again as she felt a growing wetness between her thighs.

“I must be insane…” she whispered to herself, rubbing her temples. 

But the truth remained: she had opened herself to a man she should never have touched. And she had liked it enough to hunger for more. It was dangerous. 

Her hand drifted up from her pressed thighs to her lower belly, caressing her skin with a feathery touch. 

Oddly enough, she didn’t fear the future from the path she chose. If anyone were to find out about her scandalous coupling, it would mean the end of her. Well, sort of. She was the matriarch of Verdantia—so she wouldn’t be sentenced for adultery. The worst thing to happen would probably be upsetting Roderick’s family and his allies. But despite all that, she felt a warm, dizzy hum through her veins from the thrill of it all. 

She let her arm fall from her eyes and stared at the intricately carved marble ceiling, bare feet bruising the soft fabric beneath her. 

“Seven hells… Oberon…”

She hated how his name left her lips—Hated how her thighs pressed tighter together, hated how her stomach fluttered at the memory of his voice calling her my queen in the dark. 

She reached over and picked up a glass of water, bringing it to her lips for a sip to quench her dry throat. 

Whether she liked it or not… what happened a few nights ago was not leaving her mind anytime soon.

-

Lyanna sat at her vanity in her private chambers one early morning, a soft, cool breeze drifting through the open balcony carrying the scent of flowers from the grand palace gardens. She wore nothing but her sleeping gown. Her elegant hair was unbraided, spilling down her back in silver waves as she leaned over the mirror, inspecting her face with observant eyes. 

She winced, her fingers trembling as she lifted a folded cloth from beneath her. The fabric was stained with an unmistakable dark red. 

Her monthly blood. 

Lyanna stared at it for a few moments, her breath catching in her chest. Then, very slowly, she set the cloth aside in a basket beside her and retrieved another, placing it between her thighs with an uncomfortable wince. She rested her elbows on the table, her shoulders slumping. A mix of relief and something else… something heavier washed over her. 

“Well… that settles that,” she muttered under her breath. 

Relief was the first thing she felt. As queen, she did not need a scandalous bastard child complicating her throne. Her stomach churned as she fully realized how lucky she was. Oberon had fucked her thoroughly that night, cumming so deep inside she felt his stickiness between her thighs for days. The man was easily virile enough to impregnate her—his seed was so thick, creamy, hot, and there was plenty of it. 

Lyanna leaned back against her chair, letting out a shaky sigh. Bless the gods… The timing of it all would have been dangerously questionable. A sudden pregnancy while her husband was too busy gallivanting with his knights, chasing glory in the distant frontier. She didn’t even want to think about what a child from Oberon would look like. It would be hard to explain her child's black hair since Roderick was blonde and her entire bloodline was known for distinguishing silver-blonde hair. 

But as relieved as she was, a small, shameful pang tugged at her belly, a little hollow drop of disappointment. 

She rested a hand on her flat stomach, carefully squeezing with a low sigh.

What is wrong with me?

That night had awakened something dangerous inside her—something Oberon’s big, greedy hands and throbbing, starved cock had coaxed from its lonely slumber. A craving. A wicked curiosity. A boldness that had no place in a queen expected to be modest and temperate. 

She shouldn’t want that. She shouldn’t want him. 

And yet…

Her thighs subtly pressed tighter at the mere memory of his dominating weight over her, his husky voice, his relentless hunger. She nibbled on the corner of her lip as she couldn’t help but reimagine what he felt like inside her—that thick, toe-curling stretch of his cock buried so deep inside her royal cunt she could feel him in her stomach, fucking her so good that she walked funny the following morning. Lyanna rubbed her temples gently, trying to dispel the lustful warmth blooming low in her belly. 

“Honestly… I’ve gone mad,” she muttered. 

A soft knock at the chamber door pulled her from her thoughts. 

“Enter,” Lyanna called, straightening her posture and leaning back towards the mirror.

Her steward, Adelwin, slipped inside with his usual polite bow. “Your majesty, a parcel has arrived for you from a distant courier. No crest, but it was addressed directly to your hand.”

Lyanna turned to look at him, lifting a curious brow, her heart skipping. “A parcel? To me alone? You don’t know who it came from?”

Adelwin shook his head. “Not sure, my queen. The courier insisted it be delivered with haste.”

Not many would just send an anonymous parcel. Usually, nobles who did send her something made it known it was from them in an effort to gain favor. She tilted her head to the side, a foolish, knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Bring it here, please.”

He approached with a small, ornate wooden box wrapped in a deep green ribbon. On top sat a sealed letter, no sigil visible, just a thick parchment tied neatly with twine. 

Lyanna maintained her regal composure as she took it into her hands. Adelwin bowed and exited the chamber, closing the door gently behind him. She reached forward with a shaky breath and broke the seal. 

She opened the letter inside, her violet eyes scanning the first line— 

My Radiant Queen,

Her cheeks flushed pink immediately. 

Of course, it was him. 

She swallowed, her lips parting slightly as she continued reading. 

I trust your days find you well and… you have recovered well. 

I left something for you, a little reminder of our pleasant evening together. Should you ever think of me and wish for my company again.

Until I return to Verdantia, consider this a token of my utmost admiration and a promise of more to come. 

No signature, just a bold stroke at the bottom—an unmistakable flourish of his hand. 

Lyanna’s breath shivered. “Oberon, you foolish man…” she whispered, both exasperated and secretly thrilled. 

She set aside the letter on her vanity, her hands slightly trembling as she slipped the ribbon from the wooden box and lifted the lid. 

Inside lay a necklace—an elegant chain of goldleaf links, masterfully woven, but the centerpiece was what caught her attention: a large teardrop-shaped emerald, deep green with flakes of gold inside the stone. It was luxurious, expensive, and evident that it was crafted by one of Sylvanport’s famed jewelers. 

Far too intimate a gift for a married woman. Let alone a queen not his own. 

Lyanna held it delicately, the gem catching the morning light as she held it up, casting green rays across her pale skin. Her chest tightened. Not with guilt, but… something else. Something she didn’t dare name.

He remembers her fondness for emeralds she loosely mentioned during their wine-filled conversation. Perhaps he was more than a simple lecher. 

She crossed her legs, her violet eyes wide with amusement as she turned the necklace in her hand.

A dangerous man. A shameless man. A man she should avoid.

And yet, the warmth swelling in her belly told her she wouldn’t. 

With a steady inhale, she fastened the necklace around her bare neck, letting the emerald settle between her collarbones. She leaned forward, getting a closer look at the mirror. It felt heavy. Indulgent. Possessive.

Her fingers brushed the stone as she crossed her legs and steadily bounced her foot. 

“Troublesome man…” she murmured, though her smile betrayed her. 

She set the box down and leaned back in her chair. Her husband just embarked on a campaign, too occupied with glory-seeking to even think about her. She pursed her lips, disappointed. It was almost pathetic that an out-of-shape, salacious noble was outshining a man of Roderick’s stature. 

Lyanna closed her eyes and let the truth settle like warm wine through her veins.

She wanted to see Oberon again. She wanted to feel desired, lusted after, and fucked as she deserved. 

And the part of her that had hoped Oberon’s seed had taken root… That part was not as quiet as she wished.

-

Lyanna wore the necklace every day after that. It rested warm against her skin like a second heartbeat, reminding her that someone, somewhere out there in the known world, still wanted her badly enough to risk everything. 

Roderick had been gone for three weeks. The palace felt as empty as it usually did. Banquets dragged, councils droned, and at night, the royal bed was an ocean of cold silk she warmed alone. She tried once, just once, to touch herself while thinking of her husband's strong hands, his golden hair, the way he used to smile at her when they first met. Try as she may, she simply couldn’t get into the mood, no matter how much she stroked or curled her fingers into her needy cunt. Her body stayed stubbornly cool. The moment she let Oberon slip into the fantasy, she melted into a heated daze. His rough laugh, the scrape of his stubble, the way he’d spread her thighs and ate her out like she was the best thing he’d ever tasted. She kept replaying that steamy night in her head again and again until she came so hard her vision whited out. 

That was the night she stopped pretending. Lyanna wanted, no… needed that feeling to be chased, lusted after like the stunning woman she was. Roderick was the least of her concerns. He was probably fucking every tavern wench on the road to the frontier. So why couldn’t she indulge a little herself?

She summoned her steward the next morning. 

“Prepare the royal barge,” she said, voice calm and commanding. “I want to visit Sylvanport to personally inspect the new grain stores and discuss an extension of the trade charter.”

Adelwin blinked twice and bowed dutifully. “At once, Your majesty. Shall His Majesty King Roderick be informed?”

Lyanna narrowed her eyes for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek before promptly shaking her head. “He’s halfway across the continent, knee-deep in mud,” she answered, absent-mindedly squeezing the emerald in her hand. “Let the man fight his war. I will fight mine.”

Ten days later, the royal barge sailed into Sylvanport’s inner harbor under the orange evening sky. Gulls flew above the pier. Merchants, dockmasters, and curious townsfolk clustered, all watching in awe of the Queen of Verdantia’s regal ship pulling into the dock. 

Lyanna stepped onto the gangway first. 

She wore her traveling gown of deep emerald silk that shimmered like wet seaweed, cut in the customary Verdantian style: A narrow gold-embroidered band that wrapped around her breasts and rose to a high collar, leaving her arms, shoulders, and most of her back bare. The skirt was only two long panels, slit to the hip on both sides, so every step in her royal sandals with laces that wrapped around her calves flashed her perfect, long legs. A sheer half-cape of the same emerald silk floated from her shoulders, pinned at the collarbones with tiny golden dragons. Her elegant silver braid hung over one shoulder, threaded with gold, and Oberon’s necklace rested open around her exposed neck. 

She looked every inch the untouchable dragon-queen, and she knew it. 

At the foot of the gangway, Oberon waited alone at the bottom of the plank with a discreet pair of honor guards lingering by, looking respectable in severe black and gold, hands clasped behind his wide frame like a perfect courtier. Only the faint flush creeping on his plump cheeks and the way his eyes devoured her from crown to ankle gave him away. 

He dropped to one knee on the salt-stained wood as she stepped before him. He took her delicate, ringed hand and covered it with exquisite formality. 

“Your Most Radiant Majesty,” Oberon said, loud enough for the nearest deckhands to hear. “Sylvanport kneels in gratitude for your presence.”

Then his lips brushed the top of her hand in a formal gesture. The kiss was slow, deliberate, lingering far past the bounds of courtesy. The scratch of his dark, twirling mustache and the sneaky flick of his tongue against her smooth skin shot a pulse straight between her legs. She helplessly clenched her loins as a rush of slick heat seeped through. She prayed the sound of the wind hid the way her breath stuttered. 

She let her thumb stroke once across his knuckle before withdrawing her hand. 

“Rise, Duke Oberon,” Lyanna answered, her voice perfectly steady as a serene smile curled at her lips. “We have much to discuss.”

The stout noble lumbered up to his feet with a groan and offered his arm. She accepted, sliding her fingers lightly in the crook of his elbow. Behind them, her twelve onyx-armored Verdantian guards fell into step at a discreet distance, boots and metal plating ringing through the harbor air. 

They walked the length of the pier at an unhurried pace, close enough that her hip brushed his side with every step. 

“How was the journey, Your Majesty?” Oberon asked, with polite concern. “The sea treated you gently, I hope?”

Lyanna tilted her head, letting a loose strand of silver hair tease across his sleeve. “Gently enough. The gods blessed us with calm waters during the days. Though the nights were… restless.”

He rested his free hand on hers, his pudgy fingers squeezing hers. “Hm, that’s quite a shame, my queen. But you made it in one piece. That’s all that matters, yes?” he murmured, still smiling for the benefit of onlookers. Lyanna just hummed with a curt, tired nod. “Shall I cure your restlessness? I’ve had the east wing emptied, and the kitchens are preparing a small supper. Nothing grand. Just the two of us on the seawater terrace.”

“Oh? Just the two of us?” she echoed, arching her brow.

He turned his head, his eyes meeting hers—dark, amused, promising. “Servants will bring the courses and vanish. I thought you might prefer… privacy while we review the new grain tariffs.”

The word privacy stroked down her spine like a wet, salacious tongue. She felt her nipples stiffen against the silk lining her gown, and her pussy wetting between her inner thighs.

“How thoughtful,” Lyanna said softly with a light chuckle. “I find I am suddenly… ravenous.”

Oberon’s smirk was small, subtle, and deviously knowing. He traced his fingers along the inside of her forearm, dragging his tongue across his lips in that dirty, starved way that meant no good. “Then we must feed you properly, Your Majesty. Course by course… slowly… until you’re entirely satisfied.”

Heat pooled low in her belly, thick and urgent. She turned her gaze forward, chin high, though she couldn’t help but eagerly nibble on the corner of her lip. “Mm, that sounds lovely, my lord,” she said, her voice steady despite the ache throbbing between her legs.

Behind them, the gulls screamed over the water. Ahead, the white walls of Sylvanport’s palace rose, windows already glowing gold with early lamplight.

Supper, Lyanna suspected, would be the least of what got devoured tonight.

-

As they approached the gates, Lyanna turned her head slightly toward her entourage. “Ser Torren,” she called to her guard captain, her voice carrying that regal edge that made everyone stand to attention. “You and the others will remain in the outer halls. Duke Oberon will see to my safety this evening.”

Ser Torren hesitated, his brow furrowing under his dragon-crested helm as he glanced between his queen and the portly duke. The other stewards exchanged uneasy looks, whispering of protocol on foreign soil. But no one dared to question her outright. “As you command, Your Majesty,” Torren finally said, bowing stiffly. They peeled away like shadows, the guards marching off one way while the stewards were led to their quarters, leaving her alone with Oberon in the fading light. 

The marble seaward terrace overlooked the harbor where the waves crashed in gentle whispers. A low table had been set with flickering lanterns, silver platters of roasted quail in spiced honey, fresh oysters with sliced lemon, and loaves of warm bread sprinkled with sea salt. The finest wine in the color of blood rubies had been procured from the premier vineyards in the countryside, waiting for them in crystal goblets. No chairs, only plush cushions scattered around the table in the Verdantian fashion, inviting them to recline comfortably.

Lyanna settled onto one, crossing her long legs at the knee so the slit panels of her gown parted just enough to reveal the smooth curve of her thigh up to her hip. She had left her sheer half-cape with one of the servants, leaving her bare back exposed to the evening ocean breeze, the emerald at her throat catching the lantern glow. She felt Oberon’s dark eyes on her before he even sat down.

He lowered himself onto the cushions across from her with a contented, labored grunt, his black velvet embroidered tunic straining over his belly as he leaned back. A servant appeared, quietly pouring wine before vanishing into the shadows. Oberon raised his goblet, his gaze locking onto her alluring, violet eyes. “To renewed alliances,” he said, his voice low and rumbling as he grinned graciously. 

She clicked her glass against his. “To alliances,” she hummed quietly, taking a slow sip. The wine was rich, sliding down her throat like liquid fire. She set the goblet down and picked at a quail leg, tearing off a small piece with her fingers. “The harbor seems to be quite lively. Your trade routes must be thriving, I hope?”

Oberon chuckled, shamelessly slurping an oyster from the shell and swallowing it whole. Her stomach fluttered at the way he licked its salty brine from his lips with a low, indulgent grunt. “Hm, thriving indeed. The spice trade with the East can be quite… lucrative. That, combined with our charter, has proven to be a godsend for Sylvanport. And for that, I thank you.” He gazed at her crossed legs for a split second, then back up, a smirk tugging at his mustache. “And you, my queen? How is Verdantia faring without its king consort? No… complications from recent dealings, I hope?”

The air thickened, heavy with unspoken things. She felt a fresh rush of heat between her thighs, her body still remembering his weight, his big, greedy hands on her. She slowly uncrossed and recrossed her legs, her silken clothing shifting against her serene skin. 

“Verdantia stands strong,” she replied, her voice steady but laced with an edge of breathlessness. “No complications. I’m used to managing my kingdom alone.” She paused, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. “Though I’ve found myself… distracted by certain memories.”

He leaned forward, his fingers lazily tracing the rim of his goblet. “Hm? Distracted? That sounds tiresome. Perhaps something sweet to ease the mind.” He gestured to a platter of exotic desserts: ripe figs split open and drizzled with golden honey, clusters of dark berries dusted with powdered sugar, and strange, jewel-like fruits from distant isles. 

“Try this,” Oberon said, picking up one of the velvet fruits and holding it out to her across the table. His eyes, dark with desire, gleamed in the lantern glow. “Imported from the southern Aelorian archipelagos. They say it ripens only under the fullest moon. Sweet, but with a seed that… takes root if you’re not careful.”

Lyanna met his gaze, her violet eyes narrowing with amusement and something hotter. She leaned in, parting her soft lips to take the fruit from his fingers, her tongue brushing his thumb as she bit down. Juice trickled down her chin. She wiped it away with a slow swipe of her finger, sucking clean. “Delicious, my lord,” she purred, the words rolling off her tongue like thick syrup, making his pants swell with arousal. But no seed took root after that night, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He let out a low, rumbling laugh, his free hand shifting under the table to adjust his trousers. “Ah, such a pity… Or perhaps a blessing,” Oberon said smoothly, though his tone was thick with something more. “Perhaps we’ll have to try harder next time. A radiant queen such as yourself deserves that much.”

The tension between them coiled tighter, the sea wind doing nothing to cool the heat swelling within her. She reached for a fig, dipping it in honey and letting a drop fall onto her bare collarbone, watching his eyes track it like a predator.

Oberon’s gaze drifted to the emerald resting in the hollow of her throat. “That necklace,” he said lowly, almost reverently. “Gods… woman, you wear it better than I ever dared dream.”

Lyanna’s slender fingers brushed the stone carefully. “A queen should wear what pleases her,” she answered, soft but pointed. “And it pleases me very much, thank you.”

His tongue wet his bottom lip. “It pleases me even more. Makes me want to see how it looks against your skin when there’s nothing else in the way.”

Lyanna laughed softly behind her hand. “Careful, my lord. Such bold words might make a girl think you missed her.”

Missed you?” he gave a low, filthy chuckle, his modest facade slipping. “I’ve been hard as iron every night since I left Verdantia, remembering how you sounded when you came on my tongue. Missing you doesn’t begin to cover it.”

There it was—the shameless vulgarity that made her chest tighten with excitement. Her thighs pressed together, the slick heat between them pulsed at every lewd memory. She picked up another ripe fig, split it open with her thumbs, and let the honey drip onto her fingers before bringing it to her mouth. She licked the sweetness away slowly, teasingly, her eyes never leaving his. 

“You’re staring, duke.”

“Apologies, my queen… but can you blame me?” He shifted again, the velvet over his lap now unmistakably tented. “You sit there looking like sin poured into silk, licking honey off your fingers, and expect me to behave?”

Lyanna smiled, slow and wicked. “Who said I want you to behave?”

Oberon exhaled through his nose, the sound deep and hungry. He reached across the table, caught her wrist gently, and brought her honey-slick thumb to his mouth. His tongue swirled around it, sucking gently, eyes locked on her the entire time. Lyanna raised her chin, smiling amusingly as she let him have his way, teasing for what was to come. 

When he released her, his voice dropped, gravelly and full of lust. “Come with me. Let us find somewhere truly private to… enjoy each other’s company properly.”

Lyanna’s heart hammered against her ribs. She glanced once toward the dark arches behind them, then back to him. “In your own palace? Is it safe?”

He leaned in until she could feel his hot breath against her skin. “The East Wing is empty. Every servant was dismissed until dawn. Guards posted so far down the corridor they’ll never hear a thing, even if you scream my name until your voice gives out.” He dragged his thumb across the pulse point of her wrist. “No one will disturb us, Lyanna. I swear it on my life, my title, and every drop of blood in my cock.”

A shiver raced over her skin. She searched his face for a moment, then let her lips curve into a sultry, aroused smile that promised ruin. 

“Lead the way, Oberon.”

He rose slowly and steadily, lumbering to his feet with a heavy grunt, and extended his hand to her. 

Lyanna placed her hand in his. The second their skin met, his fingers closed possessively, pulling her gently to her feet and straight into his arms. 

Then he turned and led her through the lantern-lit archway, deeper into the shadowed palace, the emerald at her throat glinting with every eager step.

-

The bedchamber was dim, lit only by a flickering lantern on the bedside table and the moonlight peering through the tall, arched windows. Clothes lay scattered across the floor leading up to the bed like a forbidden trail—Lyanna’s elegant green gown crumpled in a heap near the door, golden sandals kicked off halfway across the room, Oberon’s black velvet doublet and trousers tossed over a chair with his boots slumped beside it. On the bedside table, her rings, delicate earrings, and other intricate jewelry glittered in a careless pile except for the emerald necklace, the only piece Oberon insisted on keeping around her neck even as everything else came off. 

They were naked now, tangled in the rumpled sheets of his massive bed. Oberon lay flat on his back, his greedy, pudgy hands gripping tight on the curves of her hips, holding her steady as his mouth devoured her soaked pussy. Lyanna straddled his face, facing his feet. Her silver, graceful hair spilled in wild, loose waves down her back. She leaned forward, one hand braced on his thick thigh for balance, the other wrapped around the thick base of his throbbing cock as she sucked him deep. 

His tongue dragged through her wet folds in one long, filthy lick. 

“Fuck I missed this, Lyanna… kept yourself shaved bare just for me, didn’t you?” the lustful duke growled against her clit. “So pretty… hmmm… so smooth… you naughty queen.”

She moaned around his shaft mid-suck, the vibrations making his hips jerk. She pulled off just long enough to gasp, “Only for you, Oberon,” then swallowed him whole with one smooth glide, taking him to the hilt until her nose pressed against the soft dark hair at his groin. 

Oberon groaned, his eyes rolling back from the hot, tight squeeze of her throat around him. He slipped his tongue past her folds, eagerly exploring and tasting her honeyed cunt. “Mmmm, suck that cock while I eat your perfect little cunt,” he murmured against her as she instinctively rolled her hips deeper against his mouth. 

He spread her wider with his thumbs, pulling back to catch his breath before burying himself again. His tongue speared inside her, then flicked teasingly, before wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking until her thighs trembled. Every time she gagged softly on him, he answered with a harder lick followed by a low, filthy chuckle that rumbled against her slick skin.

“That’s it, choke on it,” Oberon rasped, his mustache scraping deliciously against her pussy lips. “Love feeling that royal throat around me while I’m drownin’ in your cunt.”

Lyanna whimpered, bobbing faster, saliva dripping down her chin and onto his heavy balls as she worked him with wet, sloppy twisting pulls. Her hips rolled helplessly against his eager mouth, chasing the pleasure she’d been aching for weeks. 

“Augh—fuck yes! Don’t you dare stop,” he warned, voice thick with lust. “Want you to—mmmm—cum all over me while I feed you every inch of this cock.”

The words snapped the pressure coiling in her core ever since they’d started going down on each other. Pleasure crashed over her like a wave; her back arched, thighs clamping around his head, a muffled scream vibrating around his cock as her pussy pulsed hard against his tongue.

“Ouuuhhhhhhh—YES—OBERON!”

Oberon groaned like a dying man, drinking her sweet nectar, his hips twitching but holding back, letting her ride the climax on his face until she collapsed forward. Lyanna gasped with ragged, steamy breaths, trembling as she lazily licked at his saliva-slathered cock while the aftershocks buzzed through her. 

He gave her clit one last slow, possessive kiss, making her involuntarily shudder, then rasped, “That’s it, love. Cum for me like the slutty queen you are. Can’t wait to bury myself in that tight pussy again.”

Lyanna eased off his face with a shaky breath, her thighs still trembling from the pleasure throbbing through her. She slid down his sweat-slicked body until she straddled his lap, still facing his feet. Her knees sank into the soft mattress on either side of his hips as the emerald necklace swayed between her breasts. She glanced back over one shoulder, biting her lower lip in that wicked little way that she would only ever dare show to her secret lover. Not even her own husband was worthy of such a sultry look. 

Oberon remained on his back, arms folded behind his balding head, with a smug, filthy grin stretched across his plump face. 

“Go on then, Your Majesty,” he drawled, voice rough with desire. “Take a seat on your throne again.”

Lyanna answered with a slow, dangerous smile, her hypnotizing violet eyes gleaming with pure lust. She reached between her legs and wrapped her delicate fingers around his thick, spit-shiny cock, and gave it a few deliberate, wet slaps against the curve of her plush ass. The sound was deliciously obscene, loud enough to echo through the quiet room, making the lecherous duke’s grin stretch even wider. 

Then she angled the fat head against her soaked entrance, pressing him past her folds, and sinking inch by inch. She paused just to feel him stretch her, the anticipation from all that fantasizing about being with Oberon once more pounding in her chest. She let her head fall back with a throat moan as she took the rest of his virile length with one smooth glide. 

“Ah… Fuck… Hah… So big…” Lyanna gasped, her voice trembling as she felt his hot manhood bury deep inside her royal pussy. 

“Arg—Fuck—!” Oberon hissed, hips jerking up involuntarily. “Still so fucking tight… Ha… ride your throne, my queen.”

She did, rolling her hips in a slow, filthy circle that dragged a groan from each of them. Her ass pressed flush against his round belly, his cock to the hilt inside her still-spasming cunt. 

Oberon moved his hands from behind his head to grab her ass, thumbs sinking into her soft flesh and spreading her open so he could watch every inch of himself disappear into her again and again. 

“Fuck, that’s it… augh… tell me, Lyanna,” he rasped, his breath strained with pleasure. “How much did you miss this cock while you were playing queen at home?”

She let out a low, broken moan, her silver hair falling forward like a curtain as her head hung between her shoulders. Her hands slid down to clutch his shins for balance, biting her nails into his hairy legs as her sweat-slicked back arched in a perfect bow. 

“S-so much,” Lyanna gasped, rocking harder against him, the wet slap of her ass against his belly filling the room. “Every night since we were last together… Ah ah… hah uh… I dreamed about it… having you inside me once again… Fuck—so deep.”

“Hehe… look at you,” he growled, dark eyes locking on the sight of his slick shaft splitting her open, her lips stretching tight around him, leaving sticky webs of her soaking arousal every time she lifted. “That pretty dragon cunt swallowing me whole. You were starving for this, weren’t you? Starving for the one cock that could actually fill you and give you what you deserve. Heh, I can assume that’s why you made the journey here. Just for this.”

She whimpered, nodding frantically as she rode him faster. “Yes… mfuck—! God, yes… only yours… I came here just for you… Ouhhhh—! Give me what I deserve, Oberon!”

He gave her ass a sharp, playful slap that made her clench around him. “That’s right. That useless husband of yours could never stretch you like this… fuck you like this… Bet he’s never made this royal pussy drip as I do. Say it.”

“Ah—! Yes! Only you,” Lyanna sobbed, grinding down to the root and making a tight, slow circle with her hips that made both their toes curl. “Only you, Oberon… fuck, I’m yours.”

The words sent a dark, triumphant growl from him. Nothing was better than listening to a woman stroke his ego, let alone a married one who happened to be a queen. He watched, focused, as his cock vanished again and again between her slick, swollen folds, her juices coating him and running down his balls, soaking the sheets with their lust. 

“That’s it, my queen,” Oberon murmured with a filthy, possessive tone. “Ride your duke’s cock like the greedy little thing you are. Show me how bad you needed it.”

She did, until her moans turned into breathless cries and her thighs shuddered, chasing the next orgasm with everything she had. 

The duke’s palm cracked across her ass again, hard enough to leave a blooming handprint. “Fuck… up, Lyanna,” he groaned huskily. 

He shoved himself onto his knees in one lumbering motion, dragging her with him while his cock remained buried deep inside her. Lyanna’s arms gave out, and she dropped face-first into the soft mattress with a muffled gasp, ass high, thighs trembling. Her necklace pooled beneath her cheek as she turned her face to the side just enough to look behind her, biting the sheet to silence her sharp moans. 

Oberon knelt behind her, planting both hands onto her hips and spreading her wide. He drew back and slammed back home in one brutal thrust that made her squeak as he drove balls deep once more. 

“Argh—so fucking perfect,” he grunted, sweat dripping from his brow onto her back. “Taking me so—fuck—deep like you were made for it.”

He set a punishing rhythm, giving her short, savage strokes that rocked her forward with each connection. His heavy balls slapped against her clit, the sound filthy and loud in the quiet room. His chest was slick with sweat that rolled down his chest and his round belly before dripping onto her skin as he railed her. 

“That’s it, scream for me, my queen,” Oberon snarled, leaning over and sliding a hand up to fist her damp, silver hair. “Scream while I ruin this royal cunt. Nhg—fuck yes! You love it, don’t you? Love me fucking you like a common whore?”

Lyanna could only respond with a long, sultry sob into the soft sheets, fists balled into tight knots, toes curled hard against the mattress as the pleasure of his cock dragging against her sensitive walls nicked every weak spot she had. She’d shudder with each time his cockhead slammed against her cervix, making her lose her mind. 

“Tell me,” he demanded, yanking her head back and snapping his hips harder. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“You,” she choked out, her voice breathy, breaking on every delicious stroke. “Only you, Oberon, ah—! You fucking own this pussy!”

He grinned triumphantly, dragging his tongue wickedly across his lips as he roared. “Cum for me, Lyanna. Augh—I can feel it. Cum, cum for me while I fill you up!”

Lyanna shattered right then. Her violet eyes rolled back as a strangled scream tore from her, “AH—! OUUUHHHHH—MFUCK!” Her whole body seized, pussy clamping down around his cock in frantic pulses as her climax crashed over her. 

Oberon drove deep one last time and held himself to the hilt. His hips jerked as he came with a guttural groan, pumping thick, hot ropes of his virile seed straight into her royal womb. He kept thrusting through it, giving slow, deliberate pumps that drove every spurt deeper, until she was overflowing and trembling beneath him. 

“Augh… Fuck… take that load, Lyanna… fuck, yes… take it…” he hissed through his teeth, tugging her head back with each last spurt he had before finally letting go of her hair. When he finally stilled, he remained buried inside her quivering cunt and collapsed over her. His sweaty chest rubbed against her slick back as he brushed the shell of her ear with his mustache. 

“Seven hells, woman…” Oberon rasped, voice wrecked and utterly satisfied. “You’re the best fuck in my entire damn life… I can’t get enough of you.”

Lyanna just whimpered softly, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with lust as her toes curled tighter, feeling every pulse of him inside her. A faint, devilish smirk curled at her lips as she felt his warmth spread within. 

Fuck… this man is going to be the end of me… 

All the doubts she had about sailing all the way to Sylvanport to get fucked by this lecherous duke were washed away by the aftershocks rolling through her and then replaced by an aching, starving need for more. 

-

Hours later, the lanterns had burned low, the sheets were a tangled, damp mess, and the air of the bedchamber was thick with the scent of sex and sweat. They’d gone another two rounds. The second time was slow and lazy at first, starting with some languid pillow talk as Lyanna slowly sucked his cock. The third was hard and desperate again, both of them succumbing to their most carnal desires as they fucked into a silly mess. 

Once finally finished, Lyanna slipped from the grand bed with shaky legs, taking a loose silk robe folded on a low table nearby, since her own gown was somewhere on the floor and she couldn’t be bothered to find it. 

She padded barefoot out to the balcony, the night breeze brushing cool against her warm, flushed skin. The city of Sylvanport sprawled below, lit by scattered lanterns along the docks and buildings, shimmering over the black ocean beyond. She sighed, carefully running her hand along her now bare neck—she thought she had taken her emerald necklace off sometime during their second round, or Oberon slipped off when she rode him widely. But to be honest, everything was too much of a steamy blur to remember. 

Damp strands of her silver hair were still plastered to her flushed cheeks and neck. Her thighs were sticky with a mix of his cum and her own leaking arousal while her whole body buzzed, pleasantly wrecked. 

She leaned her forearms over the stone balustrade, sipping from a silver cup of water. No wine tonight; her head was already spinning enough from what she’d been through. 

Oberon followed behind her a few moments later, barefoot, wearing his own lavish silk robe split wide enough at the center to expose his hairy chest. He stepped up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her close, his belly warm against her back. His dark mustache tickled the side of her neck as he pressed a slow, lazy kiss just below her ear. 

“Hmm, worth the risk, coming here?” he murmured against her skin. “Pretty damn dangerous for a lady such as yourself to be sneaking around like this.”

Lyanna tilted her head to give him better access, eyes half-closed as she watched the distant waves. “I know… but it’s more than worth it,” she replied softly, her voice still a little hoarse from the hours of screaming. “I wouldn’t have traveled all the way out here if it wasn’t.”

He rumbled a pleased hum while one hand slid down, possessively splaying over her stomach. “Good. Because I’m not done with your pretty ass yet.” His mouth moved lower, kissing along the curve where her neck met her shoulder. “How long are you staying, love?”

She took another long sip of water, saying nothing, just long enough to feel him tense. “A few more days,” she finally said after she swallowed. “Maybe three. Four at most. The council back home will start to get restless… or start asking questions.”

Oberon’s big arms tightened around her. He nipped her earlobe, then soothed it with his tongue. “Three or four?” That’s barely a taste.” His hand moved lower, tracing the edge of her robe with his fingers where it barely covered her thighs. “Stay a week. Ten days. Hell, a fortnight! Send word that trade negotiations are… complicated. Delicate. Need your full personal attention. I’m sure they’d believe it considering Sylvanport’s importance with overseas trade.”

Lyanna laughed under her breath, setting the up down on the balustrade. “Personal attention?”

“Very personal,” he said teasingly, pressing closer so she could feel he was already half-hard again against her ass. “I want you in my bed every night. Want to wake up inside you every morning. Want to fuck you on every balcony in this palace until you forget what Verdantia even looks like.”

She bit her lip, leaning back into him, the breeze teasing the open front of her robe. “You’re such a greedy man, Oberon.”

“Damn right I am.” He kissed her cheek, his voice dipping. “Stay longer, Lyanna. Let me ruin you properly. A breathtaking… beautiful… sexy… woman such as yourself deserves it.”

Lyanna closed her eyes, feeling his warmth, the sticky ache between her thighs, the pull of something reckless and perfect. 

“Convince me, duke,” she whispered. 

Oberon’s low chuckle rumbled against her skin as his hands slipped inside her robe. 

He was going to spend the rest of the night doing exactly that. 

-

The next morning, the sunlight poured through the high windows of one of the palace’s smaller council chambers. Lyanna sat at the head of the long table in a casual Verdantian, silky white gown that tastefully revealed her cleavage, hair braided loosely, face composed and regal as if she hadn’t spent half the night getting fucked silly by Oberon. She was joined by her steward, Adelwin, and three senior advisors—two from her household guard and Lady Mirene, her sharp-eyed chief counselor. They sat opposite her with parchments and ledgers spread on the table between them.

Lyanna set her cup down gently. 

“Adelwin,” she said calmly, “send word to Verdantia. Inform the council that trade negotiations have proven more intricate than anticipated. I will require additional time here. Another ten days, perhaps a fortnight.”

Adelwin’s quill paused mid-air. Lady Mirene’s brows lifted curiously. One of the guards, Ser Gavren, cleared his throat. 

“Your majesty,” Mirene said carefully, “may we ask the nature of these… intricacies? The original charter seemed straightforward.”

Lyanna folded her hands on her lap, expression serene. “Mm, negotiations of this scale are delicate matters,” she replied smoothly. “I wish to add provisions to the original agreement that would benefit both our countries. So certain concessions require personal oversight to ensure they are… properly sealed. Duke Oberon has been most accommodating.”

The advisors exchanged quick glances but said nothing. They knew better than to press their queen. 

Ser Gavren leaned forward slightly. “And Your Majesty’s safety? Remaining here with only the duke’s household—”

Lyanna met his eyes, steady and cool. “I am perfectly safe, Ser Gavren. Duke Oberon has dismissed all but essential staff from the East Wing. He prefers to conduct these discussions without outside distractions.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “As do I.”

Gavren opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off before he could. “Regarding my security… The duke has assured me that the palace is perfectly safe. He takes great care of my safekeeping and his own here. So, there is no need to have any of my guards accompany me except when we venture outside these walls.”

He hesitated, then bowed his head. “As… your command, Your Majesty. I’ll inform Ser Torren of your wishes.”

Adelwin dipped his quill. “I’ll draft a message at once.”

Lyanna inclined her head, royally poised. “See that it’s sent by the fastest ship. And inform the captain we’ll delay departure accordingly.”

The advisors rose, bowed, and filed out to carry out her orders. 

Only when the door closed behind them did Lyanna allow herself the smallest, secret smile, fingers brushing the emerald at her collar. 

Ten more days. Perhaps a fortnight. 

She could already feel Oberon’s hands on her.

The leisure room was one of Oberon’s private retreats—low-ceilinged, thick-carpeted, lit only by the crackling fire of the hearth and a few scattered lanterns. The air smelled of woodsmoke, incense, sweat, and sex.

Oberon reclined on a wide, cushioned chaise, completely naked, thick legs spread, one arm draped along the backrest, the other lazily tangled in Lyanna’s loose silver hair. He groaned low in his throat from the pleasure of her wet mouth sinking on him. 

Lyanna lay on her belly between his thighs, equally bare, her legs playfully lifted behind her and ankles crossed. She had him deep, her soft lips stretched around his veiny girth, tongue working the underside of his cock with slow, deliberate strokes. When she pulled back to breathe, a thin strand of saliva connected her mouth to his flushed, leaking head. She licked it away, swirling her tongue around, before swallowing him whole again, humming softly so the vibration buzzed straight through him. 

Oberon’s balding head fell back against the cushions, jaw slacked, and eyes half-lidded with pure bliss. 

“Fuuuuuckkkk… Gods, woman… you’re going to make me swear any oath you wish if you keep this up,” he rasped, hips twitching. “Let’s keep speaking about terms before I forget… That pretty mouth is quite… augh… distracting.”

Lyanna didn’t stop. She just glanced up at him through her lashes, violet eyes glazed with desire, and gave a slow, deep glide that buried the entirety of his length down her throat, making his breath hitch. 

“The southern trade routes,” he managed, his voice rough as he played with her hair. “Grant Sylvanport merchants sole—fuck that’s it—passage. No tolls from your customs men for five full…. argh… turns of the season.”

She pulled off with a soft, wet pop, stroking him lazily with one hand while the firelight glowed over her flushed cheeks.

“Three turns,” she countered, her voice husky as she dipped her head to swirl her tongue around his head again. “And lesser tithes… mmm… one part in twenty on spice from the eastern realms.”

Oberon groaned, fingers tightening around her hair. “Four turns. And one part in fifteen.” He guided her mouth back down, watching himself disappear between her lips. “Come on now, love… You know I’m granting you the richest grain…take that cock… yields in all the western lands. Afford me this much.”

Lyanna took him deeper, cheeks hallowing, then eased off again. “Four turns,” she conceded, breath hot against his throbbing cock, “but only if you waive all duties on Verdantian wines entering your ports. Let them flow free as the rivers.”

He laughed, low and filthy, rocking his hips into her soft hand. “Done. Seven hells, you drive a hard bargain, Lyanna.” His thumb brushed her cheek. “Now be a good queen and finish what you started. Suck your duke dry, and I’ll set my seal to any charter you place before me.”

She smiled—slow, wicked, triumphant. She took him again, swallowing him to the hilt with a soft moan that told him the negotiations were very, very far from over. 

To be continued…