Chapter 337: King Reginald’s Concubines

Chapter 336:

Kate’s eyes went wide. Fucking her here? Right next to Reginald? While wearing her crown?

Then, a slow, wicked, cat-that-got-the-cream smile spread across her own face. The sheer, scandalous audacity of it… it was thrilling. It was insane. It was perfect.

“Here?” she whispered, her voice husky, her eyes sparkling with a dark, excited light. “With… with him right there?” She nodded towards the snoring lump under the blankets on the other side of the cushion wall.

“Exactly,” Alaric confirmed, his own smile mirroring hers. “Right next to dear old Reggie. Won’t that be cozy?”

“But…” she started, a last flicker of caution, of self-preservation, returning. “What if he wakes up? Your spell… are you sure?”

“He won’t,” Alaric assured her, his voice absolute, utterly confident. “My spell is… thorough. Think of him as a breathing corpse until I say otherwise. He could have an army march through here, and he wouldn’t stir.”

“Alright,” she breathed, the thrill overriding the fear. “Alright… but… the guards? They’re right outside the door…”

“Exactly,” Alaric said again, his grin widening. “That’s the best part.”

“The best part?” she echoed, confused.

“Think about it, Kate,” he purred, leaning closer again. “Right now, they think their King is a pathetic, three-minute man. They probably heard you yelling at him earlier. They pity him. They probably disrespect him.”

“They do,” she admitted bitterly.

“But what if,” he continued, his eyes gleaming with pure mischief, “they suddenly heard… this?” He gave a slow, deep thrust inside her, making her gasp.

“What if they heard their Queen screaming in ecstasy? What if they heard the bed shaking like a leaf in a storm? What if they heard sounds that went on… and on… and on?”

Kate’s eyes widened further as she understood. “But… they’ll think…” she started, her face flushing a deep, burning crimson.

“They’ll think their King finally found his balls,” Alaric finished for her, his voice triumphant. “They’ll think he’s finally man enough to satisfy his fiery young Queen. They’ll think he’s having the night of his life. They’ll respect him again.”

He paused, letting the beautiful irony sink in. “Won’t that be fun?”

Kate stared at him for a second, the sheer, wicked genius of it hitting her. Humiliating Reginald while simultaneously restoring his reputation through her own illicit pleasure? Getting fucked senseless and playing a prank on the entire guard?

She threw her head back and laughed. It wasn’t a giggle. It was a genuine, delighted, uninhibited peel of laughter that echoed slightly even through the soundproof ward.

“Oh, you are bad,” she said, shaking her head, her eyes sparkling with admiration and excitement. “You are truly, wonderfully bad.”

“I try,” he smirked.

“Alright,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. She pushed herself up off the bed, her naked body a vision in the dim light. “Alright, you devil. Let’s give them a show they’ll be talking about for weeks.”

She scrambled off the bed, completely unashamed of her nudity now, and padded over to her massive wardrobe. She threw open the doors, revealing rows upon rows of exquisite gowns.

“Which one?” she asked, glancing back at him. “Something… regal?”

“The reddest one you have,” he commanded instantly. “Crimson. Velvet. Something that screams ’power’.”

She found it immediately. A creation of deep crimson velvet, heavy and luxurious, the bodice embroidered with intricate gold thread in the pattern of the Strathmore royal crest. It was her formal court gown.

She slipped it on over her naked, bruised, thoroughly used body. The heavy velvet felt strange and decadent against her sensitized skin. She fastened the tiny hooks up the back with practiced ease.

“And the crown,” he reminded her.

She went to her dressing table and picked up her small, daytime crown, a simple circlet of gold set with pearls. She placed it on her head, adjusting it in the mirror.

She turned back to him. She looked every inch the powerful, regal Queen of Strathmore. Except… except for her flushed face, her slightly swollen lips, the faint bruises blooming on her neck, and the wild, insatiable hunger burning in her eyes. She was a queen who had just been thoroughly, brutally, wonderfully fucked, and was ready for more.

“Ready?” Alaric asked. He hadn’t moved from the bed. He was just lying there, propped up on one elbow, his magnificent cock still hard and ready, watching her with an appreciative, possessive gaze.

“More than ready,” she purred.

She walked back to the bed, her hips swaying under the heavy velvet. She climbed onto it, hiking the heavy skirts up around her waist with a complete lack of royal dignity. She lay down right next to her snoring husband, the ridiculous wall of cushions the only thing separating the traitorous Queen from her oblivious King.

Alaric reached out mentally, his magic a whisper against the existing ward. He didn’t dispel his soundproof bubble. He just… thinned it. He made it permeable, like a sieve, allowing sound to leak out, but keeping outside sounds from leaking in.

“Showtime,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming. He moved over her, positioning himself between her legs again, and entered her with one smooth, deep thrust.

Kate threw her head back against the pillows and let out a loud, long, theatrical moan. She pitched it perfectly, a sound of pure, unrestrained ecstasy, designed to carry through the thick pavilion walls, right to the ears of the guards standing just outside.

The two guards outside the royal bedchamber nearly jumped out of their skins.

They’d been standing there for hours, bored, cold, listening to the King saw logs. Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a loud, unmistakable moan coming from inside the chamber.

“Blimey,” Sergeant Thomas whispered, his eyes wide as saucers. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” replied Corporal Davies, who’d been half-dozing.

“That!” Thomas hissed, pointing at the door.

They both went silent, straining their ears.

Thump… thump… THUMP…

A new sound started. The heavy, rhythmic thump of the royal headboard hitting the pavilion’s main support pole. It was getting faster. Louder.

“Oh gods…!” A woman’s voice screamed from inside. High-pitched. Ecstatic. Unmistakably Queen Kate. “YES! YES! Reginald! Oh, HARDER!”

The guards exchanged a look of pure, stunned disbelief. Reginald? The King? Their King? The one who usually lasted about as long as it took to boil an egg?

“Well, I’ll be,” Thomas chuckled, a slow, wide grin spreading across his face. “Looks like the old King’s finally found his… uh… vigor. Good on ’im!”

“About damn time,” Davies muttered, shaking his head in amazement. “Maybe Her Majesty won’t be in such a foul mood tomorrow. Might even get a decent breakfast for once.”

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!

“OH YES! RIGHT THERE! DON’T STOP! REGINALD, DON’T YOU DARE STOP!”

The guards chuckled again, sharing a knowing look. “Sounds like he’s really giving it to her tonight,” Thomas said with a wink. “Must’ve had some of that dwarven ale.”

Inside, Alaric and Kate were dying with laughter. They were trying to stifle it against each other’s shoulders, even as Alaric continued to pound into her, his rhythm matching Kate’s increasingly frantic, performative screams. The sheer, glorious absurdity of it all was intoxicating.

“Reginald?” Alaric panted in her ear, his voice thick with laughter and lust. “Really? Couldn’t you pick a better name?”

“Shut up,” she giggled, biting his shoulder to keep from laughing too loud. “And fuck me harder, ’Reginald’!” she screamed, loud enough for the guards to hear clearly. She dissolved into helpless giggles against his shoulder again.

This went on for another hour. It was a command performance of epic proportions. Kate screamed, moaned, begged, pleaded, and cursed her “husband’s” name in every variation of ecstasy she could imagine. She was a natural actress.

Alaric played his part, fucking her senseless, varying his rhythm, his depth, making the headboard slam against the wall, occasionally letting out a low, “manly” grunt for effect. He was enjoying the game almost as much as the sex.

Finally, just as the first, pale rays of true dawn started to paint the sky outside, Alaric felt his own climax building again. He drove into her, deep and hard, his own triumphant roar mingling with Kate’s final, shuddering, window-rattling scream of faked (mostly) ecstasy.

He collapsed beside her on the bed, pulling her close, burying his face in her hair. They lay there for a long moment, their bodies slick with sweat, their breathing ragged. The room was quiet again, except for the King’s oblivious, rhythmic snores and the faint sound of the guards outside muttering in impressed, slightly envious tones.

Alaric reached out mentally and silently restored the full soundproof ward. The show was over.

He lay there, idly playing with a lock of her long, black hair. “That,” he admitted, his voice still a little breathless, “was… fun.”

“It was,” she agreed, snuggling against his side, feeling completely sated, wonderfully, wickedly alive, and utterly, gloriously exhausted. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Oh, we will,” he promised.

Then, his mind, never truly at rest, already moving on to the next conquest, the next angle, started working again.

“Tell me something, Kate,” he asked softly, his voice casual.

“Anything,” she murmured, half-asleep against his chest.

“Your useless husband,” he began. “Does he have… other playthings? Other toys? Here at the summit?”

Kate stiffened slightly in his arms. Her sleepy contentment vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp alertness. “Concubines?” she asked, her voice suddenly cool, guarded.

“Concubines,” Alaric confirmed, his tone neutral. “Does he?”

A flicker of something – jealousy? Resentment? – crossed her face, quickly suppressed. She hesitated for a fraction of a second.

“Yes,” she finally admitted, her voice tight, clipped. “He brought five of them.”

“Five?” Alaric’s eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. “The old fool has more appetite than stamina, it seems.” He chuckled darkly. “Are they… interesting?”

Kate hesitated again. Then, a slow, cat-like, almost cruel smile spread across her face. Her earlier jealousy was replaced by a shared, conspiratorial amusement. She decided to play along. Maybe… maybe this devil could be useful in more ways than one.

“Oh, they’re interesting,” she purrs, her voice dripping with a sudden, malicious sweetness. “In their own, pathetic little ways.”

“Tell me about them,” he commanded, his interest genuinely piqued now. More pieces for his game.

“Well,” she began, settling back against him, deciding to enjoy this. “First, there’s Lila and Nyla. Twin sisters from the southern hills. Adorable little things. Young, barely twenty. Skin like fresh cream, bodies like ripe peaches. Completely innocent. Grew up in some mountain village. They think Reginald is a god. Completely devoted to him, the poor, stupid lambs.”

“Twins?” Alaric murmured appreciatively. His mind immediately started working. Twins were always… fun. “Go on.”

“Then there’s Anya,” Kate continued, her voice taking on a slightly bored tone. “She’s older, maybe forty, but she keeps herself well. Skin like milk. Used to be a dancer in the capital, before Reginald ’saved’ her. Very graceful. Very… eager to please. A bit desperate, honestly.”

“A dancer?” Alaric’s smile widened. “Flexible, I imagine.”

“Extremely,” Kate confirmed with a knowing smirk. “She can tie herself in knots. Reginald, of course, has no idea what to do with that.”

“I do,” Alaric murmured. “Who else?”

“Juliana,” Kate said, her nose wrinkling slightly in distaste. “She’s the quiet one. The ’mysterious’ one. Innocent face, big blue eyes, but a body built for sin. Huge breasts, almost as big as mine. Tiny little waist. Says maybe three words a day, but her eyes… oh, they just beg for it. She’s probably the only one Reginald can actually satisfy, because she doesn’t expect anything.”

“Interesting,” Alaric said again. “Very interesting. That’s four. Who’s the fifth?”

Kate paused. Her expression became… strange. Hard to read. A mix of contempt and something else. Pity? Maybe even a sliver of guilt?

“The fifth,” she said slowly, her voice losing its earlier amusement, becoming flat, almost toneless, “is Elaine.”

“And who is Elaine?” Alaric asked, sensing a shift in her mood.

“She was Reginald’s first wife,” Kate said quietly. “Before me. Before… well. Before everything went to hell for him.”

Alaric sat up slightly, genuinely surprised now. “Wait. You mean… Eleanor’s mother?”

“The very same,” Kate confirmed, her voice still flat. “He keeps her here. In the concubines’ quarters. Like a… a faded memory he can’t quite throw away.”

“Eleanor’s mother is one of his concubines?” Alaric repeated, needing to be sure he’d heard correctly.

“Yes,” Kate said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. “She’s still beautiful, I suppose, in a sad sort of way. Pale. Quiet. Lost in her own world most of the time. Completely devoted to him, still. Thinks the sun shines out of his backside. It’s pathetic.”

Alaric was silent for a moment, processing this new, incredibly twisted piece of information. Eleanor’s own mother… demoted to a concubine… still devoted to the man who’d replaced her… This family wasn’t just messed up; it was a train wreck.

And it gave him an idea. A truly wicked, deliciously cruel idea. A way to bind Eleanor even tighter to him. A way to completely destroy the last vestiges of the Strathmore royal family’s dignity.

He looked down at Kate, and a slow, predatory grin spread across his face, far more dangerous than any of his earlier smiles.

“Invite them,” he said softly.

Kate looked up at him, confused. “Invite them?” she asked. “Invite them where?”

“To the royal bath,” Alaric purred. “There’s an outdoor one here, isn’t there? A private one?”

“Yes,” Kate confirmed. “A small hot spring, enclosed by wards. Only Reginald and his… women… can enter.”

“Perfect,” Alaric said. “Tell them… tell them the King desires their company. All of them. Tell them he wants them to join you… for a nice, long, relaxing soak.”

His eyes gleamed, ruby chips in the dawn light.

“I think,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous promise, “it’s time I met the rest of the family.”

Kate understood immediately. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and a slow, matching smile, full of shared conspiracy and dark amusement, spread across her face.

“Consider it done,” she purred.

The King slept on, snoring his pathetic snores, completely oblivious. He had no idea that the wolf was not just in the fold, but was about to invite himself to play with all the sheep.

Alaric needed a way into the bath. Kate explained the wards – keyed to blood. Reginald’s blood, her blood, and the blood of the five concubines. Anyone else who tried to pass would be vaporized.

“Simple enough,” Alaric said. He slipped out of bed, went over to the snoring King, and, using a tiny, painless magical siphon, drew a small vial of blood from his arm. Reginald didn’t even twitch.

“Now,” Alaric said, holding up the vial. “Illusion time.” He focused, weaving a complex spell around himself. “How do I look?”

Kate gasped. He looked… exactly like Reginald. The same thinning hair, the same weak chin, the same slightly portly build. It was uncanny. Except for the eyes. The eyes were still Alaric’s – sharp, intelligent, and filled with cruel amusement.

“Perfect,” she breathed.

“Only you will see me as I am,” he explained. “To everyone else… I’m dear old Reggie. Ready for his bath.”

He quickly found Reginald’s bathing robe and put it on. It was a little tight.

Kate sent a guard – one she knew was loyal to her, not the King – with the summons. It wasn’t a request; it was a royal command. The Queen requires your presence in the royal bath immediately. The King awaits.

They slipped out of the bedchamber, leaving Reginald to his oblivious slumber. They reached the entrance to the private outdoor bath – a carved stone archway shimmering with faint magical energy.

Alaric uncorked the vial of Reginald’s blood and dripped a few drops onto the archway. The shimmering intensified for a second, then subsided, granting passage.

He stepped through, holding the flap open for Kate. Inside was a small, natural grotto. A steaming hot spring fed a small pond surrounded by smooth rocks and fragrant, flowering vines. It was completely secluded, completely private.

Alaric, still under the illusion of being Reginald, turned to Kate. Kate just smiled, untied her borrowed robe, and let it fall to the ground. She stepped into the steaming water, completely naked, her magnificent body gleaming.

They heard footsteps approaching. The concubines had arrived.

Alaric turned, adjusting the illusion, making sure “Reginald’s” face was set in its usual slightly befuddled, vaguely lustful expression.

The five concubines entered the grotto. Lila and Nyla, the twins, young and shy. Anya, the dancer, graceful and composed. Juliana, the quiet one, her eyes wide and watchful. And Elaine, Eleanor’s mother, pale and ethereal, her expression distant. They all curtsied deeply.

“Your Majesties,” they murmured in unison.

Alaric, using Reginald’s reedy voice, cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Lovely. Lovely,” he said, trying to sound like the King. He gestured towards the steaming water with a wave of his hand.

“Strip,” he commanded, his voice suddenly hard, Alaric’s own command bleeding through the illusion for just a second. “Get in here. And prepare to serve your King.”