Chapter 332: A Daughter’s Betrayal

Alaric listened, his body still buried deep inside Eleanor, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. The soundscape from the nearby royal pavilion was… pathetic. The weak, rhythmic squeaking of the bed. The tired, shallow grunts. The sharp, contemptuous voice of Queen Kate. And then, the abrupt, ignominious silence, followed by the Queen’s furious tirade and the King’s pathetic snores.

It was almost too perfect. A symphony of failure and frustration, playing out just yards away while he was delivering a performance worthy of the gods right here against this tree.

He waited another minute, just to be sure. Nothing but the sawing log sound of the King sleeping the sleep of the utterly defeated, and the faint, almost inaudible rustle of Queen Kate presumably seething on her side of the cushion wall.

This was an opportunity too good to pass up.

“Okay,” he whispered into Eleanor’s ear, his voice a blade of pure mischief, sharp and dangerous and thrilling. “Pay attention, princess. I’m going to do us a favor.”

Eleanor, who was still trembling from a mixture of lingering pleasure and sheer, soul-deep mortification, whimpered. “W-what?” Her face was still pressed against the cold, rough bark, her voice muffled. “What favor?”

“This silly little soundproof bubble,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “It’s keeping us quiet, but it’s also keeping you quiet. And honestly? It’s getting a little boring.”

“Boring?” she gasped, offended despite everything.

“I prefer a more… vocal partner,” he purred. “So, I’m going to fix the magic.”

He closed his eyes again, his body perfectly still inside her. She could feel the faint thrum of his own arcane power gathering, a force far more potent and refined than the clumsy ward around the pavilion. His magic reached out, a fine, invisible needle of pure will. It found the shimmering boundary of the soundproof bubble.

He didn’t break it. He didn’t dispel it. He just… stitched it.

With a mental command as sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel, he severed the connection between the bubble around the tent and the extended portion around them. Then, with another flicker of his will, he wrapped the isolated bubble tight around just him and Eleanor, like a second skin made of pure silence.

He opened his eyes, a wicked, triumphant grin spreading across his face.

“There,” he purred, his voice now a normal, conversational volume that sounded shockingly loud after all the whispering. “Much better. It’s just us in here now. A private little world.”

He gave a slow, deep thrust for emphasis, making her gasp.

“No one can hear a thing,” he assured her, his voice dropping to a low, seductive rumble. “Not your useless father snoring his head off. Not his bitch of a wife stewing in her juices. Not a single guard, not a single bird in the trees.”

Eleanor turned her head slightly, peering back at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and a dawning, terrifying understanding. “You mean…?”

He gave her that wicked, wolfish grin again. “I’m saying… you don’t have to hold back anymore, princess. You can scream all you want.”

“But…” she started, still hesitant.

“Trust me,” he whispered. “Let go.”

And to prove his point, he grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and gave her a single, brutal, deep thrust that felt like it sank his cock all the way to her womb.

RIIIP.

The sound that she’d been holding back for the past hour, the raw, primal scream of pleasure and pain and sheer, overwhelming sensation, tore out of her mouth.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!”

It wasn’t a moan. It wasn’t a whimper. It was a scream. A full-throated, cathartic wail of an hour’s worth of suppressed, agonizing pleasure finally unleashed into the night. It echoed inside their tiny, private bubble of silence, a sound that would have woken the entire camp if not for his magic.

Alaric threw his head back and laughed, a loud, triumphant sound. “That’s it! Let’s hear it!”

“Oh gods! Oh gods!” she wailed, her body bucking against the tree. “Alaric! YES!”

The dam was broken. She was lost. All the shame, all the fear, all the pathetic attempts at modesty were just incinerated in the sudden, glorious freedom to just… scream. All the pleasure she’d been trying to contain just came roaring out.

“Better?” he taunted, his own voice loud now, his rhythm speeding up again. “Is that good enough for you?”

“Yes! Oh yes! Don’t stop!”

“Is this pace too slow for you?” he mocked, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into her, a direct echo of Kate’s earlier complaint.

“No! No! It’s perfect!” she wailed, her hands, no longer clamped over her mouth, now scrabbling at his, trying to grab his hips, trying to pull him even deeper. “Don’t stop! Please, Alaric, don’t stop!”

“You want me to keep going?”

“Yes! Always! Forever!”

“Then scream for me,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “Louder. I want to hear you shatter.”

“YES! YES!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “FUCK ME! FUCK ME, ALARIC! PLEASE! OH GODS, PLEASE!”

She was a wild animal. All her princess training, all her poise, all her dignity… it was gone. Stripped away. Replaced by pure, raw, need. She was nothing but sensation, nothing but his cock filling her, his hands on her body, and the overwhelming urge to scream her pleasure to the uncaring night sky.

“That’s my girl,” Alaric laughed, his voice rough with his own rising pleasure. “That’s the sound I wanted to hear!”

He laughed again, a deep, triumphant sound that resonated in the tiny, silent bubble around them. He loved this. Her complete, unrestrained surrender. Her wild, screaming pleasure. It was intoxicating.

He pulled her away from the tree, her legs barely able to support her. “Enough of this,” he panted. “Let’s get comfortable.”

He half-carried, half-dragged her a few feet away from the tree and then just… threw her onto the cold, hard, slightly damp ground. She landed with a soft thump and a startled cry.

Before she could even register the shock of the cold dirt on her bare back, he was on top of her, his knees between her legs, his massive cock finding her entrance again with unerring accuracy.

“This,” he panted, his face inches from hers, his eyes blazing, as he started pounding into her, his hips a blur of motion, “is how a real man does it. Not like that pathetic old fool.”

“Ah! Yes! Alaric!” she screamed, her head thrashing from side to side, her hands clawing at the dirt.

“Gods, you feel so good,” he groaned, his own control starting to fray under the onslaught of her wild response, her tight, wet heat clamping down on him. “So damn tight…”

He leaned in, his lips finding her ear again, his voice dropping to a poisoned dart whisper, designed to wound even as it pleased.

“Your father, though… damn,” he said, his voice full of that fake, mocking pity. “What a good-for-nothing. Can’t even satisfy that hot little wife of his. After only three minutes? That’s just… sad.”

Eleanor, who had been lost in the throes of ecstasy, stiffened. The pleasure didn’t stop, but it was suddenly tainted, soured by his words.

“Don’t…” she panted, trying to push his face away. “Don’t… talk about him…”

“Why not?” Alaric asked, his rhythm slowing down, becoming a deliberate, teasing torment. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? We both heard it. He’s a failure. In every possible way. As a king. As a husband. As a man.”

“Stop it,” she whimpered, her body aching from the sudden slowdown, her hips instinctively trying to chase his teasing rhythm. “He’s… he’s my father…”

“And he’s useless,” Alaric insisted, his pace slowing even more, becoming a torturous, slow grind that was almost worse than his earlier speed. “He’s weak. He’s a coward. And he can’t even fuck his wife right. It’s pathetic.”

He leaned back slightly, pinning her hands above her head with one of his own, using his free hand to pinch her nipple again, hard. “What do you think of his incompetence, Eleanor? Hmm?”

“I… I don’t…” she sobbed, tears starting to leak from her eyes again. But these weren’t tears of pleasure. “Please, Alaric… don’t make me… just… just fuck me… don’t stop…” she begged, her hips bucking uselessly against his slow, grinding torment.

“Tell me,” he insisted, his voice hard as flint. “Tell me the truth. What do you really think of him? Or do you want me to stop? Is that what you want?”

He pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the very tip of his cock teasing her entrance, a maddening promise of the pleasure he was withholding.

“NO!” she screamed, her mind finally snapping. The pleasure was a drug. It was a hunger. And he was her dealer. She couldn’t let him stop. She needed it.

“Then say it,” he commanded, his voice flat.

“I… I…” She was sobbing, her mind at war. It was her father… her blood… her king… But the pleasure… the need…

“Tell me he’s useless,” Alaric whispered, his voice a silken knife twisting in her heart. “Tell me he’s a failure. Mean it. Or I’m done. I’ll pull out right now and leave you here, naked and aching in the dirt.”

That was the final straw. The thought of him leaving her… of the pleasure stopping… she couldn’t bear it. It was worse than any betrayal.

“He… he IS!” she screamed, the words tearing out of her, a black river of shame and betrayal flooding her soul. “He’s USELESS! A good-for-nothing!”

Alaric purred, a low, satisfied sound in his throat. But his rhythm still didn’t speed up. “Good,” he whispered. “That’s a start. What else?”

“What… what more do you want?” she sobbed.

“Everything,” he said simply. “Tell me what you really think.”

“He… he doesn’t know how to rule!” she sobbed, the words tumbling out now, unstoppable. “He doesn’t know how to do anything! He just sits there and worries! He’s a coward! He hides behind his ministers!”

“And?” Alaric prompted, his cock giving a single, teasing pulse inside her.

“And… and he can’t even satisfy his wife!” she screamed, the final, humiliating betrayal. “That… that snake! She… she deserves him! They deserve each other! Let them be miserable together!”

The moment the last, venomous word left her lips, Alaric roared in triumph.

It wasn’t a laugh. It was a raw, primal sound of pure, conquering victory. He had broken her completely. He had turned her against her own blood.

“Good girl,” he growled, his voice thick as honey, rough with lust. “That’s my good, honest girl.”

He leaned down and bit her earlobe, a sharp, possessive nip that made her cry out. “And for your reward…”

He slammed back into her, his pace exploding from that slow, torturous grind to an absolute frenzy. He wasn’t just fucking her anymore; he was devouring her, consuming her, branding her as his with every single, brutal thrust.

“…I’m going to fuck you until you pass out.”

“YES!” she screamed, her mind gone, all guilt, all shame, all thought incinerated in the sudden, overwhelming new wave of pleasure. “YES, PLEASE! DON’T EVER STOP!”

And he didn’t.

The next five hours were a blur. A vortex of pure, raw, sensation that had no beginning and no end. Time ceased to have meaning. There was only the cold ground beneath her, the dark sky above her, and Alaric, a relentless, tireless god of pleasure and pain, driving into her, over and over and over.

He fucked her on the ground, on her back, her legs thrown over his shoulders, his thrusts so deep she felt him hitting her womb with every single, jarring impact. “Deeper?” he’d pant. “You want it deeper?” “Yes! Yes!”

He fucked her on her side, her leg hooked over his hip, his hands all over her breasts, her ass, his fingers finding spots she didn’t know could feel so good, or so wrong. “Like this?” he’d ask, his thumb rubbing her clit while he pounded into her. “Ah! Yes! Don’t stop!”

He had her get on her hands and knees in the dirt again, like an animal, her face pressed into the cold earth, and he took her from behind, his hand a whip on her buttocks, leaving stinging, red welts that somehow only fueled the pleasure. “You’re my animal, aren’t you?” he panted, his voice raw. “Yes… yes… I’m your animal… your whore…!”

He flipped her over onto her back and sat on her, pinning her down, his weight crushing, and forced her to take his cock in her mouth while his hands played roughly with her tits. “You’re so good at this,” he praised her, his voice a rough caress that was more demeaning than any insult. “So much better than a princess. You’re a natural-born whore.” She didn’t even care. She just wanted more. She sucked him greedily, desperately.

He laid her down again and fucked her face, holding her head still, his hips a relentless, pounding machine against her lips and cheek.

He fucked her in every position she’d ever heard of, and a dozen more he just seemed to invent on the spot. Each one was more humiliating, more degrading, and somehow, impossibly, more exquisite, than the last. He used the tree again. He used the cold stone wall of a nearby supply tent. He just… used her, everywhere, in every way.

Her screams had long since died away, replaced hours ago by a constant, breathless, ragged moaning. Her throat was raw, her voice gone. Her body was no longer her own; it was just a single, throbbing nerve of pure, raw pleasure, existing only for his touch, his cock.

Finally, finally, after five straight, unbelievable hours, as the first, pale, sick grey light of dawn began to creep over the mountain peaks, her body just… gave out.

He had her bent over a large rock, taking her from behind again, his thrusts still as strong, still as deep as they had been hours ago. He was building towards another climax, his grunts becoming lower, rougher.

She felt her own orgasm coming, another one, maybe the hundredth one, she didn’t know. It started deep inside her, a building, trembling wave.

It hit her, a powerful, earth-shattering convulsion that shook her entire frame.

And in the middle of it, as her body spasmed and clenched around his cock, her eyes rolled back in her head. The world went black. And she fell, limp as a ragdoll, into total, complete, blissful unconsciousness.