Chapter 343: Forming The Alliance

The next day dawned, bright and full of a buzzing, nervous energy. The official signing ceremony for the Strathmore-Jorailian Alliance was set.

King Reginald, Queen Kate, Princess Eleanor, and a full, formal retinue of guards and ancient, sour-faced ministers arrived at the Jorailian pavilion.

King Reginald looked… amazing. For him, anyway.

He wasn’t the usual slumped, defeated-looking man. He was bright-eyed. His chest was puffed out, like a proud rooster. He was actually strutting. His “vigorous” night, which had been loudly confirmed by his adoring, grinning guards, had put a pep in his step he hadn’t had in decades. He felt like a new man. He felt, for the first time in his life, like a King.

“A fine morning for an alliance!” he boomed, his reedy voice cracking with false heartiness.

Alaric and Queen Ondine greeted them at the entrance. Ondine was the picture of regal power, draped in deep blue silks, her expression a mask of cool, polite welcome. Alaric, beside her, was all smiles, looking like a generous host.

And then, there was Kate.

Kate… was a vision. An absolute, unmitigated scandal.

She had arrived wearing a heavy, concealing robe, but the moment she was inside the pavilion, well past the prying eyes of the Conclave, she dramatically shrugged it off. She handed the robe to a stunned Strathmore guard, who fumbled it, his eyes glued to her.

Her dress was a sin made of fabric. A deep, blood-red crimson, so tight it looked like it had been poured onto her body, clinging to every single, magnificent curve.

The cleavage was… insane. The neckline plunged to her navel, and her massive breasts were pushed up and spilling out of the tiny bodice, like ripe melons threatening to fall from a too-small basket. It looked like she might pop out if she breathed too hard.

And the slit. A single, high slit up the side of the dress… it went all the way to her hip. Every time she took a step, she flashed a long, pale, naked leg all the way up to her thigh.

Reginald’s proud, beaming face turned red as a beet.

“My… my dear Kate!” he hissed, grabbing her arm, his voice a strangled whisper of pure, panicked worry. “That… that dress! In public?! It’s… it’s indecent! In front of our new allies!”

“It’s just a dress, Reginald,” she chided, her voice loud and clear.

“But… but… your bosom! Your leg! It’s… it’s not fit for a Queen!” he stammered.

Kate just smiled at him, a cold, sweet smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t be silly, Reginald. I like this dress. It makes me feel… comfortable. And free.”

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a seductive purr he’d never heard from her before. “Don’t you want me to feel free, my love? After the… night… you gave me?”

She gave him a slow, deliberate wink.

“And besides,” she added, her voice all business now, “I have a feeling it might be… helpful… in the negotiation.”

Reginald, instantly reminded of his “night of passion,” of the screams and the thumping headboard, just… sputtered. He was terrified of breaking the spell, of losing his new “vigor.” If this was the price… so be it.

“Ah… yes,” he stammered, straightening his tunic. “Of course, my dear. Whatever you say. You look… lovely.”

Alaric, standing next to Ondine, watched the entire exchange. His face was a mask of polite neutrality, but over Reginald’s shoulder, he winked at Kate.

She saw it. And gave him a tiny, secret smirk that lasted less than a second. The bargain holds.

“Your Majesties, Lord Steele,” Reginald boomed, all false confidence again. “Shall we proceed?”

“Of course,” Ondine said, gliding forward. “The signing table is prepared.”

They were invited to a large, polished table. The seating was… strategic. Queen Ondine sat at one end. King Reginald at the other. And in the middle, a fatal little cluster: Alaric, with Kate on his right and Priscilla on his left.

The moment they were seated, the moment the table’s dark wood hid everything from the waist down, Kate felt a hand on her knee. A strong, possessive hand that wasn’t her husband’s.

It was Alaric’s.

He didn’t even look at her. He was in a polite, engaged conversation with one of Reginald’s ancient, prune-faced ministers about… iron ore tariffs.

And all the while, his hand was climbing.

It slid up her bare thigh, past the hem of her garter, his fingers cold against her hot skin. She flinched, a tiny, sharp intake of breath, but her face remained a mask of cool interest.

His hand kept going, up, up, until his fingers were right at the edge of her panties.

“And you see, Minister,” Alaric was saying, his voice smooth as butter, “our new trade arrangement will be a boon for your kingdom’s economy…”

His fingers slipped under the lace.

Kate gasped, a sound she quickly covered with a cough.

Ondine, sitting on Alaric’s other side, saw the tiny motion, saw the flush on Kate’s cheeks, and just smiled faintly into her wine glass. She knew her King.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Reginald asked, concerned.

“Fine, my love,” Kate said, her voice a little strained. “Just… excited… about the treaty.”

Alaric’s fingers had found her. He was rubbing her clit, under the table, right in front of her husband.

A servant brought the treaty out on a velvet cushion.

It was a brutal document, disguised in flowery, legal language.

Article 1: The Kingdom of Strathmore agrees to provide the Jorailian Kingdom with exclusive, first-option rights to all raw materials, including, but not limited to, iron, timber, coal, and all magical ores, at a “Preferred Partner” rate. (A rate Alaric had set at 90% below market value).

Article 2: The Kingdom of Strathmore will provide a standing legion of five thousand (5,000) of its finest soldiers, to be placed under the direct command of the Jorailian High Council for “mutual defense purposes.” (They were Alaric’s army now).

Article 3: In exchange, the Jorailian Kingdom guarantees the absolute physical protection of the Strathmore Royal Family, with a specific, binding clause ensuring the safety and well-being of its female members, including the Queen, the Princess, and all royal concubines. (Alaric’s little joke. He was guaranteeing their “safety” by owning them.)

Article 4: The Jorailian Kingdom agrees to provide Strathmore with access to its life-saving elixirs, pills, and defensive artifacts… at market cost, plus a 50% import tariff and service fee.

It was a terrible deal. It was indentured servitude for an entire kingdom.

Reginald, who was trying to act in charge, cleared his throat. He harrumphed. He picked up the treaty, held it up, and scanned the front page, pretending to read it, his expression one of deep, kingly thought.

Alaric chose that moment to slide two fingers inside Kate.

Kate gasped, her whole body jerking in her chair, her nails digging into the wood of the armrest.

“My dear?” Reginald asked, looking up from the paper, annoyed at the interruption.

“It’s… it’s just so wonderful, my love,” Kate panted, her face flushed, her eyes bright with a feverish, unshed tear. “This alliance… it’s… it’s overwhelming.”

“Yes, yes, it is,” Reginald said, pleased by her emotional response. He turned to her. “Still. Business is business. Your eyes are sharper than mine, my dear. You’ve… you’ve reviewed this… in detail? You’re sure it’s… fair?”

Kate looked at Alaric, who was still talking to the minister about ore, while his fingers curled inside her, slowly, deliciously.

“Yes, my love,” she said, her voice thick and breathless. “Every… single… word. I… I read it all night.”

“And?”

“It is… an excellent alliance,” she said, her hips squirming almost imperceptibly in her chair. “Very… fair. Very… generous. Don’t you think, Lord Steele?”

Alaric finally turned to her, his face a mask of polite inquiry. His fingers pinched her, hard.

“Ah!” she gasped.

“We believe in… mutual benefit, Your Majesty,” Alaric said, his eyes innocent, his hand ruthless.

“Yes!” Reginald boomed, completely oblivious. “Yes! Exactly! Mutual! A capital idea! Well, I see no reason to delay!”

He picked up the quill, beaming with pride, feeling like the decisive, powerful King he’d always wanted to be, and signed his kingdom away with a grand, flourishing signature.

Queen Ondine signed hers. It was done.

They were all having a celebratory glass of wine (Reginald, of course, was drinking juice, to “keep his head clear,” as he’d said).

Kate, who was still trembling from Alaric’s under-the-table ministrations, stood up. She swayed just a little, her hand resting on Alaric’s shoulder for “balance.” Her arm brushed against his.

“Reginald, my love,” she said, her voice like honey. “This is such a joyous day! Our two kingdoms, united!”

“Indeed, my dear! Indeed!” Reginald beamed, raising his juice glass. “A toast! To… us!”

“But… it seems… silly… doesn’t it?” she continued, her voice soft and conspiratorial. “For our pavilions to be so far apart? It looks… divided. Like we’re just… strangers who signed a piece of paper.”

“What do you mean, my dear?” Reginald asked, sipping his juice, his brow furrowed. “It’s… it’s just logistics. We have our camp, they have theirs.”

“But optics, my love!” she insisted, her voice full of fake, passionate concern. “We must show our unity! To the world! To the other empires! We must show them this isn’t just a piece of paper. It’s a bond! A true family!”

“A… a parade?” Reginald suggested weakly. “A joint feast, perhaps?”

“No, you fool,” Kate almost said, but she caught herself, turning it into a fond, tinkling laugh. “No, my love. Something bolder. Something that truly shows our trust.”

She paused for dramatic effect. “I suggest… we merge our pavilions! Right now! Today!”

Reginald’s eyes went wide. “Merge? As in… move in?”

“Yes!” she said. “We should disband the Strathmore camp and move all of our people, our guards, our staff… everyone… in with our dear friends here! One pavilion! One family!”

“Move… in? Here?” Reginald sputtered. “But… my dear… the logistics! The… the propriety! Our entire camp… in their pavilion… it’s… it’s just not done! It’s unheard of!”

This was Ondine’s cue. Alaric sent the mental message across the table. ’Agree. Enthusiastically. Lay it on thick.’

Ondine immediately clasped her hands, her face a picture of warm, sincere delight. “Your Majesty! Queen Kate! What a truly wonderful idea! A true sign of our unbreakable bond! I was thinking the very same thing!”

Reginald, blinking in the face of this united, female front, looked at Ondine. “You… you were, Your Majesty?”

“I insist,” Ondine said, her smile warm and welcoming. “It would be our honor to host you. We have more than enough space. It would send a powerful message to the Conclave. A message of total trust.”

Reginald looked at his beautiful, insistent wife. He looked at the beautiful, insistent Queen Ondine. He was drowning in agreement. He was also still riding the high of being a sex god and a decisive king.

He puffed out his chest, “making a decision” that had already been made for him.

“Well… if you both think so… then… yes! Of course! It’s a capital idea, my love! Brilliant! Just brilliant! I was about to suggest it myself!”

“Of course you were, my King,” Kate purred, patting his arm.

Alaric just smiled into his wine glass. ’Hook, line, and sinker.’

This was, of course, his plan from the start. He’d fed the idea to Kate telepathically right before the meeting. ’Suggest we merge pavilions. Make it sound like your idea. Make it about ’unity’. He’ll agree.’

’Why bother sneaking into his camp every night like a common thief?’ Alaric thought, taking a sip of wine. ’I’m a Duke. It’s so much more efficient to just have him deliver all his women directly to my front door. It’s like… take-out. But for pussy.’

The order was given. The Strathmore pavilion was to be disbanded.

The rest of the day was a flurry of pure chaos. A river of Strathmore personnel, guards, ministers, and servants, carrying tents, baggage, and furniture, flowed into the already-massive Jorailian pavilion.

Alaric watched it all from his private balcony, a king surveying his new territory.

He watched the concubines arrive. Lila and Nyla, the twins, holding hands, looking pale, dazed, and terrified. Anya, the dancer, and Juliana, the quiet one, looking just as confused and lost. And Elaine… Elaine looked dead inside. She just walked, a ghost in the middle of the chaos.

He watched Eleanor arrive. She was vibrating with excitement. She still thought she was the one who had made all this happen. She was excited to be living in the same pavilion as Alaric. ’He’ll have to see me now,’ she thought, a giddy, lustful thrill running through her.

Alaric just smiled. He now had the entire Strathmore royal family living under his roof. His rules. His den.

Night fell. The newly merged pavilion was buzzing with a chaotic, nervous energy. Guards were trying to figure out new patrol routes. Ministers were arguing over tent placement. Servants were rushing back and forth.

Alaric was not interested in any of it. He was done with politics for the day. He was interested in… consolidating his new assets.

He walked through the new, expanded guest quarters. He’d personally assigned the tents. He’d made sure Elaine’s tent was small, private, and just a little out of the way, in a quiet, secluded corner of the compound.

He reached her tent flap. He didn’t knock. He owned this place. He just walked in.

She was there. Sitting on the edge of her simple cot, pale and trembling. She was wearing a simple, modest, high-necked nightgown. She’d been dreading this moment all day.

The moment she saw him, she scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide with pure, raw terror. She looked like a frightened rabbit cornered by a wolf.

“My… my lord…” she stammered, her hands twisting in her nightgown.

“Hello, Elaine,” he said, his voice a soft, dangerous purr. He walked towards her, enjoying the way she flinched and backed away until her legs hit the cot. “Welcome to your new home. I hope you’re… comfortable.”

“I… it’s… it’s fine, my lord. Thank you.”

“Good.” He was standing right in front of her now, looming over her. He didn’t waste time. He didn’t play games. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered, his voice a complete and total lie. He hadn’t thought about her at all, except as a key to her daughter. But it was the right thing to say.

She looked up at him, confused by the fake tenderness. “You… you did?”

“Desperately,” he lied again. And he reached out and tore her nightgown.

RRRRIIIPPP.

The sound of ripping fabric was violent in the small, silent tent. He tore it right from the high collar down to the hem.

“Aaah!” she cried out, a small, terrified sound, and tried to cover her naked, motherly body.

“Don’t cover yourself,” he commanded, his voice flat.

He ignored her, shoving her back onto the bed. “I own this. Remember?”

He was on her in an instant. He kissed her, hard, his mouth like a brand, silencing her protests, forcing her head back into the pillow.

He fondled her body, his hands rough, possessive, re-staking his claim. His hands cupped her massive, soft breasts, his thumbs finding her nipples. “So soft… so perfect… You’re mine.”

“Please… Alaric… no…” she whimpered against his lips. “Not again… I… I’m still… sore… from the bath…”

“Sore?” he chuckled, pulling back to look at her, his eyes gleaming. “Don’t be silly. We’re just getting reacquainted. I need to make sure you remember who you belong to.”

“I… I remember… please…”

“Good. Then show me.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He spun her around, pushing her face-down onto the cot.

“No, please, not…”

He flipped her over again, onto her back, and bent her over the small, rickety writing desk in the corner. He hiked up the shreds of her nightgown.

He slammed his cock into her from behind, hard and deep.

“AAAAAH!” she screamed, her hands slipping on the polished wood.

“That’s right,” he growled, thrusting wildly into her, his hips a relentless piston. “Scream for me. Scream my name. Let’s christen your new tent.”

“Alaric! Alaric! Please… mercy…!” she sobbed, her body already betraying her, her pussy clenching him, her pleasure rising like a fast, hot tide.

He was pounding into her, a furious, angry rhythm, his hands gripping her hips like vises, lifting her slightly with every thrust. He was marking her, bruising her.

And just as she was about to climax, just as her mind was about to shatter from the pleasure, just as a scream was building in her throat…

Knock. Knock.

A voice. Clear. Young. Terrifyingly familiar.

“…Mother? Are you in there?”

It was Eleanor. Right outside the tent flap.

“…Mother? It’s me. I… I’m coming in!”

Elaine froze. Her entire body went rigid as stone. Her eyes flew wide with a terror so profound, so absolute, it was paralyzing. She let out a silent, terrified wail.

Alaric… just smiled. A slow, diabolical grin spread across his face.

He looked down at Elaine’s terrified, tear-streaked face.

And he didn’t stop fucking her.

His hips kept moving. Slow, deep, sinful thrusts. His dick, still hard as steel inside her.

This… this… was going to be so much fun.