Chapter 351: Queen Eleanor’s Declaration

The chaos was instant.

The sound of the explosion, a massive, muffled KABOOM that shook the very ground, was followed by a terrible, ringing silence.

Then, the screaming started.

The Strathmore guards, who had been standing at a respectful distance, surged forward, their swords drawn, their faces white with terror. “Your Majesty! The King!”

“Treason! Treason!” one of the ancient, fossil-like ministers, who had been watching from the observation bunker, shrieked, his voice cracking like dry parchment. “He’s killed the King! Seize him!”

A dozen guards, their minds snapped by panic and accusation, turned their spears toward Alaric.

Alaric didn’t even flinch. He was still on the ground, shielding Queen Kate, his face a mask of theatrical grief.

“It was an ACCIDENT!” he roared, his voice cracking with fake sorrow. “The rune! It overloaded! His Majesty… he was too close!”

“Lies! You murderer!” the minister screeched, stumbling out of the bunker. “You set this up! It was a trap! Seize the assassin!”

The guards hesitated, their spear-tips wavering between their Queen’s defender and their minister’s command.

Alaric’s eyes turned cold as the void.

“Zylle,” he whispered, a soundless breath.

Ffffft. Ffffft. Ffffft.

A blur of black. A whisper of steel.

The minister who had screamed “treason” stopped. His eyes went wide. He looked down. A tiny, black-fletched dart was sticking out of his throat. He gurgled, clutched his neck, and toppled over, dead before he hit the ground.

The three guards who had actually charged at Alaric also froze. They gasped. Black darts protruded from their eyes. They collapsed like sacks of grain.

Silence.

Absolute, terrifying silence.

The other ministers, the other guards… they froze. Paralyzed.

Zylle materialized from the shadow of the bunker, wiping her blade clean. She looked at the survivors, her dead, black eyes empty of all emotion. She was the judge, jury, and executioner.

“It… it was an accident,” one of the other guards stammered, his face white as a sheet, dropping his spear with a clatter. “We… we all saw it! The rune… it overloaded! The King… he tripped! His Lordship tried to save him!”

“Yes!” another minister squeaked, sweat pouring down his face. “A terrible… tragic… accident! The King… he was too brave… too curious… he got too close! Lord Alaric is a hero! He saved the Queen!”

Alaric slowly got to his feet, pulling the sobbing Queen Kate up with him. His face was a mask of pure devastation.

“It’s… it’s all my fault,” he choked out, burying his face in his hands. “My prototype… my arrogance… Oh, gods! He’s gone!”

Kate, right on cue, jumped in, launching herself away from Alaric and towards the smoking, black crater where her husband used to be.

“REGINALD!” she wailed, her voice ripping through the air. “My husband! My love! He’s GONE!”

She collapsed to her knees, sobbing hysterically into her hands. (She was actually biting her fist to keep from laughing. ’He really did it! The madman! He vaporized him! I’m free! Oh, gods, I’m free!’)

The remaining ministers and guards were paralyzed. Their King was ash. Their new, powerful ally was the only witness (besides the Queen). And his pet assassin had just murdered anyone who disagreed with the official story.

“But… what do we do?” one surviving minister whimpered, his voice shaking. “Gods… what do we do? We’re… leaderless! Our… our line of succession… Princess Eleanor… she’s… she’s just a girl…”

“The WILL!”

Kate gasped the word, her head snapping up, her eyes wide with sudden, brilliant “realization.”

“The WILL!” she screamed again, stumbling to her feet. “Reginald… he… he insisted! Just last night! He made me sign it!”

“A new will?” the minister gasped, his eyes bulging.

“Yes!” Kate sobbed, clutching at the minister’s robes. “He… he said… with the demon war coming… he had to be prepared! In case anything… happened! His exact words!”

“Where?! Where is it?!”

“In… in his desk!” she wailed. “His private desk! He… he locked it! He told me… ’In case anything… happens, my love… you know where it is.’”

They all ran. A panicked, disorganized mob of terrified ministers and guards, following their sobbing Queen back to the royal guest wing.

Alaric followed them, his face a mask of grim duty, supporting the “grieving” Queen.

They burst into the dead King’s rooms. Kate flew to his private desk, fumbling with the key (which Alaric had slipped into her hand).

With shaking hands, she unlocked it.

And there it was. Right on top. A crisp, new piece of royal parchment.

It was signed at the bottom with King Reginald’s grand, flourishing signature (a perfect forgery by Zylle, copied from the alliance treaty).

And below it, witnessed in her own elegant hand: Queen Kate.

The lead minister, his hands trembling, took the will. He read it aloud.

It was short. Brutal. Clear.

“…due to the impending crisis of the Demon War… the traditional lines and laws of succession are too slow, too weak… In the event of my untimely demise… the crown of Strathmore, with all its powers and responsibilities… shall pass… immediately and directly… to my only heir… my beloved daughter…”

The minister swallowed hard.

“…Princess Eleanor.”

At that exact moment, as if on cue (because, of course, she was cued by a guard Alaric owned), Princess Eleanor rushed into the room.

“What is it?!” she cried, drawn by the commotion. “I heard screaming! And shouts! What’s happened? Where is my… father?”

She looked around, confused. Her eyes landed on Alaric. Her only concern was him. ’Is he okay?’

The lead minister turned to her, his face pale as ash, the will trembling in his hand.

“Princess…” he choked out.

Eleanor gasped, playing her part (a small part, but she played it well). “Me? Queen?”

The ministers were floored. Stunned. But… it was legal. It was signed. It was witnessed by the Queen. There was nothing to contest.

The lead minister fell to one knee, his face a mask of despair.

“All… hail… Queen Eleanor, First of Her Name…”

The other ministers and guards slowly, reluctantly, followed, sinking to their knees.

Alaric bowed his head, hiding his vicious, triumphant grin.

Eleanor looked at the bowing room, her room, her ministers… Her mind blanked… and her eyes rolled back in her head.

Her first act as Queen?

She fainted… right into Alaric’s waiting, powerful arms.

Eleanor wasn’t sad. Not really.

She hated her father. He was weak. He was pathetic. He was always scared, always whining. He got in her way. He embarrassed her.

And… he was the reason her mother was a broken, sad concubine.

Now… he was gone.

And she was in charge. She was the Queen.

Which really meant… she could really help Alaric.

Her second act as Queen, after “recovering” from her “shock” (which conveniently took a full hour, alone in her chambers with Lord Alaric “reviving” her), was to address her panicked court.

She stood before them, flanked by Alaric and a still “grieving” Queen Mother Kate, her chin high.

“My… my father… is gone,” she said, forcing out a sob. (She wasn’t a great actress, but it passed.) “He… he was taken from us… in a horrible, tragic accident…”

“But his legacy…” she continued, her voice gaining strength, gaining a new, thrilling power. “His final wish… must be honored!”

The few remaining, terrified ministers just nodded dumbly.

“His final wish,” she declared, her voice ringing with passion (a passion for Alaric, mostly), “was this ALLIANCE! He believed in Lord Alaric! He believed in the Jorailian Kingdom! He gave his LIFE… inspecting the weapons that will save us all!”

(Alaric almost choked. ’Oh, that’s a good spin. She’s learning.’)

“In this dark time,” she puffed out her chest, just like her father used to, “Strathmore must be strong! Our alliance… it must not be broken! It must be STRONGER! INDISSOLUBLE!”

The ministers nodded again. Dumbly. Faster this time. She was the Queen now. What she said, went.

“Therefore,” she said, turning to look at Alaric with shining, adoring, desperate eyes. “To seal this sacred bond… to unite our kingdoms forever, in blood and law… I… I will MARRY… Lord-Duke Alaric Steele!”

The court gasped as one.

“Marry…!”

“So soon…!”

“But… he’s…!”

Alaric gasped (purely for show, of course. He’d fed her the idea himself, two nights ago, while he was fucking her against the tree).

“Your Majesty…” he said, dropping to one knee, his voice thick with fake emotion. “I… I am honored. Beyond words. But… so soon? Your… your father… his ashes are still…”

“He would WANT it!” she insisted, pulling him to his feet. “I know he would! To protect the kingdom! To secure our future!”

She turned to her court. “The wedding… will be… in three months! A formal period of mourning… and then… UNITY.”

It was done.

Alaric was now, in all but name, the King of Strathmore.

His first “suggestion” as Prince-Consort-to-Be?

That very night.

He was in Eleanor’s new, royal bedchamber, finally “consoling” her properly.

She was screaming into the pillows as he fucked her brains out, her grief forgotten, her denied lust exploding like a supernova.

“Oh, Alaric… YES… MY KING…!”

“Your Majesty,” he panted, slamming into her, loving the new title. “Your… mother… aaah… the Queen Mother… and your father’s… household… they must be so grieved…”

“Mmmmph… grieved…? Yes…!” she gasped.

“They should be… protected,” he groaned, pulling her hair. “Away from the… pressures… of the court… all these sad memories…”

“What… what do you mean?” she panted as he pounded into her.

“My… Sunken Pearl Palace,” he groaned, close to his own climax. “It’s… quiet. Secluded. A harem wing. A place of peace. For… grieving widows… to… retire. For their OWN… SAFETY!”

“Oh, Alaric… YES!” she gasped, climaxing violently around his cock. “A… a PERFECT… idea…!”

The next day, Queen Kate (the hot Queen Mother), Concubine Elaine (his dear “mother-in-law”), and the five concubines… Lila, Nyla, Anya, and Juliana… they were all… “retired.”

They were officially moved out of the Strathmore wing… and into his personal, private, heavily-warded harem. Hidden from the world. His… to “console”… whenever he wanted.

That night, Alaric decided it was time to “console” his new, grieving little family properly.

He made his way to the Sunken Pearl Palace, his private, subterranean harem wing. It was a masterpiece of architectural decadence—floors of polished black marble that looked like deep water, walls draped in heavy, sound-dampening crimson silks, and the air thick with the scent of jasmine and expensive aphrodisiac incense. It was a place built for one thing: absolute, uninhibited indulgence.

He unlocked the massive, rune-sealed doors and stepped inside.

He found all three of them waiting for him in the main chamber, clustered around the massive, circular bed that dominated the room. They were posed like offerings on a sacrificial altar, bathed in the soft, golden glow of the magelights.

It was a tableau of twisted, royal grief.

Queen Kate, the brand-new “Dowager Queen,” stood tall. She was wearing a “mourning” gown, but it was a scandalous joke. It was made of black lace so sheer it was essentially shadow and air. It clung to her voluptuous curves like wet ink. Underneath, she was naked, her massive, heavy breasts clearly visible through the floral patterns, her dark nipples pressing against the lace. Her wide, birthing hips and the dark triangle between her legs were on full display. She looked like a black widow spider ready to mate.

Queen Eleanor, the newly crowned monarch, stood next to her. She was dressed in a simple, elegant shift of pure white silk. It was modest compared to Kate’s, symbolizing her “purity” and her new status, but the silk was so fine it rippled over her curves like water, hinting at the perky breasts and tight, youthful body underneath. She was trembling, vibrating with a mix of nerves and that relentless, itching excitement Alaric had instilled in her.

And then there was Concubine Elaine. Eleanor’s mother.

She was standing a little apart from the others. She was wearing a heavy, sombre grey widow’s robe, buttoned to the chin. But her eyes… her eyes weren’t dead anymore. They weren’t the eyes of a broken victim. They were the glassy, dilated eyes of an addict waiting for her fix. She was looking at Alaric with a hungry, desperate intensity that bordered on madness. She had been broken, yes, but reconstructed into something entirely new: a willing, eager slut who existed solely for his pleasure.

Alaric smirked, the expression sharp as a razor. He turned and locked the massive, soundproof doors behind him with a heavy thud. The sound echoed like a gavel falling.

“My… my family,” he purred, his voice filling the silence. “All grieving so… hard. I’m here to… comfort you.”

“My lord,” Eleanor breathed. She couldn’t help herself. She rushed to him, the white silk flowing around her legs like mist. She pressed her body against his, burying her face in his chest. “I… I’m yours now. Truly. My kingdom is yours. I am yours. Please… tell me I did good today.”

“Are you?” Alaric asked, lifting her chin with a finger. He kissed her, a deep, possessive claiming that tasted of wine and victory.

But even as he kissed the daughter, his hands were wandering. His left hand snaked around Eleanor’s waist to grope her ass, but his right hand reached out past her, grabbing a handful of Kate’s lace-covered breast.

“And you, Kate,” he growled against Eleanor’s lips, breaking the kiss and moving to the Queen Mother. He pulled Kate in, mashing her massive tits against his chest. He kissed her, hard and rough, biting her lip. “You did so well. A perfect performance at the testing grounds. You deserve a reward.”

“Yes, my lord,” Kate panted, grinding her hips against his thigh, her eyes rolling back slightly. “I… I need my reward. I’ve been aching for it. That useless husband of mine… watching him die was the biggest turn-on of my life, but this… I need you inside me.”

Alaric chuckled, pushing them both back slightly so he could look at the third woman.

“And you, Elaine,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming thick with a dark, specific lust. “My sweet, broken mother-in-law.”

Elaine shivered violently. “Master…” she whispered.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he criticized gently. “A widow’s weeds? Really? Is that how you greet your Master?”

A wild, desperate light lit up Elaine’s eyes. “No, Master! I… I prepared! I wanted to… to surprise you!”

With a frantic, almost manic energy, Elaine reached for the collar of her grey robe. She didn’t unbutton it. She ripped it.

RRRIIIP!

The sound of tearing fabric was loud and violent. She clawed at the heavy grey wool, shredding it, pulling it off her body and casting it to the floor like garbage.

Underneath, she wasn’t naked.

Alaric’s eyes widened, and a low growl of approval rumbled in his chest.

She was wearing another one of Eleanor’s Magical Academy uniforms. But this one… this one was even tighter, even smaller than the last. It was a parody of innocence wrapped around a body built for sin.

The white shirt was straining so hard across her massive, motherly breasts that the buttons looked like they were about to pop off with the force of cannonballs. It barely covered half of her chest, the entire creamy, heavy undersides of her tits spilling out, exposing her midriff and deep navel.

The plaid skirt was a belt. A literal strip of fabric that sat low on her wide, curvaceous hips, doing absolutely nothing to hide the curve of her plump, white ass cheeks or the shadow of her pussy. She was wearing white knee-high socks that dug slightly into her soft, mature thighs.

“I… I know you liked it, Master,” Elaine panted, posing for him, arching her back to thrust her massive tits out further. “I… I stole another one from Eleanor’s wardrobe. Does… does Mommy look sexy? Does Mommy look like a good slut?”

She wasn’t the reluctant victim anymore. She was competing. She was desperate to prove that she, the older, riper woman, was the best toy in the box.

Alaric looked at her, his eyes burning. “Fuck yes,” he breathed. “You look… delicious.”

He walked over to her, grabbing the front of her tiny shirt and pulling her close. “You are so sexy, Elaine. A dirty, filthy mother trying to be a schoolgirl. I love it.”

Elaine let out a moan of pure validation, rubbing her cheek against his hand.

“No,” Alaric announced, stepping back and addressing all three of them. He began to strip, tossing his own clothes aside until he stood before them, fully naked, his cock rock hard and twitching with anticipation.

“Not just you,” he said, laughing as he saw all three pairs of eyes lock onto his erection like starving wolves. “All of you.”

He grabbed Kate and Eleanor by the arms and shoved them backwards. “Get on the bed.”

He grabbed Elaine by her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. “You too, schoolgirl.”

He pushed them all onto the massive, circular bed in the center of the harem. It was a tangle of limbs, lace, and silk.

“The King is dead,” Alaric announced, his voice booming, a conqueror claiming his spoils. “Long live the new King.”

He dove in.

It wasn’t lovemaking. It was a feeding frenzy. It was a filthy, twisted, taboo family orgy designed to shatter any remaining boundaries.

He started with Eleanor. He grabbed the young Queen, flipped her onto her stomach, and hike up her white silk shift.

“Watch, Elaine,” he commanded, his voice rough. “Watch me fuck your daughter. Watch the Queen get broken in.”

He slammed into Eleanor from behind, no preparation, just raw power.

“AAAAH! YES! ALARIC!” Eleanor screamed, clutching the sheets.

Alaric looked at Elaine, who was kneeling beside them on the bed, her eyes wide, her breathing ragged. “See, Elaine?” he panted, slapping Eleanor’s bouncing ass. “See how tight she is? How good she feels?”

Elaine watched, her face flushed, her hand drifting to her own pussy.

“Well,” Alaric added, giving Eleanor a particularly hard thrust, “not as good as you, though. You’re still the best slut. You’re still the tightest, juiciest fuck in this room.”

Elaine let out a sob of happiness at the praise. “Thank you, Master! Thank you!”

Alaric pulled out of Eleanor, leaving her gasping and twitching. He turned to Kate.

“Your turn, Widow Queen,” he growled.

He pulled Kate onto her back, lifting her legs and hooking them over his shoulders. He drove into her, the friction of her black lace stockings against his neck adding to the sensation. She was wet, loose, and eager, a seasoned lover who knew exactly how to grind back.

“Eleanor,” Alaric barked. “Get over here. Kiss your step-mother. Taste my cock on her breath.”

Eleanor crawled over, submissive and eager. She leaned down and kissed Kate deeply, their tongues tangling, swapping saliva and the taste of Alaric.

“Lick the sweat from her neck,” Alaric commanded, pounding into Kate so hard the bed creaked rhythmically. “That’s right, princess. Get used to your new family. Taste your new mother.”

While he fucked Kate, he looked over at Elaine again. She was feeling left out. He could see it. She was hovering, her body trembling, needing his attention.

“Dance for me, Elaine,” he commanded, his voice cutting through Kate’s moans. “Show me what that little outfit can do. Don’t just sit there.”

Elaine scrambled off the bed instantly. She stood at the foot of the bed, bathed in the magelight. And she began to move.

She didn’t dance with grace. She danced with filth. She gyrated her hips, making her short skirt flare up, flashing her bare pussy. She grabbed her massive, shirt-straining tits and hefted them, bouncing them up and down, jiggling them violently in time with Alaric’s thrusts into Kate.

She licked her lips, her eyes locked on Alaric’s face, posing, turning, bending over to slap her own ass, showing him her pussy lips spreading. She was selling it. She was desperate to show him she was the wildest, nastiest one there.

“Look at her,” Alaric groaned, watching Elaine’s massive tits bounce as she jumped up and down. “Look at your mother, Eleanor. Look at that cow. She wants it so bad.”

“She’s a dirty girl, Master,” Eleanor agreed, watching her mother with a mix of jealousy and arousal.

Alaric finally climaxed inside Kate, filling the Dowager Queen with a massive load. He pulled out, panting.

“My turn! Please, Master, my turn!” Elaine begged, rushing to the edge of the bed, presenting her ass to him.

“Come here,” Alaric said, grabbing her by the back of her tiny shirt. He pulled her onto the bed.

He flipped her onto her back. “I love this outfit,” he growled, looking down at her. “It makes you look like a cheap, used toy. It’s perfect.”

He entered her. And it was true—she was the best. Her body was softer, warmer, more enveloping. She wrapped her legs around him, her heels digging into his back, and she screamed his name as he pounded into her.

“Oh, Alaric! My King! My Master! Fill me up! Forget them! Just fuck Mommy!”

He fucked Elaine for what felt like hours, his stamina enhanced by magic and pure lust. While he pounded her, he made Kate and Eleanor crawl to him.

“Lick my balls,” he commanded them.

The Queen and the Queen Mother, the rulers of Strathmore, crawled on their bellies like snakes. They positioned themselves on either side of his groin as he fucked the Concubine. They licked and sucked his balls, worshipping him, adding to the overwhelming sensation.

It was a perfect, degrading, glorious welcome to their new home.

They were his kingdom now. His subjects. His toys.

And Alaric Steele, the Shadow King, had never felt more at home.