Chapter 352: Alaric’s True Wife Wants A Child

A few days later, the dust had settled. The Strathmore delegation was fully “integrated” (imprisoned in luxury) within the guest wing. The treaty was signed. The Conclave was a memory.

Alaric, having thoroughly “consoled” his new Strathmore harem—breaking them, branding them, and turning their family dynamic into a twisted knot of lust and submission—finally decided it was time to clock in for his official duties. Or at least, the duties that involved his official wife.

He found Griselda in the royal nursery. The room was a soft, warm sanctuary of pastel silks and enchanted mobiles floating in the air, a stark contrast to the sweat-drenched, cum-stained dens of iniquity Alaric usually frequented.

Griselda was standing over the massive rune-carved cradle, cooing softly. Inside lay Leo, Fiora’s newborn son. Alaric’s son.

“My love,” Griselda whispered as Alaric entered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She looked up at him, her face a picture of pure, heartbreakingly naive compassion. “You’re finally here. I… I heard about the accident. That poor, poor King Reginald. And Queen Eleanor… to lose a father and gain a heavy crown all in one day. It’s… it’s a tragedy.”

“Yes,” Alaric said, his voice grave, his face a perfect mask of solemnity. “A terrible tragedy. The rune… it was unstable. I tried to save him, but…” He let the sentence trail off, looking away as if overcome with guilt.

Griselda rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest. “I know you did. I know you did everything you could. You’re a hero, Alaric. Don’t blame yourself.”

“It’s my duty,” he said, patting her back stiffly.

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with those big, trusting doe eyes. “I know you’ve been busy,” she whispered. “With the alliance… and… and consoling the new Queen and her mother. It must be so draining for you, taking on their grief.”

Alaric almost smirked. Draining was one word for it. Emptying his balls was another. “It takes a toll,” he admitted shamelessly.

Griselda looked back at the cradle, where little Leo was sleeping, his tiny fist clutched tight. A look of fierce, sudden resolve hardened her soft features.

“But, Alaric…” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Seeing Fiora’s son… seeing this little miracle… it makes me want one. Ours.”

Alaric raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “A child?”

“Yes!” she said, her face flushing a deep, pretty pink. She grabbed his hand and placed it on her flat stomach. “I want your child, Alaric! A real heir! Not… not just a nephew. Our son. Our daughter. Please. The kingdom needs an heir, but… I need your baby.”

Alaric looked at her. He smiled, a rare, genuine smile. In his own twisted, possessive way, he did love Griselda. She was his anchor. She was the clean, white linen in a world he was busy painting red and black. She was so pure, so simple. She was his perfect alibi.

“Of course, my love,” he said, leaning down and kissing her gently on the lips. It was a soft kiss, devoid of the bruising hunger he reserved for his sluts. “I would be delighted. It is… time.”

“Oh, thank you!” she sobbed, clinging to him, burying her face in his neck. “Thank you!”

“But,” he said, pulling back just enough to look her in the eye, his voice turning serious, soft but firm. “You know what I’m like, Griselda. You know my nature. My… appetites… are strong. They are a fire that never goes out.”

“I know,” she whispered, blushing deeper. She knew he had a high drive, though she had no idea of the depraved depths it actually reached.

“You’ll have to raise our son,” he said, his voice commanding. “Strictly. Make him strong. Like me. I won’t have a weakling for an heir. And… while you’re pregnant… while you are carrying my blood… you can’t be… distracted. You must focus entirely on the heir. Your body will be holy ground.”

“I will,” she promised, nodding fervently. “I’ll do anything.”

“Which means…” he continued, his voice turning silky, manipulative, “you’ll need to help me. I’ll need… other… companions. To… handle my lust. So I can focus on ruling. So I don’t… bother you while you are resting.”

Griselda blinked. “You mean… concubines?” she asked, her voice small.

“I need them, my love,” he said, tilting her chin up so she couldn’t look away. “You know I do. A man of my power… the energy builds up. It needs release. And you… you have the best taste. The kindest heart. I want you to find them for me.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Beautiful women. Kind women. Like you. Women who can serve their King… while his Queen… is busy doing the most important job of all.”

She hesitated for exactly one second. The jealousy was there, but her devotion, her desire to be the perfect wife, crushed it instantly.

“Yes, my love,” she nodded, her eyes filled with determination. “If… if that is what you need… I will help you. I… I will find… beauties… for you. Across the entire kingdom. I’ll organize a selection.”

“And… and this new Queen… Eleanor…?” she asked, a flicker of worry crossing her face. “This marriage… the rumors…”

“Is purely political,” Alaric lied, smooth as oil. “A necessity. To secure our borders for the demon war. It’s a piece of paper, Griselda. You… you are my wife. My true Queen. You must treat her well, as an ally, but never forget… you will always be first in my heart.”

“Oh, Alaric,” she sobbed, melting against him like wax. “I will! I’ll be the best wife. The best Queen. I’ll find you dozens of concubines! The most beautiful in the world!”

“I know you will,” he smiled, kissing her forehead. ’My perfect, stupid, saintly wife.’

True to his word, Alaric took her to their bedchamber that night. He fucked her all night long, but he did it gently. He took his time. He worshipped her body with slow, deep thrusts, making love to her in a way that left her weeping with joy. He wanted this first, official heir to be made from something resembling love. Or his version of it.

He flooded her gentle, loving pussy with his seed, again and again, filling her womb until she was dripping with him. By morning, she was sore, sated, and definitely pregnant.

But Alaric… Alaric was still hungry.

Gentle sex was boring. It ticked a box, it served a purpose, but it didn’t scratch the itch. It didn’t feed the monster inside him. He needed filth. He needed taboo. He needed to dominate, to break, to use.

He left his sleeping, pregnant wife in their bed, the sheets smelling of lavender and vanilla. He needed something that smelled like musk and sin.

He strolled through the palace, heading deep into the Sunken Pearl Palace, but not to the Strathmore wing. He headed for the Eloriath wing.

It had been a long time since he’d… visited… his other mothers-in-law. Griselda’s step-mothers. The spoils of his very first war.

He walked into Margaret’s chambers. The former Queen of Eloriath. She was sitting by the window, looking out at the artificial garden, looking regal and lonely. She was still a stunning woman, her elven blood keeping her youthful, her body ripe and voluptuous.

She saw him enter, and her eyes went wide with a mix of fear and a secret, familiar thrill. She stood up, her silk robe rustling. “My… my lord… I wasn’t expecting you…”

“I know,” Alaric said, locking the door behind him. His eyes raked over her body. “It’s been too long, Margaret. I’ve neglected you.”

“I… I understand, my lord. You have… many responsibilities.”

“And many needs,” he corrected her, unbuckling his belt. The sound of the leather slapping was loud in the room. “Strip.”

He didn’t intend to impregnate them. That would be… complicated politically. But he did intend to use them.

He fucked Margaret for hours. He bent her over her luxurious vanity table, watching himself pound into her in the mirror. He fucked her on the plush carpet, pinning her arms down.

Then, unsatisfied with just one, he dragged her, naked and panting, down the hall to Josephine’s room.

Josephine, the former concubine of the Eloriath King, was reading in bed. She looked up, terrified, as Alaric dragged the naked, flushed former Queen into her room.

“My lord!” Josephine gasped, clutching her sheets to her chest.

“Room for one more,” Alaric announced, throwing Margaret onto the bed with her.

He spent the next two days and two nights in that wing. It was a marathon of debauchery. He turned the two former royals into his personal playthings. He made them kiss. He made them lick each other. He created a filthy, degrading threesome where rank meant nothing and his cock meant everything.

“You’re both my mothers-in-law,” he growled as he fucked Margaret’s pussy and forced Josephine to suck him off at the same time. “You should get along. You should share.”

On the second night, bored of the indoors, he dragged them both, naked and protesting, out into the private, walled Elven gardens attached to their wing.

“My… my lord… the guards!” Margaret hissed, trying to cover her breasts with her hands as the cool night air hit her skin.

“They can’t see us,” Alaric smirked, flicking his hand. An illusion-ward shimmered into place, wrapping the garden in a bubble of shadow and silence. To the outside world, the garden was empty. Inside, it was a playground. “But… isn’t it more exciting? Knowing they’re right there? Just beyond the bushes? Knowing that if I dropped the spell… they’d see their former Queen being taken like a dog?”

He fucked them in the dirt. He bent Josephine over a marble bench, the cold stone against her belly, and pounded her while Margaret watched. He fucked Margaret against the trunk of an ancient weirwood tree, her legs wrapped around his waist. It was filthy. Animalistic. And exactly what he needed to wash away the taste of “gentle” lovemaking.

After two days, both Eloriath women were broken, exhausted, and unconscious, left in a tangle of limbs on the garden grass.

Alaric, finally feeling the edge taken off his hunger, returned to his own chambers. He had work to do.

He sat in his private study, a massive map of the continent spread out before him. The Celestial Dragon Empire dominated the eastern side. It was huge. Ancient. Powerful.

And it was his next target.

He summoned his newest slut. “Lin Ruoli.”

She scurried in moments later, pale and trembling, wearing a simple servant’s dress that did nothing to hide her beauty. She bowed low, her forehead touching the floor. “M-Master…”

“Strip,” he commanded idly, not even looking up from the map.

She obeyed instantly, her hands shaking as she peeled the dress off. She stood before him naked, her body a map of the marks he’d left on her.

“Come here,” he said. He sat back in his chair and patted his lap.

She walked over and sat down, straddling him, burying her face in his neck. He wrapped one arm around her waist, his hand sliding between her legs, his fingers idly playing with her clit, finding her wetness.

“Talk to me,” he said, his voice calm but hard.

“T-talk, Master? About… what?” she panted, her hips instinctively grinding against his hand.

“The Celestial Dragon Empire,” he said. “Tell me everything. The factions. The power structure. But mostly… the women.”

“Women, Master?”

“Yes. Women,” he said, his fingers sliding inside her. “Emperor Huang Long. The Kensei Shogun. Their harems. Who are the strongest? Who are the ones with real power? The Martial Kings. The Archmages. The ones they trust. The ones they desire.”

As she stammered out names and secrets, forced to betray her empire while he casually fingered her, Alaric thought about the System’s mission.

Ten. Ten top-tier fuck-toys. From an Emperor’s harem. And they had to be powerful in their own right. This wasn’t a simple smash-and-grab. This was a heist. A war fought in bedrooms and baths.

’I need a team,’ he thought. ’I need power. I need subtlety. And I need distraction.’

He flicked Lin Ruoli’s clit, hard. “Aaaah!” she cried out.

“You,” he said, “are coming with me. You’re my guide. My local contact. My hostage. If you betray me… well, you know what happens.”

“Yes, Master,” she sobbed, kissing his neck.

’Who else?’ he thought.

’Lilliana,’ he decided. His old teacher. His Archmage slut. She was powerful. An Elemental Archmage. Good for distractions, heavy-hitting magic, and… well, she was fun on the road. She had stopped fighting him long ago, accepting her place as his willing sex slave and magical partner.

’And…’ his mind went to his other secret weapon. ’…Ceanna.’

His Saintess. His divine fuck-toy. Her holy magic was subtle, insidious. It could sway minds, calm guards, open doors. ’And,’ he smirked, ’it’s time to spread my new religion. What better place than a rival empire? I’ll corrupt their faith from the inside out.’

’Ceanna, Lilliana, and Lin Ruoli. My holy woman, my teacher-slut, and my local guide-whore. A perfect little team.’

“One last problem,” he murmured, withdrawing his hand from Ruoli and wiping it on her thigh. “Travel.”

He couldn’t be gone for months. His newly-conquered kingdom would rebel. His harem would get restless. His son would be born without him.

’No,’ he decided. ’I’ll commute.’

“I’ll build portable teleporters,” he said out loud.

“My… my lord?” Lin Ruoli whimpered, still trembling on his lap.

“Shut up,” he said. “I’ll build a master gate here, in the palace. And I’ll take anchor gates with me. I’ll plant them all over the Dragon Empire. Secret locations. Safe houses. I can zip back and forth in an instant.”

He grinned. The plan was forming. It was ambitious. It was arrogant. It was perfect.

“I can run my kingdom… fuck my wives… check on my son… and… poach an Emperor’s harem… all at the same time.”

He looked down at Lin Ruoli, who was drenched just from sitting on his lap.

“But first,” he said, lifting her up and tossing her onto the desk, scattering the maps. “Let’s… finalize… your briefing.”

But he needed help building the devices. He needed hands as skilled as his own.

He sent a mental summons. “Iridelle.”

Minutes later, the door opened. Iridelle walked in. She was a beautiful woman, older than him, with ink-stained fingers and glasses perched on her nose. She was a brilliant artificer, a genius in her own right. She was also Natasha’s older sister, and someone Alaric had seduced years ago, turning her into his devoted partner in both science and sin.

She saw Lin Ruoli spread eagled on the desk, saw Alaric’s hard cock. She didn’t blink. She just smiled, closing the door and locking it.

“You called, Alaric?” she asked, her voice husky. “Do you need… maintenance?”

“I need your brain, Iri,” he said. “And your body. We’re building something new. Something revolutionary. Portable, long-range, stable teleportation anchors.”

Her eyes lit up with intellectual hunger. “That’s… theoretically impossible. The mana consumption…”

“I have a workaround,” he said, tapping his temple. “But I need you to etch the rune sequences while I stabilize the cores. It’s going to be delicate work.”

“I’m ready,” she said, walking over to him. She dropped to her knees, unbuckling his belt further. “How do you want to work?”

“Multitasking,” he grinned.

He pulled her up. He swept the rest of the maps off the desk, pushing Lin Ruoli to the side (but keeping her within reach). He bent Iridelle over the desk.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he whispered in her ear, “while we design the matrix. The rhythm helps me think.”

“Yes, Alaric,” she breathed, hiking up her skirts. “Use me. Inspire me.”

He entered her from behind, sliding deep into her familiar, tight heat. She moaned, her hands gripping the edge of the desk, her eyes fluttering shut for a second before snapping open, focusing on the blank parchment he slapped down in front of her.

“Start drawing,” he commanded, beginning a slow, steady rhythm. “The spatial coordinates anchor. Go.”

For the next three days, they worked like that. It was a marathon of genius and lust. Alaric fucked Iridelle on the desk, on the floor, against the workbench. He used Lin Ruoli as a living model for mana flow, drawing runes on her naked skin.

They didn’t sleep. They barely ate. They just fucked and invented.

“The stabilizer…” Iridelle gasped as he pounded into her, her hand shaking as she drew a complex geometric figure. “…needs… ah!… needs a secondary… oh god… loop!”

“Good girl,” Alaric growled, thrusting harder. “Draw it. Don’t stop.”

By the end of the third day, they had them. Five platinum discs, etched with microscopic runes, humming with contained power. The anchors.

Alaric stood over the finished products, naked, sweating, exhausted, but triumphant. Iridelle was slumped against his leg, covered in ink and his seed, smiling happily.

“It’s done,” he said.

He was ready.

The next morning, he stood in the palace courtyard. His team was assembled.

Saintess Ceanna, looking pure and holy in her white robes (though Alaric knew exactly what was under them).

Lilliana, his teacher, looking annoyed but resigned, her staff crackling with power.

Lin Ruoli, looking pale and nervous, dressed in travel clothes.

And Alaric, dressed in simple, unassuming black armor.

“Where are we going first?” Lilliana asked.

Alaric looked East, towards the rising sun. Towards the Celestial Dragon Empire.

“To the Emperor’s doorstep,” he said, a wicked grin splitting his face. “I hear he has some things that belong to me.”