Queendom 09: a Night Still Young

To recapitulate..

Queen Elanor of Wolkenshire, the Great Chaste, is having a hard time keeping a level head, navigating the daily politics and policies of her court, while mourning the unexpected demise of her true love, King Barthomius. Advised by the High Priest, she employs Bellatrix of Agrafena, a promising horse trainer. Bellatrix correctly identifies the key to the royal dilemma, but it involves manipulating the Queen's bodily cravings, primarily the sexual kind.

To avoid suspicion, Bellatrix is given the official title of 'Head of Households', a powerful position in its own right. Bella starts treating the 'condition' in secrecy, without violating the Queen's chastity, nor risking her anonymity. But the sheer sexual nature of the tasks waking up her inner dormant cravings, an untameable beast of true deviancy, was something no one expected.

Like any relationship, ironing out the kinks can be tedious. After a brief hiatus, the two resumed the treatment, with Bella making additional changes to the contract. The implications of which far exceeded what the Queen expected, as she stayed waiting in the carriage, that took her to the monthly Grand Task.

***

**

*

"And compatriots.. As I conclude, let me reiterate. We, the Order, haven't reached this prime, in decades. We have successfully welcomed twenty-five fresh bloods, committed to the core. Our sympathizers growing tenfold in the last fifteen years. Thanks to Lord Liam, Earl of Pulitz, and my nephew, funds have surpassed the projections by a margin unimaginable even a decade ago. And his collaboration with Lord Klavin, the Viscount of Venmorth, guarantees steady influx for the coming years. In conclusion, let us remember once again. We, the Order of Swords, aim to serve the throne, its rightful Patriarch. We don't conquer, nor vanquish. Revolt, nor overthrow. We simply keep at bay, the seductive vices. On our watch, no Kingdom shall ever fall to the Corrupting Feminine! That we swear!"

"THAT WE SWEAR!!!"

The dozen or so key-members sitting around hailed in unison, as General Glevius Tarquin sat back. Even with minor disagreements, this was the most fruitful meeting he had presided over in years. Tarquin announced.

"Now we may break for an hour. We'll meet again for dinner, along with the other members, and sympathizers. Not to mention, our esteemed donors. As usual the Manor is fully facilitated, and I truly urge you all to stay back for the weekend, and rest well. The party will go on till dawn. We've worked enough, let's give play, its fair due. Any more questions or concerns, compatriots?"

"General, I just want to state for the record. We still find you being too lenient on the Queen. How could you claim progress, with the Kingdom giving way to a female, with no contest.? With you at the helm.?! It's shameful!"

"This again, Wistrom? You can't fault the Kingdom, for fate. And I don't believe that you are suggesting foul play. I'm as critical of Queen Elanor as anyone of you, and you can't deny the remarkable job so far, by our lobbyists. Reliable sources confirm, that the sitting Queen have no dictatorial impulses. Also that she had refused to take a hard-lined approach on matters of the Order. Despite pressure from the Espionage-wing to declare us an extremist cult, so.."

"What's your point, General? That she pegs us toothless? Or, that we invite her in, make her an honorary member.?! Flout all traditions shall we.?! How preposterous..!"

"I've slain orcs twice your size, Viscount! Hordes of them!! Their blunt nail, sharper than your hollow arguments.. Don't waste our time with clever quips and insults. It isn't nearly as amusing, nor eloquent. If there's a point, state it loud and clear.."

"What about our withdrawal from the front-line? Neighboring troops mocking us for impotency? Or, how about the much debated 'Peace-treaty' with the herdsmen tribes? A crowning achievement if comes to pass, cementing her political power."

I don't believe this.

The General rose up, and leaned over the table.

"Wasn't it you, Duke Bircham, who lobbied for the same treaty, the past five years.?

"Back when we had a King! I trust the Great Bard, to wield such power. But now..? No, granting it to a Queen isn't the precedent I want our people to warm up to."

Is he serious?!

Tarquin was infuriated, but he kept calm.

"Are you seriously suggesting we turn a blind-eye to wasteful violence, and instability?! Just to spite the Queen?"

"No, what I am suggesting is.. And I believe that I'm not alone in this."

Bircham looked around to the handful nodding heads, before continuing.

"We have to make a hard choice. On the Archminister. And I suggest we vote on it."

Tarquin sat back, rubbing his forehead.

This is.. This could get out of hand, real quick.

This is bad.

**

*

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Hi Demura,

The task is simple.

Survive the night And don't let anyone seed the royal belly.

You'll find two boxes underneath the seat. The red box is mandatory. The green box is 'revelatory'. With proper faith in me, you'll have no need of the latter.

Your chastity, your anonymity, is my responsibility. Still, we'd rather it be truthful, than polite. The bell means you have fifteen minutes or less, to the destination. To reiterate..

Survive the night. And don't let anyone seed the royal belly.

Godspeed,

Bella.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The ROYAL belly..? As in, my womb.?? What the hell..?!

Folding back the letter, Elanor wondered for a minute.

And what bell?

Oh, right! The bell..

From when they had crossed the gate earlier. The main gate of Breastfield Manor..

That silly name.. Where do I remember that from? Anyhow, there's little time left. So get to it, Nora.!

Elanor frantically reached under the seat. Fighting off curiosity, she went for the red one. Within was a bright burgundy dress, of the finest velvet-silk, with white tulips embroidered along the seams, and golden vines adorning the pleated folds. A pretty accurate recreation, based on her most circulated portrait, the one that hung in all major halls across the kingdom. The one that informed her subjects how she actually looked up-close.

Her signature look, in short.

Elanor took a moment admiring the craftsmanship that went into its construction, truly impressive, even for a knock-off, before quickly undressing herself. Time was short. Her fingers went through the folded costume, in search of a mask, or underclothing, tucked between pleats. But couldn't find any.

Come on.. Where did you put it, Bella??

The Queen frantically pulled out the whole costume, and shook it a couple times, hoping the accessories may fall out. But none did.

The lack of underclothing is one thing, but having me walk out with no mask.?! I mean, that defeats the purpose. How is she to protect my identity, if I am to remain so apparent. There has to be a veil, here somewhere.. If not..

The Queen felt a sudden relief, as she saw a small wooden case, tucked beneath the costume.

Oh, Bella.. I knew you had my back..

Elanor slid open the case, hoping for a basic veil. What it contained left her absolutely perplexed. It was small, metallic, and modular. It could be mistaken for some fetish under-clothing, but the Queen knew well, what it was. A tradition that she had decided, alongside Bard, to forgo, believing in the incorruptibility of their bond. Seeing it now, Elanor couldn't figure how it helped hide her identity.

There was a sudden jerk, as the carriage-wheel skipped over a pebble, snapping her out of the confusion.

There's no mask, nor veil? What does she expect?! Me walking straight out, as I am, huh?! What am I to do? Or should I call-off the whole thing, right here, right now.?

Elanor genuinely took a moment, weighing her options.

Well...

Call off and then what?

Go back to the exponentially increasing depressive nights, the kind that carves one out from within.?!! Why would I be going this far, had there been a better way, keeping it at bay? And how am I to stop this, now.? It's not like you can say the 'safe-word' to the coachman. It isn't even Jokshun this time, riding around.

Time, Nora.! Make up your mind.

It didn't even register to her, that she had slid open the lid, of the green box by then. The contents of which brought no comfort, however. With sweat beading up her forehead, she knew she had to commit.

These are my choices, seriously?!

This is cruel, Bella.

Just cruel.

**

*

At the Order's mercy

Adjusting the large white feather in his ceremonial petasos hat, General Glevius Tarquin practiced his pose in front of the mirror. It was hard for him to keep composure, as much as he was committed to the cause of the Order. The ceremonial outfit made him look absurd. It wasn't the large pleated pants, or the long sweeping coat with its puff sleeves, that did him in. But the unfortunate combination of purple and green that made him look, if anything, like a ridiculously giant aubergine. All the good color-combinations were already taken, by the time the Order got formed,

how unfortunate!

Though in fairness it was far less ridiculous than some of the extreme arguments offered by his misogynistic compatriots, from their agenda-meeting an hour prior.

How glad was I to be done with that.!

Now all that's left is the feast and festivities, and the expected debaucheries, which he had outgrown for the most part.

He could hear the commotion down the hallway, the members have all gathered it seems. He must make an appearance, and do his customary duties. Tarquin, though not a devout misogynist, was a firm believer in the founding principles of the Order of Swords. No one coerced, nor groomed him into the ways of these weird bunch. Growing up, watching his adopted father and uncles squirm under the thumb of one over-bearing, oppressive matriarch, the Grand Duchess, was enough grooming for a young impressionable mind.

He was the youngest of the members to rise in ranks so quickly, largely due to competence. Although not the greatest fan of these grand parties every few months, Tarquin was no fool to minimize its importance. With pressure from the intelligence-wings of multiple Kingdoms on their trail, these ceremonies, if anything, acted as the greatest team-building exercise that unified the noblemen from diverse backgrounds. And adhering to the customs was essential for pleasing the elder members, whose political wisdom proved irreplaceable, from time to time.

"Sire. I believe it's time."

Announced his trusted servant.

"I'm aware, Fenich. I'm aware."

Tarquin leaned in and re-applied the make-up by his right cheek, covering an old dueling scar. His eyes couldn't help but roam, and fixate for a few moments, at a large group portrait from his younger days. His batch from the dueling academy. Especially the three boys smiling at the right edge. A much younger version of himself, Prince Gaskier, and at the very end. A young Prince Barthomius.

**

*

It's unbelievable!

How did she find such a perfect replica?! From where?

Tabitha had a hard time believing her eyes. For a moment it seemed like the true-ruling monarch herself was walking up to her. It wasn't her first time dealing with Demura, as instructed by the Head of Households, but surely it was quite shocking to see the resemblance.

Tabitha had been a little jealous of the young maiden's rise to power, out of nowhere, but if this find was any sign of her actual competence, the head-maid was more than happy to follow Lady Agrafena without question. She also felt deeply thankful, how the events of the night put an end to countless queries that had been troubling her for the past few months.

The root of it all, right before her now.

Lady Demura, the little nymphet!

The rare Royal Double.

Keeping the class, conduct and culture of the palace workforce was the prime responsibility of the Head-maid. Unfortunately for Tabitha, conduct meant rising above the propensity to turn into a rumor-mill. A vice that plagued most, if not all women, working under her. It was part of her duty, to nip in the bud, potential scandals involving the royals, within the walls of the castle, regardless how factual or unsubstantiated. Though she hated dealing with the purely unsubstantiated ones.

One recurring baseless rumor that she had to neutralize every few weeks, for the past couple of months, was that the Queen, the Great Chaste herself, had been acting out, in ways unbecoming of a Lady. Few were minor and ignorable, scoffed off as desperate fantasies. One such rumor was, Her Highness had allowed an elderly member to bring in a sexual pet, into the royal grounds, during the Diplomatic meet.

I mean, who comes up with such nonsense?!

The most improbable one was, the Queen having a secret lover. Some maids claim to have heard someone sneaking out from the royal bedchamber some nights, shortly followed by the sound of horse-wagon exiting the back entrance. Guards have reported unusual screeches echoing at odd hours of night. Some swearing the Queen had company, some fearing it for spirits, and some simply laughing it of as an odd nightfall. Even Royals need an outlet, be it a phalus or a finger.

Washer-maids have joked multiple times, of the royal wardrobe reeking of manly musk, and not just sweat. They chuckled at the thought of some desperate guardsmen rubbing one out by the laundry stocks, not realizing he took the Queen's loincloth to wipe clean afterwords. What troubled Tabitha was the distinct odour of strong mead mixed with it. It smelled nothing like what your average guardsman would dare to consume while on duty. This one was way stronger, and definitely boot-legged.

Something was cooking, Tabitha felt the scent, the heat. Just couldn't pinpoint it yet. Which made things all the more difficult, the ambiguity of it all. It's hard to put out the smoke, if you can't spot the fire.

There was even an instance when her trusted underling, finding Tabitha at early dawn, a couple weeks back. This was a new young girl who hadn't yet been corrupted by the gossipy ways. It took her a couple minutes, looking pale as a ghost, struggling to catch breath, as she informed.

There was a naked woman by the guards-laundry. Lying unconscious, she appeared to be the Queen.!

By the time Tabitha reached the spot, fearing the worst, the scene was empty, but for some truly smelly clothes.

And a faint smell of arousal. Unmistakable, feminine arousal.

Could it have been Her Highness? A woman have needs, I should admit, but..

Was there some substance to all the silent chatter.??

It wasn't like she could confront the Queen. The mere suggestion could land her in the dungeon, if not worse. After two weeks of doing everything in her power to quell the rumors, she finally confronted the next best thing. The approachable Head of Households. It wasn't like Tabitha had to sweat much, to keep her girls in line. But she had to be honest, or know the truth at least. When she spoke knowing the truth, the girls never dared to question the authority in her voice. And she knew, to nip this one in the bud, she had to have a clue, what it was all actually about.

And now she knew.

It was Demura. The sex-starved kitten from the retirement party.

The mid-night orgasmic shrieks, the signs of sneaking out, the accusation of resemblance, and sexual fluids staining the royal wardrobe.. It all fits. Sure none of it fit perfectly, she still had not a clue. But the little minx was a far better, plausible connecting thread, than suspecting the ruling Queen, the Great Chaste herself. Especially considering how depraved some of the rumors had actually been.

Even the naked lass sleeping in the guards laundry. The slut must have gotten the itch, taken a lover down to the dark laundry room, a patrolling guard or two, and ended up dozing off afterwards.

Had she any clue, how horrendous a scandal she had nearly caused, this stupid wench..?! Yet look at her now, sauntering up, like an angel straight from abode.

Tabitha had traveled ahead of schedule as instructed by the Head of Households, and it wasn't like she hadn't met the new royal-decoy before. But as Demura got closer, the flaws got more pronounced. For instance, she could have done a better job dyeing, a few strands remained noticeably blonde, against the dark auburn.

Was her brows a little weird, brighter perhaps?!

And a lot thicker, not to mention the overkill that was her lashes.

And those lips look near-obscenely plump now, the red-lip color doing her no favors.

Not that it'd have worked against the task for the night. Well honestly, it matched the bright burgundy of her outfit.

But it needed a few modifications still

, the Head-maid made a mental note.

"What were you trying for, Demura? A drag-show..?!"

God! Was it that bad?!

Elanor didn't know how to respond.

At least, no one will doubt me for the Queen.

"Apologies Tabitha. I was short on time, and make-up.. And wasn't sure what was expected of me tonight."

"Well, first of all dear, it's Lady Yulia to you. Keep your eyes down while at it.. We are not colleagues, you come under me. Now, for what's expected.. Follow me."

Tabitha led her through the garden path towards the side entrance, were two standard guardsmen opened the doors wide. Their lecherous eyes burning into her feminine form, much to the Queen's displeasure. Elanor averted her gaze, checking out the architecture instead.

It's truly discomforting, walking around withou a veil. At least Lady Yulia thinks I'm Demura..

She didn't notice how easy it was now, for her to move down the hierarchy, addressing her very maid as Lady, without even thinking. Once inside the walls, the head-maid picked up pace, almost trotting.

"What the hell took you so long? And why aren't you wearing proper heels? All the Queens have arrived, they even crowned the main one. Just keep up, will you?!"

Queens?! Did she just say queens?

Elanor struggled to keep up with the strut, her garment restricting easy movements.

Wait.. Isn't that..??

Her eyes widened noticing a series of large flags hanging from the ceiling. Elanor recognized it, especially the symbol in the middle. A black blooming rose, with chains entwined along its thorny stem. And two Demaxan swords, crossed from each side.

I know that symbol. I have seen it. Much like the name before, that ringed so familiar.

Breastfield Manor.! Oh Bella, you didn't..

The large door opened wide, as the pair stopped. Elanor felt her breath get stuck in the lump of her throat, as her entire being froze in an instant, taking in the sight. Even her wildest dreams haven't reached the bizarreness right before. No sound escaped the royal lips.

HELP.

Help.

**

*

Two weeks before, in the Office of Domestic Espionage.

"Thank you, for taking such an interest in our efforts, Lady Agrafena. It's quite a rarity, for a Head of Households to take seriously, this ordained supervisory role."

Commander Cyrian had a friendly smile, as he eased back into the chair. Bellatrix wondered why he welcomed her, instead of General Scarlin.

"Here are the recruitment files you requested. Of the X-Decoy Project, including the field reports of recent operations.."