Finding the prince was the difficult part. He and his aides had done a good job of covering his tracks, but that was to be expected. After all, one does not conspire to ruin a House and murder a queen and then just stand there waving and waiting patiently for retribution. Tracking him was a matter of a bribe here and a judicious use of magic there to follow the bread crumbs of information and learning, over time, how they planted their disinformation. People stick with what they think works or has worked in the past and are often so sure of their intellectual superiority to others, particularly when they were nobility, that they followed their routines pretty rigidly, safe in the knowledge that no one could suss them out.
Prince Kudan had traveled far from his own lands, probably not entirely by his own choice. What was not known was how far the conspiracy threaded through the family and its operatives. While the Royal House of the Kingdom of Kressin would have been happy had the plan worked out and taken advantage of the ensuing chaos, but it was too bold a strike with too much risk of failure to have been cleared by the king. It was far more likely that Kudan hatched it himself in the hopes of ingratiating himself to his father, or even as a means of usurping him in the never-ending, mad rush for advantage. Once it failed, the family moved to protect one of their own and that meant getting him as far away from retribution as possible.
That only meant that it took longer to find him and less than it might otherwise have without more of the understanding of magic that Bryana was making her own. Once done, the rest was simple. Days of observation quickly revealed that he was happy to slip away from his bodyguards fairly regularly to visit to a tavern by the docks where he would drink and or gamble, and to a string of apartments populated by courtesans. An enchanted whisper got her one of the rooms and a shifting spell coupled with a tight black corset got her Kudan's attention.
She'd spent most of the next day observing him and, finally, preparing herself. The room was opulent in its own way with a massive bed, a clean quilt of intricate design, a small dresser, a vanity that had clearly seen better days, and a full-length mirror on wheels for ease of positioning that, no doubt paired with the mirrored ceiling. It was the mirror that she stood before at the moment, now in a simple red gown that, while not a corset, had something of that effect in that it hugged her hips and pushed out her chest in an inviting fashion. She admired herself even as she chanted. It was a stream of sounds that to someone overhearing would have thought was a lullaby that the singer barely remembered.
As it went on Bryana felt the prickling sensation in her fingertips that she'd been waiting for before beginning to comb her fingers through her hair, front to back, over and over until her hair began to darken to the darkest black as it lengthened from a bit below her neck down to the middle of her back. As her fingers came to her face and trailed down in perfect symmetry, darkening her brows to match and changing the very contours of her face as she slowly became the sultry tavern wench he'd met the night before. Her lips turned fuller and took on far more of a pout with a ruby luster, looking as though they were now only fit to kiss or suck. As she continued the spell she thought with fondness about the play with lovers over the years that allowed her to perfect the spell. Her hands firmly pressed down her chest and belly, working downward as the tingling sensation spread through her flesh, not needing to see it work to know that the magic was covering the symbols of power and her guild that adorned her body. Her outside now matched her mind in that both hid the truth beneath an illusion. The Bryana that plotted this night was cold, merciless, and reveled in her power. But she also reveled in being the black dagger of General Neral Jaye.
She stood at the mirror and waited, focusing on her own heartbeat and prepared to tap the flows of magic she would need. She stood almost as a statue for nearly an hour before the pounding on the door shifted her focus. She saw a predatory grin reflected back at her before she went to the door opening it just as the second wave of pounding began. She smiled warmly to greet the prince.
Kudan stood only slightly taller than her with hair nearly as dark as Bryana's now and the look in his brown eyes, and even the way he stood spoke to his brashness. He wore a well-tended mustache and goatee to distract from his slightly hooked nose. He looked at her with glassy eyes before wrapping an arm around her waist, spinning her into the room as he slammed the door. "And there's the best looking whore in Idin," he blustered, staggering slightly as the spin took its toll on his balance. "What was your name again?"
"Annissa."
He nearly shouted at the revelation. "Ah, yes, that's it. Anissa, the whore of Idin."
{Ready to fall face first into his own vomit and the sun is barely down}, she thought. {No matter.} Her tone was playful, "Do your babysitters never care to look for you?"
He pulled her to him roughly and made no effort to not bathe her face in his liquored breath as he growled. "I have no need of babysitters, wench. I am a prince and heir to the throne of Kressin. I go where I please. I do as I please. And right now, I please to spend my night doing Annissa the whore."
He prattled on so much the night they met that she almost expected him to shout who he was and why he was there in the middle of the tavern before demanding challengers. The Bryana that was would have executed guards so incompetent, but their witlessness or fear of Kudan served her this night. He bit her neck and she squealed and laughed before prying him from her neck and pushing him to arms length, "First things first, my prince. Where is my going away money?"
He half-smiled in his confusion, "What are you on about, whore?"
She returned to him and gave his neck bites in return as she spoke seductively, "If a man wants to fuck, any woman will do and any woman can be found. Linger at that tavern you like at closing and you will find women so drunk, without shame, or both, they would spread for their horse, much less any man that happened by."
She punctuated her next words by sliding a hand to his trousers and cupping him firmly enough to feel the pressure through the fabric in a way that made him sigh. "One does not pay a courtesan to fuck, one pays a courtesan to go away afterward and not bother a man with love or bastards begging for a piece of his holdings."
He grinned at her, pleased by her whore's wisdom, "True." He reached into his pants to remove a small pouch, tossing it to the vanity where it landed with some weight. Bryana went to it, pouring the coins into her hand, letting the light reflect off the gold, "The prince is generous."
He looked her up and down, no doubt imagining it as he asked, "How many more of those to see you fuck a horse?"
She resisted the momentary urge to burn a hole in his chest and gave him a smirk before redepositing the coins, "One transaction at a time."
She put one heel before the other, prowling towards him as he stood drinking her in, honestly thinking of how beautiful she was. Born into a good family she had the makings of a fine princess. She was almost too pretty to be the cum dump she was. The fate the Goddess demanded, he supposed. {Her disdain, my gain.} When she reached him he brought her close once again, being careful to keep his lips from hers, as women like her were not for kissing. If she noticed or cared she gave no sign as she ran her tongue down his neck while unbuttoning his silk shirt while he unzipped her dress, peeling it from her to reveal her fair, unblemished skin.
As soon as his shirt fell to the floor he took as much of one of her grapefruit-sized breasts in his mouth, biting the flesh before swirling his tongue around the pink areola before pulling at the nipple with his teeth. When she moaned he nipped harder, which made her shake in his arms. Bryana stayed focused on the task at hand, but admitted to herself that his drunken slobber had a certain primal appeal.
She took a handful of his hair and pulled him from her breast. In response, he snarled and looked for an instant in his drunkenness that he might strike her for it, but the anger changed to a look of anticipation, wondering what she had in mind. Bryana met met his smoldering gaze with her fierce, heated glare, "Stay standing, my prince."
He dug his fingers into her now partially exposed ass and she grunted at the sudden dull pain, "You dare order me?" He was clearly more excited than angry.
She put her arms around him and gripped him in similar fashion. "I dare to suck your cock, Prince." Her hands went to the fine tangle of hair on his chest and played her fingertips through it, her voice purring, "And there is no other way to do it. There is no other way *I* do it.
His breath caught with those full lips kissing across his chest. "Why is that, whore?"
"Annissa," she corrected gently.
That drunken arrogance returned in his response and he squeezed her ass flesh again, harder this time, "I believe I'm also paying you not to give a fuck what I call you, whore."
The corner of her mouth turned upward, "I suppose so. It is a great intimacy, prince, greater than the kiss that you find whores unworthy of."
