(Author's note: This is a revision of a work that I originally wrote some time ago, with additional context and dialogue. There are currently ten completed chapters only a few of which I want to do additional tweaking for, so expect a day where 6-7 chapters suddenly go up at once. It is also nakedly and unashamedly pornographic. Please enjoy!)
The witch kept her head held high as she entered the king's antechamber, the heels of her boots ringing on the tile. Her king had summoned her, and she had expected this for some time. Adeline was her name, although that was not the name she was born under- she had long discarded her past, along with her hopes of salvation, when she made the necessary pacts to attain her level of power. That was in the day of the current king's grandfather, and ever since, the royal family of Allore had been a shelter for Adeline from the power of the church and the fear of the populace.
Carefully measured fear was one of Adeline's favoured tools. Everywhere she went in the castle, maids would whisper to one another when they thought she couldn't hear, and scurried away like mice whenever Adeline's gaze found them. The black-armoured giants who composed the elite Veronomigan Guard would eye her suspiciously before looking away. Though loyal to a fault and fearsome in battle, the huge northmen were notoriously superstitious, but their deference and timidity nonetheless bolstered Adeline's pride.
This was the fear that Adeline enjoyed. A careful balance on a knife edge, with the inquisition and an angry mob below prepared to castigate her for failure. Serving the royal family made that edge into a beam- nobody truly expected the royals to be beholden to their own laws and they alone had the power to openly defy the church.
She did have cause to be wary around the nobility, however. Servants would not speak out, even the older ones who would be able to question why Adeline had not seemed to age since the day she arrived in the castle over fifty years ago. But decades of rule under the weak King Marius, the current king's father, had made the nobility bold. A great many of the noble houses who allegedly served the throne did not approve of the seemingly-immortal witch kept as an advisor by the royal family, and those few who did tolerate her only because she was useful.
She had pale silver hair that hung straight down to her shoulders, clear blue eyes and a slender, shapely body with modest breasts. Her dress was very deliberately cut to cling to her, and, while simple, showed off the lines of her body. She wore the traditional pointed hat of her profession, to signal her magical prowess to onlookers- hopefully it would impress upon King Roland the serious nature of her powers. This would be her first audience with the new king- she wanted to look desirable, to play on his lusts, but also authoritative, and someone not to be trifled with.
King Roland was young for his station, having orchestrated a bloodless coup to depose his father and send him into exile. Supposedly, Roland had his mother's touch for diplomacy, and had negotiated his way into the position of the royal treasurer, smoothly displacing the man who had held the position for decades, Lord Amrien. Roland then proved to be so successful as treasurer that the kingdom's coffers increased despite the former king's many inadequacies at rule... and, with Roland's hand on the purse-strings, the new king was able to win the loyalty of the Veronomigan Guard and take his father into custody, freeing up the throne for himself. That was three months ago, and the ripples through the corridor of power have been expanding ever since.
To King Roland's few allies, he was a genius prodigy, ready to usher in a new golden age for the Kingdom of Allore. For his critics, he was a greedy upstart who seized the reins of power so he could turn the castle into a decadent personal paradise to sate his lusts. To Adeline, both were true. King Roland was a powerfully intelligent man who was ruled by his ambitions and lusts, and she had worked out a way to use one of his drives to tame the other.
King Roland had a reputation for being possessed of an insatiable appetite for sex. As far back as his coming of age, and some rumours held that even earlier, he made a succession of lovers out of his personal servants. For a king to dirty himself with the peasant lovers was an unspeakable travesty to many of the nobility... and even the new King's most ardent supporters saw it as unfortunate black mark.
Crossing the modest antechamber, Adeline saw the two guards at the entrance to the throne room cross their poleaxes, blocking her way. Mentally, she braced herself. This would be a good warm-up before the main battle.
"The King is not to be disturbed at this time," the right-hand guard stated, his accent thick.
Adeline smiled, tilting her head back to look up at the huge man, letting the brim shroud her eyes to give her what she hoped was an air of mystery. "His Grace has summoned me. He requires my council on matters of national import." She let her smile widen as she drew her brows down, glaring in an evil grin. "You know who am I. Do you really want to bar my way?"
To their credit, the guards weren't immediately cowed, although they hesitated and exchanged a worried glance. When Adeline reached out and parted their weapons as thought they were mere curtains, then the two men relented, resuming their watchful stance.
The cavernous throne room, decorated with huge tapestries and the banners of noble houses that held (nominal) fealty to the king, was filled with wet slurping sounds. For the first time since his coronation, the witch beheld her King, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the rumours did indeed seem to be true.
Two maids in uniform, a blonde and a brunette, were knelt before the throne, their heads bobbing up and down rhythmically over the King's erect cock. This king himself was leaning on the arm on the throne, head in hand as if this was just some idle afternoon entertainment. The crown rested atop his head, however, and despite the debauchery taking place, he did seem to have a regal bearing. Not as thought he was above the act taking place, but in a confident way, as if he didn't particularly care who knew that he was taking his pleasure.
