Once again, many thanks to EmmaKendrick01 for providing her feedback on the chapter!
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The dulcet tones of Rudolf One-Stone were enough to captivate her father's court, but Gwennalyn was temporarily immune to his rakish charm, frustrated and annoyed as she was.
At the end of her row sat Brand and Brash, who had last night cruelly rejected her, sending her back to her chambers with her tail between her legs. Every so often, she would peek down at them, and unfailingly, they would notice, smirking at her, only increasing her anger.
Even after her conversation with her handmaiden earlier that day, she was still upset about their manipulation of her.
"I don't understand it," she had muttered to Deiara, her head resting on the older woman's belly.
"What don't you understand?"
Gwennalyn sighed, running a finger along the creamy expanse of her handmaiden's thigh.
"Why didn't they fuck me? I was right there, ready and wet."
Deiara chuckled, stroking at the princess' hair, as usual providing a comfortable pillow as they laid in bed, lazily passing the afternoon.
"It's not enough for them to fuck you, they want to manipulate you, to play games."
"But why? Isn't it easier to just fuck me?"
"They enjoy a reaction. Like yours. If you had just left without saying a word, it would have denied them their amusement."
Gwennalyn harrumphed.
"That is much easier said than done."
"I'm sure they'll fuck you tonight, if that's any solace."
"How could you know that?"
Deiara shrugged.
"They leave soon. Their chances to fuck you are becoming less and less. And even if they don't fuck you tonight, it only means they have something big planned for their last night."
The thought of that potentially big plan was intriguing.
"And maybe them not fucking you is a good thing," Deiara continued.
"How could that be a good thing?"
"Because, like I said, they leave soon. You were going to have to part ways, this might just help you do so easier."
"Yeah, I guess so."
Deiara's wisdom had made the princess feel slightly better, but over the course of the day, she had slowly but surely returned to a state of agitation and annoyance.
Had she not been deprived of delightful debauchery last night, she would have been ecstatic to listen to the legendary stylings of Rudolf One-Stone.
Everybody knows the story of how he got his name.
But now she was just angry.
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Later that night, as the castle settled into silence, the princess padded through the servant corridors. Her annoyance had been mitigated somewhat, first by watching her handmaiden cavort with a female orc, one of King Volfen's guards, and second by the thought of what Brand and Brash might do to her. She found herself hoping ardently that Deiara would be proven right.
"There you are," Brash grumbled at her when she walked into the sitting room.
The brothers sat at the same table. The only difference was it was covered with a tablecloth.
"Get under the table," Brand commanded.
Her anger dissipated further as she obeyed, slipping underneath the long, golden-trimmed cloth, arranging herself between the brothers. The cloth reached down to the floor, blocking her view of the rest of the room.
There was no further command needed. She quickly freed both of their cocks, closing her hands around the swelling flesh, feeling them throb in her grip.
In less than a minute, both of them were rock-hard, leaking dribbles of pre-cum, enticing her to lean forward, licking along Brand's length, shuddering when the pre-cum seeped out onto her tongue. She cooed, switching to Brash's, giving it an affectionate kiss, dragging her lips up to the head, where more tangy pre-cum splashed out.
As her mouth moved back and forth, her hand slid underneath her dress, slipping into her panties to pat at her slit.
The brothers left her to indulge as she saw fit, no commands or directions coming from them.
She licked and kissed at their fat pricks, purring happily, able to take her time. More pre-cum flowed out, each trickle falling prey quickly to her desirous tongue. Her hand worked steadily over her womanhood, not daring inside, just sliding along the wet lips, occasionally sneaking up to tease at her clit.
It was a change of pace, to not have these brutish members shoved rudely down her throat. Despite how much she enjoyed being made to take them there, it was nice to be able to appreciate the slow build-up to orgasm, the inexorable climb to climax that would be no less satisfying, at least for her.
"Sir Hathwell for you, my lords," came a growl from the entryway of the room.
Gwennalyn was briefly distracted from her indulgence, listening as the brothers greeted their guest.
"Greetings," a smooth voice said from nearby.
"Greetings," answered the brothers' low rumble.
"To what do I owe this invitation, good sirs?"
"We heard you have been named ambassador to our father's court. Congratulations."
"Many thanks, Sir Brand. To even be considered is an honor."
Gwennalyn went back to her indulgence as the three of them continued to chat. The thought popped into her head as to what Sir Hathwell's reaction would be to the knowledge that his king's daughter was underneath the table, happily servicing the two orcs.
He'd probably faint...
Sir Hathwell had not been at her father's court for long, arriving several months prior with his wife and young children, having been sent by his father, who had dreams of his son rising the ranks to a distinguished and respected position. Such naked political maneuvering was commonplace in the court; it always galled Gwennalyn, but her father was by now aware and tolerant of it.
Wonder how Sir Hathwell's father feels about his son being an ambassador to orcs.
"We had a question for you," Brash grumbled.
"How can I be of service?"
"Tomorrow night will be our last night here," Brand lamented, "and we wanted to make it a good one."
"So," Brash continued, "we were wondering where in the city the good whorehouses are."
Gwennalyn heard a sputtering, likely Sir Hathwell spitting up his wine in surprise.
"Uh...I must admit that I am not the man to ask."
"You've never visited one in your time here?"
"I have not been in the capital for long. And I shudder to think what my lovely wife would do were she to find out that I had visited a brothel."
The brothers chuckled.
"However," Sir Hathwell continued, "I can say that I have heard tell that our whores are the most talented in all the lands. You would find yourselves in good hands with our women."
Brand chuffed in amusement.
