This is a continuation of The Royal Heirs story. All characters are 18 or older.
***
Later that night, the King's chambers had been cleared and cleaned, his body washed twice over by the Lady Siobhan, and he sat behind the desk tucked in a corner. He swirled a small glass of deep red wine in his hand and tried to pay attention as his steward talked him through the following day's events.
The King picked absently at a plate of bread and cheese as the man spoke.
"You'll be expected to attend the coming of age ball in the midafternoon," the old man said. "And of course, the host's feast will follow to round out our visit to the Isles."
"Yes, very good," King Entega said. "Will there be anything else, Ordran?"
"Only a few more items, Your Grace," the man said.
He had served Entega's mother when she had ruled, and oversaw the King's coronation just a few months earlier. He was a portly old man with a clean shaven head, hardly coming up to the King's chest when they stood face to face. There was little about the goings on of the Empire that Ordran did not know, and he had been placed in charge of the entire Royal Tour.
But now he was going on and on, covering the intricacies of court politics that had come to him with the latest batch of letters from the Capital. The King cared little for such things so far from his court -- he had left behind his sister and aunt to rule in his stead as he planted the regal seed throughout the Kingdoms.
Yet he still received these updates, nightly, from Ordran. That night, his mind wandered to the evening's events. He played the moment before entering Lady Leanna over and over in his head, feeling his loins stir with the memory of lust he felt towards his mother. This had never happened to him before, though he had been in similar proximity a dozen times already. Oddly, he felt more curious than concerned.
The door between their chambers opened and his mother stepped in. The King motioned and the Queen joined to move the two men in the corner of the room. She dismissed Ordran as he finished updating them about a noblewoman in the reaches of their Empire whose husband had recently died.
"How are you, my King?" The Queen asked as Ordran stepped out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.
"I am fine, mother," the King replied. "Ready for this tour to conclude so we may return home."
"We have but one court left to visit, it will conclude soon enough," the Queen said. "But I meant tonight. You seemed to be lacking your normal zeal for the ceremony."
"The ceremony," the King said. "It's all ridiculous, following the steps like a choreographed dancer. It was enjoyable at the outset, but the practiced ritual bores me. I excitedly await the days when the acts of my bedroom are not decided before I enter."
"Who says they are so decided now?"
The King looked up from his wine, a child just told the world is not as it seems.
"Ordran tells me tradition dictates --"
"Ordran may tell you what previous Kings have done," the Queen said. "He may tell you what is expected of you. But you are the King. Your actions are tradition themselves."
She stepped around the table, propping herself up to sit in front of her son. Her legs were hanging down, the tips of her bare toes just supporting her against the cold stone floor. Her short nightgown rode up, revealing her smooth thighs and, nearly, the pleasure between her legs.
"The only tradition that matters is you giving them an heir," she said. "There are a great many ways you can do that."
The King did his best to keep his eyes on hers, or his wine, yet they drifted down to her bosom pressing up against her gown, her ass pressing against his table, her legs casually dropped on either side of him. He would not have to lean back far to see the center of his thoughts, what he could not stop desiring.
"You need to understand that simple truth, my son -- you are the King," she said. "You may take what you want, from who you want, when you want it."
"I am the King," he said, absently.
"You are."
"I may take what you want."
"It is your right."
