The Velcin Dynasty

Author's Note - This series is a continuation of 'The Prince's Potion,' and set around twenty years later. Though not necessary, I strongly recommend reading those stories prior to this one. I realize my stories are not for everyone. If you're not interested in exaggerated sex organs, incest, inbreeding, and medieval/fantasy settings, this may not be for you. I thank you all for the continued support and the feedback!

All characters in sexual situations are 18 or older.

Chapter 1 - TREVILAN

Nineteen-year-old Princess Cressia Velcin woke with a start.

A low and distant sound, something like an animal's howl, had roused her from a deep slumber. There it was again. Cressia blinked, adjusting her eyes to the night. She was alone in her room, an opulently decorated chamber that had formerly belonged to her father, Rodmond, when he was just a princeling.

Silently the young girl rose and wiped her eyes, pushed long locks of dark hair from her pretty face. A thin line of moonlight beamed onto the floor in front of her bed, but otherwise the room was pitch black. She languidly grasped for the wooden nightstand beside her giant bed and proceeded to slowly light a candle.

The princess was fully awake now, suddenly remembering the strange raven that had appeared at her window just before bed. The letter was unrolled on her nightstand. She would have to read it again. She shook her head and got up to wash her face at the other end of the room. Then, noticing the letter illumined by candlelight, she sat back on her bed and examined it.

She heard the howl again, coming from somewhere down within the castle. She guessed who it was and where it was coming from. The letter intrigued her more. It was from her older sister, Roslin, and addressed to Queen Marzanna. Cressia assumed she had ended up with it only because the raven brought it to her window accidently, not caring that this was no longer the king's chamber.

Whatever the reason, the contents of the letter had startled and excited Cressia.

The four Velcin children that still lived in the castle rarely got a glimpse of the full picture, what was going on, regarding things outside their kingdom of Trevilan. Of their parents' great plans for the continent itself. She was old enough to know a few things, but ultimate goals and grand designs were things kept among the adults and their closest advisors.

Cressia rolled her eyes thinking about it. The grand design, as her father always liked to phrase it, was not something she herself was privy to... yet... though she was always hearing this or that regarding some key player or some moment that they must soon grasp.

Now, with this letter, she was finally getting some insight, even a small glimpse, into what was going on out there in the rest of the world.

Not that she really wanted anything to do with all that. Cressia was a smart and spunky teenager, she liked to think she was wise beyond her years, but her emotions often got the better of her. She was happy here. She ruled the roost as oldest princess of those still here. Her good looks would usually save her from all the trouble she got in around the castle.

Being daddy's favourite definitely helped too.

She read over the letter once again. Tried to put it into context with what was going on across the continent. Some of her siblings had been strategically placed in each of the four other kingdoms, at different levels of government, positions of power, which Cressia herself didn't fully grasp.

But this letter, delivered to her by accident, had provided some very interesting information for the wilful teenager. In an obviously coded language, the letter detailed what Cressia assumed to be another phase of their plan in Sar Sanrosan, the kingdom just north of Trevilan. Princess Roslin was writing to her mother and saying that she was ready to begin the next part of whatever they had devised for her there.

Twenty-year-old Roslin had been married to Anson Sar, second in line to the throne of Sar Sanrosan, three months ago, in a grand ceremony that solidified a union between the two kingdoms, who were already on good terms with one another. It had been an excellent move for Trevilan, given where the kingdom had been less than two decades ago.

Sanrosan, affixed with the ruling Sar family's title once they conquered it a thousand years ago, was a vast northern kingdom, peppered with snow-covered mountains, deep valleys, and vast forests, often blanketed in harsh winters. It was also home to the Holy Seat of the Redeemer, the dominant religion of the continent, where Cressia's birth mother, Gilly, and her great aunt, Morrigan, were presently based.

She rolled the letter in her hands and absently chewed her full bottom lip. It was expertly written, her older sister being a master of subtlety, espionage, and deception. Roslin talked around things... never addressing anything directly.

This craft, luckily, was not lost on Cressia.

Princess Roslin, since her wedding night or perhaps longer, had been providing Anson Sar, some fifteen years her senior, with a potion that rendered him either impotent or unable to conceive. This was apparently the second phase of their plan. Roslin had only been married a few months and Anson was keen to breed the buxom princess. Cressia couldn't blame him for trying. Roslin was a stunningly beautiful young woman. Her birth mother was Maymon Velcin, the sorceress queen of Trevilan, and the first child born of Rodmond's brood from his union with his three wives.

Maymon Velcin herself, though now an extremely powerful sorceress in the black arts, now teaching at the Arcane Academy in Gristult, was no more than an adept back then, and had experimented on herself liberally during her birthing years. She was trying to weed out any dangerous genes and amplify those of which would be highly desirable.

Roslin had been a complete success of her magical engineering, either on purpose or by accident. Roslin had all the wickedly iconic Velcin features: high cheekbones, deep green eyes, porcelain skin, jet black hair. And at just a little over five feet tall, it was her other... assets which truly made her a shining example of Velcin inbreeding. Magnificently full breasts that stood high on her chest, round and perfectly shaped, always swelling deliciously in every lace corset she blessed her ripe body with, and what a perfectly shaped ass, Cressia thought, so curvy and so fat.

Princess Cressia felt herself getting hot thinking about her older sister. Nothing new there. She was deeply attracted to her, and envious of her busty body. She turned her head to stare through the moonlight at the long mirror set against the wall. She straightened her back and saw her small breasts protrude from her thin nightgown.

She hunched her back again and dramatically exhaled in a deflated gesture.

She held up the letter once again. According to Roslin, the next part was for Daddy's firstborn son, Roydan, to travel to the Seat of the Redeemer, and meet with Gilly at the church. Finally, if Cressia understood the real meaning, Roydan would deliver... unto Roslin's womb a child of pure Velcin blood! Cressia licked her lips at the plot.

Besides their decade-long occupation in the kingdom of Balmudia, the Velcin efforts in Sar Sanrosan appeared to be working the best. Relations were already good there and now they had a Velcin daughter married into the royal family. Cressia could only guess what else her mother and father were plotting for the snowy kingdom in the north, but it would not surprise her if the heir to the Sanrosan throne, Graboor Sar, a picture of health, and still without a male heir, would suddenly take ill and die before assuming the throne. This tragedy would of course put Anson next in line, and presumably, the son Roslin would soon give him.

Wicked, Cressia thought with a devious smile, marvellously wicked.

Resolved to find out more, tonight, she made up her mind to get answers. Besides, the source of all that howling was probably going to want to read this letter immediately. She rolled it up and stood, wrapping herself in a thin green robe. She brought the candle over to her closet and inspected herself in the mirror.

She tightened her sash around her waist and took in her lithe form.

Cressia face was round with cute baby fat. She still looked like a young teenager, not a woman yet, like her older sister. She'd fill out soon enough. And her long black hair was a complete mess, a knotted bird's nest from her sleep. She thought she looked adorable, in a clumsy sort of way.

Her supple hourglass form was accentuated by the tightened sash, and her budding breasts were held together snuggly under the fabric of the robe. She loved them, the size and shape of her perky handfuls. She could handle them easily at this size, knowing full well how big they could get... given how her other sisters, and her mothers, tended to age and fill out.

She tuned slowly and examined her plump butt with one leg extended back and tipped on a toe -- her rear was bigger and rounder than she would like, once again knowing from her mother and the other women of the castle, that she had every chance of blossoming into some hypersexual goddess. And part of her was intrigued by the idea, especially given the men walking around the castle, that such features could very well be used to her advantage. A weapon to get exactly what she wanted.

But Cressia had other plans. She wasn't about to just resign herself to the lusts of her developing body, as hard as they were to being ignored sometimes. She wanted to rule, like her mother, Queen Marzanna, ruled. A strong woman, beautiful, intelligent, and powerful. It was no secret that Marzanna Velcin was the true hand that directed Trevilan in its governance. A role model, Cressia thought.

She knew that the Velcin genes had been carefully thought out, years prior to her birth, by generation's worth of royal inbreeding... and magic. Her father Rodmond had married his own mother and his two sisters.

Through them, he had sired ten children who had survived infancy. Four boys and six girls.

Children who had proven to be immune from the plague which ravaged Trevilan and Balmudia almost twenty years ago. Their blood had proven to be instrumental in developing a vaccine against the plague. Trevilan, and largely the work of Maymon Velcin, had all but delivered the two kingdoms out of certain death from the roving plague.

Cressia decided it was her best bet to take the letter to Marzanna right now and confess that she had read it. Though not her birth mother, Marzanna was in many ways the mother to all of the Velcin children, and Cressia thought of her as the head mother among Maymon and Gilly. The Queen was likely awake now, if Cressia guessed right, and she would know what to do with this information. The letter was meant for her after all. Queen Marzanna played a pivotal role in raising the young princess and all her siblings.

The princess got moving, out the door and down the stairs, thinking about the three other siblings she shared the castle with for the last year.

Prince Roydan came to mind immediately, first born son and heir apparent to the throne of Trevilan, born of Marzanna's womb. A soldier by thirteen, knighted at fifteen, now twenty and a mountain of a man. His thick black hair cut just below his ears, a strong-silent type demeanor that only slightly intimidated Cressia. Still, he was not unattractive.

Roydan was being groomed by an army of military experts and political advisors, as well as under the direct oversight of their father. But the idea that he would someday be king confused Cressia. He simply did not seem like the type to lead a kingdom. Cressia held little expectation for him as king. It wasn't his fault he'd been born a big brute, but the fact that her older brother was a barbarian of a man and perhaps better suited to life on a battlefield then here, instead of cooped up in a castle full of women, left Cressia wondering about what kind of king he would really make.

Yes, he was quiet and slow witted, everyone knew this. But did that mean he wouldn't make a good king? She wasn't exactly sure she knew what made a good king. At 6'5, he towered a good foot or more over most people, and he was powerfully built, with big broad shoulders and a massive chest. His arms were like hairy tree trunks, and he thundered when he walked around the castle. The prince would perhaps never have his father's gift of speech and diplomacy, but if you put a sword in his hands, he was a formidable force to reckon with on the battlefield. Not to mention in the bedroom.

Not that Cressia would know.

Few Velcin women built to withstand the power Roydan wielded between his legs. Cressia had yet to fully experience his prodigious manhood firsthand. The children were always free to play with one another, but intercourse had to be approved first by their parents. Cressia had steered clear of Roydan after seeing him fuck Marzanna and Maymon. She couldn't believe the force and power the young man unleashed upon their beautiful bodies.

Luckily, Roydan rarely seemed to take notice of his sisters, relying on the talents of his mothers to satisfy such carnal lusts. He wasn't cruel or mean to any of them, in truth he seemed to be something of a gentle giant, but she guessed he had already developed a taste for sex that only their mother's mature pussy and huge tits could satisfy.

Good luck trying to hold a conversation with the brute though, Cressia smiled. A few low grunts or short sentences were the most anyone could hope for when speaking to Roydan, even Queen Marzanna. Which baffled Cressia; why did Roslin wish for Roydan to travel north... to do the deed? Surely Rhys would be the better choice. Rhys was more like their father in physicality and would surely be just as amiable to such an idea, having always had a crush on Roslin.

Roydan would eat the poor girl alive.

But then, Cressia considered, maybe that's what Roslin wanted? She was married to a little weasel of a man after all. The poor girl. They don't make them very strong up in Sar Sanrosan. The men hardly seem to get any sunlight and its bloody cold. It was a political marriage, naturally, and the idea of any Velcin being wed to another royal family was hardly ever something lightly considered, Cressia knew, from reading her history books, that it was only something that was done when alliances needed to be secured.

Then there was Rhys, only a few months older than Cressia, and the first-born son of Maymon. Rhys was a bookworm, and soon bound for the Academy in Gristult, to study with his mother and their sister Gya. Cressia rarely saw Rhys these days. After Maymon went to teach at the Academy, Rhys moved down into her chambers, the castles lowest levels, and revived her laboratory. Rhys was a little cocky and full of himself, but Cressia adored him because she knew it was all for show since his experiments often blew up in his face. He still had much to learn, and she was happy that he had been accepted into the school to the west.

Finally came little Mibby, another child of Maymon's womb, and the youngest in the castle having just turned eighteen two months ago. She was small and adorable with her hair in a bob that framed her innocent face. Looks could be deceiving. Mibby was like one of those tiny dogs grouped in with much larger breeds. She often compensated by being the loudest amongst her siblings. She was a little firecracker and Cressia loved how she could dominate any conversation with her babbling rants, often forcing others to stay quiet.

The sisters were friendly, though complete opposites, spending most of their days under the direct tutelage of Queen Marzanna, in and around the castle grounds where they studied statecraft and foreign policy.

Cressia loved the castle, the gardens, and the baths. She adored her life here and loved her family deeply. She knew that life outside the castle was different and could be quite difficult. She was in no hurry to leave. She especially loved her father, who often needed help getting around the castle. Rodmond had always been a loving father to her, so caring and so very giving...

Cressia continued, feet quietly tapping on the stone floor. Judging by the consistency of the banging, she guessed it was Marzanna and Roydan. He could go for hours and only she could keep up with him. The pleasure of the flesh, of being so close with their family, was paramount to the Velcins. To preserve the royal bloodline. Velcin women were products of royal inbreeding to accentuate their busty, curvy bodies. Through the same inbreeding, the men were annoyingly all hung like horses. It didn't help that there were handsome either.

Then there was magic.

She understood that spells and magical potions had played a direct role in all their births and their genetic features. They all bore strangely similar facial features and the distinctive Velcin looks: the piercing green eyes, the jet-black hair. The girls developed pronounced curves, either big full busts, fat round butts, or both. They were both short and curvy like Marzanna or Maymon, or taller but with wider hips like Gilly. In Cressia's case, she seemed to take after her mother, smaller breasts and big, matronly hips, with a deliciously round ass.

All of them knew the dangers of such close-knit familial relations. That such inbreeding could easily have resulted in stillbirths or genetic defects. And perhaps it had, her parents would never tell such things to her, of course, in those early years of the plague, when they had all been so desperate to secure Rodmond on the throne... and swarm the castle with his heirs.

But those dangerous factors were where magic played the central role in their lives.

Magic, largely by Maymon's hand, had been used excessively back then, during the dark years, to ensure Rodmond's offspring were born healthy... and regularly. How else could they have been consistently squeezing out babies over the course of three years? Cressia's mind raced with that carnal knowledge.

And it was all based on some prophecy of her mothers, Gilly's dreams, Cressia shook her head, and some accidental magical mixture which had gifted her father with a giant cock... she almost wanted to laugh as she made her way down the spiraling stairs, and her mothers had all fallen victim to it. They'd spent the last two decades raising ten kids... and plotting how to expand the kingdom's rule.

That was the bulk of what Cressia understood to be her birthright.

King Rodmond had, back then, been quite satisfied with his efforts, his goals, at impregnating his wives. He'd given Trevilan ten beautiful children. Future generations of the Velcin family were all but secured. Though, presently her father, now in his late thirties, still had his appetites... and it seemed to Cressia that he had more goals in mind. Her older sister Mizel had been the first among this generation to have his child. Would she be next? Cressia herself and daddy had been careful so far... but how long would that last? Queen Marzanna had made clear that their daughters, for the purpose of their grand plans, were to only be politically or strategically wed to either their brothers or the royalty of other kingdoms upon the age of eighteen.

Cressia and Mibby were yet unpromised to anyone in the family or elsewhere. She herself had always assumed she would be married to one of her brothers, Rhys, most likely, though she supposed anything was possible... Vyman was technically not married either. She scoffed. As long as Roydan did not choose her as his queen. She could probably learn to handle him in bed but... what in the Redeemer would they ever talk about?

Finally, she approached Roydan's chamber door, where the howling was quite obviously originating from. A steady grunting could be heard along with the telltale rhythmic thumping of someone getting a good hard pounding. There were no guards or servants to be found at this hour and the door was not barred. Anyone could come and go as they pleased.