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 feedback!
All characters in sexual situations are 18 or older.
Chapter 3 - BALMUDIA
It was a brisk, autumnal evening in the coastal capital city, where red and yellow leaves littered the cobbled streets and a low wind blew cold in from the sea. Only a few citizens braved the elements to pay their respects to one of the kingdom's oldest public servants at the huge cathedral just south of the market district. From the cracked tiles of that ancient holy structure, plumes of incense wafted up to the ceiling, like souls rising to the heavens.
There, seated alone at the rear, and in disguise, eighteen year old Princess Quizia Remo prayed for her family's most trusted advisor. Despite her sorrow this night, something else nagged at Quizia. She couldn't help but think there was something odd about her husband's behaviour lately. She bowed her head and resumed her prayer.
Quizia was the last surviving member of the Balmudian royal family.
She had a bright, youthful appearance, with long brown hair and pretty blue eyes set against suntanned skin. She was short, barely more than five feet tall, and lusciously full-figured. Wide supple hips and a full bosom on her compact frame were defining features though Quizia also had a fiery personality, an unapologetic knack for being overly nosey, and was, at present, great with child.
She knelt in one of the back pews of
The Temple of the Holy Sanctifier
, one of the ancient religious sects in the kingdom of Balmudia. Hooded and cloaked in navy blue, to hide her identity while out in public after dark, the little princess silently took part in the prayer being offered to memory of her old family friend.
It was an old order, they of the Sanctifier, which had lost many of its more devout members during the plague years, and even more when Trevilan had first arrived almost twenty years ago. Most citizens of Balmudia, the survivors, had converted to the more dominant religion, the church of the Redeemer, which of course was the also faith of her husband, Prince Marcus Velcin.
Quizia had chosen to uphold the faith of her parents, whose teachings and lessons were often hidden within parables, religious allegory, and, more often, stories within stories, that usually went over her head. But they always seemed to remind or reinforce the idea that familial love was paramount, and compassion a virtue.
Quizia smiled, and thought of Marcus.
She adored everything about her dashing young husband. He was so kind, had a friendly personality, stunning good looks, and was great in bed... she blushed. Yes, she thought the world of him. How could a loving wife do otherwise? She doted on him constantly. Marcus was tall, dark, and handsome, and she knew he loved her just as deeply.
Her mind went over his distinctly Velcin face, pale skin and deep green eyes. She had known him for years, ever since the Velcins had arrived to offer aid to Balmudia following the worst years of the plague. First as the eager young pupil of the noble lords and ladies who had initially arrived to oversee the relief effort. Years later, as a young man who became the official regent in Balmudia, where he was in charge of the restoration of the capital, public works efforts, and the humanitarian aid programs.
Their romance had started slowly, through chaperoned courting and the exchanging of letters. They went on long walks through the gardens and the woodlands north of the capital. She had been so sad, so lonely in her grief, during those difficult years without her family.
He helped her move on. He was fun and playful with her, but also quite gentle. He taught her how to ride horses and play games. They went swimming together in the summer months and sailed around the bay as often as they could. He helped her come to terms with her grief and move on with life. She could never have dreamed of a more caring partner.
The Sanctifier had strict rules about sex, of course... mostly, as she understood, it was meant for the purpose of procreation, and only after marriage. But Quizia and Marcus had had an awful lot of fun trying to get pregnant once they were married when two years after meeting Marcus, they were betrothed.
On the day of their wedding, Marcus' beautiful mother, the aged queen Marzanna Velcin, had whispered to the blushing bride to always make herself
available
to the prince, that he would surely bless her with many children, and happiness... and Quizia took that to heart keeping that promise... to the letter.
Quizia blushed thinking of that first night. And the many others that followed. The Sanctifier didn't seem to care about sex during pregnancy, a loophole the two young lovers were quick to take advantage of. Even during this late in her pregnancy, they enjoyed a very healthy sex life.
She was still sore from last night.
He had taken her twice, pumping her welcoming young pussy full of his seed once and then finishing all over her big bubbly butt the second time. Quizia was amazed at how much she loved being bent over and taken from behind... and subsequently dominated by his big thing.
Yes, Marcus was a dotting husband, and always made sure she came as much, if not more, than him. She recalled being so surprised to learn from her handmaidens that few men were as endowed, or vigorous, as Marcus. Though he often worked her quite hard in the bed chamber, she knew this was simply how he expressed his love for her and her youthfully curvy body.
She held her rounded stomach lovingly; she could barely see it below her painfully swollen breasts, which had more than doubled in size over the course of her pregnancy. Marcus could hardly keep his hands, or his mouth, off them.
She smiled to herself and tried not to think too much on their nights of passion while here in the temple. She felt the baby move. No, the days would not be long now. Marcus was an exceptional lover and she did her best to keep up with his needs. But he was also quite intuitive; he knew how to give her such pleasure as well.
Over and over again.
Quizia felt her cheeks grow hot. Lots of changes were on the way. This past year had flown by and she was over encumbered, literally, with the prospect of impending motherhood. Even still, she kept to her oath and always made sure to be... available to her loving husband.
And yet, strangely, Marcus of late seemed to be... well, she thought as she steepled her fingers and considered the matter more carefully... he seemed distracted? It seemed to her that ever since his two sisters arrived last week, to support their brother, the regent of Balmudia, Marcus' attentions were suddenly elsewhere.
She continued to pray. The thoughts returned and she shook her head. Quizia had no reason to suspect anything was amiss. She knew it was primarily through the kindness and generosity of the kingdom of Trevilan that Balmudia even stood today. Was it not for their intervention, and then robust programs to get the kingdom up and working again after years of being crippled by the terrible plague, there might not even be a Balmudia, let alone a royal family.
She let go and gently ran a delicate, though somewhat swollen hand across her protruding stomach. Why worry? With the Velcin's generosity, especially Marcus' love and affection, the future of Balmudia looked better and better every day.
Quizia rose up from her kneeling position in her pew and sat back. The memorial service for the last of her closest advisors, Aniston Florent, who had recently passed from a sudden illness, was coming to an end. The young princess, in the last few years, had come to rely on the guidance of those older lords and nobles, the ones closest to her late mother and father, her whole family, before their lives had been tragically cut short by the plague when she was just a little girl, and now even they were all gone. She had to rely on the Velcin family for advice now.
The plague in Balmudia had been ruthless. Quizia, nor her advisors, had any real answers as to why she had been spared. The will of the Sanctifier... or possibly even the Redeemer, had intervened. But who could really say? In any case, the lusty young princess, who had been fourth inline for the Balmudian throne, was now front and centre stage as their monarch.
The kingdom had lacked the financial resources for a formal ascendancy ceremony, until Trevilan had stepped in to provide the necessary funds... and marry Quizia to Marcus.
Even with Velcin money and aid, it was a small ceremony. The population of Balmudia had been crippled almost twenty years ago. A little more than one third of the people had been wiped out, including most of the castle dwellers. Reconstruction had been slow, hopeless even, until the Velcin family stepped in, with a vaccine and plenty of workers to step in and support the beleaguered southern kingdom.
Even at such a young age, Quizia knew that, formally, the Velcins were here on humanitarian grounds, where the other kingdoms had been fearful to step in and lend support, not wishing to give the plague any more of a foothold on the continent, and stress the newly developed Velcin vaccine beyond what they could keep up with.
It was up to the southern kingdoms to support themselves and that's precisely what they did.
Such an alliance, forged in the union of Quizia and Marcus, was almost a forgone conclusion. And their heir would stand to unify the south even more so. Thanks to Trevilan, Quizia wanted for nothing. Though, as the years went by, she often become mournful of her lost childhood and dead parents. She had to admit that the life the Velcins provided for her was second to none, even if the rest of the kingdom lived hand to mouth.
Despite the well-loved status her advisor had enjoyed in life, Quizia was surprised to see that very few had actually come out for the vigil. Still fearful of the sickness, she thought, even after all these years. She herself was loathe about attracting too much attention at night and often, if they were about the city, would go cloaked and hooded.
The candle-lit temple hall was near empty, maybe only a dozen or so sat or rose up occasionally, to light a candle before walking out into the rainy night.
She of course was not really alone, her stalwart companion, the mute royal guard, Nykro, sat only a few pews back watching her. The plague, and countless usurpation attempts over the years, had never been able to kill Nykro, and Quizia felt quite safe with the silent solider here tonight.
Still, she turned her head to regard him when a dark figure sat two pews ahead of her and began to pray. She observed the form, the broad shoulders of a hunched person, for a few minutes, thinking little of it, when suddenly a second form joined the first. Both black shapes were glistening in the candlelight, their cloaks covered in the sparkle of rain drops. They were late to the vigil by almost an hour and Quizia couldn't help but listen in when the two began to whisper.
