The Empress's Game

*** Chapter One - The Coronation ***

The crown landed on Prince Jeremyth's head, and the farce was finally over. He was... officially, and "in the name of the gods," the new king of Casmyr. The realm which his mother had managed to transform from an average, middle-sized dominion into an unrivaled behemoth of might - an empire like no other, a place that now controlled the known world.

And by doing so, she had made this ceremony completely meaningless. Yes, his father's ultimate heirloom was finally resting on his adult brow - a privilege even she did not possess during her long reign as his regent. But probably only because she simply did not care enough.

The queen's grip on power was absolute, and Arydia could easily change any law she wanted... including the most sacred and traditional. No one - not even the clergy - would dare to oppose her decisions. However, his mother always knew what truly mattered... and what did not. Otherwise, there would have been no coronation today at all. Definitely not with him as the main actor on the stage.

The prince looked to the side to take a quick glance at her... trying to see if she was at least somewhat upset by sitting in that smaller chair beside him, for the first time in the eighteen years during which she had ruled from his position - and in his name. The old setup of power had now finally come to an 'official end,' thanks to him - the rightful heir and king - coming of age.

But no. Of course not. Not a bit. The queen rested in her chair as if she owned it, with those long, alluring legs crossed to show off their flawless shape, and her feet - always exposed in some strapped, sexy high heels. A rather inappropriate pose for the uncrowned "Empress of the World," but his mother's entire career had been built on scheming and seduction. She was a slut, an intrigant, a murderer, a villain... and a total fucking genius.

Arydia had been otherworldly beautiful in her youth, and though her mid-thirties had finally begun to erode that perfection - at least a little - she was still hot as hell. In fact, her mature looks added a lot of charisma to her presence, making her, if anything, even more desirable. The queen was no longer just a pretty flower, but a grown rose with thorns. Deadly thorns.

Her raven locks were dense and strong, held back from her forehead by a simple tiara she wore today instead of the regent's circlet she normally used on occasions like this. They fell in waves to her shoulders and beyond, while her skin was left broadly exposed by the wide neckline of her robe - flaunting those perfect, large tits and her smooth, olive-tanned cleavage.

Trapped in a firm corset that further emphasized their shape and size, Arydia's bosom rose and fell enticingly with every breath. Full of lush firmness and vitality. It was no trick of the garments, as Jeremyth knew, because he had stalked his mother a few times when she was nude - heading to bathe or sleep, wearing nothing but her gossamer nightrobe. And so he could confirm firsthand that his mother's beautiful orbs were just as proud and defiant without support as they were now. No, despite the first, utterly insignificant imperfections of her approaching middle age, his mother was still in her prime - and her breasts were no exception.

Yes, the empress was stunning... and she used that as a weapon. Much like a man relies on his sword and strength, Arydia wielded her allure to win. But that alone would never have been enough to become what she was. The regent was a natural leader, a sly intrigant, and a ruthless prodigy. She was extremely intelligent and well-educated, rivaling even the greatest polymaths in the world. Her sharp mind allowed her to absorb knowledge like a sponge, and her relentless ambition and diligence made her an expert in any field she could use to strengthen her rule - ranging from warfare to rhetoric and toxicology. And, of course, the art of love.

Arydia had inherited the throne at a mere nineteen, when his father died of a sudden illness - just a few weeks after Jeremyth's birth - conveniently passing the scepter of the late monarch into her hands as the baby's regent. And while it had not been completely obvious at the time, today almost no one - including the prince himself - doubted that it had actually been her doing. That she had "helped" her husband on his way to the otherworld the moment she had produced an heir and could seize power through the law of regency.

At first, it had seemed unlikely that a young, inexperienced, and deceptively innocent-looking woman could hold the crown and survive in this "pool of deadly sharks" - domestic and foreign alike. Arydia had no strong claim to the throne except through the child she had just birthed, and she was not backed by any powerful or influential house. Her own family was mediocre at best, and the former king had married her solely because of her beauty.

On top of that, the enemies outside - ruling kingdoms stronger than her own - saw this as a perfect opportunity to crush the headless Casmyr and divide its lands among themselves.

But nobles and foreign warlords could not have been more wrong. Arydia brilliantly used the threat of outside forces to strengthen her domestic position, relying on her beauty, eloquence, and natural charisma. Shrewdness and intelligence, too, of course. She managed to delay the wars she could not yet win... and to survive - or even defeat - the enemies within her own court. Of course, it had not all been a "fair fight." The young queen never hesitated to bribe, poison, or lie if it helped her reach her goals. The real Arydia was a far darker creature than the relatively just and innocent image she showed to the public.

And the queen was incredibly good at it.

Using her genius - coupled with a complete lack of scruples or conscience - she not only solidified her rule against all odds but, once her domestic position was firm enough, the young woman launched the greatest and most successful military conquest in history. She shocked the world and earned the reverence and fear of an almost mythical figure.

No, Arydia never led or even attended battles. She was too subtle, too feminine, too fragile to be of any use directly on the battlefield - and she knew it. But her charisma and beauty allowed her to boost the morale and loyalty of her soldiers and generals to astonishing levels. Especially because she had no limits - and was not reluctant to offer her body to some of her commanders as a "reward for their victories." Arydia also knew where to strike... and where to bow, even if only temporarily. She made ceasefires with stronger enemies and crushed the weaker ones first - until she grew powerful enough to face the former again.

But most importantly - despite not being a "field general" - Arydia had a thorough, perhaps unmatched, understanding of campaign theory and military strategy. She was always willing to listen, read, and learn, and her unorthodox thinking allowed her to build upon that knowledge in ways no simple man of the sword could.

The queen quite literally invented new ideas for how to wage war... and passed such innovations to her generals, who then executed them in practice. They were all skilled and competent in their own right, because Arydia's deep understanding of military logistics and the problems armies faced - combined with her ability to read and evaluate people like no other - enabled her to always choose the best man for the job.

Yet as brilliant as she was in selecting and managing her inner circle, the empress was even greater at shaping the grand strategy. Wars are rarely won in days or in single battles. Arydia's long-term planning - ensuring that logistics worked, that her legions were well supplied, that the realm's economy remained healthy and strong - was simply unmatched. She gave her generals everything they needed to win... and they delivered the triumphs.

Jeremyth's mother's reign as his regent was so overwhelmingly successful that she no longer needed to rely on her brutal methods to keep domestic opposition in check - because there was almost none left. Yes, the nobility still hated the idea of a "weak whore" ruling over them - a classic misogynistic resentment, so typical of a deeply patriarchal society - but they quickly learned that while opposing the queen was incredibly dangerous, serving her could be extremely rewarding. Arydia was ruthless to traitors, but she never failed to reward loyalty and competence. And her conquests provided her with ample gold and newly subdued provinces to distribute as she pleased.

Today, Casmyr was nearly triple the size it had been when she first seized power. Its remaining neighbors had been either reduced to vassals or directly occupied. The now-unrivaled armies she commanded were divided among her loyal and capable generals. Despite their allegiance and lack of suspicious behavior, Arydia had positioned them in such a way that they could never unite and conspire against her. While she, on the other hand, could always pit the rest of them against any isolated rebel.

And the Houses? They had all been bribed with exclusive rights to govern and exploit the conquered regions. Removing the queen from power would jeopardize their lucrative privileges so severely that none of them even considered it anymore. In fact, they now actively supported the empress - to ensure she stayed in place.

Arydia had become a living legend - an almost divine figure - surpassing every known ruler in history. A feat made even more astonishing by the fact that she was a woman... and technically, she did not even hold the throne. She was just the young prince's regent.

And that... perhaps sickened the young prince - now, officially, the king - more than anything. Being completely eclipsed and sidelined by his own mother. But when Jeremyth looked down at those noble faces... he saw no joy, secret or otherwise, that this twisted matriarchy was about to end. If anything, some of them looked almost worried about what would happen next.

It was madness.

The freshly crowned king bitterly understood that his dreadful mother had been right - as always, of course. Either he would read that damn pamphlet she had so meticulously and cold-heartedly prepared - ridiculing him on this day, which should have been the proudest moment of his life - or he would be no more.

Arydia would do exactly as she had already warned him. If he refused to read this "self-destruction" and end his reign before it had even begun, she would simply declare the prince insane, lock him away, and continue her regency unchallenged. Possibly even kill him, just like she had done with his father. No one would question it; that much he knew. This court - these leeches - they would not lift a finger. They all wanted to preserve the status quo. And they feared her too, just like he did.

The freshly crowned king stood... and, hating himself for it even more than he hated her, cleared his throat to deliver the humiliation of his life. Letter by letter, exactly as his "lovely regent" had dictated:

"Esteemed lords and ladies, my loyal subjects..." he began, his stomach churning. The prince did not look at his mother. He was sure she maintained her perfect poker face, pretending not to know what came next. And he did not want to give her the satisfaction of seeing how broken he was. Some might pity him - but not his mother. She had no heart. Just a black coal... the coal of a succubus. He continued, the thought making him imagine horns on her head and hooves instead of those sexy heels. It would suit her, really.

"I, the new king of Casmyr and emperor of our world, would like to thank my mother for allowing this to happen during my long years of infancy. I understand this is a great change for the realm, and I would like to address some concerns you may have about this sudden transition of power.

My short answer to such questions is: there is no reason to worry! I..." He glanced back at the scroll - not so much to check the words, but to make it obvious how much he was being forced to read it. Not that anyone cared. Certainly not his own mother.

"I, the new king of Casmyr, understand the scope and complexity of ruling pretty much the entire world that matters. And that the eighteenth year of age is still, in the end, just a number. Therefore... I have decided to voluntarily..." He paused, swallowing hard, as he noticed the word was underlined - just to make sure he emphasized it. What a wicked bitch. But he had to finish:

"... to voluntarily pass a few of my royal duties back to my mother... until she herself decides I am ready to take them over. These shall be:"

Now he had indeed started to read directly from the scroll, to make sure he would not forget - or misquote - anything. He knew the punishment would be severe if he did. And on top of that, the queen would no doubt force him to correct himself, pushing him through this incredible humiliation twice:

"Military leadership and the security of the empire. Laws of economics and taxes. Foreign policy and diplomacy, including the right to start or end wars. Justice, jurisdiction and supreme decisions on trials. Internal intelligence and safety. Nomination of personal posts across the state. Public works planning and domestic strategy. Control of the empire's religions. Supervision over education and the everyday life of Casmyr's subjects."

He looked up. Unsurprisingly, an audible gasp spread through the hall. Finally, they knew his mother's endgame. But - to his frustration and fury - it sounded more like a sigh of relief than an expression of outrage and shock. No matter how blatantly obvious it was that she had just forced him to completely abdicate his throne and return all real power to her.

"Of course," he continued, finishing this pamphlet of shame, "Now that I am your legitimate and only king, I'm not planning to just slack off and laze around!" Yeah, sure I am, he thought bitterly to himself, the crushing pain of defeat settling in his stomach. But he was too scared to add even a hint of sarcasm to his tone. He just continued reading, exactly as she instructed him:

"I will therefore retain all other traditional duties of the king. Namely:

The official greetings of the empire's visitors. Holidays and celebration speeches. Opening of games and other important leisure activities. Coordinating the senate and hearing out their concerns so I can then consult them with my mother before she - "

He had to pause and glance down again, to make sure she had indeed written it so blatantly. But yes, of course she had:

" - before she takes the decision on the matter."

An awkward silence followed his speech, during which the prince - now king in name only - wished the floor would open beneath his feet and the flames of eternal hell would consume him. Anything had to be better than standing here like this. A total fool... and nothing but his mother's plaything.

Finally, she nodded and actually decided to speak. Her voice was calm as always - an intricate blend of false politeness, royalty, and danger:

"I applaud my son for this wise decision, my lords. I myself believe it will be only for the best of the empire. His... sign of maturity and pragmatic mind today only proves this will be a temporary measure. Eventually - of course - I will pass all those duties back to him, as he is our only emperor, chosen by the gods. But the decision of when that moment comes will be mine, and mine only. And I will not do so until I am sure he is completely ready."

What - of course - Jeremyth thought bitterly - would be not sooner than when you hit the grave, you damn ruthless, power-hungry bitch! The prince was so furious at his mother that he did not care such thoughts were sinful. She had robbed him of everything... and she did not even have the decency to admit it openly! This was a coup! A transition of power against every law - written or otherwise - by the very gods she so blasphemously invoked! A woman was never meant to rule once there was an adult, rightful male heir!

Admittedly, a small voice of reason whispered in his mind what every noble in the hall was thinking: that essentially, the queen was right. Regardless of the fact that his mother was an illegitimate usurper, the empire was her creation. And it would continue to thrive under her capable leadership in a way that neither he nor anyone else could ever match.

Still, the insult and humiliation were now unbearable. Jeremyth was afraid of his mother, but he could not endure this any longer. Without a word, he turned and strode out of the hall, leaving this farce for her to conclude. Yes, the "holidays and celebration speeches" were still "his," according to that scroll he had just read, but since this was nothing but her "coronation for life," she could just as well handle them!

His departure caused a stir, as it cleared any doubt about how much the young prince truly hated this. It even made his mother frown - but that small satisfaction slipped through his fingers as he was already on his way out and no longer saw it.

"Excuse him, your excellencies," the queen dowager smiled, speaking in the same honeyed voice. Then she simply sat in his vacant throne - even though she no longer had any right to do so, no matter what powers he had transferred to her. But - as expected - no one protested this blatant breach of protocol. Everyone knew what was going on.

"Days like these can be a burden for a still-almost-child's soul," she continued, crossing her pretty, well-exposed legs again - her red-painted toenails swaying for all to see and desire, thanks to the intricate cut in the front of her robe. "It is testament to the fact that his decision was right. My son still needs time until he can truly bear the burdens of statesmanship."

No one protested. No one asked questions. No one wanted to end up on the gallows. The stage was set. Nothing would change. Nothing that mattered.

Arydia nodded, clearly satisfied with their acceptance and submission - which, as her keen eye noted, was not just out of fear. Times had changed. Eighteen years had passed, and having a woman on the throne was no longer as irksome to them as it once had been - especially since her string of victories had more than proven she was the right person for the job.

There was nothing more to say, and the queen herself had had enough of the charade.

"The event is now concluded!" she pronounced loudly and authoritatively. Hard to say if she was entitled to do so, as it was not a state ruling decision - only those powers her son had just passed back to her. But, of course, no one was foolish enough to object.

"You are, however, welcome to join the celebrations, and I - or my son - may attend later," she added, leaving the room while everyone was bowing deeply to her, as always. The reign of their "empress" - to the surprise of absolutely no one - continued.

*** Chapter Two - The Hunter and the Hunted ***

Queen Arydia proceeded directly to her quarters with the intent to change her garments. However, just as she was about to enter her private chamber, a standing guard respectfully stepped forward and stopped her.

"Your Majesty," he began, visibly nervous. "I... I think I should warn you - your son is already inside. I tried to stop him, but he insisted he's the king now and can go wherever he wants. I... I didn't know what to do, so I let him in. But I thought I should still warn you."

Arydia nodded, looking far less displeased than he had feared. Still, one could never be certain of the Empress's true thoughts - she was a master of deception, and even the palace guards had come to know it.

"The prin... our king is wrong," she replied, without the slightest hint of irritation in her voice. The apparent tongue-slip was, of course, deliberate. Arydia never made such mistakes unless she intended to. "King Jeremyth has already transferred all security decisions to me. By his own will, I - and only I - decide who may go where. Including himself."

She licked her lips and grinned, adding more for her own amusement than necessity:

"By his verdict, I must continue to protect the crown and the Empire at all costs - even against his own, inexperienced will, if it must come to that."

The guard's shoulders sagged. He clearly knew nothing of what had transpired in the throne hall - and he certainly did not want to be entangled in the high court's politics. But the Queen offered him a quick lifeline:

"You couldn't have known, of course. Therefore, I forgive you. But don't make such a mistake again. Remember the basic rule I taught you: what I have not explicitly approved remains forbidden. And - as my personal guard - you answer only to me, even if he were to choose not to prolong my regency."

"Uh... yes, my Queen," the knight bowed, his anxiety growing. There had been a subtle threat in the Empress's tone, and he knew well how deadly such signs could become. Should he disobey her again and act according to the king's orders without her consent, serious consequences would await him.

Arydia was merciless when it came to her own authority and safety, and even a simple man of the sword recognized the obvious: she held the power here - not her son. The crown on Jeremyth's head meant nothing. Her mighty legions and the commanders behind them, all fanatically devoted to their Empress, would not switch loyalties just because a little piece of jewelry now adorned the rightful heir's brow.

In truth, even he would not. All her guards were trained - indoctrinated, even - to obey her will over anyone else's. Without doubt. Without question. Without thought. It was their duty... their reason to exist.

"Of course, my Queen," the sentry saluted with renewed resolve, the desire to atone burning in his eyes. "It won't happen again. You have my body and soul!"

Arydia nodded, accepting the knight's apology. She had no reason to doubt his sincerity. These men were fiercely loyal to her, and he had allowed Jeremyth inside not out of betrayal, but simply because he did not know what she wanted him to do - now that the young prince's status had officially changed. The king was, after all, the rightful ruler. Well - now he understood.

Still, the Queen-Regent realized she might need to clarify the situation to the lesser servants - in particular, that nothing had truly changed. She made a mental note of it for later. For now, however, the incident had actually played into Arydia's hands. As always... the Empress had her own hidden agenda.

"It's alright. Actually..." The queen opened the door and continued, loud enough for the prince to hear her, if he was indeed inside. "... you're dismissed. I order you to leave."

The guard's hesitation returned, along with the trepidation in his eyes. This time, however, it was for a very different reason. His anguish spoke of loyalty. He stammered, rubbing the hilt of his sword nervously. "B-but, my Queen... You'd be left here completely unprotected! And..."

He stopped mid-sentence, realizing he could not say what he wanted - not while the new monarch might be listening. In addition, Arydia herself might take offense at the idea that he believed her own son could pose a threat to her.

Of course, the Empress understood his concern. And while she would have preferred to act as though she had not noticed, the Queen feared the sentry might warn her openly regardless of the risk - something that would alert Jeremyth and ruin her plan. So instead, she gently placed her slim, slightly bony fingers on his lips - a subtle sign of her mature age, and a reminder that she was no longer a young maiden. Arydia's touch was cool, commanding, and intimate. She looked into his eyes, her expression reassuring.

"Shh-shh, my good Sir. It's an order. Remember, you are not to question my decisions. Even if they seem strange... or perhaps foolish."

Her words calmed him a little. He saw that the Queen was not blind to the danger behind her chamber's door - and he knew Arydia was anything but reckless. But what truly disarmed him was the shock that she - the mighty Empress - had touched his face! Her fingers, though adult, were still soft and lovely. That intimate gesture shattered his composure completely. He blushed crimson and rushed away before he could do something foolish - or inappropriate.

"Call me if you need me, Your Majesty!" he blurted out, fleeing the heat raging inside him - just as she intended... and knew he would.

Grinning at how childish and fragile these men of steel and honor truly were, Arydia finally stepped inside. Her smile vanished, replaced by a frown - naturally, before her son could glimpse any change.

True to the guard's warning, the Queen found Jeremyth inside, seated at the vanity desk she sometimes used for her own makeup. Arydia liked to adorn herself personally - at least when time allowed. Partly because she did not trust her maids to do it as well as she could, and partly because she simply enjoyed admiring - and improving - her reflection in the grand royal mirror.

"So," the Empress intoned as she closed the door behind her, granting them complete privacy. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit, sweetheart?"

The prince - now king, technically - turned to face her, his expression darkened by a frown. He did not miss the deliberate omission of any formal address. Not "Your Majesty." Not even "my king."

"Gods, drop the act, Mother! You have many vices, but stupidity isn't one of them!"

Arydia shrugged and sank gracefully into the empty chair across from him, crossing her legs as she always did - composed, self-assured, and radiating superiority.

"Indeed, it isn't," she replied smoothly. "Primarily because stupidity is an intellectual flaw, not a moral one. But I suppose you didn't bother to learn such insignificant nuances of reason and philosophy from the finest tutors I gave you. So, I'll take it as a compliment."

Jeremyth's frown deepened. There was no trace of filial warmth in his eyes - only hatred. Perhaps, as a child, he had once sought Arydia's affection, as most children instinctively do. But the Queen had never shown him the slightest trace of tenderness or concern. To her, he had been nothing more than a tool - an instrument of power. She had likely devoted more attention to restoring her figure after childbirth than sparing a moment's concern for the son she had borne.

Every attempt he made to draw close, to offer her his love, was met with cold dismissal. Politics always came first. Rulership always took precedence. He had been raised by tutors and maids - among the finest the Empire could offer - but they could not give him what he truly needed: a tender parent. He saw his mother only during public appearances, paraded more like a prized hound than a human child.

The only emotion Jeremyth had ever truly developed toward Arydia was fear. While she often ignored him, any act that displeased her brought swift - and severe - retribution. The consequences were so brutal he never dared repeat the same mistake. And as he grew older and learned more about the world - and the ruthless history of their dynasty - he came to a chilling realization: his mother would not hesitate to kill him the moment he became inconvenient.

To her, blood meant nothing. She fancied herself a prodigy, above all others. Everyone - including him - was beneath her. A mere insect. To be used... or crushed beneath her heel.

Perhaps she was right.

But he did not have to accept it.

He had tried. He really had - right up until the moment she stole even his birthright, reducing him from a king to a mere puppet. That meeting - when she handed him the scroll he was forced to read today and bluntly told him he would either do it during his coronation or disappear for good - was a turning point. That day, he stopped seeing Arydia as his mother and began to see her as his mortal enemy: a usurping tyrant who wore his throne.

And that introduced an interesting twist in his mind.

In his adolescence, driven by confused hormones, he had even stalked the Queen a few times - catching glimpses through the curtains of her bedroom and bath. But even then, his main desire was directed elsewhere - toward the young, inexperienced girls of his own age. Arydia was still "off-limits" as his parent, and he preferred blondes anyway - girls who at least appeared innocent and unthreatening. That had not changed. He still preferred "fresh, untouched meat" over a wicked, calculating woman at the twilight of her youth... who also happened to be his bloodbound nemesis.

But today's humiliation had introduced a new variable.

Now, he wanted to take her - not out of lust, not entirely, but out of vengeance. Out of dominance. To kill her would be to end himself - and he knew this truth - but he needed something. Anything! A moment. A fleeting fantasy. A taste of power in a life where she had everything... and he... was nothing!

Jeremyth had made up his mind. He would take her tonight. No matter the cost.

"Spare me your bravado, Mother," he snapped, his tone laced with contempt. "No woman should be taught a man's science. You can't even wield a sword - why do you need to know how a ballista works?"

Arydia raised a brow, amused. Her son had decided to fight a battle he could never win. It was almost beneath her to crush such a hopeless opponent.

"Because someone has to, and you don't, Jeremyth," she answered coolly, cutting him off mid-rant. "Even though you can swing a sword. Or at least... you like to think you can."

That did it.

The prince leapt to his feet and closed in on her with surprising speed. His hand shot out, wrapping tightly around her throat - stronger than it looked, compressing until she could barely breathe.

"I'll show you how weak I am, you little bitch," he hissed into her ear, forcing her head back and exposing the generous swell of her heaving cleavage. He grabbed her wrist as she attempted to fight him and wrenched her arm behind the chair's back, pinning the smaller adversary in place with the weight of his own body.

"Your knowledge is worthless, Mother, without a man to use it! Neither your books nor your venomous tongue will save you tonight!"

For a brief moment, he truly caught the Empress off guard. She was frightened. Her heart pounded in her chest, and instinctively, she almost made a small hand gesture - one Arydia knew would save her.

But she stopped herself.

If Jeremyth intended to murder her, he would already be choking her with full strength. No - he valued his own skin too much for that. There was no reason to panic. Not yet. She wanted this. She had planned it all. And she would not call it off until she absolutely had to.

Amazingly, Jeremyth missed every clue that Arydia was playing him. Did it not strike the prince as suspicious that she - so notoriously cautious and calculating - had walked in here tonight alone, speaking to him arrogantly with no guards nearby? That she had dismissed the only one still present? That she had even made sure he heard her doing so - by opening the door first?

None of it rang any alarm bells.

Her son was an idiot. A complete and utter failure. It had not occurred to him. Or worse - perhaps it had, and he simply dismissed it. Maybe he thought she was too arrogant to believe he would dare to actually turn on her.

Wishful thinking. Fueled by hate.

Perhaps even more dangerous than stupidity.

Gods, as if she had ever been like that! Even he had to know by now that while convinced she had no equal, Arydia was never reckless - never underestimated any foe, not even an imbecile like him. The Queen always considered every option, every possibility, every outcome. Like a true chess master of thrones, she operated under the assumption that her enemy would make the best move possible - even if she knew he probably would not. That was a bonus, not something she would ever rely on. Often, she was prepared for alternatives her adversaries could not even conceive of.

But her son... he was blind to all of it. As the philosophers say: everyone has only their own head to judge the minds of others - and the prince simply lacked the intelligence to understand how far above him Arydia truly was.

No, Jeremyth was not exactly stupid. But unlike her, the gods had made him painfully mundane in almost every way. His luxurious, duty-free life as a prince - neglected by his mother and spoiled by sycophantic servants - had eroded what little potential he ever had.

Arydia knew it was her fault, but she did not care. Making him better had never been worth the effort. She had made that decision early - during his infancy. And now, he was the inevitable result: a spoiled, worthless brat - a textbook noble she secretly despised. A man who had accomplished nothing, learned nothing, and yet, in his narrow-minded arrogance, believed he was owed respect and power simply because of his name - and, in this case, even just the cock between his legs.

She could not think for long. His grip on her throat eased slightly, but he began his little cat-and-mouse game - never realizing it was actually a kitten toying with the paw of a tigress. Jeremyth's hand slid beneath the neckline of her robe and, while he still pinned her head to the chair with a force that aroused her greatly, groped her breasts with rough possession.

"Your beauty is fading, Mother," he growled, trying to insult her. "But I'll have you tonight, before it's gone completely. You'll be mine, and there's nothing you can do about it! If you try to punish me afterward... what would that charade in the throne room have been good for? No, Mother, I know you need me - for the illusion of legitimacy. And I know you would never risk diminishing your power for something as petty as revenge. That's why I'm not afraid of you."

Well... Arydia had to admit - he was right, at least in that last assumption. What he did not realize was that he was not doing anything she had not anticipated... or wanted. She played along, pretending to be afraid. Or perhaps... half-pretending. His firm grip on her throat did intimidate her to some extent - this was certainly a dangerous game. But that was exactly what made it so exciting.

She arched, struggling to break free. Of course, it was useless. He only grabbed her harder.

"Let me go!" she hissed in his face. "Or I'll have you lashed. In secret, if I must!"

Jeremyth's face paled. For a moment, Arydia feared he might actually obey her - and if he did, she would become so frustrated she might genuinely carry out her threat. But no. Thank the gods, his grip on her neck returned - so tight, in fact, that she had to wheeze - and that grim resolve was back in his eyes as he painfully squeezed her breast, making her squirm and lift her legs.

"Do it, Mother," he spat. "And I'll show the lash marks to the whole court. Right there in the throne room!"

Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed her torso and threw her onto the bed. She tried to escape - or at least pretended to - but he reached for her ankles and, despite Arydia's struggling, spread her legs wide, her royal robe rolling up to her very waist.

"I heard you gave your cunt to lowly generals for mere victories on the battlefield," he sneered, holding her tight by her thrashing legs. "So it's only fair you give it to me now - your son - since I essentially handed you my throne! And don't even think of screaming, bitch! If you do, I'll slap you - and gag you!"

The thought aroused the squirming Empress so much she had almost done it. But eventually, her mind changed. Jeremyth was furious, and Arydia did not want to push him into violence that would truly hurt her. It was one thing to imagine it... and quite another to feel it. No - the rough handling, the threats, this mix of hatred and heat - that was just enough. And the Empress knew how to lead him to that very edge - without crossing it - all while making him believe it was his own choice. She was the master of this game.

Aroused by Arydia's fierce struggle, the prince tore aside the skirt of her robe and pressed his hand firmly against the Queen's black, finely crafted panties, intending to rip them away as well. But then he froze. Through the sheer gossamer, he could feel not just the soft, dark triangle of her pubic hair - but the unmistakable, slick moisture that betrayed her lust.

"By the gods... Mother, are you actually enjoying this?"

The Empress swung beneath him angrily, her motion restrained by his hand, fingers digging into her soft, meaty thigh. She could probably kick him in the face with her free foot - but instead, she merely rubbed its toes helplessly against the bedcovers. To his credit, he likely assumed she held back out of fear - which she performed quite convincingly.

"You're one step from the gallows," she hissed, feigning helplessness and fury. As expected, the words no longer reached him. Her body - warm, slick with a faint sheen of sweat - was too alluring to resist, especially in this submissive pose. Dominated. Overpowered. The realization that he could dominate her... that he was dominating her. A forbidden thrill, newly awakened in him.

But the true mastery was hers - because this was not his fantasy at all. It was hers. And as always, he was merely an instrument - there to give her exactly what she wanted. Tonight.

"I think I'll take that risk," he snarled, an almost victorious grin spreading across his face as he finally tore away her black underwear, revealing her soaked, glistening sex. The room was well lit by dozens of candles, and he could clearly see her juices gleaming in the soft amber light.

"Gods... what a waste for a queen," he murmured - equal parts outraged and fascinated by her depravity. "You'd have made a perfect whore... if you were some ten years younger."

Arydia's defiance faded, though the prince was not sure if it was due to her depraved lust or acceptance of the inevitable. Turning the Queen onto her back, he reached for the center of her neckline and tore the robe in two, finally revealing the full splendor of her curves.

He had to admit... it was a feast for the eyes. Arydia's full breasts heaved, keeping their perfect shape, and her waist was still slim and firm, as if she were a fresh twenty. Only her skin had lost some of its baby smoothness now and then, but it only made her more mature and real.

"You're hot, you little bitch," he admitted, against his own will, mesmerized by the sight.

The response was her palm connecting with his cheek as she slapped him harshly, taking advantage of his careless lean, driven by desire to see more of her. She was not gentle, and it stung - but in a situation like this, he simply grinned, grabbed her wrist, and returned the favor. He was satisfied to see her head snap to the side as she cried out in pain.

"You must use your knowledge of how to build a ballista if you want to win this exchange," he mocked her, scorn dripping from his words.

Arydia got the message - she did not try to defy him again. Seeing her subdued, the prince grinned and finally decided to claim his victory. Though he was not sure whether her surrender came from depraved lust or simple acceptance of the inevitable.

He rose to his knees but kept watching the Queen carefully in case she tried to escape. Then he began to undo his belt.

"So, Mother," he teased her again. "Why aren't you calling the guards? Maybe some would join us!"

Arydia panted heavily, her bare bosom rising in ragged breaths. On the surface... fear. But beneath it - burning anticipation. She had him right where she wanted - and the fool did not even know it!

In the next moment, he seized her thighs and forced them apart, driving himself into her with one brutal thrust. The Empress screamed - and perhaps, he fancied, it was outrage or pain. But in truth, she cried in pure pleasure. Arydia was soaked and ready... and though her sex was delicate and tight, rough fucking was exactly what her slick, eager depths craved.

The Queen closed her eyes, revealing her kohl-lined eyelids, and grasped the silk covers of the bed, squeezing them tightly as the prince - her unknowing, silly pet - fucked her like there was no tomorrow. He thought he was humiliating her. He even grabbed her throat, desperate to assert his nonexistent dominance, unaware that the Empress's arousal only grew stronger. And that he was doing exactly what she wanted him to do. Arydia moaned and cried out repeatedly, her body arching violently, overwhelmed by a storm of pleasure she had not felt in years.

And Jeremyth? He could hardly believe how incredible and firm she felt - far more so than any of the young girls he had claimed before, despite her nearing middle age. He had never encountered a woman like this. His mother was truly gifted in every way. Why, then, did the gods bestow such favor upon a woman so wicked?

Pondering such questions was not his forte. Nor did he desire to. After ravaging her cunt relentlessly, he seized Arydia's hair and forced the Queen to take him into her mouth. The prince was so blinded by his raw lust and hunger that he completely forgot the punishment he had intended to deliver - and failed to notice that the Empress was not resisting him at all. Instead, she yielded like the most eager, insatiable whore - willing, hungry, and utterly his.

They shifted through every lovemaking position, exploring all styles - most of them subtly guided by the Queen herself, whose experience far surpassed his. Yet the prince remained unaware. He was a slave, fully convinced he held the reins.

Eventually, however, the young man could no longer hold back. Jeremyth cried out, and after bringing the Queen one last intense orgasm, he unloaded his semen deep inside her - something she did not mind. Even if it would have consequences, she knew how to get rid of an unwanted pregnancy. And the Empress was definitely heartless enough not to worry about the cruelty of it.

Satisfied with himself, the prince shoved the panting mother aside and rose, his throbbing erection still aimed provocatively at her. The rebellious puppet-monarch sneered as he swept up his clothes, his voice dripping with venom and disdain - though beneath it lurked a flicker of fear, now that the ordeal was done. It was an emotion he was trying to conceal from her at all costs

"You'll forgive me this, Mother," he spat, masking his anxiety with a cruel grin while stealing one last lingering glance at her shameless form, bare and glistening with their mingled sweat and his seed. "If not... I'll destroy your little game - telling everyone you forced me to read that scroll. I know it wouldn't be enough to shatter your rule... but it would be an inconvenience you don't want to face."

Then, caught between satisfaction and unease over what she might do to him despite his confident claims of safety from her wrath, the prince exited her chamber - abandoning the Queen to solitude.

*** Chapter Three - The Hidden Bodyguard ***

The Queen lay sprawled on her back in the royal bed, just as Jeremyth had left her. One leg draped loosely over the edge, the other bent and splayed wide atop the mattress - her slick, used sex shamelessly exposed to the empty room. At least the prince had the decency to close the door behind him, sparing her the risk of a guard or servant catching sight of her in such a debauched state.

Arydia's chest still rose and fell in deep, ragged breaths, her mind replaying every pulse of the raw pleasure he had forced into her body. Gods, it had been years - years of dull, mechanical encounters and hollow nights. But now? She felt gloriously spent... and strangely triumphant. She had not flinched. She had not stopped him. She had taken it all, despite the risk, and claimed her bliss through it.

Smirking with quiet satisfaction, the Queen lifted her right hand and idly made the gesture she had nearly performed when he first lunged at her with such reckless fury - almost scaring her enough to actually do it and ruin all that fun.

A low hum stirred behind her, and the hidden door - seamlessly concealed within the tapestry of the main wall - quietly swung open. Dugath, her ever-watchful personal bodyguard, stepped inside, moving ahead without hesitation.

Neither he nor the Empress showed shame or surprise. They had known each other for years, and as with every servant bound to her will, the rules of their relationship were dictated firmly - by the Queen. She did not bother to close her legs, nor was she ashamed of her fully exposed cunt, still glistening with Jeremyth's seed. Dugath's job was not to judge her. It was to protect her. And obey, of course - without question.

The man was an impressive figure. A former gladiator of the Tagarian arena - the deadliest pit within the Empire, where only the best and most savage fighters clashed to the very end... for glory or oblivion. Dugath was the finest of them all: undefeated in combat, with a physique so incredible he seemed almost superhuman. The giant caught the Queen's keen eye, and she raised him from the ranks of a mere slave with no future to the highest honor - the role of her personal protector.

The Empress knew precisely what she was doing. Dugath was a simple man, with primal needs and a narrow mind - no match for a razor-sharp, manipulative beauty like her. Freed from the chains of slavery, he willingly shackled himself anew, utterly devoted to his Queen and Mistress, prepared to bleed and die at her command. A flawless bodyguard forged by desire and obedience.

His eyes, forever concealed behind the iron helmet - partly to intimidate, partly to hide a face marred by countless brutal battles - now burned with hunger as they locked onto his Empress, who brazenly bared every inch of herself to his ravenous gaze.

But Dugath knew his place - Queen Arydia was his... but only on her terms, only as the ultimate prize she chose to grant. He was certain she would reward him for today's special duty, but he understood that moment was not yet at hand.

He did not question her. Though desire for the Empress burned within him every day, every moment, he had been forged and disciplined to accept one truth: the Empress was untouchable. It was not his right to ask or demand. His purpose was clear - to serve, to protect, and to die for her, regardless of reward - or its absence. This was his destiny, the core of his belief. Yet in reality, it was nothing but another ruthless manipulation by the cunning temptress who now lay bare before him - a devilish woman who had utterly brainwashed the simple warrior to serve her every need.

Dugath did not mind his ordeal. In fact... he was content. His only fear was that something might happen to his Empress. That would be his ultimate failure - something that would utterly undo him, both mentally and emotionally. He would lose his purpose. He would fail his duty.

"Is everything alright, my Queen?" the warrior asked, a faint tremor of unease betraying his otherwise unshakable presence. Dugath was a man to whom pain meant nothing, and no torture could bend his will - but a single look of displeasure from his Mistress could tear him apart inside. He lived in constant fear - not of death, but of failing her, of not meeting the impossible standards she never had to voice. His mind had been broken and reforged, not only by her cunning games of seduction and control, but by the slow, calculated poison of drugs and psychotropic agents she laced into his meals over the years. Dugath no longer belonged to himself. He was a weapon shaped by obsession; a beast bound by invisible chains. In truth, he was one of Arydia's most exquisite creations: a living monument to her corruption... and her absolute, unchallenged power.

Arydia stretched like a cat - slow, sensual, utterly self-indulgent. "Never been better," she purred, the smile on her lips dripping with satisfaction. "I'm glad you didn't panic and come bursting in... it would've ruined the everything."

The man trembled with unease, so much that he even dared to subtly object:

"I would never disobey your direct order, Empress. I watched the room - from every hidden hole - always keeping your hands in sight. I was ready... ready to notice when you needed me... or to rush in if your son tried to grab you in a way that would leave you unable to signal. That never happened, so I stayed in. But I would still come to your rescue - even without any clear warning - if it became obvious he intended to hurt you, my Queen!"

"As you should," nodded the Empress, subtly reminding him.

The man nodded, though unease still gripped him tightly. He saw the risk as needless - and feared deeply for his Queen's safety.

"Arydia..." he began, knowing that in private she sometimes allowed him to use her informal name. He felt this was the right moment. "May I...?"

"No," she cut him off, shaking her head with fierce resolve. "I know it's dangerous, Dugath. But I crave it. There are no worthy foes left to challenge me. I thirst for that rush - the thrill that only true risk can bring. And my foolish son... he's the perfect pawn. Too cowardly to truly harm me, but savage enough to make my blood run cold."

The man sighed, reminded of his place. "Of course, my Queen."

The Empress smiled at him, allowing a hint of warmth in her voice. Of course, like everything she did, it was a calculated act - designed to keep him ensnared, not because she harbored any feelings for him.

"Go, Dugath. I need to rest. I know you deserve a reward, but right now I'm too spent to offer you one. However, tell my maids to prepare a hot bath for me."