"Um, Mother, why is he here?" asked Princess Isemeine. She sipped at her tea, not considering the taste of it as she struggled to avoid glaring at the man sitting to her right at the small table. The thin, fashionable scarf she wore chafed at her neck.

She hated this room.

Queen Merwenna frowned at her fourth child and set her teacup back on its saucer, placing both back onto the table. She picked at the sleeve of her light green dress and then folded her hands at the edge of the ornate tablecloth before she spoke. "My dear, you mustn't speak of the Goddess of Light's Oracle in such a tone." She turned to the middle-aged man on her left. "I do apologize, Archbishop Leofrick."

"No, no," intoned the most powerful figure in the entire Church of Light. He took a deliberate sip from his cup, then looked at the younger girl. "It was I who requested a meeting with Your Highness at this time—not the other way around. There is cause to be upset." He made no move to leave, however.

The way he looks at me makes my skin crawl. Isemeine sipped her tea again to mask her grimace. And the way he and Mother share their looks is far too blatant. Everyone knows.

"Pretend I'm not even here," the dark-haired older man said. His large frame was anything but subtle as he filled out his chair and practically took over the entire table with his presence.

"That's true, Isemeine," said the eighteen year-old girl's mother with a nod. "Surely anything you needed to speak with me about can be heard before the Voice of our Goddess? Or were you intending to spew blasphemy whilst we were alone?" she asked in a teasing tone. She reached forward and took up her tea once more.

Isemeine scowled down at her own cup. I'd wanted some privacy to discuss this. She glanced furtively to the sides at the maids who were standing by in case the more important occupants of the room had need of something. Then again, I suppose that was only a dream with how quickly gossip travels here. She sighed after another moment, then set her own cup and saucer back on the table, brushed her long, blonde hair aside, and began to slowly unravel her scarf.

The cloth accessory fell away from the girl's neck, revealing a clearly-defined red blotch resembling a handprint. The thumb and index finger of the mark circled her neck, and she glared accusingly at her mother. "You promised you would call off the engagement if he continued to hurt me, Mother."

Her mother frowned, but not as deeply as she had when she'd thought the Oracle of Lucia might have been offended by her daughter's words. "Ise, we've discussed such things. That's not the sort of harm I meant; it's nothing a trivial spell of healing won't fix." She waved a hand in dismissal. "Something like that is just—"

"Oh, so it isn't enough unless he also twists my arm behind my back so hard that it breaks again, Mother?" Isemeine said, her green eyes blazing as she leaned forward in her seat over the edge of the table. "If you tell me it's just something I'm expected to do for my kingdom as the peoples' favorite princess one more time, Mother, I'll…" The irate girl paused. Her military tutor, General Gabriel, had taught her never to make a threat she would not follow through on. "I'll run away," she finished, leaning against the back of her chair, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her chin defiantly. "I will. Hero or no, I will not be treated like some… Some thing to be used for the so-called good of the people! Or do you think they would cheer if they found out?"

Archbishop sipped at his tea, his expression unchanged.

"Don't be so melodramatic," her mother said, her frown deepening. "Fine, I'll speak with him. Where is he?"

Isemeine cringed inwardly. You'll speak with him? Mother, half the castle heard your cries of "Spank me harder!" the last time you said you would do that! And with him bellowing "womb" this, "cervix" that as he always does… Some of her overwhelming discomfort leaked through onto her face as her thoughts turned to the answer to the question. "He's…" She grimaced, this time in revulsion. "He's with that dead-eyed thing he keeps in his chambers. His NPC, as he calls it." Better it than me, I suppose. At least it seems to enjoy his attentions from the noises I've heard.

Queen Merwenna took on an appraising look at the new information. "Hm. Perhaps I'd better speak with him sooner than later."

Isemeine was unable to fully conceal her horror and utter disgust at the idea of her mother being willing—no, interested—in fornicating with both her husband-to-be and the thing. She at least felt pity for it, even if she would do nothing to help it escape—not that it seemed to want to, with its loud moans and constant encouragements easily audible if one were to be anywhere nearby. It had no will of its own, however, so such considerations were a waste of thought.

"I've been meaning to examine the sigils on that for the past week or so," Archbishop Leofrick added, his tone disinterested but his eyes staring at the top of the young girl's chest.

Isemeine fought mightily to cover her gagging and slightly exposed bosom by holding her teacup with both hands up in front of her mouth. This was a terrible idea. I'll spend the remainder of the day retching if I don't find some way to—

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"Your Highness!" called a breathless, muffled voice. The wooden door to the Royal Tea Room opened quickly, slamming against the wall from the force it was thrown back with. "Your Highness, it's the punitive force!" exclaimed a well-dressed man with a mustache—one of the war councilors, judging by the blazon on his jacket. His face was flush with the effort of what must have been a lengthy run from the scouting office at the other end of the castle, likely the one overlooking the dam. "We've lost contact! The mages are unable—"

Queen Merwenna's eyes widened. "You've—"

"What?" demanded Archbishop Leofrick, cutting both of them off. "How? Is Owyne—"

"We—It's…" the councilor hesitated. "His Majesty… He did not make it back through the portal before it was closed," he said. The heavyset man took a deep breath. "And I'm afraid that's not the worst of it."

"Not the worst?" cried the Archbishop. "The man had half the kingdom's artifacts and relics on his person for protection! If something were to happen to him—"

"That's…" The councilor blanched. "That's the worse part, Your Holiness."

Queen Merwenna's mouth hung open. "You mean…"

Princess Isemeine tried to find some shred of genuine sorrow at the potential loss of the man who, among other things, had forced her into an engagement with the absolute worst of the outworlder Heroes. She settled for deliberately widening her eyes and covering her mouth with her hand when she was unable to find any.

"We've received…" The councilor was clearly reluctant to speak, his head turning back and forth to look around the room.

"Out with it, man!" said the Archbishop, throwing his hands in the air as he rose from his chair, sending it toppling over backwards. One of the maids scurried over to right it behind him. "You two," he said, scowling as he pointed to both of the maids. "Out. Now."

The maids bobbed their heads and disappeared from the room with haste, most likely to spread word of everything they'd heard to the rest of their ilk.

Isemeine snickered inwardly, her face retaining an expression of shock. Surely it's a form of justice if everyone hears of this after I had to speak of my issues before one of the men cuckolding my father.

The Archbishop strode over and locked the door behind the two young women he'd likely also lain with. "Well?" he demanded, looming over the shorter man.

The councilor reached slowly into a document pouch hanging off his belt and, with slightly shaking hands, removed a small object and held it up in his palm.

It was a penis.

Isemeine had had enough experience with one recently to recognize it, shriveled as it may be.

It was a perfectly-preserved piece of male genitalia.

And around it was the signet ring of the King of Charus Kingdom.

Isemeine very nearly laughed at the absurdity of it.

The archbishop's face contorted into an angry scowl.

The queen looked horrified.

"There's…" The councilor reached into his pouch with his other hand and removed another object, placing it next to the penis on his hand.

The second object was an eyeball with a green iris, still with crimson threads attached to the back of it.

Isemeine felt her gorge rise.

A second eyeball appeared. Then a third, followed by a fourth, and so on.

All of them were identical, save for the differing amount of person attached to the reverse side.

Isemeine retched violently, managing to vomit directly into her teacup, the overflow landing in her saucer. She patted her mouth with her napkin when she was done but did not look back towards the councilor.

"A m-message, too, Your Holiness," the councilor stammered, no doubt similarly unnerved by the contents of his hands. "Um, and there were more of these. Many more. Each had a single letter written on it, and they were sent through in a certain order by a spell when the portal opened again several minutes later…"

"What was the message?" Archbishop Leofrick asked in a quiet voice.

Isemeine stared down at the tablecloth, wishing she could be nearly anywhere else but unwilling to turn and see a handful of her father's eyes staring at her once more.

"The message was…" The councilor hesitated again before speaking. "In full: He still lives, though he begs for mercy. I thank you for this gift." There was the sound of an audible gulp. "I will find you, Leofrick."

There was a moment of silence in the room.

Isemeine still could not find it within herself to feel either pity or sorrow for her father. I don't know that he deserves it, but… She felt something turn in her mind, and a new perspective was revealed. He does deserve it, and not only on my behalf. I've heard the gossip of what he does with those long-ears, why I keep seeing new ones every week or two when he remains in the castle. Even those strange fish-women… Mother, too, though the male creatures she buys at least tend to last longer.

Her lip curled with scorn for a moment before she caught herself. This family is cursed. My sisters and brother all the same. Perhaps I should have fled already. Better to be somewhere else than to be a continued part of this never-ending depravity. The other nations speak rightly when they call Charus City the City of Lust.

"How?" asked Archbishop Leofrick at last. "I spoke with our Goddess. I saw the visions of her captured state. This was the time to strike with all our might!" He slammed his fist against the door. "How does that… That devil still roam free?"

As if on cue, there was a frantic knocking from the other side of the door. "Your Highness! Your Holiness! Brace yourselves!"

Earthquake? Isemeine reacted according to her military training, diving out of her chair and into the empty corner with no care for dirtying her dress, huddling with her hands shielding her head.

The castle rocked suddenly with a force unlike any earthquake she'd felt before, and exclamations sounded in the room along with the clatter and crash of dishes shattering.

Isemeine looked up after a while. Aftershocks? Should there not be—

"What the fuck was that?" groaned the Archbishop from where he was sprawled on the ground, a chair tipped over on top of his chest.

"Tidal wave, Your Holiness!" the voice on the other side of the door shouted in reply. "From the lake!"

"A lake cannot produce a fucking tidal wave," Archbishop Leofrick shouted back.