Clythia leaned against the door of a bedchamber, closing it shut. This room was less spacious than the one she usually retired to at night. There was a grand bed, taking up almost half of the room’s size, in the center. Its sheets were crimson, embroidered with delicately woven vines of gold, matching the drapes. The room was dimly lit by torches mounted at its corners.

The oak floor creaked as Tiyus turned to her, pinning her down with his gaze. His mesmerizing grey eyes, like a pure pool shimmering at night, along with his strong scent of leather and dew, addled her senses. Her knees nearly buckled; she wanted to squirm on the floor, to serve the piece of art before her. All logic out the window. There were beads of black diamond adorning his arched brows on either side, something she hadn’t noticed in the dining hall.

Tiyus took a step closer; his cool nose brushed hers, causing a tingle to rush down her spine. His body shifted from merely teasing to pinning her hard against the wood. Beneath his tunic, muscles honed with years of discipline, claimed her breasts, eliciting a sharp pang. Her breath was constricted, the rise and fall of her chest pushing against his steel torso. Tiyus grazed her lips with his knuckles; she arched her back to his touch. His deep growl of approval vibrated through her body, turning her arousal to headiness no wine could imitate. He pressed his index finger against her lips and brushed them lightly.

“My queen, do you want me to?” he whispered against her lips.

“Want... want what?” Her voice trembled.

“Punish you,” Tiyus purred and took a step back, leaving a cool air in his stead. There was no mercy or fear in his eyes, only a piercing gaze. His stance was like a lord commanding a legion. The title of Queen and guard left behind the closed door.

Clythia removed her crown and set it beside a table near the door. Her dress pooled at her feet a moment later. Not a spark of ire was triggered in her as she used her hands. In a way, it was humiliating toiling like a human. But she reveled in the feel of it. Letting go of ego and title, baring her desires to the lord before her. She was about to remove her white silk chemise, but a sharp “Stop” from Tiyus froze and trembled her at the same time.

“Answer me,” he growled. She wanted to be annoyed by his audacity, to be angry at the disrespect of being spoken to in such a manner. Yet, the courage to be angry had ebbed away. Instead, her body yearned to crawl to him as if she were under a Binding spell.

“Do your worst.” A voice escaped her throat. Wait, that was not something she should say. What if he truly hurt her? Yet, the mere thought of it sent a dull throb to her core. Before she could process the panic, before the queen behind the doors slipped in through the door gap, he was upon her.

With a swift motion, her wrists were within his grasp. He put them above her head and pressed his lips to hers. Every stroke was like a wildfire ravaging a forest, turning everything in its path to ash. She was swearing allegiance to his touch, breath, tongue, teeth—as it devoured hers.

He released her wrists; his left hand moved to her throat, sliding up and down before lightly squeezing—constricting. The pressure was not strong enough to elicit breathlessness. It carried a subtle message of reminding her who was in charge, that he could suffocate her if he chose to. Her pulse throbbed wildly against his hand, and her core echoed the rhythm.

His other hand flicked her nipple, prompting her to jump and whimper. He did it again, with more force. A helpless cry, foreign to her own ears, escaped her.

He glared down at the chemise. Jaws ticking, he shredded it in one go. A muffled gasp, allowed by his fingers collaring her neck, left Clythia; she was naked save for the undergarment. Her breasts peaked, pointing to him as if they were ready for service. His grey eyes rested on them; a shiver not related to the chill ran through her. With a touch that sparked a tickling sensation, he gently traced his hand down her breasts, along her belly button, circling it before journeying down south. She lifted her feet to his touch. Panting. Shivering. Aching for more. Then his hand cupped her sex and gently moved her her undergarment to the side. His fingers lightly brushed the lips where dampness was dripping.

His hot breath tickled her ears. “Do you know what I see in your eyes, Clythia Hoverlow?” She stopped breathing, waiting and dreading what was to come next.

“Hunger to lose control.” He plunged a finger into her. A wave of pleasure surged through her body, soul, spirit, spreading like vines racing through a forest at a blinding speed. It made her forget who she was—what she was. Tears streamed down her cheek, dropping onto his finger wrapped around her neck, some making it to her chest. Her legs shook frantically, as if trying to free herself from the crushing, mountainous pleasure. She whimpered like a dog that had lost its bone.

How was this possible? She had never experienced something like this before. No one had made her lose control with their eyes or touch or... plunge. Not with such magnitude. He hadn’t even touched the bundle of nerves, and yet...

“A hunger to be collared.” Another plunge. This time, it with two fingers. Her eyes rolled back in her lids. Her knees shook like a weed in the wind. She began to slide down, but his firm fingers on her neck pinned her tightly. Unable to reposition herself even an inch, a desperate screech left her throat, and tears spilled down her face. She opened her mouth to plead, Please. Please, let me go. I can’t take this anymore. Please, Sir! But no words formed on her tongue; only drool strolled down her chin.

“Just for the teeny tiny prospect of release you didn’t think you needed until you experienced it.” Three fingers forced their way into her, causing slight pain as her muscles stretched. Then, the rhythm picked up. Surprisingly, her body adjusted to the overwhelming pleasure. Clythia was half-listening to the woman that possessed her as she moaned. Release began making its way to her spine. With each thrust, a storm she couldn’t control gathered within her—

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

His fingers slid out, nudging at her entrance. With it, the storm dissipated, hiding in a corner to be summoned again. Clythia jerked her head toward him. Relieved and annoyed by the sudden stop. One side of his lip kicked up.

“That wasn’t your punishment,” he said quietly, tongue clicking. Clythia gaped at him. She wanted to say something, to think something, but her mind was like molten butter.

“Tell me, my queen,” he leaned into her ear and grazed the sensitive spot beneath with his teeth. She heaved a sigh, futile in swiping away her exhaustion. Her pounding heart roared in her ears. “How bad do you want your release?”

It was not her mouth that did the talking but her hand, acting on its own accord. Despite the protest her mind dished out, screaming ‘no’ with every move. She was about to grab his crotch, but his fingers, slick with her wetness, gripped her wrist.

He chuckled. “Remember, if you want this, there is no going back.”

Clythia nodded hastily. ‘What the fuck? No!’

Then, Tiyus took a step back. Once. Twice. Thrice. He snapped his fingers, her wetness glinting off of them in the soft light of the torches.

The storm that had been humming low rose. A jolt enveloped her from head to toe, ten times stronger than the Binding spell. She slumped to her knees. Her vision blurred, registering only the fuzzy outlines of boots and the legs of the bed. Release after release after release crushed through her. Her knees gave out. She sprawled headfirst onto the floor, propped by her shaking arms. Her body writhed uncontrollably as a deafening scream erupted from her throat. The pain triggered by the jolt and the pleasure in her core worked in tandem in an unbearable—torturous—yet beautiful craft. She wanted it to end; if it lasted one more minute, it would be her demise. Died from orgasm, her tombstone would read. She wanted to chuckle at the thought but her body wasn't hers anymore. But if it ceased, she would be forced to return to the dull world, and that was death itself. For what felt like an eternity, it went on; dragging her close to unconsciousness. The last thing she recalled before oblivion claimed her was the vibration of footsteps on the ground.

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Clythia stood on a balcony, staring down at the garden facing opposite of the ebony palace gates. The cool breeze fluttered her wavy hair. The sky was clear, and the sun was on the horizon. Flowers and grasses, arrayed in perfection like a trained troop in line, lay below her.

Clythia had jolted awake after the bizarre experience of last night. She had found herself tucked in the crimson, luscious bed, wearing a nightgown she recalled was in her original bedchamber’s closet. Tiyus was nowhere in the room, only a light scent of leather and dew lingered. Her muscles, joints, and bones screamed in protest as she stepped out of bed. She had planned to change her clothes the human way, but that felt like a mountainous chore. So she wielded magic—one down two to go. The exhaustion and strain on her body were even worse than the Final Tribulation she had faced in Wigmond before graduation.

And the Final Tribulation consisted of climbing the highest mountain without wielding the Inner Sense. Only tools imbued with magic were allowed. One had to carefully choose the right magical objects that wouldn’t lead to their demise as they took on the difficult trek. There was sword fighting, taking on ten people at once. Archery to aim at Sleipnir, the fastest creature in DavinSaw.

Death was a high prospect in any of the trials. Getting out with your life with only bone crushing exhaustion was a mercy on itself.

Clythia needed answers, but from whom? She couldn’t possibly tell General Arkansov everything; that would be embarrassing. However, she could ask where Tiyus was—and possibly punish him. The logical side of her brain, which had been screaming ‘no’ yesterday, laughed at the thought.

“Ark?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. General Arkansov appeared out of thin air behind her. She turned to see him wearing armor made of gold, his slick hair sparkling in the sunlight from too much gel. In DavinSaw, the more gel men or women applied to their hair, the more professional they believed themselves to be, absurdly. No wonder some scowled at her unbound hair. But they knew better than to voice their opinions; any comment on her rebel hair could become their last memory on Zyvern.

"Sorry I had to summon you at this hour, I believe you were with the troops." Clythia rested her elbows on the handrail.

The general wasn’t listening. Instead, he squinted at her face. She hadn’t seen herself in a mirror since she had come up here in haste. She touched her cheeks self-consciously.

“Are you alright, my lady? Did you have enough sleep last night?” Worry gripped his tone.

“Why? Do I look tired?”

“Tired is an understatement. There are dark circles beneath your eyes, and you look like you haven’t slept in months. Not even makeup can hide it. I know you well,” Arkansov said, his voice gentle.

Despite the unease she felt in his searching eyes, she held her chin up.

“I want Tiyus summoned immediately,” Clythia said, noting the confusion in the general’s eyes. She added, “For execution.”

Arkansov cocked his head. "Tiyus? Who is Tiyus?"

“I don’t know. You tell me,” Clythia shrugged. “You know all the guards stationed in this palace and the tunnels.”

“No guards are stationed there. Ilyana’s magic is the only ward protecting the palace and tunnels,” The general's tone shifted to a warning stance.

“I know there aren’t any guards around the palace. But the tunnels...” She shook her head. “There was a guard last night who served me dinner. He was wearing a guard's uniform. And he told me he was stationed at the tunnels!”

The night uniform of the guards, seldom seen in the palace, consisted of a black leather tunic and breeches. During the day, it was a purple cloak with silver armor.

“A guard served you dinner?” Arkansov asked in disbelief. “Huh, but only maidens serve the queen or king in that manner. And many servants don’t get the privilege of serving the ruler directly in their lifetime. Plus, The job of guards is not within the palace but outside.”

With magic at the fingertips of DavinSaw’s rulers, they didn’t need people tending to them all the time. Food was cooked, clothes were cleaned, and the palace was kept tidy by the servants. However, it was the rulers themselves who filled their plates, chose their attires, and sometimes even made their beds.

“Then how can he waltz in like it’s his mother’s house?” Clythia made a motion of sliding with her hands. “How did he get past the wards?”

Ilyana's magic had nothing to do with the Inner Sense which was directly connected the land's magic. As mysterious as Ilyana's magic was, it was immune to the effects of the Sovereign's or the Shadow's powers. That was why no one would take the price for the protective ward around the palace, thankfully.

"I do not know, my lady." The general responded, his tone genuine. "Did he do you any harm?"

Yes. No. Clythia didn’t know the answer to that. Did hurt include the notion of a beautiful pain? She had given Tiyus permission to punish her. Now that her logical mind had taken full control, she realized it was a bad idea, one only a gullible fool would make. Damn the three glasses of wine she had. But what she experienced was beyond supernatural. No one can elicit that kind of pleasure not even with the use magic.

Her mouth hung open to answer, but no words came out.

The general’s eyes swept over her. When his gaze returned to her exhausted face, his jaw dropped as understanding flickered in his eyes.