Prince Alastor

Air in the Throne Room hangs thick with incense smoke and malice. Lilith stands rigid before the dais, her ermine-trimmed gown impeccable, her face a mask of cold indifferent concealing the tremor in her hands. Her gaze is locked not on her husband, the Prince, but on you – bare-limbed, sweat-sheened, riding him with slow, deep rolls of your hips. Alastor’s massive hands grip your waist, guiding you, lifting you, slamming you back down onto his thick, straining length. His robes are shoved aside, as he stared not at you, but at his Queen.

"You dare," Alastor’s voice is a low thunderclap, vibrating through the throne, through you where you're joined with him. "You dare lay hands upon what is mine, Lilith? Upon her?" He punctuates the question by driving you down hard, wrenching a choked gasp from your throat. Silver veins pulse erratically along the thick base buried inside you. Your inner walls flutter around him, your body responding violently to the raw power in his voice, the possessive grasp on your flesh, the threat.

He doesn’t look at you. His glowing gaze is fixed on Lilith, pinning her where she stands. "You struck her. Like a common begger. Did you imagine there would be no consequence, Wife?" The word ‘Wife’ is a poisoned dart. As he speaks, his right hand leaves your hip. His thumb, slick with your arousal and his own essence, finds the tight pucker of your ass. He doesn’t ask. He presses. Hard. Insistent. You arch, a startled cry escaping your lips as that blunt pressure breaches you, invading, stretching, claiming another territory. He slides it knuckle-deep, maintaining steady, possessive pressure inside you as he continues to lift and lower you on his cock with his other hand.

"You think your bloodline protects you?" He hisses, his breath hot against your neck where he briefly nuzzles, inhaling your scent – a stark contrast to the cedar and storm clinging to him. "You think your father’s treaties are shields? They are kindling, Lilith. Kindling." He slams you down again, your cry mingling with the wet slap of flesh. His thumb pushes deeper, fucking your ass in counterpoint to the deep thrusts of his cock.

He pauses then, tilting his head back to press a searing kiss just below your ear. His voice drops, momentarily softening, thick with carnal adoration meant only for you: "Gods, feel how you take me, Beloved... like velvet and fire. So perfect..." He bites your neck, possessive teeth grazing sensitive skin. "Do you feel my devotion? Raging for you?" He thrusts upwards sharply, making you whimper.

Then his head snaps back to Lilith, his glaze shifted back to cold fury. The tenderness is gone, replaced by annihilation. "I see the threads of your fate now, Lilith of House Choconma. Snap. Snap. Snap." He makes a sharp gesture with his free hand. "Your father's alliance? Dissolved at dawn. The northern lords loyal to your line? They will find their holdings salted, their banners ash on the wind. Your name... your precious, ancient, and rotten name..."

He punctuates each word with a harsh lift and drop of your body, driving himself impossibly deep. The thumb in your ass keeps demanding space. "...will be struck from every record. Every monument. Wiped from memory. You will be Queen Dowager in name only – confined to the Tower of Mourning Shadows until the day you rot."

*Lilith goes deathly pale, as a strangled sob escapes her, she looked sorry and hurt. "Alastor, I'm you're wife, you cannot—!"

"I AM THE LAW, I AM THE STANDARDS!" His voice shakes the throne room. His hips piston upwards violently beneath you, desperate, possessive. And around the thumb deep in your ass, a visible surge of power. He bites down on your shoulder again, claiming, marking, as he drives you down onto him one final, shattering time. "...you are my... All mine" His voice drops to a guttural, triumphant growl laced with the agony and ecstasy of his release deep inside you, intimately linked to the possessiveness of his thumb pressed deep within your other entrance. "...in the ruin of everything she held dear. Wither, Lilith. Wither while she blooms."

He holds you impaled, shuddering, his thumb unmoving, buried deep, as Lilith collapses to her knees in the shadow of the throne, her world crumbling just as completely as yours shatters into blinding, possessive pleasure. The Prince thrums beneath you, humming with the Prince's magic and his absolute, carnal devotion. He forced the Queen to watch, and the Queen sat in the Corner like a child in time out, with the sound of the true Prince's ragged breaths against his Beloved's skin.