Chapter 201: Princess of ruin(18+)
The Queen was still on her knees, cum-drenched and breathless, the velvet beneath her soaked through with sweat and seed. Her crown had tilted sideways somewhere during her descent, half-hanging in her pale white hair like a relic of a bygone era. She looked up at Allen with glassy eyes, mouth parted, utterly wrecked—and yet, glowing.
But Allen didn’t look at her again.
His eyes were on the ornate silver doors to the side of the throne, tall and carved with the royal family’s crest: a flame wrapped around a lily. He could hear movement behind it—hushed whispers, the rustle of silk, the panicked shuffle of feet trying to decide between flight or submission. The princesses were in there. They’d heard every moan. Every slap. Every dripping, filthy declaration from their once-imperial mother.
Allen stepped forward, dragging his fingers across the sticky trail leaking down Yssira’s thighs as he passed her. She gasped, not in protest, but in longing. Her body shuddered at the loss of him.
He didn’t knock. Didn’t ask.
He kicked the doors open.
Inside, three princesses stood frozen in a lavish royal suite, its gold-plated furniture and perfumed tapestries looking gaudy and small under Allen’s shadow. They were all dressed in ceremonial robes—transparent silk over tight corsets, like they had been in the middle of preparing for some formal bullshit. But now, their makeup was smudged, cheeks flushed, eyes wild.
The eldest, Princess Yllira, was tall, poised, with the kind of quiet composure that cracked when stared at too long. Her lips were painted red, her throat bare. She stood straight, fists clenched like she was trying not to tremble.
The middle sister, Seren, shorter and curvier, had already backed into a corner, one hand over her chest like it could shield her from the obvious heat between her legs. Her thighs were clamped tightly, but her eyes betrayed her—they flicked to Allen’s crotch and lingered.
The youngest, Calia, barely out of her teenage years, looked like she was one gasp away from begging. Her pupils were blown wide, breath shallow. She was already on her knees—not out of submission, but shock. Her lip trembled.
"Which one of you," Allen asked, voice calm and cold, "was going to inherit the throne?"
Yllira stepped forward before either of her sisters could move. "I was."