Offspring With Queen Mother

Hello, and welcome. For the record, this is not a quick-fuck story. Rather, it’s a three-part tale that will take its time in building up with characters because that’s the whole point of literature erotica, isn’t it? So have a nice read.

Chapter 2 is already on my P. It will be public published in a month.

Once upon a time, in the southern mainland of Arkanara, lies the Kingdom of Incuria with its capital in Galatley. This is a tale of a special day, a day when the royal castle is more packed than ever with the noblest and most respected men and women from all over Arkanar. Representatives of allied kingdoms and estates, aristocrats, merchants, and famous warriors gather in the Triumphal Hall to celebrate King Inglud the Serpent Slayer’s 60th birthday.

The Triumphal Hall has been the venue for every important ceremonial event, from the coronation of a king to his marriage. As guests arrive, they marvel at the exquisite drawings on the black walls and the perfectly rounded columns. Above them, scarlet tapestries with a three-headed bear devouring a snake, the cognizance of Incuria, hang proudly.

The air is thick with revelry, the tables loaded with greasy food and excellent booze, jesters dancing in multi-colored outfits, and bards playing lutes. The guests loudly chant Incurian songs, all in honor of King Inglud. But this year, something feels different.

Recent events have cast a shadow on the king’s reputation. Rumors of political unrest and dissent have been spreading throughout the kingdom, and some say that the king’s grip on power is weakening. Nonetheless, the celebration continues, and the king’s loyal subjects raise their glasses in a toast to their beloved monarch, unaware of the troubles that lay ahead.

Inglud the Serpent-Slayer, also known as the Bear, was an unparalleled king and general of Incuria. His enemies trembled in fear and respected him greatly. With over a hundred victorious campaigns, dozens of conquered kingdoms, and thousands of slain foes to his name, he was a true legend. His massive hand could easily crush a human with a single blow, and his thick gray curls and beard gave him an air of wisdom that belied his ferocity. Despite his age, King Inglud still outshone many young warriors in every aspect of combat.

The guests at the castle drank deeply of ale and feasted on hearty fare as they toasted the king with loud exclamations of “For the king! For the king!” The warriors roared with laughter, spilling their cups of intoxicating ale as they reveled in the celebration.

The king raised his goblet, fashioned from the skull of a fallen enemy, and nodded his approval before wiping the froth from his beard.

“And for the queen!” someone shouted from the crowd.

“Yes! Yes! For the queen!” The warriors raised their goblets once more, timidly stealing glances at the beautiful Queen Nymira the Warrior, who was seated beside the king.

She wore a queen’s green robe with a deep V-shaped neckline, and at only 41 years old, she had borne several children for the insatiable king, yet still looked perfect. The gray-eyed, buxom princess hailed from the Wooded Mountains, with mesmerizing curves and long golden hair tied in a bun beneath her crown. Despite giving birth five times, she still possessed a girlish body and kept herself in excellent shape to satisfy the king’s needs and avoid giving him any reason to doubt their marriage. Every man in the castle secretly desired her, but all knew that the queen belonged solely to the king.

Nymiria smiled, her plump pink lips curling upwards as she ran her hands over her rounded belly. She was in the final month of her pregnancy, and everyone was eagerly anticipating the birth of the new successor. The king had even ordered the healers to stay sober in case of an early arrival.

“I have something to say,” the king’s bass voice boomed over the music and cheers of his guests. The hall fell silent as he deftly rose from his throne, clasping the armrest with one hand while raising his skull-shaped mug in the other.

“I want to thank everyone who came here today…” He paused for a moment and glanced around the room. “Today, I turn 60. I’ve lived long enough to see kingdoms rise and fall, to conquer enemies and make allies, to enjoy the finest feasts and the sweetest wines. But you know what I haven’t been able to do yet? Figure out how to blow out all these candles in one breath!”

The king points to a massive cake with a ridiculous number of candles on it, eliciting laughter from the guests.

Inglud’s expression turned serious as he prepared to broach an important topic.

“Seriously, though,” he began, “right now, my eldest son Nome is leading our army to victory against the barbarians from Overseas. Let’s raise a toast to him! Cheers!” The guests slammed their jugs onto the tables in agreement, shouting “For Nome!”

The King drained his skull-shaped goblet and exclaimed, “For NOME!” Beer dripped from his overgrown beard as he reclined back onto his throne, clutching his stomach and laughing. “Enjoy yourselves, drink and eat. It’s all on me!” The hall once again filled with the sound of chatter and revelry.

As mentioned earlier, King Inglud had many children. Two of his daughters were married to kings from neighboring states, his eldest son Nome was currently on a campaign, and his youngest son Karlas had died in battle a couple of years ago. The only son present at the celebration was Darian, a twenty-two-year-old young man with brown hair. Leaning against the wall, the prince watched what was happening in the Triumphal Hall. All these feasts were alien to him.

Darian took a sip from his mug and gazed at the guests. A young girl in a corner tried to wink at him. He was fond of girls, but just like feasts, love affairs weren’t actually his thing. His only goal was to earn respect and glory and to be known throughout Arkanar as a brave warrior, general, and king. Nevertheless, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many attempts he made, his older brother Nome was always one step ahead. Nome was better at everything: bigger, stronger, deadlier. He was the one son who would inherit the throne, the very throne that Darian desired for himself.

“I will return to my chambers, my love,” Nymira said as she rose from the throne, clutching her stomach. A wet puddle appeared beneath her, indicating that her water had just broken. “Healers, come here!” the king yelled, grabbing the queen.

Everyone had gathered outside the queen’s chambers – guards, entourage, and servants, except for the counselors. Darian stood aside, closer to the corridor walls, lost in thought. The childbirth lasted for several hours, stretching into the early hours of the morning.

For some reason, he remembered the old rumors about the King’s mistresses who had died during childbirth due to the enormous size of their newborns. Only Queen Nymira was able to give birth to the King’s offspring. It was probably just a myth propagated to make people believe that Inglud was not an ordinary man but possibly a demigod. To be honest, it was not so hard to be fooled, considering all of the King’s sons and daughters were indeed huge. Queen Nymira’s procreative abilities were undoubtedly worthy of attention and praise.

Finally, the king emerged from the queen’s chambers, wiping his sweaty hands with a cloth handkerchief, and glanced at the shocked and timid crowd that had fallen silent. The king needed to speak first.

“The gods have blessed me with a son,” he proudly announced.

The corridor erupted with cheers and congratulations, but Darian remained silent and watched from the sidelines.

“And what name have you given the new heir?” someone asked.

“I am still considering options. For now, our queen needs rest,” he replied, scanning the crowd. When his gaze fell upon Darian, he spoke with a thunderous voice. “Leave me and Darian alone. All of you.”

The crowd quickly dispersed as the king ordered everyone to leave him and Darian alone. The last time Inglud had made such a request was almost a year ago when Karlas, Darian’s younger brother, died. A few tears had been shed for him, as it was told that Karlas had died in a battle like a worthy Incurian. Only Darian and Inglud knew that Karlas had actually fallen off his horse and broken his neck like a weak, unworthy man during a battle with barbarians.

“It should have been you… Not him,” the king had told Darian that night, his eyes full of silent fury at the gods and destiny.

Darian didn’t even try to guess what Inglud was going to say to him now.

“I haven’t heard from Nome in a long time,” Inglud finally started, as the torches and fire on the walls became their only company. He sounded tired and slightly desperate. “I’m afraid he will not return. The last time we received word from him was a month ago, and things were not going well for his army. Perhaps the barbarians are stronger than we thought.”

“He will return, my king. I promise.”

“No need for empty promises, boy. If he returns without a victory, it’s better not to return at all,” Inglud said, straightening up to his full height. “And yet, I still have you, the representative of my line. My family line must continue to exist at any cost. Am I right?”

“Yes, my king,” Darian nodded.

“Our queen gave birth to another child tonight, but I am getting old and my time will soon come to an end,” Inglud said. “Therefore, I have decided that someone else should carry on my Serpent-Slayer line.”

He carefully scrutinized Darian through bushy eyebrows.

“While the fate of Nome remains unknown to us, I want you to continue my bloodline. Find a woman worthy of you and breed.”

Darian tried to hide his confusion and managed a slight nod in response, still processing what he had just heard.

“It is your sacred duty and the command of the king. Do not disappoint me, Darian…”

“Yes, my king,” Darian replied, bowing low.

“You may go now. Leave.”

He quickly bowed once again and moved away, turning a corner and suddenly encountering a group of knights and even one of the king’s counselors, Lokir. The small balding man had a squeaky voice and outrageous ambitions.

“Well, what did the king say?” the counselor demanded, suddenly standing in front of Darian, breathing garlic as always. He looked up at Darian from two heads lower.

“That is not for you to know,” Darian replied curtly, pushing Lokir aside to avoid the stench of his breath.

“Arrogant boy! How dare you?” Lokir sputtered.

“Know your place, counselor,” Darian retorted.

The head of the king’s guard and queen’s bodyguard, Braga, appeared as torchlights reflected off his bald head. He never concealed his disgust for Darian, as well as for the other sons of the king.

“I advise you to speak with more respect to the counselor,” said Braga, his deep voice carrying an air of authority.

“I dare to speak with him the way he deserves,” replied Darian, his tone laced with defiance.

“We are the reason this kingdom still exists, boy,” Lokir interjected, his voice high-pitched and unpleasant. “So know your place. You will not become a king. Nome will take the crown, won’t he?” The counselor giggled, revealing his yellowed teeth. “Boy.”

The next moment Dairan drew a dagger, putting the blade right to the counselor’s neck “Go on, call me ‘boy’ again.”

The armed mob behind Braga immediately drew their swords. Head of king’s guard put his hand on the hilt of his sword, not a single muscle on his face flinching. Only torchlight flickered across his troll-like head.

“You have no chance against all of us. If you harm the counselor, you’ll have to deal with me and all the king’s guards, boy.”

Darian met each knight’s gaze with his dark brown eyes, unafraid. Finally, he slowly withdrew the blade from Lokir’s pale neck and returned it to his belt.

“One day the king will die, and no one will be there to keep you in this position… or even keep you alive, Braga.”

The troll-like guard smirked and mockingly bowed his head. “Same to you… my prince.”

With that, Darian strode down the corridor, pushing aside the knights who blocked his path.

“You will regret this!” Lokir shouted, rubbing his red throat.

Darian didn’t look back. He knew that his defiance had put a target on his back, but he also knew that he was the only one who could secure the future of the Serpent-Slayer line.


Darian made his way to the queen’s chamber with the intention of checking on his mother and newborn brother. As he approached the entrance, he found it empty. He adjusted his leather cloak and entered the queen’s chamber without knocking. He slowly opened one of the large double doors and peered inside, taking in the opulent decor.

The walls and floor were adorned with dark gold and silver, and the soft light of the hearth illuminated the room. In the center of it stood a king-sized double bed with intricate wooden patterns above a huge red carpet.

/On this bed all descendants were conceived/. It ran through his head for some reason.

As Darian entered the queen’s quarters without permission, he knew he was taking a risk. Queen Nymira was known for her temper and dislike of unexpected visitors. But he couldn’t help but be drawn to her peaceful slumber, dressed in a white satin nightgown that accentuated her delicate features.

He approached the bed with caution, trying not to wake her. Despite her exhaustion and weariness, there was a certain grace and beauty to her form that caught his eye. As he looked upon her, a thought suddenly flashed through his mind, one that he couldn’t ignore.

/Still, the mother is gorgeous./

Darian marveled at how stunning his mother looked, even after giving birth multiple times. He couldn’t help but wonder how she managed to maintain such beauty and elegance.

“Who’s there?” Nymira rubbed her tired eyes with her left hand and yawned with a small, cute mouth. “Inglud, is that you?”

“It’s me”

“Oh. Darian…What are you doing here? Are you watching me sleep?” She said it with a little irritation and got up from the bed. Her left breast nearly fell out of nighty as Darian made an effort to look away.

She shook back her wet braids and walked gracefully over to a table near the fireplace, which he now noticed was equipped with a small bed for the newborn child.

“I just wanted to visit you, mother.” Darian walked around the bed and approached her from behind, peering over her shoulder. Unsure of what to say, he asked hesitantly. “Was the birth difficult?”

“It’s kind of you to worry about me,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice as she brushed a damp strand of hair from her face. “But childbirth is not something that concerns me. I am a strong, capable, and beautiful woman, after all. That’s why your father is not afraid to conceive new heirs with me.”

Darian tried to hide his discomfort at his mother’s words and shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“I’m glad to hear that everything went well,” he said, trying to sound neutral. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the mention of his father. Nymira always had a way of making her beauty and fertility known to everyone around her. He cleared his throat and gestured towards the sleeping baby.

“And how is the little one?”

Nymira’s face softened as she looked down at the newborn.

“He’s doing well and he’s name is Tartuff. A strong and healthy boy, just like his siblings.”

Darian nodded, relieved to hear that his new brother was healthy. He wondered if he would ever get used to the constant stream of new siblings that seemed to appear every year. But for now, he was content to watch his mother dote on the newborn and bask in the warmth of the queen’s chambers.

As she stood there, slightly shorter than him, Darian’s eyes flickered down to the table below. He could see what was happening beneath it, and more besides. He couldn’t help but glance at the plunging neckline of her nightgown, the curve of her neck, the smooth expanse of her skin. But he quickly averted his gaze, afraid of being caught.

Darian felt a sudden rush of warmth enveloping him. A sense of serenity and lightness washed over him, easing his racing heart. The scent of his mother, a heady mix of milk, fragrant flowers, and sweet mint, greeted his senses, further soothing his troubled mind.

Despite coming to see his newborn brother, Darian found himself lost in the moment, lost in the embrace of the tranquil atmosphere. The worries that had been weighing him down seemed to fade away as he stood there, taking in the comforting ambiance. For a brief moment, the world outside the room ceased to exist, and he was left with nothing but peace and tranquility.

“Nome was very big when he was born, a true Incurian one and truly King’s son.”

Despite Nymira’s voice droning on in the background, Darian found his attention drifting elsewhere. His gaze was fixed on the delicate straps of her nightgown, his fingers itching to touch them. It was as if he was under some kind of enchantment, captivated by the alluring garment that clung to Nymira’s curves.

As his fingers brushed against the strap, a jolt of electricity coursed through his body, and without thinking, he pulled it off. The fabric slid off her shoulder, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her skin and exposing half of her breast, and Darian felt a surge of desire coursing through him. For a moment, he was lost in the sensation, the feel of her skin under his fingertips, the heady scent of her perfume filling his senses.

But before he could fully comprehend what he had done, she quickly covered herself up and slightly pushed Darian away.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed, her eyes flashing with anger. “Have you lost your mind? Are you still drunk?”

Darian recoiled, feeling the weight of his mistake crashing down on him. “I…I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice laced with shame. “I didn’t mean to do that. I was just…I don’t know. I must still be drunk.”

He could see in Nymira’s eyes that he had crossed a line. He felt like a delinquent youth, caught in the act of doing something terribly wrong. “I’ll go,” he said softly, turning to leave. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

As he walked away, his mind was a jumble of emotions. He felt guilty, embarrassed, and confused all at once. He knew he had to make things right, but he had no idea how.

He left the room and tried to catch his breath. A high-pitched voice pierced the darkness of the corridor. It was Councilor Lokir, his tone laced with a mixture of lust and envy.

“The most beautiful women are always the ones who have just given birth,” Lokir crooned. “They’re the sexiest, sweetest, and juiciest. I envy the king. He’s going to have a lot of fun tonight.”

Darian felt a wave of revulsion wash over him as he listened to Lokir’s lewd remarks. The thought of someone finding pleasure in the vulnerability of new mothers sickened him.

As he turned to leave, Darian caught a whiff of something foul in the air. It was the stench of corruption, the rot of a system that allowed men like Lokir to hold power and prey on the innocent. He felt a surge of anger rising within him, a fire that threatened to consume him.

But for now, all he could do was retreat. He took a deep breath and headed back, determined to put as much distance between himself and Lokir as possible.


Darian hurried back to his chambers, his face still flushed with embarrassment. He splashed cold water from the oak bucket onto his face, hoping to calm his nerves.

His chambers were situated in the most secluded corner of the castle, several floors below the royal dungeon that had once held traitors and prisoners of war. It had been years since anyone had been imprisoned there, and Darian had begun to think that he was the only constant prisoner in that part of the castle, albeit with a few extra comforts. His cell was just a few floors above, providing him with a measure of privacy that was rare in the bustling castle.

Darian sneered as he dried his face with a rough linen cloth, the king’s words echoing in his head like a cruel joke. “Continue the Serpent-Slayer bloodline,” he had said. “This is your sacred duty.”

“My sacred duty to do that?” Darian muttered as he approached the window. “Not to win a war like Nome, but to breed?” A cool wind blew across his flushed face, dissipating the last traces of his blush. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, when a knock sounded at his double doors.

“May I come in, my prince?” It was Narim, his oldest friend and second counselor. Darian felt a small sense of relief at the sound of his voice. Narim had always been there to help him since childhood.

Narim and Lokir, the other counselor to the king, were constantly at odds with each other, always arguing and finding counterarguments to each other’s words. Despite their mutual animosity, however, the king considered them both invaluable servants to the kingdom.

“You may come in,” Darian said, grateful for the distraction.

An old man with deeply wrinkled skin and short white braids shuffled into the modest chamber, his movements sluggish. It was Narim’s father, an esteemed counselor in his own right, who had served the kingdom for decades.

“Congratulations on the birth of your brother, my prince,” Narim said as he entered the chamber.

Darian scoffed. “I’m not the one who should be praised. Congratulate the king since he’s the one who conceived the child.”

Narim looked at Darian with concern. “Is something troubling you, my prince? I’m always here to listen.”

Darian shook his head. “The king just ordered me to find a wife. He’s afraid Nome won’t return from war.”

Narim nodded understandingly. “Without Nome and his army, the kingdom’s enemies will try to take the throne. And there are rumors of a spy in the castle. Lokir even suggested that the spy is you.”

“I bet he did. I’m tired of the fact that no one takes me seriously!” Darian clenched his jaw in anger and knocked over a bucket of water.

Narim stepped aside to keep his cassock from getting wet.

“You think I’m not scary enough? You think I can’t keep this kingdom in fear?” Darian continued, raising the bucket back.

Narim looked at him thoughtfully. “A formidable appearance alone is not enough to instill fear in your enemies. Perhaps something terrifying or reckless should be done.”

Darian raised an eyebrow. “Reckless? What do you have in mind?”

Narim shrugged. “I’m only a counselor, my prince. But if you want my opinion, finding a worthy woman to be your wife might help.”

Darian sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Can you help me find one?”

Narim smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid that’s not within my duties as a counselor, my prince.”

Darian nodded in understanding. “Very well. Thank you for your visit then.”

The counselor went to the door as he was about to leave, but on the very threshold, the old man stopped and turned around heavily, straining old bones.

“I almost forgot. As you asked I brought you the book and, as you asked” He friendly smiled. “No one knows about it. I have put it in your chest.”

“Thank you, Narim,” Darian replied with a nod of gratitude.

“Have a nice read, my friend,” Narim said before turning to leave.

Darian wasted no time in finding a book amidst the jumble of items in his chest. The green half-print cover caught his eye, and he read the inscription: “About the Serpent-Slayers and the Kingdom of Incuria,” by Lokir.

He couldn’t help but remember how Lokir used to pester him with endless inquiries from that very book. “If you don’t know your own history, what are you good for, huh?” he’d say. But despite Lokir’s annoying persistence, Darian knew that this book was approved by the Masters of Historiography, so at Narim’s insistence, he had decided to read it after all. And he was determined that Lokir must never know anything about it.

Finally settling in at his desk, Darian opened the book and began to read. The words on the page quickly captured his attention, and he found himself drawn into the history of his kingdom. As the hours passed and the sun began to set, Darian’s eyes grew heavy with tiredness and the beer in his blood, but he kept reading.

Then, a particular chapter caught his attention. Lokir had a habit of using the phrase “By untrue rumors…” to describe information that made Incuria look bad, supposedly spread by enemies, but which Darian knew was actually true. This time, Darian stumbled upon another such “untrue rumor.”

“According to untrue rumors, Prince Angus allegedly turned his eyes to his own mother, Queen Libra, after his coronation, instead of looking for a wife. Allegedly, the prince took the queen by force and henceforth used her at his will. I hasten to point out that this is all a vile lie. Prince Angus is one of the greatest of the Serpent Slayer’s family line and one of the greatest commanders of Incuria.”

Darian’s mind was a blur as he slumped back in his chair, his thoughts drifting into dark and dangerous territory. He tried to shake the images from his head, but they clung to him stubbornly like a bad hangover. The beer in his blood wasn’t helping matters either, making everything before him swirl and distort like a hallucination.

A sudden memory of the queen’s chambers invaded his thoughts, sending a jolt of guilt and desire through his body. He could feel his hand reaching for her, as if pulled by some invisible force, almost seeing her naked body before him. He shook his head, trying to clear the unwanted thoughts from his mind, but they lingered like a stubborn stain.

Darian rose abruptly from his seat, feeling the cool evening breeze on his face as he tried to gather his thoughts.

/I shouldn’t think about such things….its drink’s fault/

He glanced back at the book lying on his desk, the page still open to the damning accusation against Prince Angus. He slammed the book shut and went to bed, hoping to clear his mind of the unwanted thoughts.


As the days passed, King Inglud grew increasingly impatient for Darian to choose a wife. But the prince’s thoughts remained in turmoil, unable to find the right match. On a quiet morning, Darian found himself standing in front of queen’s chambers once more. He entered without looking up, his mind preoccupied with his own thoughts. Only when he had crossed halfway across the room did he realize Nymira was breastfeeding her child near the window.

“I beg your pardon, my queen.” Darian’s face flushed with embarrassment. He should have knocked before entering.

“It’s all right,” Nymira replied, stepping back from the window and towards the fireplace. “You have always been welcome here, even unannounced. Besides, I’m sure you’ve seen me half-naked before.”

Darian couldn’t help but feel uneasy at her words. He recalled the events of the previous day and wondered if mother had become colder towards him after their encounter.

“I should probably come back another time.” Darian bowed, ready to turn around and leave.

“Would you like to hold him?” Nymira held the baby out to him.

Darian hesitated for a moment before nodding, his gaze fixed on the baby in her arms. As she passed the child to him, Darian struggled to keep his eyes from wandering downward.

Nymira walked over and held the baby out into his arms, pulling child away from her lush breast. He saw mother’s nipple for a brief moment before she covered it with her nightgown.

“The king will be here shortly. Have you decided on your wife yet? Is that what you came to discuss?” Nymira’s tone was polite but distant, as though she were simply going through the motions of a conversation. Darian shook his head.

“Not yet. I am still considering my options.”

Darian gazed down at Tartuf. The child’s tiny hands wrapped around his own fingers.

As Nymira went to change, Darian turned away, gently bouncing the child in his arms. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on his shoulders as he considered the daunting task of choosing a wife. The King’s expectations were high.

“The requirements of conquerors,” he repeated, his mind racing with thoughts of political strategy and dynastic succession. “It’s not just about love, is it?”

Nymira emerged from the closet, now dressed in a new green nightgown with a sweetheart neckline. Her blond hair was twisted up into a bun, and Darian couldn’t help but notice the curve of her neck and the delicate lines of her collarbone.

“You can give him to me now,” she said, holding out her hands for Tartuf. Darian reluctantly handed the child back, feeling a pang of regret as he watched Nymira cradle him to her chest.

“You’re a bad babysitter,” she teased, and Darian couldn’t help but grin.

“I’ll be better with one of mine,” he replied wistfully, his mind drifting to a future that might never come to pass.

As they stood in silence, the crackling of the fire and the occasional whimper of the child filling the room, Darian felt a sudden sense of connection to his mother.

Perhaps it was the flickering flames casting a soft glow on her features, or the vulnerability of the young child in her arms. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if there was more to her than he had ever known.

“I’m sorry,” he said, breaking the silence. “For barging in here like this. I should have knocked.”

Nymira smiled at him, a glint of mischief in her eye. “Don’t worry about it,” she said.

“You’re always welcome here, whether I’m dressed or not.”

Nymira’s gaze drifted over him, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You know, I’ve been thinking,” she began. “Maybe it’s time we spend more time together, just the two of us. We can go for walks, talk about anything and everything.”

Darian’s eyes widened in surprise. It had been years since they had done anything like that. He had always assumed that his mother was too busy with her duties as queen to spend time with him.

“Guess It wouldn’t be so bad,” he said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Thanks, mother.”

The doors creaked open, as they had done so many times before, and Braga barged in, bellowing out his usual command.

“The King demands your presence in the throne room, my lady,” he announced, his tone harsh and gruff.

Nymira let out a weary sigh. “Very well,” she said, resigned. “Please summon Gertrude to take the child.”

Turning her attention back to Darian, she added, “I apologize for the abruptness of my departure, Darian. Duty calls.”

“It’s quite alright,” Darian replied, his voice tinged with disappointment. “I’ll take my leave then,” he muttered, and walked out of the chamber, the door shutting behind him with a resounding thud.


That night, memories flooded Darian’s mind of a warm summer day from years ago.

The memory of Inguria battling against the first Barbarian attacks, and he, Nome, and other soldiers sitting around a crackling campfire, singing songs. The camaraderie and sense of brotherhood among the soldiers were palpable. Nome, with his bushy chestnut beard, had gazed up at the star-filled sky and said, “The air of home is sweeter than honey.”

Darian, taking a bite of the juicy apple he had plucked from a nearby tree, had voiced his concern. “But aren’t you afraid of tomorrow’s battle? We could die tomorrow.”

“It’s better to die fighting for our freedom than to live without it,” replied Nome. “To live as we choose, eat until our bellies are full, and sleep with whomever we please.” The soldiers nodded in agreement, their voices joining in support of Nome’s words. His eloquence never failed to inspire them.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers broke the moment with a joke. “I’m in love with my aunt. Can I sleep with her?” he laughed.

Nome’s response was quick, “If you’re worthy of her, my friend, then you can. That’s freedom. Marry and sleep with whoever you want. Even with your own mother.”

The laughter and clinking of beer glasses filled the air as they all cheered to freedom, including Darian.

Years later, as Darian got up from his bed, the memory of that night still lingered. Dawn was breaking outside, and he took out the book.

“According to untrue rumors, Prince Angus allegedly turned his eyes to his own mother, Queen Libra, after his coronation, instead of looking for a wife. Allegedly, the prince took the queen by force and henceforth used her at his will”.

His eyes scanned the page, and he continued reading. “Rumors are silent as to whether Angus had children as a result of intercourse with the queen.” He closed the book, but the words lingered in his mind, stirring up a new voice inside his head. The voice whispered, “Who is more worthy to continue the Serpent-Slayer bloodline than his mother? She is the only queen capable of bringing Serpent Slayers to life.”

Darian’s thoughts wandered to Nymira, and he felt a longing to touch her. Why would he bother looking for someone else when he already had her? He questioned himself. Wasn’t that what freedom was all about? To marry and sleep with whomever you wanted? He knew he was treading on dangerous territory, but the temptation was too strong to resist.

Darian found his thoughts drifting back to Prince Angus once again. What was it that drew him to this forbidden desire? As he entertained visions of himself as king, Darian felt the seductive pull of absolute power and the exhilarating freedom that came with it. The allure of indulging in his most illicit desires was impossible to resist. And ultimately Prince Angus gave in to temptation. He fucked the most unattainable woman in every man’s life. His own mother. And at this very moment he became “Angus The Great”.

Finally his inner voices became meaningful.

— As the sun began to set, Darian made his way towards the queen’s chambers, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness. Braga, the guard posted outside, eyed him warily before reluctantly granting him entrance.

“May I come in, mother?” Darian asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he pushed open the heavy wooden doors. Nymira looked up from her desk, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“Of course, Darian. I was just writing letters to your sisters before retiring for the night.” Gertrude, Nymira’s faithful servant, bustled around the room tidying up, casting a curious glance at Darian as he entered. The sweet scent of mint filled the air, and Darian couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of unease wash over him.

He suddenly realized the absurdity of his earlier thoughts, but he pushed them aside and focused on the present moment.

“Would you like me to send a message to your sisters on your behalf?” Nymira asked, her tone gentle.

Darian let out a derisive snort. “I thought they were enamored with the insipid prince they married. They can now face the consequences of their choices.”

“Please refrain from speaking of your sisters in such a disrespectful manner in my presence…Gertrude, leave us, please.”

The maid bowed and walked out the door. The queen dipped her quill into the inkwell and continued writing.

“Tomorrow I plan to embark on a horseback ride. Would you care to join me, Darian?”

Darian hesitated, “I fear that the king would not approve of me taking leisurely horse rides instead of attending to my duties.”

Nymira flashed a reassuring smile, “Leave that to me. I will speak to the king about it. Besides, I require assistance in calming down the horses. As you know, it is mating season, and our prized stallion seems to have forgotten that his own mother is in the stable. We should avoid them breeding.”

Darian felt a sense of excitement bubbling up inside him at the thought of accompanying his mother on a ride. “I will be honored to help you, my queen,” he replied, trying to hide his eagerness.

“That’s good. By the way, have you found a wife for yourself?” she asked.

Darian nodded, and as he did, he noticed a change in the queen’s usually stern countenance. Her gray eyes softened as she regarded him.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, setting aside her quill and rising from her chair. “The king will be pleased.”

As she stood up, Darian placed a hand on her shoulder to help her up. His eyes trailed down her body, drawn to the curves that were accentuated by her attire. He couldn’t help but notice the warmth of her soft skin beneath his touch, and he was tempted to explore the curves of her body with his hand.

“What are you doing?” she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice as she took his hands and removed them from her waist.

“You know that I love you?” Darian took a deep breath.

Nymira’s face registered a mix of surprise and embarrassment. She wasn’t sure what to make of Darian’s sudden declaration of love. Was he playing some kind of game?

“Of course I know that, Darian,” she said. “But what you just did was completely inappropriate.”

As his hand reached out to caress her hair, he leaned in for a kiss. Their lips touched in a fiery embrace, and Darian savored the taste of her mouth, exploring every inch of it until she abruptly pushed him away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“It was nothing more than an innocent kiss.”

“It didn’t feel that way,” Nymira shot back, her voice laced with disappointment and anger. She pulled away from his arms. “That’s enough. You better go. Braga!”

The bald guard burst into the chambers at her command.

“Yes, my queen,” he said, his eyes darting between Nymira and Darian.

“Take the prince out,” Nymira instructed. “He’s not feeling well today.” With that, she walked over to her youngest son’s bed.

Without a word, the warrior grabbed the prince’s arm and led him out of the chambers and into the dimly lit corridor.

“Stop touching me,” Darian seethed, yanking his arm away from Braga’s grasp.

“Do you know where your chambers are? Go back there,” Braga retorted, his voice firm and unyielding. Darian’s cheeks flushed with anger as he watched Braga walk away. He couldn’t believe the audacity of the warrior, treating him like a child. But deep down, Darian knew that he was partly to blame for the situation he now found himself in.

As he walked down the dimly lit hallway, Narim appeared beside him.

“What happened in there?” Narim asked, his voice thick with concern.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Just pissed off the queen a little.” Darian replied, his hand subconsciously touching his lips, still tingling from the memory of the recent kiss

“Be careful not to make our queen angry. She’s called Nymira the Warrior for a reason,” Narim warned with serious tone. “Young women from Wooded Mountains are trained to defend themselves and fight. They make excellent merchants and warriors, but few become wives of kings. There was one occasion when a spy infiltrated our castle and disguised himself as a guard. He intended to kill the queen but was met with fierce resistance. Needless to say, he didn’t leave her chambers alive. Listen, Darian. You’re a good kid. But you need to start thinking before you act. And you need to learn to control your impulses. If you don’t, you’re going to end up doing something you regret.”

“May I ask what happened to the spy?” Darian inquired.

“You may, but I won’t answer,” Narim replied, a faint smile playing on his lips. “The queen doesn’t like to speak of it.”

He had always known that his mother was a formidable warrior, but he had never heard of this particular incident before. He wondered what other secrets lay hidden in her past, and if he would ever uncover them.

“Remember, queen belongs only to the king. Everyone knows it” Narim concluded.

“We’ll see,” Darian thought to himself.

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