Offspring with Queen Mother Pt. 01

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.

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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.

CHAPTER 1

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.

CHAPTER 2

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.