Queen Yavara Ch. 09

LEVERIA

My father stared in disbelief at the enchanted mirror. King Dreus' face stared back.

"...I hope that we can come to a diplomatic solution here, Clartias." Alfred Dreus said, "I have five-hundred-thousand beasts that reside in my city, and I cannot condone any aggression taken by you or your people."

"I can't believe this." Father sighed, collapsing into the chair, "My own daughter." He'd remained silent as King Dreus recounted everything that had happened, from the failed rescue attempt, to Yavara's revelation. Dreus did not say whether he'd made a deal with my little sister, but I knew him well enough; he'd covered his bets.

"I was hoping that we could set up a line of communication between Queen Yavara and yourself." King Dreus said. He'd stopped calling her 'Queen Alkandi' after Father's visceral reaction to the name. "I have no doubt that she would like to speak with her family, even after the assassination attempt."

"It was not an assassination attempt!" Mother cried, "We received a message from a ranger that Zander Fredeon and Brock Terdini were holding Yavara. We sent a team of mages and rangers over to rescue her!"

"You can understand why I find that hard to believe, Queen Tiadoa." King Dreus said as he raised a skeptical eyebrow, "Fifteen highly-trained combatants attack five people unprovoked, one of whom was Prestira Rasloraca, an esteemed citizen of Ardeni Dreus, all without telling me beforehand? This sounds like a covert operation gone wrong."

"Leveria didn't tell you about the mission?" Father asked. He turned to me, "It was her that received the message and sent the men out."

My face turned red as Mother and Father stared daggers into me. I had hoped that this operation would go off without a hitch; I would retrieve my stupid little sister, receive the accolades of taking the initiative, and hold a piece of diplomatic baggage over King Dreus once it was discovered that the Highland princess had been right under his nose. But it all went to shit. Ten rescuers were dead and the other five were to be executed, including Head-ranger Adarian. Elena had also disappeared, no doubt joining her paramour once she found out what Yavara was.

"King Dreus," I said, swallowing my pride, "it was my mistake. I was so hurried in sending out the rescue mission that I forgot to inform you of it."

King Dreus gave me a frank look, one that told me he thought I was full of shit. "Be that as it may, Princess Tiadoa, Queen Yavara has spun the botched 'rescue mission' as an attempt on her life, and everyone believes it. Despite that, Queen Yavara has fervently pressed her desire for peace with the Highlands; I suggest the three of you take her up on that. Good night." King Dreus disappeared from the enchanted mirror, which now simply reflected our stupefied faces.

"Queen Yavara," I sneered, "Queen of rocks and shit and a pack of beasts."

"How did this happen?" Father lamented again, "My own daughter!"

"She's not your daughter anymore, Father." I said, "She's a monster; she's evil incarnate! We should send actual assassins!"

"Shut your mouth!" Mother snapped, "You've done more than enough!"

"So what?" I snapped back, "Do you two actually want to sit down with the Dark Queen of Alkandra, and negotiate?! Do we allow the Great Forest to be ripped from our hands for nothing? How will the Noble Court take that news, do you think?"

"Politics be damned; this is family!" Father slapped his hand on the arm of his chair.

Politics be damned? Family? I almost laughed. Come now, Father. Who are you trying to impress? "Forget the Noble Court then." I said, "Just how long do you think it will be before your precious second born decides that she wants more?" I levelled my gaze on him, "How long could our kingdom withstand the onslaught of an army of hundreds of thousands?"

"Yavara wouldn't attack her own people." Father said resolutely.

"Oh, she wouldn't?" I laughed, "Yavara played you all for fools. Why do you think she took her little solo venture? To 'find herself?!' Do you think she accidentally transformed into the Dark Queen, then allied with Fredeon, Brock Terdini and Prestira Rasloraca, in the span of four days? She must have been planning this for years. She has deceived you, Father. She will deceive you again."

Father sat back, pondering my words. "What you say may be true, Leveria, but we should still have open communication with Yavara. I cannot believe -I refuse to believe- that Yavara would wage war on her own people. I just... I just can't believe it... my own daughter..."

Father began to weep, and Mother put a compassionate hand on his shoulder. I grimaced internally. Father always looked at Yavara as the son he never had. She could shoot better than anyone, ride horseback with the best rangers, and drink men under the table. She was boisterous, bold and overtly friendly, though I thought her stupid, brash and insufferable. Even so, I shared none of the qualities Father loved in her. I always hated how he doted on her, how she was the apple of his eye. My only consolation was that I would take the crown, and she would become some lord's breeding pet. But that was no longer the case. My stupid, brash, insufferable little sister was the Dark Queen of Alkandra. Oh, she'd played a deep game, Yavara had; played it to perfection. I had to concede my admiration, for it was a masterpiece of manipulation. For even as she marshalled powerful allies to her cause, Father did nothing, broken and disbelieving, loving her still. I'd always despised Yavara, but now I hated her with a distilled purity. I brushed Mother aside, wrapped my arms around my beloved father, and pressed his head to my shoulder.

"Don't let your love blind you, Father." I whispered into his ear, "She is the Dark Queen reborn. She has been trying to reclaim her throne for a thousand years, and she's finally found the perfect vessel with which to do it. She never loved you; she used you. Now you sit here and weep while the greatest threat to our empire draws support from our allies and enemies alike. Don't think of her as she was. Think of her as she is, and do what must be done."

"Don't listen to her, Clartias!" Mother hissed, "She's trying to push us to war!"

And I always hated my mother too. She was ever suspicious of me, especially when I was around Father. I think she always suspected something was going on, but she never could quite put her finger on it.

It started six years ago. I had long-since developed into a woman's body by my eighteenth trip around the sun, and Father took notice. One day I left my door open while I was undressing, and Father walked by. Our eyes met. He didn't avert his gaze, nor walk away. He kept staring, and I kept undressing. It was sick, I know, but I craved paternal attention, and I didn't care how I got it. Yavara was the son he never had, but I could be the forbidden piece of fruit he always wanted. It turned me on.

Every day I would leave my door open just a little wider. Every day he would watch me from down the hall. We would both pretend we didn't see each other. One day, I left the door all the way open. I kept my stockings on and bent over on the bed. I started to touch myself. I forked my fingers to spread my nether lips, and I pushed two fingers into my tight virginity. I'd practiced in the mirror the night before; I knew what I was doing. I moaned and cried softly, pushing my ass high in the air, arching my back and looking over my shoulder at him. His pants were around his ankles, his cock was in his hand, and his eyes were on me, swimming with desire. It was the first time I'd ever seen an erect penis. I remember that it was a shock to my eyes, and I could not look away. As my invading fingers kneaded the flesh within, the shock dissipated, and desire replaced it. I wanted it; I wanted it badly. I wanted Father to share something with me that he would never share with his precious Yavara. Day after day, I gave Daddy a show, and day after day he spilled his seed on the floor down the hall. We were stuck in limbo, never taking it further.

A month later, Yavara and Mother went away on a goodwill mission to Vachter Dormus, the dwarven capital. It was just me and Father, and I knew my chance had come. The night before, I took a banana into my room, and practiced in the mirror. The next evening, I put hooped earrings into my pointed ears, painted on dark eyeshadow, sheened my lips red, and did my light blonde hair up in pigtails. I found the night gown I'd worn as a child, and dawned it. It was a tight fit to say the least, the hem frilling just below the meeting of my thighs and the bodice clinging to my ample pale bust, but it more than sufficed. I was Daddy's cute, innocent, little girl. I was ready.

I went to his chambers that night. He was sleeping naked on the bed, his cock standing at attention in his slumber. My breath was sporadic and heated, out of cadence with my accelerating heart. I traversed the bedroom on tiptoes, terrified, excited and aroused beyond description. I laid beside him, not waking him. My eyes once again fixated on his organ. It was fascinating. With immense trepidation and desire, I reached out, and poked it. My experimental touch yielded predictable results, for he bounced rigidly in the air. Emboldened, I clasped my hand around it. It was warm and hard, throbbing and pulsing with his heart. I exhaled a shuddering breath, closing my eyes to savor the alien texture of it. I remembered how he'd stroked his cock in the hallway, how it looked like it made him feel good. So, that's what I did. I lubricated my hand with a glob of spit, and gently glided up and down his length. Father woke up, eyes clarifying and focusing on me.

"We can't take this further. It's wrong." His voice was thick with sleep, and shaking. I didn't listen to him. I kept stroking him while I stared into his eyes. He didn't really want me to stop. He was just trying to convince himself he wasn't a sick fuck who wanted his daughter. I enjoyed this new power I had over him, this ability to make him desire what disgusted him, to make him hate himself. I wanted him to hate himself. I wanted him to give in to me, to pass the point of redemption, to succumb to my power completely.

"There's nothing wrong with it, Daddy." I lied sweetly to him, lowering my face, "It's only wrong if people find out."

My lips trembled even as they drooled, and I watched him, watched his face fall in despair as he realized he couldn't stop me. He couldn't stop himself. I wrapped my lips around his crease, and tasted the nectar that frothed at his apex, the fruit of the loins I'd been given life from. I grinned up at his horrified face; he was delicious. I ran my tongue along his underside, my lips traversing his length with sweet suction, taking him generously. He pressed against my throat, and I stopped. The moonlight shown across my face, and I wondered at the portrait it presented to him. For I was still so young; my skin perfect and unblemished, my face round with teenage youth, his thick cock bulging grotesquely from my pristine mouth. My pink nightgown slid down my hips, revealing the curves of my femininity, the succulent globes of my bare ass. Father was in stasis, staring stupidly at me. I slowly bobbed my head up and down, my lips drawing gently, savoring every gradient of him. He finally gave in, casting aside his pride and dignity. He grabbed my pigtails and forced my head down to his base. I gagged.

That's right Daddy, you made your little girl gag on your cock. And she loved it. Daddy thrusted down my esophagus, his self-loathing manifesting itself into sexual violence. He punished my throat for his own perversion, not heeding my gags and flails of protest. Daddy raped his little girl, and she loved it. I remembered trying to push him away with one hand while my other hand worked frantically between my legs, the fingers writhing within, rubbing against that spot. I gurgled around each of his drives, the squelching burbling from my gorge, ravaged by his rage, his power. I succumbed to him. I opened my throat, and I accepted him for who he was, who I was. My platinum hair flailed wildly, my red lipstick smeared, my eyeshadow ran down my cheeks with tears of pain. I kept my lips sealed tightly around him, my tongue sliding down his shaft, my hand ceasing its protest to slide between his legs and cradle his balls. It's alright Daddy, we both want this. There's no shame in it. But there was shame in it, and that was what made it so good. I remembered climaxing to the feeling of his pulsating cock blowing down my throat. He groaned as he filled me, his cum leaking from my lips, dribbling down my chin. He pulled out, and I looked up at him gratefully, and swallowed. There's no going back now, Daddy. You're mine.

Daddy turned over and said nothing. He wouldn't look at me. I just smiled. I knew he would come back to me. The next day I positioned myself on the bed and started masturbating, bent over with my stockings pulled to my thighs. I heard his footstep down the hallway. He didn't stop at the end of the hall this time. I began to moan louder as his steps grew closer. I could hear the urgency in his footfalls, just barely not a run. He must've been thinking about me all day. He knew I would do this, but he came anyway. He was mine now. He pressed against me from behind, his strong hands squeezing into the fat of my ass, fingers disappearing in the succulence. I whimpered. I'm just your innocent little girl, Daddy. I've never done anything like this before. Please be gentle.

He wasn't gentle, and I didn't want him to be. I wanted to feel his burning hunger, and I wanted him to sate my own with his self-hatred. You're a sick fuck, but so am I. We can be sick fucks together. His cock pushed in all the way. I lurched forward, a shriek erupting from my lips as he broke my chastity. I felt the blood ooze out from me, carried by the fluid of my desire. He didn't give me a moment's mercy. His breath was hot on my neck, his thrusts were unrelenting, I screamed and lurched, agony taking me. I wanted him to think I didn't want it. I knew that's what got him off. He wanted to think he had the power here, that he wasn't so weak that he was seduced by his own daughter. I let him feel that power. I whimpered and cried my protests, but on the inside, I was moaning like a whore. Eventually I couldn't pretend anymore. My false cries turned to whines of delight, each one punctuated with a yelp as his pelvis slammed against my backside. He pushed my head into the bedding, and I bit the pillow, growling in pleasure. My back bowed, my ass elevated, my breasts flattened beneath me. I learned the fluid motions of a woman's lust there, being taken like a bitch by my own father. I wouldn't have had it any other way.

"Fuck me, Daddy!" I cried pathetically. The guise of weak femininity only encouraged him. He took a grip of my hair and wrenched my head back, forcing me to look upside-down at his wrathful visage. You're in control, Daddy. You're doing this to me. You're giving me this pleasure. I'm powerless to stop you. Keep going. The sweat glistened from my body as my breaths turned to pants. You're making your daughter pant like a bitch, Daddy. His cock filled me to capacity, stretching me to the bottom. I'm so tight around you. I feel every inch! His balls swung into my clit, each slap a delight of sensation. I could feel my first penetrative orgasm coming, deep and aching, expanding, boiling through my body. My muscles contracted uncontrollably, my legs quivered and writhed together. I screamed my elation against the pillow as Daddy blew inside of me. Hot cum surged into my womb, seeped into my desecrated insides and leaked down my trembling thighs. He pulled out, and I collapsed, my breath decelerating, the catharsis waning.

Daddy covered his mouth in horror, realization dawning in his eyes. He turned to flee. Na-ah, Daddy; there's no walking away from this one. I grabbed his hand and pull him back. He tore it free, not daring to look at me. I rose with the motion, cupped his face in my hands, and turned it to my own. Tears twinkled in his sapphire eyes, his lips trembled above his proud, stubbled chin. I guided him to the bed, and let him weep into my lap. He was a broken man, and it was time to put him back together again. Only once I was done fixing him, he would be the man I needed him to be.

Over the course of a month, I transformed my father into this ideal man. I gave him a piece of his youth back. We'd sneak out of the castle like we were both horny teenagers, and we'd fuck in secluded places. I acted the part of the loyal daughter in public, but in private, I was the one in control. And every night I was with him, more and more of that control began to seep into our daily life. I was brought to diplomatic meetings and treated as an equal. I was twenty years away from my coronation, but I was already learning the craft of diplomacy. I made a fool of myself often, but grew from each little mistake. My father guided me along the way, teaching me the ins and outs of international politics. I was an avid student, soaking up every little piece of information I could find. Yavara was the son he never had, but I was the heir to his throne, and for the first time in my life, I felt like he was happy with that.

But then Mother and Yavara came back. Mother took her place at father's side, and Yavara quickly replaced me in his heart. I was broken. I had meticulously weaved my way into my father's life, only to be immediately cast aside again. At twelve years of age, Yavara won the bowmen's tourney. She shot three arrows shaft-to-shaft-to-shaft into a bullseye two-hundred feet away. There was a feast in her honor, and she became the darling of the kingdom. That night I laid in my bed, and wept. I would always be the disappointment. Father would never recognize my potential. I couldn't ride or shoot well, but I could maneuver my way through difficult social situations. I couldn't run fast or throw a spear, but I could remember minute details of every conversation with every diplomat. I heard my father's footsteps. He came into the room. I wasn't in the mood. I needed a father now, not a lover. A gentle arm wrapped around me, and he pulled me close.

"Do you think I've forgotten about you?" He asked.

"I know you have." I replied.

"Leveria," He said, "you will be the ruler of the Highlands on your thirty-sixth birthday. Your life will grow in promise and power until you die, while Yavara's will atrophy the moment she is married. All her potential, all her strength, it will all be wasted on a man. That is why your mother and I dote on her so, because she is a free spirit that will be caged, and we wish to squeeze every bit of happiness out of her last six years of freedom."

"Why will you force her to marry?" I asked, "Why not just let her join the rangers, or the city watch?"

"You know the answer to that." Father smiled, "It's politics. Yavara will grow to be a beautiful woman like yourself, and men will want her beauty and status. Now, my job is to figure out how I can use Yavara's beauty and status to my advantage."

"That's cruel, Father." I smiled.

"Cruelty," Father said as he kissed my brow, "is not the same as pragmatism. It's pragmatic, Leveria. You must learn to distinguish between the two when you are queen. The difference between you and Yavara is that one of you uses your head, and the other uses her heart. Everyone loves the person who uses their heart. Yavara is passionate, wild and extroverted. You are reserved, calculating and introverted. Which qualities do you think make a better leader?"

"My qualities?" I asked.