The Tower

"Visitor!", calls the jailer. And Angelica emerges from my cruel reverie and into my reality. She is beautiful in her scarlet dress, cut provocatively low. She holds a bouquet of garden flowers tied with a simple ribbon.

"I have little time, Father. I must return to my lover, your brother. I will not visit you again in this cell. But as I promised, here are flowers from our garden."

She hands me the bouquet and then she leaves. The jailer smirks at my obvious distress as he shows her out.

I look at the bouquet of flowers. And smile. For there is a language in flowers. The carefully chosen bouquet contains a message. And a gift.

"Escape -- midnight -- castle -- revenge", the blooms tell me. And within lies the means to accomplish this.

I busy myself. Later, the jailer opens the door to bring my supper. He gasps in pain. Snapping one of the flower stems I have used its resin to glue the tiny thorns of another to the door handle. Upon those thorns, I have smeared the crushed seed pods of a third. All carefully chosen by my clever daughter, whose knowledge of botany rivals my own. The seed pods exude a poison that kills exceedingly swiftly yet also agonisingly painfully. The jailer's face turns blue, his tongue swells, he clutches his chest and collapses as dead as if transfixed by a lance. Poison is a woman's weapon, but an effective one.

Soon I am out of the tower, dressed in the jailer's armour, wearing his sword, and riding his horse. I head for the palace.

At the door, the head of his guard stands watch.

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you guarding the prisoner?" he asks. Before he has time to realise that I am not the jailer, I have put a dagger between his ribs.

I make my way inside. I find Cardinal Fanelli cavorting with one of his man-whores, and spit the corrupt old hypocrite through the eye with my rapier. I break into the office of the Prince's secretary and retrieve the royal seal, symbol of my rightful authority. Then I head upstairs to the private chambers, praying that I am not too late to save my daughter from her uncle.

I burst into the bedchamber. I see lying across the bed, naked but for a long undershirt, Rodolfo. He lolls, sprawled, motionless. His face is blue, his tongue swollen, and a half-eaten black grape is in his hand.

The scarlet gown is on the floor. Angelica reclines sensually on the furred bed. She wears only high-heeled sandals and a crimson satin slip. Her body is delightful, high-breasted and long-legged. She languorously reaches for the plate of fruit, pointedly selects a green grape from among the back, and slips it into her mouth, eating it with relish and indifference to the presence of her dead lover. I am impressed. Poison truly is a woman's weapon.

She pushes her victim's corpse off the bed where it slumps to the floor. Beckons me. I strip off my clothes, join her on the sable furs. She kisses me hard on the mouth. Then we are rolling around hungrily, madly, needing only to fuck each other hard. Our enemy's body is still warm in the room with us as for the first time I drive my cock deep into Angelica and we commit the sinful act of incest. Sinful, but so good! The most beautiful woman I have ever known, to say nothing of the bravest and cleverest. She seduced her uncle, she enabled my escape, and now we celebrate our triumph. I have her at last, and she is as superb a lover as I have imagined. I kiss caress, adore her. We fuck each other harder and harder, our sweat mingling. She moans and gasps in release as for the first time I bring her to orgasm. She clutches at me as I come inside her.

After our exhausting first lovemaking, she slithers on top of me, looks down with that perfect, heart-shaped face, knowing I can deny her nothing now, and murmurs, "Father -- marry me!"

Epilogue

It is our wedding day. The culmination of our return to power. I soon hunted down Rodolfo's remaining allies and reclaimed my rightful position. I am once more Prince of this land. One thing I did not return to normality, though -- the laws of consanguinity remain annulled. Oh, people were shocked when I announced that Angelica was to become my wife. But I am Prince, and I can do as I wish in my own domain. None dare challenge me now. Not with my lovely, devilishly clever Angelica at my side as my co-ruler, my heir, and now my bride. She has a gift for espionage and intelligence-gathering. And she is a superb diplomat. It is as much her throne as mine, now.

This afternoon, a vision in virginal white, she walked with me up the cathedral aisle where we were married by Fanelli's successor. Now, we are celebrating at a banquet in the palace.

In the intervening months since my escape, Angelica has blossomed as a lover. Helped, I think, by her schooling at the hands of my concubines as I had each of them in turn take her to bed. From Giulietta she has learned to take frank, unashamed pleasure in her own body and mine. From Cat, she has learned to perform physically and to contort her luscious body into unimaginably erotic positions. Violetta taught her at great length all the arts of a whore, and Teresa has initiated her into the darkest of pleasures. Now she is my perfect lover -- lady and whore, mistress and slave, wife and daughter. I am still virile, and perhaps one day I will father strong sons and beautiful, willing daughters upon her. But for now, I will enjoy my marriage to her. My Angelica -- my beautiful seductress and poisoner, my princess, my daughter and my wife. She smiles and offers me a goblet of drink.

"I have prepared this just for you," she purrs. I take the chalice from her, and drink deep.