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Prince Fasili is at last returning home from a season of battle. His forces were triumphant, naturally, and there are surely ceremonies to come, at which His Most Glorious Imperial Majesty Mavriki — or, in his most informal moments, Father — will present him with great honors, and allow him in turn to present honors to the warriors under his command.
All that can wait, though. As soon as he crossed onto the grounds of the Imperial Palace, he'd sent a runner ahead to order a hot bath drawn and his favorite concubine to attend him. It won't be long until he's clean, relaxed, and fucking Oriana until she cries.
Of course, Oriana is technically his father's concubine, not Fasili's own; even as the Crown Prince, he is not yet entitled to a harem of his own. He has the privilege of enjoying any of the women or eunuchs in his father's harem... as long as he spends in his hand or on the concubine's skin or in the bed linens, and never inside their mouth, their cunt, or their ass.
It's the Emperor's divine right to dictate such terms, and Fasili rarely chafes under them; after all, the old man can't live forever. He's content for now to outdo his Most Glorious Father in virility: by forcing his playmates to come over and over, until they beg him for relief from the pleasure.
Fasili sails through the palace on a smug cloud of these achievements, all the way to his quarters, to the bathing-room, out of his clothing, and into the deep tub of polished stone. Closing his eyes, he lets the steaming water and aromatic oils soothe away the aches from riding, fighting, and riding some more.
"Would you like me to wash your hair, your Highness?" He'd recognize that voice anywhere: soft and sultry and rich, like liquor soaking into incense.
"Please," he says, and her fingers sink into his wet hair, massaging his scalp. Fasili nearly falls asleep under Oriana's ministrations; only the shock of the cool water she pours over his head to rinse rescues him from that embarrassment.
"There you are, my lord," Oriana says, behind him. "How may I next serve you?"
"Why don't you j—" Join me, Fasili meant to say, twisting to face Oriana — but his words stop as suddenly as if chopped short by an axe. There she is, brown and lovely, bedecked in the sheerest silken scarves and elaborate crystal jewelry... and very clearly with child. With his father's child; with Fasili's own half-brother.
"Will you not congratulate me?" Oriana's tone is almost perfectly steady as she frames her round belly with her hands.
"Congratulate you?" Fasili repeats. He gets to his feet and climbs out of the tub, approaching her dripping wet and naked. "On what? On letting that old man grunt above you for a minute or two and put my rival in you?"
"No rival, my lord," Oriana protests, taking a step away from him — a mistake.
"Oh, is that so?" Fasili reaches her in one stride, wrapping her in his arms from behind. His hard cock snugs into the small of her back, and one steel-thewed arm rests across her collar bones: not pressing against her throat, not yet, but close enough to make her mind.
"Of course, my lord." Her heart is racing like a frightened rabbit's, but the rest of her is very still. "I would not —"
"I could kill him," Fasili muses. "There have been emperors who did as much, to make certain that any child born in his harem would be his own get. Would you let me, Oriana? Would you hand your child over to me to kill, if I demanded it of you?"
"My lord, it would be your right, but I would beg for your mercy: let him live, and adopt him as your own son and presumptive heir." Ah, now she's trembling, enough to rattle the luminous raw crystals caught in her hair and around her throat in their settings.
"What a wonderful idea," Fasili murmurs in her ear. He reaches between her thighs, beneath the shimmering silk draped about her, and cups her whole cunt in one of his big hands. Oriana makes a helpless little sound and rocks forward, pressing that sensitive little pearl against the callused heel of his hand. He shoves two fingers inside her: oh yes, she's sopping wet, his beautiful slut. "You're far more clever than Father realizes, aren't you?"
"As my lord says," Oriana says softly, spreading her legs to accommodate him.
"Say it." Fasili pushes his cock into her, hauling her body backwards so that he bottoms out in her cunt all at once, forcing a gasp out of her. "Say that he's an old fool, that he's got no idea what he has in you. Say it!"
"My lord!" Oriana's hands come up, bracing herself against the tiled wall.
"Say it, Oriana." He grabs the strands of crystals that twine around her wrists, wrenching her arms upward by the jewelry and pinning them in place, so that her face is mashed into the inlaid tiles.
"He's an old fool," Oriana whispers. "He's — he's an old fool, he could hardly — my lord is in the prime of his life — oh, dear gods —"
Fasili loves to watch her struggle, to see the supple muscles working beneath her fine skin, restrained by the jewels His Foolish Imperial Majesty showers upon her. "That's right, my love," he croons into her hair. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you to — oh, my lord, I want you to fuck me, I want you to father my child — this one and all the rest to come!" She's weeping now, her tears glistening on the tiles. "May the gods forgive me, I want your seed inside me — yours, and not — not —"
"Show me how much," Fasili demands, grinding her face into the wall and roughly fondling her cunt, where she's stretched around his cock and further up, that hidden pearl that makes her scream.
And scream she does — loud enough to shake the heavens, sobbing and begging him to do it harder, to put his hands around her throat and squeeze, to leave her marked indelibly, to kill his father and have her completely — her cunt squeezing his cock like a vise all the while.
Fasili fucks her through her orgasm, then another, a warm glow of power filling him with love and hate and plans. "Oh, yes, my dear," he says, feeling his sac tighten towards his own orgasm. "You have such delightful ideas."