The Royal Line Pt. 01

Prologue:

From 'A History of House Greyleon' written by Scribe Baxtus in year 1213 of the Age of Truth:

King Potent of House Greyleon, 19th king of the Rivenlands, was sealed to his name, as was traditional, by the sacrifice of a white bull. The beast in question was, according not only to the more biased Palace Records, but also to the scribes of the Drover's Guild, of unusual size strength and size, particularly about its prodigious loins, which one scribe blasphemously compared in length and breadth to Orobu, the World Serpent. In any event, the ritual was to prove very efficacious, for never was a scion of Greyleon more truly named than this King Potent.

The king was wed at twenty years, only a fortnight after completing the Vigil of Manhood. His wife was the Lady Callipygia of House Shoareave, at the time a most prominent family for the controlled not only the rich fishing grounds of Bellegost Bay, but also the mines of the Diamond Isle. The lady was fully two years Potent's junior, and by all accounts was a lovely creature, blue of eye and raven-haired. She conceived within a month (Cottonhead, the royal fool, claimed with a minute) of the marriage ceremony and miraculously bore the king not one but five healthy sons. The wonder did not cease there however; the next year the young queen produced five newborn princesses, and five more the year after that. Things continued in this wise until the queen's seventieth year, at which point time at last stopped up the flow of her moon's blood.

The king's desire for her was unabated however and the two spent their remaining years in relatively seclusion, seldom leaving their private chambers and spending long stretches at their private estate of Windlewoods. The governance of the kingdom during these years fell largely upon the shoulders of Lord Condign of House Inhren, Potent's boyhood friend and the Warden of the Rivenlands. Knaves referred to the incorruptible Condign as Old Ironneck but few questioned the wisdom of his decisions. Condign's greatest challenge was doubtless the political miasma created by the surfeit of royal heirs, though he was known to say, when pressed, that of Potent's two hundred and sixty offspring, perhaps six were truly dangerous. When pressed further, he would nevertheless refuse to say whom those six might be.

Chapter One: Satin

Satin moved through chilly halls of Castle Grey with a silence and poise that would have startled his combat instructors, who thought the prince as clumsy with his limbs and he seemed to be graceful with his tongue. He paused a few yards before his passageway joined with another one, checking for the telltale change in light quality that indicated that the ensconced torches were being disturbed by the slight breeze of another human's passage. Satisfied that the coast was clear, he proceeded.

Silently, he counted off the ironbound doors that ran along the right hand side of the corridor. Even for someone born and raised there, Castle Grey could be a warren. Which, given a certain rabbit-like tendency on the part of its owners, struck Satin as thoroughly appropriate.

He paused at the ninth door and, after once again assuring himself of his privacy, bent his eye to its keyhole. The torches in the room beyond were extinguished, but the banked fire upon the hearth bathed the scene in a rosy glow. A young woman sat in a padded rocking chair, her eyes closed but her hands folded so neatly across her belly that one could hardly have supposedly she truly slept. Beside her stood a cradle of the same honey-colored wood as the clothes press and the changing table, decorated with inlays of mother-of-pearl. The rug on the floor was downy sheepskin, good for when the infant would begin to crawl.

The babe in question was, Satin knew, the very youngest of his brothers, Prince Ultimate, whose name had been bound to him only that afternoon with the usual sacrifice of a white bull. It occurred to Satin to wonder if his parents had ushered in a new age of prosperity for the drovers, by so increasing the demand for their choicest animals. Now bull, roasted and spiced, was being served to those assembled in the great hall along with for of its fellows, a great feast in honor of the youngest litter of Greyleon princes. Prince Satin had, uncharacteristically, attended only briefly before slipping away. He had more succulent meats in mind.

Now Ultimate began to whimper, a surprisingly low and urgent complaint. The woman in the rocking chair stirred at once, confirming Satin's suspicion that she had been less than fully adoze. She crossed to the cradle, her bare feet sinking into the down of the rug, and bent over it. Her pale blond hair fell down to form a shining curtain. The firelight caused it to glow the color of a fine white wine. She plucked the princeling from his blankets and settled back onto her rocking chair, speaking to the child in soft, crooning voice.

"Hush now little love, hush now. You're safe and sound in a nice big palace. Nothing's going to hurt you."

Satin had to strain his ears to catch her words, but even so he thought he could detect a hint of melancholy. When the babe did not quiet, the woman sighed, and fumbled one-handed at the sash that held her heavy woolen robe in place. A thrill of anticipation shot through Satin's body. At last the sash parted, and the woman pulled the top of her robe open.

Now, it was true enough that House Greyleon had a long tradition of hiring well-endowed wet-nurses, but this young woman—Mona Ferrier she was called—had something beyond the ordinary. Her long, thick nipples were the same rose petal pink as her sensuously full lips, an already beads of creamy milk were begin to spill from them, as if in eager anticipation. With a happy grunt, young Ultimate fastened onto one of these nipples and began greedily to suckle. His head was comically dwarfed by the bulk of the breast her fed from, as indeed would have been the head of a full-grown man. Or a full-grown cave bear. Each breast was a vast mountain of pillowy flesh, porcelain white and trembling.

Mona let her doe-like brown eyes roll closed and leaned back in her chair, savoring the feeling of release as the tiny princeling relieved her breasts of some of their heavy burden of milk. The sight was driving Satin practically wild. He could feel his cock straining at the fabric of his loincloth. As silently as he knew how, Satin eased the ironbound door open with hands that trembled slightly. By rights, it should have been locked, but then again, by rights it should have had guards posted outside of it. Satin had long ago realized the usefulness of bribery.

The sheepskin made Satin's careful footsteps all but noiseless as he entered the nursery, but as he drew close to Mona, she stirred, alerted by some subtler sense to the fact that was being watched. Those liquid brown eyes flew open and widened in alarm as she caught sight of the prince.

"Your highness!" she gasped, striving to cover her chest with robe but finding that she was hampered by little Ultimate, who clung to her enormous breast like a particularly determined lamprey.

"Miss Ferrier," said Satin, smoothly. "What a pleasure it is to see you."

Mona succeeding in extracting her nipple from Ultimate gums with an audible popping noise, which sent tremors through the whole mountain of her breast. She blushed a deep red, the warm flow slow spreading from her round cheeks down her neck and across her glorious bosom. Satin tried his best not to drool.

Face still burning, Mona stood, edged her way around Satin without looking at him and deposited Ultimate back in his crib. The child gurgled once and then closed his eyes in preparation for further sleep. Her back still towards Satin, Mona began to pull her robe back on.

"Please," said Satin, "Don't dress on my account. I'm really a quite informal person."

Mona froze in place, half in half out of the garment. The blood rushing through her ears sounded unnaturally loud. She heard a rustle of silks as Prince Satin stepped closer, and smelled the scent he wore, sandalwood and balsam, with a hint of something like lilies. It was altogether different from the rough smells of the men she was used to. Her father had smelled of sweat and cattle, her husband of coal and of horses, and both men had often reeked of drink.

A soft, hand with long, deft fingers was laid upon her bare right shoulder, causing her to break out all over in gooseflesh. The hand slid slowly up the white curve of neck, running those long fingers through her corn silk hair, and then down the other side until it encountered the fold of thick wool where the neck of her robe met its left sleeve, through which her arm was till thrust. The hand brushed the bunched cloth from her as one might brush bust off a polished statue and the robe slithered at last to the floor.

Satin surveyed Mona's rear aspect, his heart beginning to pound insistently against his ribs. He could smell her now, the soft scents of milk and lavender that clung to her skin and her white-gold hair. The swell of round buttocks was as nothing to her colossal chest, but even so the mere sight of it caused Satin's already rock-hard cock to jut forward by almost another inch. The only detail that jarred was the scars.

They were the long straight scars left by a horsewhip, not the crazy crisscrossing that a cat would leave, and they ran, Satin could now see, from the nape of Mona's neck down the little dimples where her spine became her rump. Most were faded to fine silvery lines, but three still out raw and red, held together by the special alchemical glue that the surgeons used.

"What happened?" asked Satin. His voice was gentle but as yet contained no trace of pity.

Mona trembled as she replied, causing her buttocks to quiver invitingly. "I spoke out of turn to by husband."

"I see," Satin replied. He voice remained curiously empty. "You lost your child?"

Mona nodded quickly and spoke with a voice that seemed to catch in her throat. "The pain...it...things started happening and by the time the midwife arrived it was too late. She said it might have happened anyway, but I didn't care. I ran away."

"Here. To Greyport." It wasn't a question.

Mona nodded again. "I was still making milk something fierce, so I put out the word that if any needed a wet-nurse, I'd gladly serve. And one of the Castle's footmen heard about me and...well, here I am." Then added hastily, "Your highness."

"What was you husband's name, Mona?"

"Your highness?"

"Your name for example is Mona Ferrier, as I discovered from the footman who brought to Castle Grey. Your husband would then be..."

"Logan Ferrier, you highness."

"Very good," purred Satin. He still had not removed his hand from Mona's shoulder. Now he turned her gently to face him. Faint stretch marks could still be seen on her belly, if one could tear one's eyes away from the spectacle of her divine bosom, but her round face was unlined. She couldn't have been more than nineteen.

"And do you know my name, pretty Mona?" asked Satin. "You seem to know my rank, but I've brothers aplenty and to spare."

"Yes your highness," Mona burbled. She felt strangely warm and boneless are the prince's hazel gaze. "You're Prince Mai...I should say Prince Satin."

Satin arched a sable eyebrow. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing, your highness."

"Mona, you're blushing again. It is most fetching but does little to improved your credibility."

"I'm naked, your highness."

"I am keenly alive to this fact, but I will be answered."

There was a long pause, in which only the crackling of the hearth fire could be heard. Then Mona spoke. "Prince Maiden, your highness. Its what the serving men and the guards call you sometimes, because they think you look like a girl."

Satin withdrew his hand, which had been drifting ever so slowly southwards from its resting place on Mona's bare shoulder, and took a half step back form her, cocking his head to one side.

"And do you agree with them?" he asked.

Mona raised her eyes from the sheepskin rug and studied the prince.

He was scarcely taller than she, beardless, and built like dancer. He wore a doublet of powder blue velvet trimmed with sable and a topaz drop through his left ear. Like his mother, his eyes were blue and his black hair hung in elegant ringlets. His skin was smooth and clean, his lips full. He did not look like Mona's idea of a man. She felt a warmth begin in the pit of her stomach, quite unrelated to the blushes still crimsoning her face and neck. It spread like a licking candle flame, up to breasts until her nipples stood out hard as acorns and down to her loins, making her a little light headed. She could not remember a man who had moved her to such hunger.

"No, your highness," Mona breathed.

"Do I look like a man, then?" asked Satin, curiously.

"No, your highness," said Mona, her voice low and husky. "But I'd wager you'll taste like one."

She knelt down then, her knees cushioned by the warm sheepskin, and reached out to grasp Satin by the bulging crotch of his silk hoes.

"God's horns," she blasphemed, as she drew him closer. "You could hang a pail of milk from it."

"And you could supply the milk," Satin observed. His normally light, sardonic voice had gone deep and throaty. Mona glanced down and saw that, indeed, pearly droplets had begun to ooze from her taught nipples. Somehow, the sight only aroused her further. Some animal part of her howled its triumph, exulting that it had found a mate to give it more babes to suckle. Mona began to tear wildly at Satin's hoes with her trembling fingers. Laces and loincloth gave way, and out sprung the prince's erect cock.

"God's horns and hooves," Mona swore again. She grasped Satin's cock gingerly, as if afraid it might vanish like a dream on waking, and pressed it wonderingly to he side of her face (she could feel the heat radiating into her cheek from the hard, throbbing flesh) placing her chin at the very base of the shaft, so that it was tickled by Satin's other, equally dark and curly hairs. Then, slowly, she felt up along the cock's length. She could not believe it; his cock was longer than her whole head by at least a handspan and so thick that her thumb could not meet her fingers as she clutched it.

"If your father was hung so," Mona whispered, "They named him well indeed."

Satin was on the point of making some clever remark, when Mona began to lick the head of his cock, and his words escaped him in a rattling sigh of delight. She kissed it and stroked it with her hot, wet tongue. Satin moaned, and Mona felt the warmth within her flare up to a bonfire blaze. She wrapped her full lips around the prince's enormous, throbbing cock and began to slurp on it as though she would consume it. Little rivulets of her own drool mingled with Satin's precum coursed down her chin and throat to spatter her huge, heaving breasts with bright and sticky drops.

Satin twined his fingers through her white gold hair, gripping her fiercely but not cruelly. Inside her mouth, Mona's tongue writhed and twisted, trying to lick every inch of hard hot flesh, though Satin's girth left her little room to maneuver. Unable to help himself, Satin began to pump his hips, thrusting his cock deeper into Mona's hungry mouth. Mona knew a moment of fear as her body tried to gag, but then it passed and the prince's huge cock was sliding up and down her throat in smooth strokes. She could feel her gorge distending with each thrust, bulging outwards, as if she'd swallowed too large a mouthful. She gave a muffled growl, a low thrumming that Satin felt rather than heard, felt it running up the length of his shaft and into his stomach, feeling him with heat. He stared down into her wide brown eyes and was amazed by the intensity of lust that burned there.

Then Mona reached up from where she knelt and seized each of Satin's smooth buttocks in her two hands. She dragged on them as he thrust forward, forcing his cock even deeper into her gullet, until her each stroke was pressing her nose into the lean muscles of the prince's abdomen. Satin's balls were slapping rhythmically against Mona's chin. It was too much for him.

He came, explosively. Semen, hot and thick, was pumped straight into Mona's stomach. It seemed to glow inside her, like strong brandy. A second spurt, like the aftershock of an earthquake, filled her mouth as he began to pull out, and a third painted her plump lips and dribbled off her chin. The final gush fell on her colossal breasts, mingling with the creamy milk that still oozed from her rock hard nipples.

"God's hooves, that was..." Satin began, but Mona gave him no time to recover. She lifted her breasts—no mean feat for each utterly swamped the hand that supported it—and engulfed the prince's cock in them. She gripped her own nipples firmly and squeezed, causing more milk to pour out, like water escaping from a bursting dam. She bathed her breasts and Satin's cock in the milk, making everything slick and wet and warm. Then she began to rub his cock between her breasts enthusiastically.

Satin's cock went from flaccid to rocklike so fast that a drop of milk was flicked from the end of it to spatter against Mona's already sticky lips. She licked it up with a wide, satisfied smile and continued to knead her breasts. Warm mountains of smooth, slick flesh rubbed back and forth across every inch of Satin's massive cock. He moaned and gasped, his head swimming.

"I'll come again if you don't stop," he warned.

"In me," Mona managed to gasp. She dragged the prince to the floor, where he lay on his back, his curly hair very black against the sheepskin rug. Mona straddled him, positioning herself above the high tower of his cock. Then, slowly, she lowered herself onto him. She made a strangled little cooing noise as his long shaft slid slowly into her. Satin's girth strained the walls of her cunt, stretching her wider and wider. With an effort, she crammed the last few inches of hot, hard flesh inside, bringing her dripping wet lips down to the very base of Satin's cock. Never before had Mona felt so gloriously full.

Satin reached up to grab a vast milky breast in each hand. His hands were soft but his grip hard, as he fondled her, delighting in the way his finger disappeared into the pillowy bulk, a drawing his thumbs roughly across Mona's stiff nipples. Creamy drops appeared. With sticky fingers, Satin began to rub still faster and was rewarded with a veritable gush. Mona purred and began to bounce up and down on Satin's cock.

She came on the third stroke, a spasm of ecstasy that broke over her like a cresting wave. Another followed close on its heels. Satin could feel her cunt convulse, squeezing him tighter. Purple spots flickered before his vision as he too came. Mona cried aloud as she felt the eruption inside her and slumped forward, collapsing onto Satin's heaving chest.

They lay quietly for a space, while the sweat cooled on their naked bodies, making them glad of warmth of each other and of the hearth. Satin ran his fingers through Moan's white gold hair and she snuggled closer to him, burying her nose in the hollow under his collarbone.

"You know," the prince said at length, "It's something of a miracle that we didn't wake my little brother."

"Hardly," Mona replied. "There's no babe that could help but sleep with a bellyful of my milk."

"Oh?" asked Satin, hefting one her heavy breasts and raising it to his lips. "Shall I test that claim?"

Mona shivered in delight as his tongue brushed her nipple. "Please do," she whispered.

***

Many hours later, long after most of Castle Grey was well abed, John Umber was disturbed by a knock at his study door. Being an assassin by profession, John Umber took a different view of the world than many people and so he did not immediately leap to his feet to find out what emergency was so urgent that he had to be sought out in the middle of the night. Instead he rose, slowly and quietly, from his arm chair, carefully obscured the coded document he has actually been studying under a map of the realm, drew one of the flat daggers hidden about his person, and only then eased his door open.