Shadows Of Desire

King Desmond sat on the bed, a long robe of crimson red covering his body. He sat back against the large bank of pillows and watched, with great interest, as Lady Caroline, his new Queen, sat at the vanity and brushed out her long, golden hair.

When they had entered their chambers, King Desmond saw the curious scene laid out before them. Blood red rose petals trailed along the floor from the double doors to the large four poster bed. Candles lit their way into the bedchamber, lining the shelves, the window sill, nightstands and even along the floor. Caroline had outdone herself he thought as he entered the room. Clearly she had arranged for the room to be staged prior to the wedding ceremony and the servants had carried out her instructions to the letter.

It was all very romantic but, sadly, wasted on the King. He wasn’t interested in romance. Truth be told, he had no real interest in Caroline for anything other than her womb. Love with a distraction. It weakened the mind and dulled the senses making one vulnerable. Love was a poison from which there was no escape. He’d learned that lesson years ago and would never repeat the mistakes of his youth. He would not allow another woman to bewitch him as ‘she’ had done, so long ago. Women were nothing more than vipers, waiting for the moment to strike, rip your heart out and leave you wallowing in your own agony and despair.

His Queen was a handsome woman though. Even Desmond could not deny that. She had beguiling beauty and a ruthlessness that he admired above all her other more, useless, charms. She was strong, confident, and commanding in her own right. The perfect mate as she would no doubt beget strong and healthy children. She had better. The King thought to himself. Or I’ll take her pretty head myself.

Caroline turned and smiled at her husband but he did not allow her charming smile to disarm him for one moment. She did not love him anymore than he loved her. The King was no fool. It was his power that she was in love with. A power she had coveted since their first meeting three summers ago when she had presented herself and her wretched daughter at court.

Caroline had been a commoner. The daughter of a miller and the youngest of five children. Her mother was blood born. The years living in the shadows had driven her mad though and one night had gone on a blood fueled killing spree. She was hunted down by the elven King and her head taken and her body burned. Caroline’s father, unable to care for his children alone, quickly found mates for the oldest of his daughters but Caroline, being only a child at the time, he sold into servitude to a local widowed, Baron who governed his lands.

Caroline worked hard, cleaning, cooking, and eventually was given the task of caring for her master’s three children. As she grew older, Caroline took on a more domestic role within the Baron’s household, catering to his needs personally. He was quite taken with her and when it was discovered that she carried his child, he married her.

They lived happily for many years, or so it seemed, then one by one, the Baron’s three children became stricken with a strange illness. At first they appeared weak, like new born kittens. They were unable to care for themselves so Caroline nursed each of them the best she could. She fed them, bathed them, and clothed them but they only grew weaker as the weeks passed by. Eventually they stopped eating as everything made them violently ill. Even blood could not be tolerated. A healer was called in to treat them but could find no cause for the illness and therefore, knew not how to treat it.

Eventually the children succumbed to the illness and passed away, much to the horror of their father. Servants whispered through the somber halls that Lady Caroline was to blame for the decline in the children’s health for she and her daughter, Emilia, seemed to be immune to whatever plague had stricken the family. Many believed that the Baron would turn his wife away or have her arrested but then he too began to show signs of the sickness. As with the children, Caroline nursed her husband, aided by Emilia who was, herself, just a child at the time. And, just like the children, the Baron grew weaker and sicker, his heath in rapid decline until he too passed in the early hours one morning.

Caroline didn’t seem nearly as distraught over her husbands death as one might think, nor did she mourn the deaths of the three children she’d help to raise. Instead, she took to spending the Baron’s money as quickly as she could, throwing grand balls and lavishing all her attention on her daughter. She made sure that Emilia had the most expensive and beautiful gowns of all the young girls at court. Caroline adorned herself with expensive silks and jewelry. She served the finest foods at her parties and filled her home with the most extravagant furniture, paintings, and decorative rugs.

For as much as she spoiled her child, she was twice as cruel to her servants and they hated her. She barely fed them, forced them to feed from vermin, and sleep on cold, damp, floors with only rags to keep them warm. The slaves she kept, mostly Fae, were beaten and starved. Their mistress took great pleasure in their suffering, often bragging about how they cried and begged for mercy which only made her beat them harder. It was widely whispered that she also fed from her slaves and had a liking for a particular elven boy whom she kept chained in the basement and used as her personal blood slave, a thing which had been outlawed some years past.

The cruelty and the spending went on and the money soon began to deplete as Caroline had no head for business and many of her tenants choose to leave her lands rather than put up with her over taxing and cruel treatment of them. Lady Caroline soon found her financial situation in dire straights. As a solution to this, she took a new lover whom she soon married. A wealthy nobleman with lands and titles of his own. She quickly convinced him to put all of his properties and holdings into her name, much to the shock and outrage of his grown children who had expected to inherit it all.

The marriage to her noble Lord lasted only one summer as he was suspiciously killed while visiting southern neighbors. Lady Caroline accused elven scouts of the murder, claiming her husband rode too close to their borders and they killed him to make an example. Odd though as the neighbors he had been visiting reported no elven warriors anywhere near their lands on that particular night. Still, the King could not allow the senseless murder of noble Lords to go unpunished so he ordered another raid to take place which wiped out an entire elven village just outside the southern boarders of Basmorte.

After the death of her second husband, Lady Caroline spent much of her time at court, wooing and seducing many men and a few women out of their holdings. She never again married though, not until her eyes landed on the King during a rare ball held at the castle. The omega Prince, Rowan, had reached his sixteenth year and, as was custom, he was to be presented to court. It was said that King Desmond only allowed the ball to be held in hopes of finding his unwanted child a suitor that he might marry the boy off as quickly as possible. Many of the Kingdoms nobility flocked to the palace. Mostly to catch a glimpse of the omega Prince that the King kept locked away behind castle walls.

He was so secluded that few scarcely believed he even existed at all. Others had heard stories told to them by the servants who had actually seen the boy. Some tales told of a beauty so rare that it surpassed even that of his raven haired mother. Others told of a frail and sickly youth, starved for both nourishment and attention. The people of Basmorte were eager to see which of these stories held truth and which were simply lies. The reality were that both were true, in a way. Rowan was in deed a beauty with fair skin and long, silky, black locks. Ruby red lips and eyes as green as emeralds. He was slight in size with a small and slender frame, and as dainty as a child.

He did not appear sickly or frail though, quite the opposite. Despite his size he had a lean, muscular frame and seemed surprisingly healthy for one having been locked away in the darkness for so long. He was shy though, and reserved. Some might even go so far as to say reclusive. This could have been due in part to the way he had been raised. Even before coming to the palace it was said that he and his mother lived in isolation in Ravenskeep with only a minimal staff permitted to tend their needs. The country house in which he’d spent his youth was North of Rosegate and located on a piece of land that was wild and untamed. It sat, nestled between the Aingaleon sea and the Ciorstan mountains.

It had once been a stunning keep but since the death of Queen Ellarian had been mostly abandoned and since fallen into ruin. Rowan wailed and cried for nights after being dragged away from the only home he had ever known, forced into a lonely existence within the dark confines of the castle. In time though he had come to accept his new life, or resigned to the fact that the life he once knew was now gone, and the night terrors slowly began to ease and then disappear altogether. Or so everyone thought. He still cried in the night at times but had learned to become much quieter about it. He shrank away into a shell and did his best to protect himself from his father’s anger.

Rowan became quiet, moving ghost like through the halls, weaving in and out of the shadows barely seen by anyone. The less he was noticed, the safer he stayed. He spent much of his time being not seen nor heard and so was able to roam about fairly freely, keeping to the gardens he so loved, or hiding away in the library where he could lose himself within the pages of a good book. His favorites were epic adventures and stories of intrigue and romance brought to Basmorte from Rosegate or Millbarrow. He thrived on the tales of dashing knights rescuing kidnapped princesses only to fall in love and escape to be together.

He clung to those tales and memorized them so he could forever keep them in his mind, recalling the grand adventures over and over again until he felt as though he were a part of the actual story instead of merely a spectator. So many nights he lay in bed, longing for the time when a knight in shinning armor would come and rescue him, sweep him off his feet, slay the horrible dragon and carrying him off on his noble steed to destinations unknown. He knew of course it was only fantasy. Nothing that like would ever happen, not to him. He was trapped in his father’s castle until his father grew tired of him and finally chopped off his head. That was the only escape Rowan had to look forward to. Death.

This reality was made so much more painfully aware as his father paraded him around the grand hall like a piece of meat at an auction, desperately trying to find some foolhardy noble youth to take Rowan off his hands. No one seemed inclined to do more than gawk at the boy and whisper about him to their friends. He wasn’t someone anyone wanted as a mate or even a friend. He was a side show attraction. The omega vampire that shouldn’t exist. An anomaly, a freak. He was no more than a welcome break from the monotony of their dull and boring lives. When the novelty wore off they lost interest and he was again left to his own devices.

Though the party was meant for Rowan in particular, he’d spent very little time in the grand hall. After meeting most of the guests-the most important of them-he’d retired to a small window seat where he could watch the festivities without being seen. He’d stayed there most of the night, hidden behind a curtain only peaking out once in a while out of curiosity. That was the first time he’d noticed the stunning woman with golden hair clinging shamelessly to his father’s side. The King didn’t seemed all that interested in her to be honest but his lack of interest didn’t appear to be off putting to the woman.

She made sure to stay by his side the remainder of the night. She catered to him, laughed and smiled, fed him small, sweet, cakes and even stroked his arm with her small, delicate, fingers. As the night drew to a close and the King stood, ready to retire to his rooms, Rowan expected him to dismiss the woman with the rest of the guests. She would leave in the morning and that would be the end of it but, to Rowan’s amazement, the King stopped, turned to her and then did the one thing that no one had ever expected. He asked the woman if she would stay on at the palace for a week or two. She obliged, happily and was assigned guest quarters for her and her daughter.

A week or two turned into three years. Three miserable years of torment for Rowan. At first, he had welcomed the addition to the castle. He’d foolishly hoped that as his future step-mother, Lady Caroline would show him the love and kindness that he never got from his father. Unfortunately for Rowan, Lady Caroline turned out to be just as cruel and heartless as the King, maybe more so. She took an immediate disliking to the young Prince and wasn’t afraid to show it. Her cruelty to the boy seemed to please the King which gave her license to do and act as she wished. She was almost unbearable to be around and her daughter was just as bad.

Once again, Rowan slunk back into the shadows and tried his best to remain unseen. It was safer that way. Lady Caroline didn’t need an excuse to be cruel. Merely being in her presence would spark her anger and more than once she suggested to the King that he should send Rowan away. Rowan was certain the Lady would have him beheaded had the King permitted it. And, perhaps he would had, had the council of elders not been watching him closely. It was the council who had demanded Rowan’s coming out celebration. Rowan had often suspected that it was in part because they wanted to see that he still lived and was well, no longer willing to just take the King at his word.

Rowan had realized early on that if it had not been for the council, his life would have been much different. They had insisted that he receive the education deemed befitting a royal. They had insisted that he be given a personal maid and adequate living quarters. They also made it mandatory that he be allowed to attend weekly mass, despite Desmond’s objections. Of course, his maid was to attend with him and he was expected to sit with the royal family and out of harms way. The only exception to this was during heats when he was isolated from the rest of the castle and only allowed female attendants. Not even the council wanted to deal with the fallout from that scandal.

All in all, that had been his life. Lady Caroline just had to endure the boys presence in the palace because, while he was still under the watchful eyes of the council, he was off limits. Why they had taken such an interest in the boy she did not know. The King had told her that because Rowan was of royal blood he was afforded all the protection of the crown and that allowing any harm to befall him would make the council appear weak. They feared what would happen should the people of Basmorte no longer see the council as a symbol of authority and order.

Lady Caroline accepted this explanation and said no more about it though, in the back of her mind, she often wondered if there was something more to it than what the King was willing to divulge. She just couldn’t understand how one, useless, omega could be that important. It made no sense to her. He was nothing. Even the priests felt he was an abomination and often preached on it. They made certain that all the people knew how much Sheul despised omegas and had ordered them destroyed. Rowan’s existence was of great contention within the church and the priests seemed almost relived when he was found dead. Even going so far as to praise Sheul.

Now that Rowan was gone and the first part of Caroline’s plan had been put in motion she was free to enact the second part of her plan and that involved the King himself.

Seated at the vanity, Caroline was a stunning sight. Her long, blond, locks flowed down her slender back, nearly reaching the inclined curve of her tiny bottom. Her hips were wide. Good child-bearing hips, and legs, soft and smooth, peaked out from behind the sheer, black, robe she wore. She was unclothed beneath the robe and King Desmond could see the outline of her body perfectly from her firm, flat, belly to the swell of her breasts and the her pink, pert, nipples. His cock stirred beneath his robe as he watched her dragging the brush through her golden hair.

“It is our wedding night, my dear.” The King spoke in dark, cold, tones. “The time for denying me has come to an end. Tonight you will join me in my bed.”

The Queen sat the brush aside and turned to smile at her husband. Her smile was dazzling but her eyes looked sinister as they narrowed and she caught the King in her icy stare. Slowly, she rose from the stool, moving in a seductive manner as she almost floated, barefooted, across the threaded rug at her feet. Her nails were blood red and the King looked at them with a hunger as she stretched out her hand and stroked his graying beard. She sat on the edge of the bed, near her husband, running a slender finger over his parted lips. He watched her, mesmerized by her movements.

It had not been so very long since he’d had another in his bed but it had been a servant girl. Small and frail. She had lain, stiff as a board, looking to the ceiling as the King fucked her and when he was done, he’d dismissed her. She jumped from his bed, pulling her skirts down, and ran from the room as quickly as her skinny legs would carry her. But, she had just been a stupid girl. Barely twenty. Not a woman like the Queen. An alluring temptress with all the grace and charm of a well bred lady. One could hardly believe that she had come from such poor stock as she certainly exuded royalty now.

She plucked a grape from the tray on the nightstand and slipped it gently into the Kings eager mouth. He licked at it, licked her finger tip, then took the fruit into his mouth as he watched his wife, curiously. She certainly made a show of the seduction though he couldn’t imagine why. She would know that he would not turn her away. Not this night. Not ever. He wanted her body. Could not wait to have her splayed beneath him, screaming his name as he drove his massive cock into her over and over again.

He would not be gentle with her as he longed to taste her screams on his lips. He longed to taste her womanhood, her sweet, wet, channel. He longed to taste her blood flowing freely into his mouth as he claimed her as his own. He had waited too long for this moment. Been turned away from her bed too many times as she claimed that she wanted their union to be pure and legal. She would only take him into her bed on their wedding night and together they would conceive the child he so wanted. That was her promise and now, the King was ready for her to make good on that promise.

“Come to me.” He said in his most commanding voice. “You will give me what I’ve waited so long for or I will take it. Either way, you will be mind this night.”

“Patience, my darling.” She said. Her lips twisted in a shrewd little grin. “I will give you all you desire, and more. But first, you must do something for me.” The Queen pulled open a drawn on the nightstand and reached inside. She removed a piece of parchment along with ink and a quill. She laid the parchment across the King’s lap then waited as he read over the document.

“What is this?” The King snarled as he read the words scrawled along the parchment. “Is this a joke?”

“Not at all.” The Queen smiled though her eyes were hard and cold. “It is what we had agreed upon. Sign it and I am yours in all ways.”

The King smirked as he sat the paper aside, disregarding it. “In the morning perhaps, now, come here.”

He reached for her but Caroline put her hand up to stop him. “We had an agreement.” She hissed. “Sign it now or spend this night and many after it alone.”

Desmond glared daggers at his Queen. The fury in his eyes did not frighten or lesson her resolve. Knowing he could not win this battle, Desmond picked the document up once more then snatched the quill from her hand. He quickly scrawled his name on the line then grabbed a candle and dripped wax beside the signature and added his royal seal. “There, it’s done.” He scowled as he threw the parchment at his bride. “Your harlot of a daughter is officially now a Princess of Basmorte.”

The Queen’s smile widened as she took up the parchment, and placed it safely back into the drawer. “Thank you, my King.” She turned to him then, and leaned forward to kiss his lips. He kissed her back, greedily, wrapping his arms around her as he pulled her on to his lap. The Queen straddled him, a leg on each side, the front of her robe falling open, revealing the golden tuft of hair between her legs. The King reached up and undid the tie that held her robe together at the neck. Brushing his hands over the creamy, white flesh of her shoulders, he pushed the robe back and down her arms, revealing her large, full breasts.

The robe fell back, collecting just below her ass in a pool of black. The sides slipped from her thighs, covering her bare feet. Caroline kissed him again and he opened his mouth to the kiss, forcing his tongue into her mouth as he took her by the hips and pulled her against him. Caroline moaned into the kiss and snaked her arms around his neck. The King’s cock, now fully erect, pushed up between them and he desired more than anything to sink it into her hot, wet, and inviting cunt.

“You are breathtaking, my dear.” The King breathed heavily, his mouth inches from her throat.

“My King, you flatter me so.” Caroline tossed her hair, leaning her head to the side, revealing the smooth skin of her neck. The King leaned forward but before he could capture her slender neck in his hands Caroline had shifted, reaching to the night stand where she picked up an empty wine glass and a glass flask, rimmed in gold. The red liquid within sloshed the sides as she poured a full glass of the blood wine. She brought the glass to her full, red, lips and took a sip. She leaned forward then, placing her mouth over her Kings and fed him the wine from his mouth as she kissed him, deeply.

When she pulled back, the King snatched the glass from her hand, drank down the rest of it’s contents greedily then threw the glass to the floor. It shattered against the hard stone and the King wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robe then looked to Caroline with fire in his eyes. “No more games.” He growled, low and dangerous. “I’ve waited long enough to fuck you and I will wait no more.”

He slid a hand between her thighs, cupping the soft hair he found there and slid his fingers inside. Caroline moaned as she reached beneath the robe and grasped his hard cock. She began to stroke him as he moved his fingers inside of her, her breasts bounced as she rocked back and forth on his fingers. Her free hand gripping the sheets of the bed as she pumped the King’s cock in her hand. Desmond closed his eyes and leaned his head back, groaning and licking his lips. Caroline’s free hand slipped behind the bank of pillows, she leaned forward, kissing the King’s neck, then his face, her lips brushed his ear. “Now, my King, you shall get all that you deserve.” She whispered into his ear.

The King’s eyes shot open at once. A sensation unlike any he had ever experienced before washed over him. It was as if his veins had turned to ice, and his throat burned with unimaginable pain, he clutched at the sheets but a creeping paralysis had seized control of his body making it impossible for him to move. Panic surged within him as a searing fire consumed his every nerve. His muscles seized, and he began to convulse. A strangled cry tore from his throat. The poison’s brutality was beyond comprehension, ripping through him in waves of torment. He felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out, each moment a never-ending eternity of suffering.

As his strength waned, Desmond’s gaze met Caroline’s icy glare. Her smile did not falter, and her eyes glittered with malevolent satisfaction. He tried to speak, to call out to her, but his words were chocked off in his throat as all that came out was a splattering of his own blood. The Queen’s demeanor shifted in an instant, the facade of innocence falling away like a mask. In its place was a sinister resolve that sent a shiver down Desmond’s spine. He coughed and groaned, struggling to move away as his body convulsed in agony.

“You were a fool to trust me, my Love,” Caroline’s voice was venomous, each word dripping with malice. She stared down at him, her gaze fixed on him with unwavering intent. “A fool to believe that I could ever want you. Could ever love you. I despise you as your people despise you. Know that when you’re dead, no one in this Kingdom will ever mourn your passing.”

Desmond’s vision blurred, his world narrowing down to the suffocating pain that consumed him. He felt the poison coursing through his veins, the searing pain a torturous reminder of his impending doom. And then, as his strength waned, he felt a sharp, burning pain in his chest. Caroline had drawn a silver bladed dagger from beneath the pillows, its blade glinting in the candlelight. With a swift, merciless motion, she plunged the dagger into his heart, her eyes ablaze with a cold, ruthless fire. Desmond’s body jerked, his breath caught in a strangled gasp, and his vision dimmed as darkness closed in around him.

The room fell silent, the candles flickered as Caroline withdrew the dagger from Desmond’s lifeless form, a triumphant smirk playing upon her ruby lips. The air was thick with the scent of blood and betrayal, a palpable reminder of what she had just done and, what was at stake. Panic gripped her for a moment, but only a moment. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of such frivolous uncertainty. By morning the King’s body would be discovered and she would be dragged out in irons if she didn’t act quickly.

She picked up the dagger and then, taking a deep breath, plunged it into her belly. She gasped and cried out, nearly collapsing on top of her now dead husband. She took a moment to regain her strength then pulled the dagger slowly free and slid off the bed. Her foot stepped on a shard of broken glass from the discarded wine glass and instantly she cringed as the shard cut deep into her foot. She reached down and pulled it out, cursing herself not being more careful.

As quickly as she could, she pulled her robe back on then pulled the fabric together and held it in place. Clutching the dagger in her other hand she walked to the door of her marital chambers and shuffled out into the hall, leaving a trail of thick blood behind her. Stumbling as she walked, Caroline fell to her knees, the dagger hit the stone floor with a loud clatter. She placed her hand over the wound in his belly and cried out.

“Guards, Help!” She wailed, her screams echoing off the walls and down the darkened corridor. “Guards, Help me, please! The King...the King is dead!”

Her eyes filled with false tears as her ears picked up the sounds of heavy boots on the stone floor racing towards her. She fell to her side as the guards came into view. She reached out to them, weeping hysterically.

“My Queen!” The first guard to approached gasped when he saw her laying there. “What happened?”

“The King.” She screamed, tears streaming down her face. “The King is dead! He’s been murdered! The King has been murdered!”

Hi, and thank you for reading this far. If you like this story and would like to read more then please vote and leave me a comment so I know people are actually reading, and enjoying the story. I won’t continue posting chapters if no one is reading. Thanks, ~Chance~