Harem Master: Seduction System

Chapter 336: Alaric’s Conditions For Queen Kate

Kate lay draped over the chaise lounge like a discarded silk scarf. Her body wasn’t just humming; it felt like a plucked string, every single nerve ending still alive and tingling, vibrating with the echoes of hours upon hours of relentless pleasure.

The room was quiet now. Eerily quiet. The only sounds were Alaric’s steady, even breathing from somewhere near the bedchamber door, and the oblivious, sawing-log snores of her husband, King Reginald, from the massive bed.

She felt... wrecked. Utterly, completely wrecked. Like a ship that had been dashed against the rocks in a storm.

And yet... she also felt alive. More alive than she had felt in years. Maybe ever. The exhaustion was profound, bone-deep, but beneath it was a strange, thrilling energy, a current running just under her skin.

This stranger... this force of nature... he had done things to her. Made her feel things. Made her scream things she didn’t know were possible. He had broken down every wall, every inhibition, every last shred of her carefully constructed royal facade.

But she still couldn’t see him. The magical darkness, the Silken Nightmare Binds, still held her eyes shut tight. It was absolute. She didn’t know his face. She didn’t know his name. She knew nothing about him except the unbelievable skill of his hands, his mouth, his cock.

"Who...?" she whispered, her voice a raw, husky thing, barely more than a breath. Her throat felt like sandpaper. "Who are you?"

She heard him move. Footsteps, soft on the carpet, coming closer.

"Does it matter?" Alaric’s voice came from somewhere above her. It sounded... amused. Like a cat playing with a half-dead mouse. "You got what you wanted, didn’t you, your Majesty? You certainly sounded like you did."

"I... yes," she admitted, shame heating her cheeks. "But I need to know."

She tried to push herself up slightly, bracing herself on shaky arms. Her muscles screamed in protest. Every inch of her ached. "How... how can I find you again?" The question was a surrender. A plea.

He laughed. A low, soft sound that still held that edge of cruel amusement. "Find me?" he asked. "Oh, your Majesty. You don’t find me. I find you. That’s how this works."

"But I want you again," she admitted, the words a shameful, desperate confession torn from the deepest part of her. "I... I need you again." The thought of never feeling like this again, of going back to Reginald’s fumbling... it was unbearable.

"I know you do," he said simply. The casual arrogance of it was breathtaking. He knew.

She heard his footsteps again, closer now. She felt the air shift as he stood right over her, looking down at her naked, broken form. She felt his gaze on her like a physical touch, hot and possessive.

"You really want to see the face of the man who just broke you?" he asked, his voice soft now, almost gentle. "The man who made you scream like that?"

"Yes," she breathed, the word a ragged sigh. "Please. I have to know."

"Alright," he said.

She felt his presence leaning closer. Felt his fingers, surprisingly gentle now, touching her eyelids. She flinched instinctively, but didn’t pull away.

He whispered a single word, a counter-spell that felt like a cool breeze against her skin.

"Reveal."

The darkness shattered.

Light flooded her vision, dim moonlight from the window, but it felt blinding after the hours of absolute blackness. It took her a second to adjust, blinking rapidly, spots dancing in front of her eyes.

And then she saw him.

He was standing over her, still gloriously, shamelessly naked. A slow, wicked, utterly self-satisfied smile was playing on his lips.

And he was young. Shockingly young. Younger than her, even. Twenty-five? Twenty-six maybe?

And he was, without a doubt, the most handsome man she had ever seen. Not just handsome. Dangerous. Dark hair, slightly messy now. A face that looked like it was carved from marble by a master sculptor who specialized in beautiful devils. And his eyes... they were like chips of ruby, gleaming with power, intelligence, and that deep, unnerving amusement.

"You..." she gasped, her mind reeling as recognition finally dawned. She’d seen him. Across the valley at the Conclave opening. Heard the whispers. The rumors. The upstart Duke. The Artificer. The one they called the ’Shadow King’ of Jorailia.

"Me," he confirmed, his smile widening. He didn’t seem surprised that she recognized him. "Alaric Steele. Of the Steele Family. At your service, your Majesty." He gave her a mocking little bow, a gesture of faux respect that was pure insult.

"But... you’re... you’re the Jorailian Duke?" she stammered, her mind struggling to reconcile the figure of political rumor, the supposed rival, with the sexual demon who had just spent the last twenty-four hours completely wrecking her body and soul.

"The very same," he said, his voice light and airy. "Surprised?"

"Surprised doesn’t even begin to cover it," she whispered, staring up at him. "You... you’re just a boy."

He chuckled. "Old enough to do the job your King couldn’t, apparently."

"Why?" she asked, the question escaping her before she could stop it. "Why me?"

"Why not?" he countered easily. "You were available. You were... vocal about your dissatisfaction. And frankly," his eyes roamed over her naked body again, "you’re magnificent. A prize worthy of the effort."

"Effort?" she scoffed weakly. "You call this effort?"

"Breaking into a royal pavilion, bypassing ancient wards, neutralizing a king, and satisfying his queen for twenty-four hours straight?" He grinned. "Yeah. It’s a bit of effort. But worth it."

"You are... unbelievable."

"I know," he agreed readily. "Now, get up."

Alaric didn’t give her time to process the shock, the confusion, the sheer insanity of it all. He reached down, grabbed her hand – his touch still sending sparks up her arm – and pulled her, none too gently, off the chaise lounge.

"W-what are you doing?" she asked, stumbling after him as he pulled her back towards the massive royal bed. Her legs were jelly, barely able to hold her. "I thought... I thought you were done..."

He laughed again, that rich, arrogant sound she was starting to both hate and crave. "Done?" he asked, glancing back at her over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming. "My dear Queen Kate, I’m never done. I just needed to reload."

"Reload?" she repeated stupidly.

"Mm-hmm," he confirmed. He reached the bed and, without ceremony, pushed her onto it. She landed with a soft oof on the silk sheets, right next to the still-snoring, cushion-barricaded King. The sheer, humiliating proximity to her useless husband sent a fresh wave of shame washing over her.

Alaric climbed onto the bed after her, straddling her hips, pinning her beneath his weight. He was still hard. Gods, was he always hard?

"Now that you know who I am," he said, his voice dropping low again, losing its playful edge, becoming serious, commanding. "Now that the introductions are out of the way... we need to discuss the terms of our... future arrangement."

"Arrangement?" she asked, her heart sinking. She knew this was coming. There was always a price.

"Of course," he said, leaning down. His hand found her breast again, his thumb flicking the already sensitive, swollen nipple. She gasped, her body instantly responding despite her fear. "This wasn’t a one-night stand, Kate. Don’t be silly. This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. A very... mutually beneficial... friendship."

"You... you expect me to...?" she stammered, her mind racing. What did he want? More secrets? Her jewels?

"Oh, it’s very simple," he stated, as if explaining the rules of a child’s game. "You’re going to be my woman inside this pathetic little court. My eyes. My ears. My... mouthpiece."

"Your... spy?"

"Don’t be so dramatic," he chided gently, pinching her nipple just hard enough to make her whimper. "My ally. My secret partner. You’re going to whisper in your husband’s ear. You’re going to charm those ancient, terrified ministers. You’re going to make sure Strathmore accepts my alliance. Simple."

"Simple?" she repeated, aghast. "That’s... that’s treason!"

"Is it?" he asked, tilting his head. "Or is it survival? Your kingdom is dying, Kate. Rimefrost is going to swallow it whole. Your husband is too weak and too stupid to stop it. I’m offering you a lifeline. A better option."

"An option where you control everything?" she countered, finding a spark of her old sharpness.

"An option where Strathmore survives," he corrected her. "And where you... get rewarded."

"And... and if I do?" she asked, her breath catching as his fingers pinched her nipple again, sending those sparks down her spine, reminding her of the pleasure he commanded. "If I make Reginald agree... what’s my reward?"

"If you do," he purrs, leaning down to lick the spot he’d just pinched, his tongue hot and rough against her skin, "then I will keep visiting you. Regularly."

"Regularly?" she breathed, her heart starting to pound with a new, dark hope.

"As often as I can," he promised. "Whenever I need to... consult... with my partner. I’ll keep giving you nights like this one. Days like this one. I’ll make you forget that useless lump of snoring flesh next to you even exists."

"You’ll... you’ll keep... fucking me like this?" she asked, her voice thick with a mixture of shame and desperate, overwhelming hope.

"Only if you’re a very good girl," he said, his hand sliding down her stomach, back down between her legs. She was already wet. Again. Gods, how was that even possible? "If you deliver the alliance... I’ll reward you. Generously. In ways you can’t even imagine."

"And if I don’t?" she whispered, though she already knew the answer. The chill returned to the room.

His eyes turned cold again. Chips of ice. "Then tonight was the last time," he said flatly. "A pleasant memory. And I’ll find another way to get what I want. A way that doesn’t involve your... cooperation."

"Another way?"

"Mm-hmm," he confirmed, his voice chillingly casual. "A way that might involve your husband having a very unfortunate... accident. A hunting trip gone wrong. A sudden illness. These things happen. Especially to weak kings who make stupid decisions."

"No!" she cried out, grabbing his arm, her earlier fear returning tenfold. "Don’t hurt him! Please! He’s... he’s pathetic, yes! He’s useless! But he doesn’t deserve... he’s still the King! He’s..."

"He’s in my way," Alaric finished for her, his voice devoid of any emotion. "And I don’t tolerate things in my way for very long."

He looked down at her, his expression hard. "So? What’s it going to be, Kate? Alliance and pleasure? Or... accidents?"

She looked at his handsome, ruthless face. She felt the heat of his body over hers. She remembered the hours upon hours of earth-shattering pleasure he had just given her. She thought of her boring, pathetic life with Reginald. She thought of the cold, bleak future facing Strathmore under his weak rule.

The choice was... easy. Pathetically easy. Shamefully easy.

"I’ll do it," she whispered, the words a vow. A betrayal. And a desperate plea. "I’ll... I’ll make him agree. I swear it. Just... just promise you’ll come back. Promise you’ll... you’ll do this again."

"Oh, I’ll be back," Alaric said, his slow, satisfied smile returning. He leaned down and gave her a deep, possessive kiss, sealing the bargain.

"But first..." he murmured against her lips, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes.

"...you need to show me how much you mean it," Alaric finished, his voice dropping to a low, demanding growl that sent a fresh shiver down her spine. His eyes burned into hers.

"Show you?" she asked, her voice breathless, confused but already eager. Whatever he wanted, she’d do it. She knew that now. "How?"

He shifted his weight off her slightly, giving her room to move. "You want me to keep coming back?" he asked, his voice a low, rough caress. "You want me to keep giving you this?" He gestured down at his still-hard, magnificent cock, pulsing with renewed life.

"Yes," she breathed, her eyes glued to it. It was the source of all the pleasure, all the madness. "More than anything."

"Then prove your submission," he commanded, his voice soft but absolute. "Prove that you’re mine now, not his. Prove you’re worth the effort. Worth the risk."

"How?" she asked again, her voice trembling with anticipation. "Tell me! I’ll do anything!"

"Use that pretty mouth," he said simply, his gaze hard, unwavering. "Use those magnificent breasts you’re so proud of. Satiate me. Show me how much you want me. Show me how grateful you are."

There was no hesitation. Not even a flicker. The bargain had been struck. Her body, her loyalty, her kingdom – all of it, in exchange for his pleasure, his protection (from himself), and the intoxicating promise of more nights like this one. The thought of refusal didn’t even cross her mind.

She eagerly pushed herself up, scrambling into a kneeling position on the bed beside him. She reached out, her hands trembling slightly, not with fear anymore, but with sheer, unadulterated anticipation. She took his thick, heavy cock in her grasp. It felt impossibly hot and hard against her cool skin. Alive.

She lowered her head, her long black hair falling like a silken curtain around them, and took him into her mouth.

Alaric groaned, a low, guttural sound deep in his chest. His head fell back against the pillows, his eyes closing in bliss. "Gods... yes... just like that..."

Kate worked on him with a desperate, frantic energy. She wasn’t just obeying; she wanted to do this. She wanted to please him. She needed to please him. Her future, her pleasure, maybe even her useless husband’s life, depended on it.

She used her tongue, her lips, her hands. She poured every ounce of her skill, every trick her experienced ladies’ maids had ever whispered about, every secret fantasy she’d ever harbored, into the act. She wanted to drive him as mad as he had driven her.

"Deeper," he commanded, his voice thick.

She took him deeper, gagging slightly, but pushing past the discomfort.

"Good girl," he praised her, his hand finding her hair, gripping it, not painfully, but possessively.

After a few minutes of her devoted attention, he groaned again. "Okay... okay... use your tits now."

She happily pulled away, her lips slick and glistening. She straddled his hips, positioning herself so his cock was nestled in the deep, soft valley between her massive breasts. She squeezed them together, rubbing him up and down, watching his face contort with raw pleasure. The sight was intoxicating.

"Oh gods... yes... that’s it..." he gasped. "So soft... so perfect..."

"You like them?" she asked, her voice a low, seductive purr.

"I love them," he growled. "Keep going."

This continued for a long time. She used her mouth. She used her breasts. She used her hands. She used every part of her upper body to drive him wild, to worship him. She was rediscovering her own body, her own power, in the very act of submission. It was a twisted, confusing, and utterly intoxicating feeling. She felt more powerful now, giving him pleasure, than she had ever felt sitting on her throne.

Finally, just as he seemed close to climaxing again, just as his hips started to buck beneath her, he stopped her.

"Enough," he panted, his hand closing over hers, stilling her movements. "Not yet."

"But... you were..." she started, confused.

"Patience, my dear Queen," he said, pushing her gently off him. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. There was a wicked, gleaming look in his eyes now. A new idea.

"Get dressed," he commanded.

"Dressed?" she asked, her mind reeling again. "But... I thought... you wanted..."

"Oh, I do," he assured her. "But not like this."

He stood up and walked towards her wardrobe. "Put on your finest gown," he ordered, throwing open the doors. "The crimson velvet one. Yes, that one. And your crown. The small one."

"My crown?" she repeated, utterly bewildered. "Why?"

He turned back to her, and his smile was pure devilry.

"Because," he purred, "I want to fuck you while you look like the Queen you are. Right here. In this bed. Right next to your useless, snoring husband."