Her screams filled the chamber. They bounced off the walls. They were muffled by the silk and the candles and the thick stone. No one came. No one heard. Or no one cared.

PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH—

His balls slapped against her ass. His cock plunged in and out— seven inches, stretching her, tearing her, the blood and the wetness mixing, the sheets staining red. Her legs were kicking. Her hands were pushing against his chest. Her mouth was open. Her eyes were wet. Her body was being used.

"Hahh—! Ah—! Ah—! No—! Please—! Your Majesty—! Please be gentle—! I am— I am a virgin—! Please—!"

He came inside her. The seed was hot. Thick. It filled her. It overflowed. It ran down her thighs. It mixed with the blood. He pulled out. He stood. He tucked his cock back into his trousers. He looked at her— lying on the bed, her nightgown bunched at her waist, her legs spread, her pussy bleeding and leaking seed, her face wet with tears, her body trembling.

He walked out.

He did not look back.

The Queen opened her eyes.

The memory faded. The room returned. The fire. The candles. The ruined sheets. The unconscious maid on the floor.

Her body was trembling. But not from the memory. Not from the flashback. From the sensation. The strange, impossible, overwhelming sensation of a body that had been thoroughly, completely, devastatingly fucked.

By Raven.

The man who had erased a prince’s shoulder. The man who had killed knights without moving. The man who Calodios could not sense. The man who had walked into her palace, into her chamber, into her bed, and fucked her for an hour without her realizing what was happening.

She looked at her body. At the oil. At the seed. At the milk on her breasts.

She looked at the tea set on the nightstand. It had been there before— the maid had brought it. The tea was cold. She poured a cup. She sipped.

The warmth spread through her. The warmth of tea, not the warmth of pheromones. Real warmth. Grounding warmth.

She sipped again.

She thought.

Did I just get...

She looked at the room. At the bed. At the sheets. At the maid. At the empty space where Old Tomas had been dragged away.

Did I just get fucked without realizing it?

She had. She had been massaged. She had been touched. She had been penetrated. She had been fucked in her pussy. She had been fucked in her anal. She had squirted. She had leaked milk. She had screamed into a pillow. She had done all of this in her own bed, in her own palace, while her own guards stood outside.

And she had not realized it. Not until now. Not until the pheromones had faded and the man had left and the old man had been dragged to the dungeon.

Her mouth twitched.

The corner of her lip. The smallest movement. The precursor to a smile that she did not permit herself. The porcelain mask tried to hold. It cracked. It broke.

"You pervert," she said.

The words were spoken to the empty room. To the fire. To the tapestries. To the man who was not there but whose seed was still inside her, still leaking, still warm.

"The day I catch you," she said. "I will have your head."

She sipped the tea.

There was a smile.

Not on her face. In her. Somewhere deep. Somewhere that the porcelain mask could not reach. Somewhere that queenship did not touch. The place where a woman lives who has been fucked well for the first time in her life and who knows it and who is not angry about it but who is amused.

She was not angry.

She was amused.

He had hunted down the prince. He had hurt Goliath— the stepbrother of the Crown Prince, the man who had been terrorizing the court, the man who had taken Sera from the training ground. Raven had walked into that room and erased his shoulder. He had removed two noblemen’s legs. He had killed two knights. He had saved a woman he did not know.

And then he had come here. To the Queen. To the First Queen. To the woman whose masseur’s granddaughter he had saved. And he had fucked her.

Of course the circumstances were different. Of course the context was different. He had saved Sera from rape. He had... what? Come to the Queen for... what?

She did not know.

She sipped her tea.

She stood.

"Maids!" she called.

The door opened. Two maids— not the one on the floor, different ones— entered. Their faces were carefully blank. The trained faces of women who had heard the screams and smelled the air and seen the Queen in a sheet and who knew better than to react.

"Prepare the bath," the Queen said. Her voice was royal again. Measured. Controlled. The porcelain mask was back— cracked, chipped, scarred, but back. "Hot water. Sandalwood. Fresh towels."

The maids bowed. They moved. They did not look at the bed. They did not look at the maid on the floor. They did not look at the seed on the sheets.

The Queen walked to the bathroom.

She did not look back.

Outside, in the town, Raven walked.

His coat was on. His boots were on. His hands were in his pockets. His black eyes scanned the street. The morning was gray. The clouds were low. The air was cool. The capital was waking— merchants opening stalls, guards changing shifts, children running through alleys.

Sera walked beside him.

She was dressed. Her clothes were back— the training tunic, the loose pants, the boots. Her hair was braided. Her face was clean. Her eyes were wide. She was trembling.

"What happened?" she asked. Her voice was low. Nervous. The voice of a woman who had been told to wait outside while her... husband... went to meet the Queen. Who had heard nothing. Who had seen nothing. Who had been standing in the street for an hour, wondering. "Is everything all right?"

Raven looked at her.

"Yes," he said. His voice was calm. Unhurried. The voice of a man who has just fucked a queen and is now walking through the capital as if nothing has happened. "Of course."

He did not tell her that her grandfather was in the dungeon.

He could take him out. He could. He could walk into the dungeon, erase the bars, erase the guards, erase the walls. He could do it with a thought. But he did not.

Not yet.

The old man was too much of a disturbance. Too loud. Too moral. Too likely to run to the Queen, to tell her everything, to warn her, to ruin whatever fragile possibility existed for Raven to return to the palace.

He looked at Sera. At her trembling face. At her wide eyes.

"Your grandfather is fine," he said. He did not say where. He did not say how. He said "fine" and left the word to do its work.

"Where are we going?" Sera asked. She was hugging herself. Her arms were crossed. Her hands were gripping her elbows. The morning air was cold. Her breath was visible.

Raven chuckled.

"Just somewhere," he said.

They walked.