Chapter 542: Chapter 542- Thump Thump
Her breath had gone shallow. Her nipples were stiff beneath the heavy embroidery of her dress — two hard points pressing against the silver-threaded bodice, visible to no one but herself. She had leaned closer to the basin, her face reflecting in the mercury water alongside the image of the waterfall, her eyes wide and hungry.
She had seen him grow.
That was the moment she had truly lost herself. When the nine inches became twelve. When the cock thickened to the circumference of her wrist. When the demon adjusted himself for the old dragon slayer and the size of him became something that should not exist in flesh. Libia had bit her lip. She had ground her palm against her pussy harder. She had felt her own wetness soaking through the silk, and she had not cared.
She was a princess.
She was not supposed to be kneeling on the floor of her throne room with her hand between her legs, watching a village elder get fucked in the ass. But the basin had shown her everything. The old woman’s tears. The grandson’s helplessness. The way the five women had helped hold her down. The way the demon had come inside her and filled her belly until she looked pregnant.
Libia had wanted to be the old woman.
The thought had come unbidden, unwelcome, undeniable. She had wanted to be the one held down. She had wanted to be the one with the twelve inches inside her. She had wanted to be the one called a ’very high quality woman’ while her mind broke.
Then the man had looked up.
Not at the old woman. Not at the moon. He had looked directly into the scrying link — directly into the water, directly into Libia’s eyes — and he had smiled.
"Isn’t it a bad thing," his voice had said, warm and amused and completely, devastatingly clear, "masturbating while watching someone fuck their women?"
The backlash was instantaneous.
The silver water in the basin did not ripple. It detonated. A spear of black light shot upward from the bowl and struck her square in the face, driving through her eyes, her optic nerves, her clairvoyance channels, and directly into the part of her brain that processed power.
She fell back.
Her spine hit the edge of the Obsidian Throne behind her — the massive, high-backed seat that she had dragged closer to the basin so she could watch more comfortably. The impact drove the air from her lungs in a single, sharp ’hah’ that was not a scream and not a gasp but the sound of a woman being physically ejected from her own senses.
Her hands flew to her eyes.
Both palms pressing against her eyelids, her fingers digging into the sockets, her body convulsing as the pain burned through her. It was not fire. It was worse than fire. It was the sensation of her own magical ability being grabbed by the throat and turned inside out by something on the other end of the link.
"Ah—!" The sound came out high and broken. "Ahh—!"
Her eyes burned.
Tears streamed from beneath her pressed palms — hot, thick, involuntary tears running down her wrists, soaking into the embroidered sleeves of her dress. Her head snapped back against the throne. Her legs, which had been spread wide in the indecent posture of her surveillance, kicked outward and then drew inward, her knees pressing together as her body tried to curl into a ball around the pain.
"No—" She gasped it. "No— no— no—"
Her hand — the right hand, the one that had been grinding against her pussy — had flown to her face with the left. Both palms now covered her eyes. She could feel the dampness of her own arousal on her fingers mixing with the tears on her cheeks. The smell of her cunt was on her hands. The smell of her shame.
She slid down the side of the throne.
Her ass hit the cold marble floor. Her dress bunched around her waist. Her stockings — the sheer white silk that covered her legs beneath the royal skirt — slid against the polished stone. Her knees fell open. Her head lolled back against the throne’s seat.
"How—" Her voice cracked. "How did he— notice—"
Her mind was racing.
She had been so careful. The scrying link was one-way. It was fed by her blood — three drops from her ring finger each season, mixed with the mercury water. It was tied to her lineage. The power of the Northern Citadel’s royal mages. The ability that had made her untouchable.
She had been proud of it.
She had told herself that no one could find her. Not even the Ancestor — the ancient entity that slept beneath the citadel, the power that had built the kingdom, the being considered the most potent force on the continent. When Libia was twelve, the Ancestor had reached out to test her, to try to pinpoint her exact location in the tower, and she had slipped away. She had been too quick. Too slippery. Her magical signature was a ghost.
She had built her entire identity around that moment.
She was the unseen observer. The princess who could watch anyone, anywhere, and never be found. The Cold-Eyed. The Untouchable.
And he had reached through her spell and named her.
"Ha, Princess Libia."
The name had been a hook. A collar. A leash snapped around her throat from half a continent away.
She pulled her hands away from her eyes.
The throne room was dark. Only the moonlight through the high, arched windows. The scrying basin was cracked. A thin line of black fracture ran through the obsidian glass, the mercury water leaking onto the marble in a thin, poisonous-looking stream that hissed as it touched the stone.
She blinked.
Her vision swam. Afterimages. Burned into her retinas — the waterfall, the old woman’s white hair, the twelve-inch cock, the seed, the screaming, the way the women had helped him hold her down.
Her heart hammered.
