The sun crested into a clear, azure sky, its morning rays spilling through the open casement to bathe the bed where Seraphine Karsfeld held Vivienne von Drachenberg tenderly against her chest.
Considerable time remained before the rest of the keep stirred to life and the first footsteps of the servants whispered down the stone corridors. The young heir used these stolen hours to caress her new, submissive plaything and test the depths of her knowledge.
To some inquiries, Seraphine already knew the answers from her own observations, seeking merely to probe the highborn girl’s loyalty. When Vivienne answered each one candidly and without the slightest hesitation, Seraphine noted the fruits of her conditioning with deep satisfaction.
With growing trust in the girl’s devotion, Seraphine turned her focus toward the whispers that had recently reached her ears.
As the daughter of Eleonora von Drachenberg - the ruler of Arnsbruck in Tyravia County, a realm held in House Falkenrath’s shadow and bordering the Duchy of Berenwald under Leopoldine von Hohenwald - Vivienne commanded far wider access to secret dispatches and spy networks.
Seraphine wanted to know what was brewing behind the curtain at the imperial court of the Kingdom of Alaria.
Though the crown of the Kingdom of Alaria and its vassal fiefs still fell within the borders of the Alarian Empire, the realm was anything but unified.
The throne had recently rested in the hands of an aging monarch from a cadet line, but over the centuries, the imperial scepter had constantly changed hands between rival dynasties.
Rumors of an escalating succession crisis had trickled into Karsfeld; the ailing sovereign’s impending death presaged an unavoidable civil war. Yet Seraphine lacked precise intelligence from the highest circles.
She decided to coax it out of Vivienne.
“Is it true that the Kingdom of Alaria stands on the brink of an open civil war?”
Vivienne looked up, unease clouding her sapphire eyes, thinking to herself:
Did my lady and her house truly live in such ignorance of the tempest about to tear this empire apart?
Having accepted Seraphine as her sole mistress and sovereign, she had no intention of withholding a single detail. Everything she knew belonged at Seraphine’s feet.
“Of course, my lady! Why do you think my Sire, Eleonora, has been so hell-bent on seizing the iron deposits of Karsfeld? She wants to forge an army that will grind every rival to dust in the coming war.”
Seraphine narrowed her sapphire eyes, gazing down at the breathtaking girl. Vivienne’s bare chest, with its firm, pert breasts, pressed shamelessly against Seraphine’s toned torso, the aristocrat’s smooth thighs tangled around her hips.
“What could she possibly need such a massive host for?”
A radiant smirk curved the girl’s sensual lips. Brushing a stray lock of damp, strawberry-blonde hair from her brow, she met Seraphine’s gaze, practically begging for a reward for her candor.
“She wants to topple House von Falkenrath and claim the title of Duchess of Ardenia for herself. When the main branch of the Falkenraths from Veynhardt marches their regiments to seize the crown of Alaria, Eleonora will strike their rear and take Veynhardt.”
Seraphine gently stroked her hair, treating her like a well-behaved pet.
“Good girl. What more can you tell me about this succession crisis?”
Vivienne shivered with pleasure at the caress running through her silky tresses. She had never imagined that simple praise from someone stronger could taste so intoxicating.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she even wondered why she had wasted years playing the merciless dominatrix, when serving as the helpless favorite to this formidable futa brought her infinitely more thrilling bliss.
“The reigning monarch of the Kingdom of Alaria is an ailing crone on her deathbed with no legitimate heir to follow her. She never sired a futa daughter, bearing only a single girl in her lifetime. The primary claimant is her niece - a legitimized bastard futa born of the queen’s younger sister. But a bastard is still a bastard; few of the great peerages will ever bend the knee to her.”
Seraphine nodded with approval. Invaluable political intelligence. As a reward, she slid her hand beneath Vivienne’s velvet-soft breast, kneading the full curve and teasing the swollen nipple between thumb and forefinger.
Vivienne exhaled a soft whimper, fluttering her eyes shut and arching her back in sheer bliss. But when Seraphine pulled her hand away, Vivienne knew she had to finish her report.
“The second claimant is the formidable Duchess of Berenwald, Leopoldine von Hohenwald. Her claim stems from the fact that before the current dynasty came to power, her bloodline ruled all of Alaria.”
Vivienne trailed off, casting a hungry glance at Seraphine’s lips. She wanted payment for every single word.
Deciding the intelligence was well worth the prize, Seraphine leaned in and claimed her mouth in a deep, ravenous kiss, tangling their tongues before drawing back just an inch. If Vivienne wanted more, she had to deliver the rest.
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The highborn girl took the hint.
“And finally, Theodora von Falkenrath, the Duchess of Ardenia. She married the dying queen’s only daughter, and she will stop at nothing to place her own teenage firstborn on the imperial throne. My family in Arnsbruck is merely a cadet branch answering to the Falkenraths. That is why Eleonora plans to plunge a dagger into their back the second their legions march on the capital of Berenwald.”
Vivienne flushed crimson, having surrendered her mother’s deepest secrets. Her breath came in ragged gasps, naked longing pleading in her eyes - hoping Seraphine would finish what she started.
Yet Seraphine’s aristocratic lips curved into a cool, wicked smirk. She wanted to test just how deeply the lesson of submission had taken root. She lowered her voice to a low, commanding rumble:
“Beg for it...”
Vivienne’s face burned scarlet. Without a second's hesitation, she slid down to her knees on the mattress, parting her thighs to display her wet, heated charms in all their splendor:
“Please... have mercy on me, my lady!”
Seraphine had no intention of denying her own desires any longer. For the next hour and a half, the chamber echoed with wanton cries and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin - a wild morning marathon that served as more than enough replacement for her daily calisthenics.
Only when both were glistening with sweat did Seraphine rise from the bed. She ordered Vivienne to lie low until the corridor cleared. Once the young heir checked that the coast was clear, Vivienne slipped away like a shadow, erasing every trace of her presence.
Moments later, Seraphine closed the heavy oak door, cold calculation settling back over her features.
War is looming... I must redouble my efforts to drill and arm the militia.
She headed down to the newly built private bathhouse to wash away the sweat of the night and morning. Refreshed, clad in an immaculate gown with a tailored corset accentuating her slim waist, she entered the dining hall, where the family was already gathered.
Seated opposite each other were Vivienne von Drachenberg and Rosalie von Rosenfeld.
The young maiden from Greifenmark glared under her brow at her older rival - over the past week, this strawberry-blonde vixen had constantly intruded upon her walks with Seraphine, insolently provoking the elder heir.
Little Rosalie was putting the pieces together: had Cordelia sent her betrothed to sow discord around the firstborn? The shadow war for the Karsfeld succession was becoming clearer to the girl by the day. She resolved to corner Seraphine in private at the first chance.
When Seraphine took her seat beside Rosalie, she felt Vivienne’s scorching, jealous stare bore into her. She cast a cool, warning glance at the Drachenberg girl beneath her lashes, commanding her to maintain appearances - if Adelgarde or Isolde smelled a hint of their secret, disaster would follow.
The meal proceeded smoothly. Cordelia Karsfeld sat beside Vivienne, blissfully confident that her stunning fiancée was still advancing the scheme to seduce and destroy Seraphine. She hadn't the faintest idea that her prized catch had been stolen from right under her nose, body and soul, and delivered to her older sister.
Right after breakfast, Seraphine headed outside the walls, where her newly assembled peasant militia was drilling on dedicated fields under the supervision of seasoned knights.
Within a week, the ranks of volunteers and recruits had swelled to two hundred and fifty.
Though muskets and cannons were still in short supply for everyone, their progress with linear tactics was remarkable. Seraphine desperately needed the coin from the steel sales to bring the local mines up to full capacity - without iron and coke, they would never weather the gathering storm.
Several veteran guards from Adelgarde’s retinue snickered behind the palisade, watching common peasant women maneuver with firearms. In their feudal pride, they mistook the modern flintlocks for crude fire-lances.
If only they knew that these weapons could punch through the thickest plate armor at a hundred paces, ending the era of chivalric knights once and for all, they would have paled in horror.
Each musket was fitted with a socket bayonet, removing any need for separate pikewomen.
The tactical revolution Evelyn Weiss carried from her former life left feudal warfare completely obsolete. But it was the unveiling of the twelve-pound field cannons that truly wiped the mocking smirks from the guards' faces.
Cast from steel in Sabine Keller’s foundry, these cannons were modeled after nineteenth-century French field guns of the Napoleon system.
Light enough for two draft mares to haul across rough terrain, they unleashed devastating firepower. Lacking advanced chemistry, Seraphine had neither mercury fulminate nor friction primers, firing them with traditional match and priming powder, but the solid cast-steel barrels possessed a resilience bronze cannons could never match.
When three steel guns roared in unison, blasting a hail of canister shot into a line of straw targets four hundred paces away, Adelgarde’s veterans nearly jumped out of their skins. Hundreds of dummies were pulverized in an instant, shredded by the iron storm. Warriors who had spent their lives with blade and crossbow had never witnessed such raw destructive power.
Seraphine watched the volleys with pride. These two hundred and fifty women would soon form the core of a professional force guarding Karsfeld’s mountain passes. She dreamed of outfitting them with stamped steel munitions armor, but Adelgarde would never sanction wasting plate on "peasant conscripts."
Against muskets, armor was pointless, but against the swarms of archers and crossbowmen of neighboring lands, it would be an impenetrable wall. Mass armor production, however, had to wait for the foundries to expand.
Her drills finished, Seraphine returned to the fortress. Outside her chamber door stood little Rosalie von Rosenfeld, clutching a sealed parchment.
“Do you bring news for me, my lady?” Seraphine asked with a warm smile, ushering her betrothed inside.
Rosalie beamed, offering the missive. It was from her Sire, the formidable Countess Margarethe von Rosenfeld of Greifenmark.
The Countess agreed to buy the entire lot of steel ingots, offering a price far above the market rate! House von Rosenfeld clearly smelled the coming war as well, scrambling to stockpile steel for weapons and plate.
Overjoyed, Seraphine scooped the little girl into the air and kissed her cheek. Rosalie flushed scarlet, but before she could squeak in embarrassment, the elder futa set her down and fondly ruffled her golden twin tails.
“You truly are wonderful! I hadn’t even dispatched couriers with the offer, and you’ve already secured a buyer and our gold!”
Vivienne might be a sensual, dangerous plaything and a brilliant intelligence asset, but little Rosalie was the rightful pillar for a legitimate dynasty.
Seraphine had no doubt that in a few years she would blossom into an equally breathtaking beauty.
She spent the rest of the afternoon strolling the courtyard with Rosalie, nurturing her bond with her future bride. Only at dusk did she see the young noblewoman back to her quarters. Rosalie was still far too young for the bedroom.
Waiting in Seraphine’s chambers, however, was the mature, alluring Vivienne, eager to obey her lady’s every command without a murmur.
And so another intoxicating night slipped away, while the rest of the castle slept on, utterly blind to the secrets locked behind thick stone walls.