Having overseen the peasant militia drills, Seraphine made her way down from the training grounds toward the settlement.
Today’s training had run its course, and the young heir still had a matter of paramount importance to attend to: she had to bid a temporary farewell to her betrothed, who was departing on the return journey to Greifenmark with a shipment of ten tons of top-grade steel - five tons more than Seraphine had initially planned to part with.
As her projects gathered steam, the Karsfeld treasury demanded ever-greater reserves of gold and silver.
The daughter of the mighty Countess Margarethe would not be gone for long. She was slated to return with a convoy laden with bullion ingots - payment for this invaluable metal. A modest fraction of those funds was earmarked to cover the costs of the lavish engagement gala, for which Seraphine had yet to dispatch invitations due to the coin shortage and Vivienne von Drachenberg’s sudden arrival.
In the castle courtyard, a retinue of knights bearing the livery of House von Rosenfeld was finishing securing the heavy wagons laden with gleaming ingots. Pretty, twelve-year-old Rosalie, standing in a blue traveling gown, fidgeted with her golden pigtails, scanning the grounds impatiently for her beloved. The moment she caught sight of Seraphine’s slender, towering frame, she let out a joyous squeal, dashed forward, and threw herself straight into her arms.
With every passing day, the girl clung to the elder futa with growing devotion. After a lingering moment, she reluctantly loosened her embrace, puffing out her lips in an adorable pout:
“Can’t you truly come with me?”
Seraphine chuckled softly, stroking her silky tresses. She would have gladly broken away for a brief excursion to Greifenmark, but the mountain of responsibilities in Karsfeld held her anchored in place.
“With all my heart, little one, but I have a host of urgent matters here that cannot wait. Don't fret; you'll be back before you know it.”
She soothed the girl, though she knew full well the true trial would arrive after the official engagement ball - custom would not permit Rosalie to reside permanently in Karsfeld until she turned sixteen and took her marital vows. As it stood, she had already lingered here far longer than rigid feudal etiquette dictated.
Rosalie ceased her pouting, a mischievous glint dancing in her sapphire eyes.
“Lean closer. I want to tell you something...”
Unsuspecting, Seraphine leaned down until their faces were level. In that instant, the girl rose onto her tiptoes, pressed a sweet, wet kiss to Seraphine’s cheek with her soft lips, and whispered directly into her ear:
“I’ll miss you...”
Before a stunned Seraphine could find her tongue, the blushing maiden covered her face with both hands and bolted straight into the carriage. Seraphine brushed a hand against her burning cheek, smiling wryly to herself:
This girl is simply impossibly adorable...
The wagons rolled slowly toward the gates, Seraphine watching their departure until the clouds of dust settled over the road. As crimson hues bled across the twilight sky, she directed her steps straight toward the newly built stone bathhouse.
The hot water of the circular pool steamed soothingly, melting the tension from her tired muscles. Resting her arms against the stone rim, Seraphine closed her eyes, letting the water wash away the day's grime from her milky skin. Suddenly, a cool draft and the faint creak of the door heralded an intruder. Before she could turn, a pair of impossibly soft, lush breasts pressed shamelessly against her nape and shoulder blades, while slender hands covered her eyes from behind.
“Guess who?” purred a low, sultry voice.
Seraphine let out a throaty chuckle, seized the intruder by her delicate wrists, and with one swift, powerful heave dragged the naked girl over the rim and straight into the steaming water. Vivienne let out a sharp squeal as water surged around them in a great splash, her porcelain skin flushing pink almost instantly from the sudden heat. Without wasting a breath, the noblewoman straddled Seraphine’s lap, brazenly crushing her massive, firm breasts against Seraphine’s own chest. Two generous cleavages flattened together, their hardened nipples rubbing against each other with every ragged intake of breath.
“You soaked my hair!” Vivienne pouted, though her parted, glistening lips betrayed her true feelings.
Seraphine wrapped her arms firmly around the girl's narrow waist, digging her fingers into her rounded buttocks, and captured her mouth in a deep, predatory kiss. The water roiled around them as their bare bellies and hips ground together in a tight, heated embrace.
“Did anyone see you come in?” Seraphine asked after a long moment, pulling back barely an inch from her lips.
Vivienne shook her head, nuzzling her flushed cheek into her mistress’s neck before planting a possessive kiss squarely on Seraphine’s other cheek - the side Rosalie hadn't touched:
“There. At least that little brat doesn't hold a monopoly on your face!”
Seraphine burst out laughing at the blatant, childish jealousy of a noblewoman who, only days ago, had paraded around brandishing a crop.
“So our little pet dares to show jealousy? It seems you are in dire need of another lesson...”
The bath stretched on endlessly. Damp bodies pressed together breathless in the steaming water, and before an hour had passed, Seraphine hoisted the panting noblewoman over her shoulder and carried her straight to her bedchamber. There, the ruthless nighttime conditioning began - hours spent in relentless grinding, binding, and deep penetration, throughout which Seraphine reminded the girl time and again exactly who owned her body and soul.
By the time the pale light of dawn crept through the windows, they lay tangled in the rumpled bedding, drenched in sweat and fighting for breath. An exhausted Vivienne nestled against Seraphine’s side, longing for sleep at last. But as her hand idly trailed down Seraphine’s flat stomach, her fingers brushed against something that made her blue eyes snap wide open in sheer horror.
Despite their wanton debauchery lasting until daybreak, Seraphine’s member was once again fully primed - hard as forged steel from the river foundry, throbbing with heat and jutting proudly upward.
Vivienne swallowed hard, staring in mute terror at this inhuman, inexhaustible stamina:
“You... you're joking, right?... How is it up again?! Are you trying to kill me?!”
Seraphine let out a quiet, dry chuckle and, with an amused sigh, swatted the flinching girl's thigh. Though her body clamored for another round, Evelyn’s rationality held sway - a full day of duties lay ahead, and nocturnal revelry was no substitute for heavy ironwork. So she sent the spent Vivienne back to her own chambers, rallying what strength she had left to power through her morning dumbbell routine and take an invigorating wash.
Breakfast was a picture of outward serenity. Afterward, Seraphine headed straight down to the expanding industrial district along the river. Work on the irrigation network was proceeding at full steam, but Sabine Keller’s production capacity was strained to its limits - the manufactories were simultaneously churning out piping, musket barrels, and cannonballs.
Seraphine knew that only finishing the pipes would free hundreds of peasant hands from the fields, allowing them to be funneled into the mines and factories. Her grand design envisioned labor conditions this medieval world of women had never dreamed of: fair wages, Sundays off, and capped working hours. Evelyn’s twenty-first-century memories were crystal clear: a well-rested, properly compensated laborer was exponentially more productive than a hounded slave.
In the afternoon, Seraphine took to the parade grounds, where the three-hundred-strong militia was drilling in square formations and volley fire. She had entrusted the division of sub-units and officer corps to veterans of past peasant conflicts, but her greatest find lay at the very summit of command.
Her second-in-command and right hand was Katarina Falk - a middle-aged veteran and former knight who, following the death of her previous liege, had drifted penniless through Karsfeld like a stray hound. This scar-faced woman with sharp, calculating eyes had grasped the lethal potential of the new weaponry in an instant. When she knelt to swear feudal fealty to Seraphine earlier in the week, the heir had appointed her battalion major and entrusted her with her military treatise on tactics.
Katarina Falk treated those notes like sacred scripture. With decades of brutal infantry combat under her belt, she understood the vital importance of logistics and line fire, drilling the new doctrines into the ranks with ruthless precision. Seraphine did not consider herself a military genius by any stretch - her expertise derived from old military engineering manuals and hundreds of hours sunk into grand strategy games - yet in the context of this world, her doctrine rendered the Karsfeld militia an unprecedented force.
The volunteer unit operated much like the National Guard of her past: the women received wages for drilling each weekend, were provisioned with hearty rations, and down the road, Seraphine intended to dress them in matching, flamboyant uniforms reminiscent of renaissance landsknechts once mechanized looms were brought to the textile mills.
Dusk found Seraphine back at her desk in the bedchamber, sketching out the initial blueprints for a mechanized textile manufactory by candlelight. The gold from the steel sale to Countess von Rosenfeld would soon open up vast new horizons.
Yet when a familiar, faint scratching sounded at the door after hours of painstaking calculations, Seraphine didn't even twitch. She had no intention of tearing herself away from drafting gears and spindles. The unlatched door swung open noiselessly, and Vivienne slipped into the candlelit room, clad in nothing more than a gossamer, sheer nightie.
Seeing her mistress completely absorbed in the parchment sheets, paying her no heed, the noblewoman did not dare interrupt. Instead, like an obedient, well-trained kitten, she wordlessly dropped to her knees on the cold floor and crawled quietly beneath the heavy oak desk.
Seraphine merely arched an eyebrow as slender, delicate hands tugged her loose lounge trousers down her hips. She didn't stop ruling lines with her straightedge even as Vivienne’s warm breath washed over her thighs, followed a heartbeat later by the noblewoman's wet lips and nimble tongue eagerly enveloping her hardening shaft with reverent devotion.
Vivienne worked her mouth with voracious passion, her hands caressing Seraphine's thighs and buttocks as she let out muffled, wanton moans beneath the desk, while Seraphine - merely half-lidding her eyes and tightening her grip on the quill with each deep, rhythmic stroke - coolly inked in the final revisions to her drafts.
Only when a surge of scalding release pulsed and erupted into the kneeling girl’s throat did Seraphine rest a hand atop those strawberry-blonde tresses, rewarding her good little favorite with a slow, patronizing stroke, without pausing her calculations for even a second.