Basileus (Comission) (Patreon)

This is my first ever commissioned work. Its pretty long for a one shot, and it has lots of heavy underage, incest and pregnancy themes, just as a warning.

Its another medieval setting like Restitutor Orbis, and I would definitely like to do more work in this setting, especially with more action/adventure elements which I kind of glossed over in this one-shot and would def like to flesh out a bit more.  

...

The first rays of the morning light crept in through the finely embroidered curtains of her bedchamber. The rooster crowed in the distance and the bells of the Hagia Sophia began to ring, and Anastasia Greengrass awoke.

She lay in her bed for some time, relishing this daily respite from the business of ruling, from having to deal with her ladies, the court, her lord husband.

Her routine was set in such a way that she was able to predict the moment the knock came at her door. The person on the other side barely had time for a second knock before she spoke.

“You may come in.”

The door creaked open and in walked the buxom form of Rosmerta, one of her favorite handmaidens.

“My lady.” Rosmerta bowed deeply.

Anastasia acknowledged Rosmerta with a nod as she rose from her bed. She allowed the other woman to remove her nightclothes as she inspected herself in the mirror.

She might not have the assets of the lowborn woman, but Anastasia was an  empress, and she had the body of a princess. She was tall and slim, though she could proudly say that her breasts were not only perky but actually rather sizeable. She swept her eyes down her slim waist and onto the curve of her buttocks, which were nice and firm.

Yes, she had nothing to envy of any other woman in the empire. Not with her silky smooth honey brown hair and sapphire blue eyes.

Rosmerta drew her bath and helped Anastasia prepare for the day, spraying her with perfumes and covering her skin in oils.

It was a very pleasant experience, ruined only at the end when Anastasia noticed the goblet on her bedside table.

She tried to hide her frown, but she wasn't successful enough, as her handmaiden spoke in an apologetic tone. “I'm sorry, my lady. I spoke to master Slughorn, he said he'd do what he could to make this one taste more palatable.”

Anastasia smiled. “No need to feel sorry, Rosie dear. It's not your fault.”

The empress stared at the goblet before deciding it was best to just get the unpleasant ordeal over with. She took it from the table and, sparing only a single glance at the murky green liquid bubbling within, downed it in a few gulps.

It was as foul tasting a concoction as ever, but it didn't make bile want to rise up from her stomach, which was an improvement.

“Better?”

Anastasia nodded lightly through her grimace as Rosmerta passed her another goblet, this one full of cold water.

The empress downed the water just as quickly, this time feeling relieved as she let the icy freshness of the liquid drown out the gunky aftertaste from the potion.

“You won't have to endure it much longer, my lady. The seer has spoken, she says that this cycle will be the one.”

“Let us hope so.” Anastasia answered.

If she were to be candid, she'd say she wouldn't wipe her ass with the royal seer's predictions. Trelawney had already made several such predictions before, and yet, she and her husband were still without an heir.

It was an added stressor to the empress. The longer they went without producing an heir, the more eyes would turn to her, asking whether there was anything wrong with her. Deep in her heart of hearts, Anastasia believed there was nothing wrong with her, but well… there was no point in pursuing that train of thought.

They left her bedchambers and walked through her wing of the castle. There was commotion in the grounds, and Rosmerta wore a worried frown as they made their way to the atrium.

“What bothers you, Rosmerta?”

The maid startled, “It is nothing, my lady. Just… the thought of those wildmen, not only in our city, but in our castle!”

Anastasia sighed. “They are our guests, Rosmerta, here at the behest of my lord husband.”

“Of course, of course my lady its just…”

The queen smiled. “We must learn to swallow many bitter pills, for the good of the empire.”

Almost as if they'd summoned them through speech, the women stopped by a window that looked down into the gardens below, where said wildmen were making their first entry into the castle grounds.

They were being led by her husband and Lord Malfoy, his great advisor. The contrast could not be greater.

Where her husband and Lord Malfoy were clean cut, smartly dressed and perfectly postured, these men had wild, shaggy manes of hair and wore beards. They were burly and solid, completely the opposite of the soft, doughy body she knew her husband to have under his regalia.

There were four of them. The leaders of their pack of brigands. One man with long black hair and a rugged beard who looked to be the leader, the so-called Dog of Taranto. He was bursting with confidence and swagger, a mischievous look ever-present in his grey eyes.

There were two other men around his age. One, a man with light brown hair and a face covered in scars, surely his famed lycan. The other man resembled the leader very closely, though a bit younger and slightly less handsome. Anastasia was sure they were related.

Her eyes fixed on the fourth, and she wanted to curse herself for almost letting out a gasp. This boy, for he was surely only a teenager, had a head of shoulder-length, windswept black hair, hair that made her wonder if these Normans ever even groomed themselves. He was tall and, while slimmer than the others due to his age, had broad shoulders and a strong, muscular forearms.

His face was gorgeous, striking even. He had yet to develop any facial hair, though she was sure he would look good with that too. His eyes were a bright, almost unnatural emerald green, and his features, still bearing the softness of youth, promised a kingly countenance.

The boy was walking behind the group, his eyes serious and taking in every single sight, scanning every corner and inspecting the belt of every guard. This was no common teenager, this boy had seen war, he'd killed.

His eyes suddenly snapped up to the balcony, as if he knew that Anastasia had been brazenly staring at him.

His eyes locked with hers, and her heart couldn't help but beat a bit faster as those cold, calculating yet beautiful eyes refused to look away.

He even had the gall to let out a little smirk, before finally, Anastasia turned her head away.

Rosmerta seemed to be as mesmerized as her, which Anastasia was grateful for, as it meant she had not witnessed her own moment of weakness.

“Rosmerta.”

The maid startled, “Y-Yes, my lady?”

“We must go down to greet them, come. And do try to keep your composure amongst those men.”

Rosmerta's face reddened in embarrassment. “Of course, my lady.”

…

“I must say, Malfoy, this is quite the city you have here. Lives up to expectations.”

Sirius says in his usual mocking tone, though his sentiment was genuine. In just their short walk from the Theodosian wards in through the city proper and then the castle grounds, it became clear why this place was still renowned in the west as the Queen of Cities.

“I agree, much better than Rome.” Remus mused from his side.

Lucius chuckled, tilting his chin up high. “Much better than the barnyards and mud pits you're accustomed to, I take it?”

Sirius let out a rough, barking laughter while Regulus sneered at the blonde man. “I'll have you know, in our homeland, we were nobility of the highest order.”

Malfoy was less than impressed, “And yet here you are, a band of ruffians.”

Before his brother could take further offense, Sirius spoke. “I've been a nobleman and I've been a ruffian, Malfoy, and let me tell you, I'll take the latter any day of the week.”

“How very interesting.” Lucius said in an acerbic tone.

They reached the castle gates, where the king stood waiting, flanked by his royal guard.

“Ah! Mr. Black! I hope the journey was uneventful.”

“Quite the opposite, actually. We meet our fair share of roving bandits,”

Emperor Greengrass frowned. “I apologize for that, but you refused my escort, and with just four members in your party…”

Sirius raised a hand. “Believe me, Basileus, it was no bother at all. More like running entertainment, really.” he shared a smirk with the others.

“I see, and so this is the infamous Band of the Grim?”

“Well, the rest of our men are back in Salerno, cleaning up some business with the Lombards. But these three are my inner circle, my royal advisors, if you will.” Sirius chuckled even as the Byzantines seemed to not be amused.

“This is Regulus, my younger brother.” The serious, dark haired man nodded.

He then gestured to the sandy-haired man, “Remus, my right hand.”

“And finally, Harry, my nephew.”

If the king thought anything of the dark haired boy's age, he did not mention it.

…

As they were being led in through the grounds, Harry took in as much he could. He knew Remus was doing the same. It was a custom of theirs, to gather as much information as they could about a place. Today's ally was tomorrow's foe, after all.

The sheer opulence on display here was staggering. Even the Vicar in Rome could not boast so much gold, silver and silk. Of course, it was all due to the city's protections, those famed triple wards.

The Theodosian Wards, a relic from the time when this city was part of Rome (though Harry knew these people still called themselves Roman).

A massive undertaking by the emperor Theodosius however many centuries before, they were a feat of magical engineering that could not be replicated in modern times. There was no empire or state that had the sheer resources, both in magic and gold, to create wards as powerful as these.

Three lines of wards, one stacked on top of the other, physically separated by three physical walls.

From what he and Remus had been able to suss out back in Italy, just a single one of the wards was far too complex for even a team of dedicated mages to unravel in under a week. The three of them together were impenetrable.

Harry's eye twitched. No problem was insurmountable. Alexander had solved the Gordian Knot, after all.

As he walked through a garden filled with gorgeous flowers of every hue, his eyes drifted upward, catching the face of a gorgeous woman looking down from a window. Brown hair, blue eyes and a face that could only belong to the highest of royalty.

And yet, when she looked at him, she blushed like a common village girl.

Harry smirked, and she turned her face away.

They entered the castle proper, where they were assaulted by even more proof of the empire's wealth. Golden chandeliers, silver torches, purple carpeting, finely sculpted statues and beautiful engravings on the walls.

They were in a massive atrium now, where a large group of well dressed men and women awaited them. More of the empire's rich and powerful, with a few truly hardened, military men among them.

And the woman he'd seen earlier was there. The king stood next to her, putting an arm around her shoulder.

The king introduced her as his wife, the Basilissa Anastasia Greengrass. The woman smiled tightly, avoiding Harry's gaze, but Harry looked directly at her, taking in as much of her as he could at this close distance. He saw the way her glossy lips almost pouted, the delicate curve of her small nose, the subtle details of her body that could be seen through her flowing purple robe.

Then, the Emperor instructed some servants to show them to their rooms, and Harry parted, still with the empress in mind.

…

The dining hall was chock full of people. Everyone sitting at the long table seemed to matter in some way or the other in the kingdom. Even the governor of Thrace had made the journey over from Greece. The Band of the Grim were surrounded by politicians and military men, with the emperor sitting across from them, and it was clear that this dinner wasn't only to entertain guests such as them.

“How many men can you pledge?” One rotund man asked Sirius while he devoured a pheasant leg.

“We have about two hundred.” Sirius shrugged as he ate his own meal with atrocious table manners.

“And how many mages?”

Sirius grinned wolfishly. “You're looking at them.”

The man looked incredulously at the four of them. “Four mages? That is all? And one not even fully grown?”

Harry did not react to the slight, more than accustomed to it by now.

Regulus preened. “You've heard of our exploits, have you not.”

“Bah!” The man waved him off. “Western myths and legends.”

Sirius chuckled. “What do you think, Emperor? Are we just myths and legends?”

Emperor Greengrass frowned. “Many men of trust have vouched for them.” He glared down his generals, who looked rather skeptical.

The discussion settled into logistics then, with Remus doing the talking while the other three ate in silence.

The entire time, Harry kept catching the eye of the empress. No one noticed, but the woman was becoming increasingly uncomfortable under his gaze. Harry knew it wasn't because she disliked his glances. It was more than likely the opposite problem.

They were given four rooms in a far wing of the castle, very close to the guardhouse.

Harry was walking through the darkened stone halls. He could hear moaning coming from Sirius and Regulus’ rooms, each having taken a maid for the night. Harry couldn't be sure if Remus had done the same, since the werewolf at least had the decorum to place a silencing ward around his room.

Sirius had mocked his nephew after Harry had begged off the drinking and roughhousing tonight. Harry usually partook, but he didn't want to bed a common servant, not tonight, not when he had his sights set much higher.

He walked through the castle, unconcerned with being seen by one of the guards. When he rounded a corner and saw two men armed with spears coming the opposite way, he strolled right by them. The guards continued on as if they hadn't seen him.

And they hadn't. In the darkness, it was rather easy for Harry to drape himself in shadows. Add in some subtle aversion magic, and not even another mage would be able to see him.

Harry went through the mental map he'd created of the castle, and quickly found himself in the very same corridor that overlooked the courtyard from earlier.

From there, he used his senses to find the door that contained a magical. The emperor and empress were magicals, as most nobility tended to be, despite having neglected their skills.

It never made sense to Harry. From England to Greece, the upper crust of society were proud of their magic. Since the times of Rome, magic had been a marker of nobility. Common folk born with it were immediately picked out as special.

And yet, as proud as they were, they seemed to be content. They didn't explore their magic, they didn't develop it. It was why they thought that four mages was nowhere near enough for the coming campaign. Their idea of powerful mages were men that were able to string three curses together.

They had fallen a long way from the men who had built the massive wards that protected them.

Harry glanced down both sides of the hallway before he cracked the door open, slipping into the room.

Harry cared not one bit for the Emperor's position or status. Magic was might. Harry was the mighty, and he would take what he wanted.

Like the gorgeous woman who was lying in her plush bed, larger than any Harry had ever seen.

Anastasia had been awake, lost in thoughts of emerald green eyes. She heard her door creak and raised her head.

There was no one there, only shadows flitting about in between the moonbeams.

Then the shadows turned solid, and Anastasia believed she had gone mad. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her.

The young man, Harry, who had been running through her head all day and evening, suddenly materialized.

He was here, in her room, his green eyes smoldering as he walked towards her bed.

For quite a while, she didn't react. She thought this had to be some sort of illusion, or perhaps she had fallen asleep and this was all a dream.

“You look stunning.” The teen rasped as he climbed onto her bed.

His weight shifted the bed and pulled at her sheets. She could smell his scent now, bereft of the perfumes of the highborn men of the city. It was pure manly musk.

It was real. This wasn't a dream.

Anastasia's eyes widened as she let out a shriek. “What are you doing?!”

Harry was unbothered by her scream. He'd silenced the room upon entering. “Taking what I want.”

Anastasia scurried back until her back was up against the headboard, bunching up the sheets against her chest. “I am the empress! You will be drawn and quartered! You and your associates!”

The boy chuckled darkly. “None of that is going to happen.”

He had her cornered now, he was hovering above her, and his figure was so imposing, her heart was throbbing dangerously. And the worst part was, it was only partially in fear.

She reared her hand back and slapped him across his handsome jaw. His head didn't even budge. He grabbed her hand before she could pull it back. His palms were rough, scratching against her smooth, perfectly manicured hand.

It thrilled her.

He lunged at her and she screamed. He didn't care, and his lips were on her neck, sucking at her pulse point as his hands caressed her body through her nightgown.

“N-No!” She gasped, her body on fire as his hands slid under her silky gown, one trailing up her bare thighs while the other squeezed her ass.

“I know you want this. I've placed a silencing ward over this room, no one will know.”

He was whispering into her ears, a devil trying to tempt her with sinful words.

“I read you from across that courtyard, you know. You've never been satisfied, not even close-”

His hand had reached her breasts, his calloused palm squeezing her flesh, creating rough friction with the supremely sensitive nubs of her nipples. It was crass, almost savage, and it made her back arch traitorously into the contact.

“N-No! I-I do-”

He shushed her, taking her earlobe into his mouth and suckling on it as he kneaded her breast. Her protest had been weaker, sounding token even to her ears.

“Tell me to leave your bed, my empress, tell me to stop touching you right now, and I shall leave.”

One of his fingers was dancing up her inner thigh now, dangerously close to her center, and she felt a warmth beginning to flutter up her body.

She opened her mouth to say just that, to banish him, but she found she couldn't. She couldn't say those words. She could never condone this, letting this brute take advantage of her weakness. She could not give in to her shameful desires.

But she couldn't find it in her to deny him. And so, she let out a rasping breath and closed her eyes.

His chest rumbled against her as she felt him chuckle in bemusement. She felt her dress suddenly vanish, her body exposed to the cold air of the room, as his mouth and hands began to work on her in earnest.

He was kissing her jawline while trailing a finger down her side. He was nipping at her collarbone while his fingertips squeezed any foothold of pliable flesh it could find.

He was plunging a finger into her, and she wanted to gasp out in despair, to tell him that he was hurting her, for she was not properly lubricated.

Except that was a lie, because when his finger invaded her treasure, she realized just how drenched she was.

She was suddenly assaulted by the stench of her own arousal. It was a deep, pungent musk that left her feeling shameful. She had never been this aroused, not when she’d pleasured herself and certainly not with Andronicus. Not even close.

“Y-You’ve done something! You’ve put a spell on me!” She squeaked, melting into putty in his hands. Her body had betrayed her, her hands were moving on their own, and she realized with both dawning shock and growing arousal that he’d shed his clothes. Her hands roamed his rugged, muscular frame, sending pinpricks of electricity through each nerve ending as she felt a man on top of her.

He smiled, such an infuriating smile that left her heart aflutter once more. “Believe that if you want, my dear, if it helps you lose your inhibitions.”

That was it. He’d basically admitted to it. He’d placed her under some sort of lust spell, and there was nothing she could do. She was not strong enough to fight the desire burning through her body, she would have to give in.

She was not strong enough to fight such powerful magic.

She kissed him, and he actually stiffened in surprise for a moment, a moment where she felt triumphal, felt as if she’d finally turned the tables on this brute.

And then he kissed her back, fiercely and possessively, as was to be expected from a savage man like him.

His finger was still swirling around in her core. He was crooking it, curling it inward and touching a point that left her seeing stars in her vision. She could only wrap her arms around his broad shoulders as she undulated her hips, riding his finger as she chased an explosion that she could feel approaching, that she hadn’t even thought was possible.

She whimpered in disappointment when he removed his finger from her depths and his heat retreated from her own. She scurried after him, having lost all shame as she tried to pull him back into her embrace.

He intercepted her hands, lacing his fingers with her own and forcefully shoving her back onto the bed. Her silky hair spread out into a halo around her, her eyes wide as she looked up at him, straddling her waist.

“What an insatiable little minx you turned out to be, my empress.”

Her breathing was heavy. A small part of her tried to regain control, tried to tell her she needed to stop this, that she didn’t want this.

But she looked up at his chiseled frame, at the long scar that crossed his torso. Her eyes trailed down, her brain going haywire as she felt the anticipation build exponentially, until she finally saw it.

She wasn’t even sure if it could fit inside of her. But if it did, it would surely ruin her. Its length was impressive, but its girth was what truly took her breath away. It resembled a club, with throbbing veins running down its angry length.

Harry smirked as this gorgeous woman was left with her mouth agape by the sight of his rod. He could tease her some more, taste her treasure and bring her to several peaks before finally sheathing himself inside of her. But he wouldn’t do that. He would take his pleasure from her, treat the highest of royalty like a common whore, and he would ruin her for her husband.

Harry pulled her closer to him as he knelt on the bed. Anastasia felt a hint of fear, thinking of begging off, of telling him that he was far too big for her, but his smoldering green eyes told her there would be no argument, and she spread her legs wider for him.

He rubbed his head against her lips, and she moaned wantonly, feeling that explosion fast approaching once more.

Harry pressed his head against her walls, and gods, there must truly be something special about a noblewoman, because already her quivering walls felt more heavenly than any of the women he had ever bedded.

He shoved himself in, caring not for the resistance he faced.

Anastasia screamed, and the explosion that had been approaching finally came as she was filled thoroughly and completely. Her legs clamped down on him, squeezing the life out of his waist as her walls spasmed wildly.

Harry bit his lip. He hadn’t anticipated this. As the Empress came around him, he realized that her pussy truly was special. He bottomed out in her, a quarter of his cock remaining outside her pussy as his crown bumped up against her cervix. Anastasia’s breath left her as his mushroom head punched the entrance to her womb. It was like waves were running up her body, leaving her both numb and overcome with pleasure as her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

Harry had the courtesy to remain still for the first few moments of her orgasm. Then, he grunted, pulled back and untangled her legs from his waist as if her death-grip were nothing, and then he began to pound himself into her.

“W-Wait! Please!” She begged. She needed time to adjust. Perhaps a few minutes to regain her bearings, to adjust to his size so she could enjoy the soft, slow pleasure of lovemaking.

That would not happen for her. Harry rutted into her with measured, powerful strokes that while not fast, were punishing in their consistent, rough pace. Anastasia was squealing like a mouse, losing her grip on reality with each thrust. Her hands were squeezing his forearms, and she decided it best to use all of her remaining concentration on keeping her grip on him, on keeping her head up as she looked at him thrust into her throbbing quim.

Harry grunted as he chased his completion. He had thought this nothing more than another notch on his belt. Once they’d done the job and sailed back across the Aegean, Ionian and the Adriatic, he could brag to Sirius about his conquest of the empress.

But this pussy felt far too good, far too perfect for him. He could not go back to common women. Well, he would, but he needed his own highborn wife. His own queen.

The genesis of a plan was hatched in his mind as he gave a final push into the Empress, once more bumping snugly into her cervix, and he swore he could feel the barest tip of his cock break through, almost managing to enter her womb.

That thought pushed him over the edge as he emptied his balls, shooting thick ropes of semen into the empress’ waiting cunt.

When Harry finally settled, he left a drooling, twitching mess of a woman under him. He covered her back up in her sheets, tucking her back into her bed before disappearing off into the night.

…

“PROTEGO!”

The Byzantine mages, around twenty in number, were well drilled. They cast in unison, creating a massive shield wall that protected against the spells the Saracens were raining down. Their shields allowed their archers to rain arrows from behind, with some spells peppered in by the few offensive mages they had.

The Saracens were much more offensively minded, with less coordination between their mages. They shot off spells, using a tongue that Harry had never heard to cast their magic.

So far, the enemy was winning. But Sirius’ men had yet to make their presence known.

“Black!” The emperor yelled from the high perch that had been erected for him to observe the proceedings. “Your people have yet to enter the fray!”

“Perhaps all the stories were just that. Perhaps the Band of the Grim are nothing but a band of cowards.” Lucius hissed from his right.

Both men looked pale. All of the military brass looked quite terrified. They’d suffered multiple defeats to the Saracens,  and it looked as if they were about to lose yet more territory in Anatolia.

Sirius cracked his neck as he smirked, “Don’t worry, my dear emperor,  all that gold you keep in your tent is more than safe.” He glanced down at the battlefield. It had been a green field at the start of the day, but had turned into a muddy mess rather quickly. “Just needed to get a lay of the enemy.”

“Does this mean we can finally have fun?” Regulus barked at his older brother.

“Regulus, war is serious business.” Remus reprimanded, “We were hired to do a job, and we must complete it.”

‘Alright, men, three shields with each of us, the rest of you, go reinforce the others.”

The emperor watched as each of the four mages was joined by three men with shields.

The three men surrounding Remus each produced a chain with a manacle attached to it. One clamped a manacle on his left foot, the other on his right wrist, while a third attached the largest to his neck.

As he felt the cold steel close tightly around him, Remus produced a pair of glasses with three lenses stacked on top of each other. Remus put them on and stared up at the cloud filled sky.

Remus stared up into the sky and he let out a loud howl. To the horror of the watching Byzantines, the man turned into a werewolf, despite there being no moon.

The hulking figure of a werewolf, rippling with muscles and panting with bloodlust, shambled forward. He ran far too fast for the men he was chained to to keep up, but the chains magically extended, and the men jogged after their charge, who was ready to jump into the fray.

Sirius, Regulus and Harry each produced wands, with their men creating a shield wall around them.

…

Andronicus was terrified.

The moment Black and his men had entered the battle, it had turned into a massacre. The werewolf was ripping through men, leaving a trail of twitching, mutilated men that his shield-bearing handlers then finished off with bashes to the neck.

The Black brothers were agents of chaos, casting powerful magic, summoning lightning bolts from the sky and conjuring demonic flames that mowed through the enemy, eating through even their magical defenses.

But none were more terrifying than the boy. He was death incarnate. He strolled coolly through the battlefield, killing men by the dozen with just a single flick of his wand. He swiped the stick in a wide arch and a cliffside collapsed, burying an entire legion’s worth of men. He shot a bolt to a cloud that began to rain daggers down on the enemy.

They single handedly decimated the enemy forces. Soon the day was won, but Andronicus could not find it in himself to feel joy. No, he felt a knot in his stomach. He should have never allowed these savage, terrifying men into his lands.

…

They returned to Italy, and over the next few years, they continued to sell their services to the highest bidder.

But all things must come to an end. Regulus left, tempted by the opportunity to become crown prince of a German principality. Remus died in battle against some Norsemen, and Sirius was never the same after that.

It didn’t take much to convince Sirius to retire afterwards. It wasn’t just the loss of his friends. The wily old dog, Harry’s father in everything but name, knew his boy had ambitions, aspirations for something greater. And indeed, almost immediately after he struck out on his own, he got himself named the King of Sicily. But that was not enough, for though he had never been able to return, he still remembered the riches of Constantinople.

He’d also heard of how the Empress had given birth to a princess, shortly after their campaign had ended. From the moment he’d heard of her, he’d know, he’d know that she was his. He made it his ultimate goal to return to the Bosphorus, to return to the city and take what was rightfully his.

His daughter, his soon to be queen.

…

“That bastard can call himself a king all he wants, he is nothing more than lowborn trash!”

Daphne watched with wide-eyes as her father raged once more about the man who had become his greatest enemy.

She’d heard so many stories about this man, this Harry Potter, who had made himself a king in Italy despite having not a trace of noble blood.

She didn’t understand. She’d asked her mother if they did things differently in the west. Elevating a commoner to such a status spoke very poorly of the westerners.

Her mother had simply said that there were many ways to make a ruler, and that in some places, a man ruled due to merit, because he’d won the respect of his subjects.

Her mother never had a bad word to say about King Potter. It was a great contrast from her father. Daphne sometimes wondered if all marriages were like her parents. They stayed in their wings of the castle, sending Daphne back and forth between them.

Daphne loved them both dearly. She wondered why her mother had to be so distant to her father. Her father was a good man, a kind man, and if he said that King Potter was a bastard, Daphne believed him.

Then, when she was eleven, she saw him for the first time. Her father had called a great crusade against the Saracens. It was needed, as the heathens were closing in on them, taking more and more of their lands into their clutches. Her father had not allowed King Potter to enter the city, forcing him to camp outside of its walls.

Daphne, ever the curious girl, ran up one of the highest towers in the castle, armed with a magically enhanced spyglass, allowing her to see from great distances.

She was easily able to spy on the tents the latins had set up. She’d thought it would be difficult to pick him out from between the crowds of men, but it was not.

The moment she laid eyes on him, she knew it must be him. He was tall, and ruggedly handsome, with a well-trimmed beard and shoulder length black hair.

She watched him as he walked amongst his men, joking and smiling, and yet even from this distance, she could feel his imposing aura. This was what her mother had meant, he looked like he was meant to lead, meant to rule over men.

She grew irritated on her father’s behalf as she followed him around for hours. How dare this barbarian upstart want to challenge her father’s authority as the king of all kings? Her father did not have his presence, but he was kind and loving.

This man, with his emerald green eyes that so resembled her own, was clearly not kind. He was a cold-blooded barbarian killer, a savage that should not hold the title of king.

Daphne returned to that tower every day of the seven the latins remained camped outside of the wards. She watched King Potter almost obsessively, frowning whenever she caught him acting in an undignified manner. Kings did not remove their shirts among their subjects! She burned with anger as she watched him walk around his camp bare-chested, his rock-hard body glistening with sweat.

The night before the men were set to leave, she was watching his tent like a hawk. Every night before, he’d opened it up about this hour, hustling some unscrupulous harlot in from the city. Daphne glared at the women, who were shaming their great city by spreading their legs for this unworthy king.

That night though, Daphne gasped, for she recognized the woman she saw walking down to his tent. Though she was shrouded in a thick cloak, Daphne was able to catch a glimpse of her face before she entered.

She could not bear this great shame, she needed to confront her mother.

…

The next day, the men went off on campaign, her father following with them and leaving Daphne and her mother behind.

When Daphne finally cornered her mother, she saw something very unusual indeed. Her mother, usually cold and distant, was smiling. She looked satisfied, happy.

“Mother, how dare you!” Daphne yelled.

Anastasia’s smile did not break as she looked down at her daughter. Even at this age, Daphne was a stunning beauty. Anastasia had sometimes felt jealous of her daughter, who had taken her own beauty and refined it, helped along by her golden hair and her father’s emerald green eyes.

“What is the matter, Daphne?” She drawled in a bored tone.

Daphne’s closed fists shook as she held herself back from slapping her mother across the face. “I saw you last night, mother! How could you do such a thing to father? To the kingdom?”

There was no shock in her mother’s face as Daphne threw her infidelity directly at her. “Oh, Daphne, the kingdom will be fine. More than fine, actually, we will finally regain what’s ours.”

“Mother, how could you give your body to that brute? How could you let yourself fall into his clutches?”

“How? I’ll tell you how, daughter of mine. Willingly. I’ve waited over eleven years to finally be in that man’s arms again, and now that I’ve finally felt his embrace once more, I will do what I must to remain in his graces.”

Daphne shook her head. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mother would betray the empire so?

“I will not let this be, mother! I will inform the city! I will have you seized for treason!”

“Tell me, daughter of mine, have you ever wondered why you share no features with the man you call father?”

Daphne blanched, stumbling through her next words. “I-I do look like father! I have his-”

“Your nose and his share no resemblance. Surely you can see through an old man’s delusional lies.”

Daphne’s mouth hung agape as she felt a growing sense of dread. “W-What are you saying, mother.”

“I think you know what I am saying, daughter. If you’ve been watching King Potter as closely as I believe, you must have noticed his eyes. They are quite peculiar, are they not?”

Daphne was left speechless, unable to come to terms with what her mother had implied. Anastasia left her daughter alone. Over the next few weeks, Daphne did her best to avoid her, but she never did try to get her mother arrested.

Daphne was troubled, far too troubled. Emerald eyes kept running through her mind, eyes the same color as hers. Unique eyes. Eyes she had never once spotted on anyone else.

…

The news traveled much faster than the army could march. And so, everywhere they stopped on their way back to Constantinople, they were greeted with resounding cheers. Many stayed behind to enjoy the lavish banquets that were staged from Malatya to Dorylaeum. There was an air of sadness, seeing as the Emperor had fallen during the campaign, but considering the resounding victories that had seen the Saracens completely expelled from Anatolia, it did little to dampen the mood.

Many stayed, but many were also quickening their pace. The Holy Roman Emperor and many of the other western nobles needed to return to their lands, lest the men they had left in charge start getting delusions of grandeur.

Harry Potter, King of Sicily, did not make any stops either. Even as everywhere he went, the common people hailed him for his already legendary exploits, Harry had one goal in mind.

And there it was, a shining beacon across the Bosphorus. Its triple wards were impenetrable, and now, they would have a king worthy of their might.

…

“You are so lucky, Daphne.”

The girls were giggling. Not for the first time, Daphne regretted that for all her love of decorum, she had not instilled a more strict discipline among her handmaids.

Pansy, Tracey, and Susan. In private, they all talked candidly, acting more like a group of close friends than as handmaids who showed their princess the proper respect.

A princess who was soon to be queen, Daphne reminded herself.

“I am fulfilling my duty to my kingdom.” Daphne said curtly, and the girls let out another round of giggles.

“Of course, and what a duty it is. I wish my duties entailed strapping men with green eyes.” Tracey said.

“He smiled at me the other day, you know. My legs felt like jelly.” Pansy said dreamily.

Daphne grimaced. She was not like them. She was not a swooning little girl. She would grit her teeth and bear her burden.

She remembered when he'd ridden into town, looking like one of those conquering kings of legends. Everyone cheered for his arrival, everyone vested him in praise. No one seemed to remember that the emperor had died, that they should be in mourning.

She had not been alone with him yet. On the day of his arrival, he'd only given her a slight smile, a devious smile. The smile of of a viper. A smile that sent shivers down her spine.

She couldn't believe that this man was her father. This beast of a man.

The next day she'd been left alone. Her father (she despised how easily he replaced her previous father in her mind.) and mother had been busy, setting affairs in order. He was to be made emperor. Despite being lowborn, despite the general distrust of westerners that had pervaded over the empire until just recently, his achievements were too great, his power too apparent.

He was crowned in the Hagia Sophia that very day. He'd paid off those who needed to be paid off, he lavished the guild masters with gifts, he promised great chariot races at the hippodrome.

Daphne witnessed all of this, a part of the procession, but not tasked with anything besides showing her face.

Then, this morning, her mother had come to her.

She was going to abdicate her title as Empress to become Queen of Sicily. Daphne was to replace her.

Daphne's mouth had been left open. She was to marry her father.

Now, here she was, getting dressed to meet with her future husband. Alone.

She felt a sense of trepidation. But worse,  she felt excited.

She reasoned it away as a sort of morbid fascination. Excitement to meet the man who had had the gall to bed the emperor's wife and sire an illegitimate princess.

She was standing alone now, in front of the door that had once led to Andronicus Greengrass’ chambers.

What was she? Was she Daphne Greengrass, or Daphne Potter?

She couldn't help but snort. She would be Daphne Potter soon, so that question was irrelevant.

She went to knock on the door, but it slid open before she could manage.

Out walked her mother. Her lips were bruised, and she was licking them clean.

“Daphne.” Her mother's voice had never sounded this sweet, this friendly and warm. “Our husband is here to greet you, I hope you remember your manners.”

Daphne decided not to respond. She simply slipped in past her mother as the woman looked back at her in amusement before closing the door behind her.

Her father sat behind a desk, on the same chair she'd seen the previous ruler sit at so many times before.

It did not look too big on him, as it had for the late emperor.

Out of all the emotions she could have felt, Daphne hadn't expected to feel nervous. But here she was in front of her father and future husband, wishing she could feel a righteous fury, but instead, she had butterflies in her stomach.

“Daphne, please, have a seat.”

Daphne took the seat in front of him. She had never been this close to him. He was big, broad chested and muscular. He lacked any of the doughyness that seemed to be endemic to men in his station.

He was also young, and through some rough guesswork, Daphne figured he was only around twenty-seven years old. Which meant he was seven years younger than her mother.

“You don't know how long I've been waiting for this moment.”

Daphne found herself fiddling with her hands, her palms sweating profusely.

Daphne couldn't help herself, she felt a need to be candid. “The moment you took over the empire?”

He chuckled, that same laugh that had made her shiver before.

“The empire is secondary. A byproduct of my true goal.” He tilted his head to the side. “To conquer you, Daphne.”

“M-Me?”

“You don't know how many times I considered just stealing you from this place. Kidnapping you on one of those trips to Thessaloniki. Absconding off with you into the wilderness.”

She shuddered. He'd been watching her. Much more closely than she'd thought was possible.

She squirmed in her seat.

“But that would have been wrong. You are my daughter, and you are also royalty, the utmost example of perfection.” His eyes swept over her, and there was no doubt in her mind of what he was thinking. He was undressing her. He desired her, his own eleven year old daughter.

“That is why I waited. I became a conqueror, a true beacon of kingship, so that we could rule, together.”

“Together?”

He stood up from his desk and circled around. Daphne felt her breathing quicken as he soon towered over her.

He grasped her by the chin, his rough hands lightly squeezing her jaw as he tilted her head upward.

He leaned down until their faces were only inches apart, until his breath tickled her face.

“I will rule, and continue conquering until I am satisfied. You will be by my side, my little queen, a perfect little porcelain doll that will want for nothing. And you will bear my children.” He licked his lips. “As many as I want. Understood?”

Perhaps she was mesmerized by his eyes, or perhaps she was just overwhelmed by his closeness.

Or perhaps, deep down, this had been everything she had always wanted.

“Understood.”

“Understood what?”

She could hear her own breathing now. They were short, gasping breaths. His thumb was running over her bottom bottom limp, plump and full and eternally pouty.

“Understood… daddy.”

He lowered his head. Time froze for her. She was helpless, completely at the mercy of this powerful older man who wanted to claim her.

And she was thrilled.

Harry claimed her soft lips. Those plump, full lips that looked positively sinful on a girl so young. They were baby soft, and he couldn't help himself, he tasted her, barely able to hold back the primal urge to ravage her, to tear her garments to shreds and ruin her small body.

But he managed to take it slow. Just about. She slowly began to respond to the kiss, moving her lips against his own. She was clumsy, completely inexperienced.

It was perfect.

Harry nipped at her lower lip, about as tenderly as he could manage considering the fog of arousal that hung over him.

Daphne felt a lightness in her head as her father kissed her, his kiss becoming more and more demanding by the moment. When he bit her lip, instead of pain she felt a surge of bitter pleasure. She let out an involuntary gasp, and he took that as an invitation to push his tongue down her throat.

Daphne was helpless. She pushed back with her own tongue, doing her best to tangle with his appendage, her eyes rolling back in her head as their two nerve clusters dueled inside of her mouth, with her fathers easily dominating and forcing her own into submission.

She felt herself being bodily lifted up from her seat. Her father's strong arms were wrapped around her thin waist. She was his toy, and there was nothing she could ever do to escape his clutches.

And she found that that made her happy. She would be his to use, his to care for, his to ravage.

She wrapped her legs around his torso. She was so much smaller than him, an inch under five feet while he was well over six feet tall. She wrapped her arms around his neck as well, and his hands went to her bum, grabbing and squeezing at it as he held her up.

Harry was in heaven. His daughter's soft bum felt perfect through the fabric of her dress, and he was sure it would feel even better when nothing was impeding him.

He needed her, now.

He pulled back from the kiss, though he kept his face pressed against hers, stubbornly refusing to lose contact with her smooth skin.

“I need to claim you, now.” He growled. He felt an animalistic surge of pleasure as her dainty breath began to come even faster against his cheekbone, her little body quivering in his grip.

“S-Shouldn't we wait? Until we're wed?”

Daphne was looking at him, gazing at him for the first time with her full innocence, full vulnerability. Harry's eyes had always been otherworldly, always been one more weapon in his arsenal of intimidation. On her, those very same eyes were angel-like, pools of purity.

“I've waited long enough.” He turned, carrying her behind the desk, over to a door she was sure hadn't been there when she'd been here before.

The door opened from a single look from Harry, and he carried Daphne into a lavishly decorated bedroom with a massive four poster bed at its center.

His hands roamed over her lithe body on the way to the bed. He placed her gently onto the mattress, and with a snap of his fingers, their clothing vanished.

Daphne gasped, from the shock of being completely exposed to him, but also from the sight that assaulted her eyes.

He was a man in every sense of the word. His rugged frame was solidly muscular, and the dozens of scars scattered across his body only added to his masculine appeal. And his member… Daphne wanted to cover her eyes just at the sight of it. It looked far too big, it looked bigger than her!

Harry gazed down on his daughter now. Anastasia had been perfection, but Daphne had gone further beyond, entering the realm of divinity. His daughter's body had yet to develop much, but the slight curve at her hips promised a shapely figure, and every inch of her smooth porcelain skin made his mouth water.

Her little nipples were the lightest shade of pink he had ever seen. She was an angel given human form. He would give her the world, she would never want for anything, and she would bear him many daughters.

Harry grabbed her by her golden blonde hair, pulling her face to his slowly rising cock. Her lip was trembling with more than a bit of trepidation, intimidated by the monster inching closer.

Harry was staring down in pure wonder. He was hypnotized by his daughter's perfect little porcelain face. He pressed his cock against her cheek, sliding it across her face and leaving a trail of slick precum, sullying her perfect face with his sinful secretion.

He would ruin her, he would make her his perfect little fucksleeve, only allowed to move from her throne to his cock and nowhere else.

Daphne's lip quivered as her father's turgid cockhead slid across her face. He passed it over her lips, reveling in just how delicate and exquisite they felt as he coated them in his precum.

The bitter, salty flavor of her father's seed entered Daphne's mouth. Almost involuntarily, her tongue poked out, touching his slit and receiving a concentrated dose of the same substance that had once contributed to her creation.

Harry pulled back. He would love to fuck her mouth, but just like with her mother all those years ago, there was something he wanted more. Something he needed.

He pushed her onto the mattress. Daphne complied easily, letting her daddy handle her however he wanted. His hand slid down from her collarbone to her budding chest, still nothing more than bee stings and yet so enticing for him.

She was perfection, and he would have her. All of her.

Harry lined himself up with her tiny little entrance, the same light pinkness of her nipples present in her tight little slit. He looked up at her, her eyes were showing no trepidation, no fear. They were hooded, glazed over in lust.

“Are you ready, my sweet?”

“I'm yours to do what you want, daddy. Use me.”

That caused his cock to flare up once more.

Harry pushed in. But her passage was so tight, even with how wet she was, his thick cock struggled to burrow into her flower.

Daphne gasped and hissed, but she brought her hands down to her thighs, spreading her lips open as wide as she could manage to help her daddy in his task.

His little princess, wantonly holding her pussy lips out for him, it made Harry thrust just a little bit harder, and the crown of his cock popped into her entrance.

Harry hissed as his head was surrounded by the most perfect, velvety softness he had ever felt in his life. It was orders of magnitudes better than even Anastasia. The only way he could describe it was the textural version of a rich, decadent desert.

Daphne let out a strangled yelp as she was stretched beyond reason. Her young vagina was not meant to be filled like this, and yet it felt so wonderful, so devilishly right.

Harry couldn't control himself. Having gained his foothold, he began the slow, torturous process of sliding the rest of his turgid mead into her tightness.

Every single inch he pushed. He reached new heights of nirvana. Daphne was shuddering under him, her face flush as her eyes stared up at him. Harry placed a hand to her chest once more, rolling one of her nipples between his fingers.

When he finally went as far as he could go, there was still half of his cock left to go. She would have to grow into it.

“Daddy!” She whimpered, her mouth open as she panted like a bitch in heat.

Anastasia had told him she'd had her first bleed already. So in a sense, she was a bitch in heat.

“I'm going to move now, baby. Are you ready for that?” He asked her tenderly.

She nodded weakly, smiling up at him with small droplets of tears streaming down her face as her lips wobbled. She was struggling, but she could take it.

“I can handle it, daddy.”

The way she said daddy drove him wild.

“I'l be gentle, my sweet.” Harry assured her.

He began to gently stroke into her. Savoring every single inch of her silky perfection.

Her walls gripped him for dear life. Harry found that with each stroke, he managed to push slightly more of his meat into her tight little snatch.

“Daddy. Please, kiss me.” Daphne begged.

Harry couldn't deny his baby girl. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her once more, a loving kiss that matched his slow, deliberate strokes.

It could only last too long. The taste of her lips, her sweet smell, the precious music of her moans. The feel of her gripping snatch.

Harry rolled them around until she was on top of him, straddling him. They were still locked in a kiss, her body laying flat on his own, her budding chest pressed up against his own.

Harry's hands went to her hips, and that was the only warning Daphne received.

He began to piston into her. She squealed into the kiss, but Harry easily managed to keep her locked in place as he pounded his cock into her slickness. His thick meat slid in and out of her now puffy little pussy, coated in slimy streaks of her sweet juices as he punched into her.

Daphne tried to pull herself from his chest, feeling suffocated now by his heat, but Harry would not let her go. He held her tight to him as he drove his shaft without mercy now, knocking the stuffing out of her virgin pussy.

His cock was pounding into her cervix, leaving Daphne as delirious as her mother had been all those years before. But this time, after one particularly powerful thrust from Harry, his cock not only battered her cervix, but it actually broke through it. His monstrous head, somehow, wedged its way directly into her womb.

“Gods!” Harry gasped, pulling his daughter's face onto the crook of his neck as his cock somehow found its way into the holiest of caverns, the entrance to his daughter's uterus, where it could deposit its life giving seed directly into her womb.

Harry felt his own legs shake as his daughter trembled above him. He squeezed her tightly, letting her ride out her sudden orgasm as he twitched inside of her.

He couldn't move. He was stuck inside of her womb, lodged deep into his baby girl.

He began to roll his hips desperately, his cock moving millimeters that yielded miles of ecstasy for the both of them as his head tumbled around inside of her womb.

Daphne was crying into her father's neck, words not able to be formed by her mouth as she simply let out a silent scream. This was madness. She felt as if her body was about to shut down, as if he was moments away from snapping in half the chord that managed to keep her upright.

“I'm going to put a baby in you, baby. You're going to bear my child, you're going to walk down the aisle at our wedding with our daughter growing inside you.”

Daphne could only gasp and move her lips against his neck in involuntary spasms. His words made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Her womb was burning up, every movement of his cock an explosion of sensation that was close to leaving her numb.

Her father was about to breed her. Her was going to fill her womb up with his seed and fuck a baby into her preteen womb.

“BABY!”

It was finally all too much. Harry's balls went off like the blast of a cannon. His thick, viscous seed jetted up his thick shaft and absolutely flooded Daphne's womb, rapidly filling her sanctuary with her father's virile seed.

He kept going, and the continued flood of cum forced his cock back enough for it to pop out of her womb, even while it was still rock-hard. Daphne screamed at that moment, her voice hoarse as Harry continued to fill her pussy up, reaching the point where his seed began to leak down onto his crotch.

Daphne's body relaxed against him as everything proved too much for his baby girl, who's breathing had settled into ragged rasps as she passed out from the pure stimulation of it all.

Harry lay like that for a while, letting his cock soften inside his daughter's cunt before finally rolling her over onto her back, not wanting to lose any more of his seed from her cunt.

Her belly had bulged out, a small bump prominently displaying the gallon of semen he had deposited in her womb alone.

Harry looked down at his little princess in satisfaction. He had finally taken what was his. Now, it was time to rule.

…

The sight of Daphne waddling about the castle with her distended belly always left the servants and staff taken aback, no matter how common it was.

She was now Empress Daphne Potter. Her father had wed her a month ago, which meant she'd had to walk the aisle with her prominent belly clearly showing for all to see. She was currently being attended to by her maids. Pansy held her arm while Tracey fanned her and Susan carried snacks for whenever her cravings hit.

Daphne had long since lost much of her shame, at least inside of her wing the castle where males outside of her father were strictly forbidden. She was barefoot, wearing a loose fitting silk gown with her heavily pregnant belly completely exposed to the air.

“I can't believe you're going to have twins, my empress.” Susan said. Daphne had had to instill a little bit of proper decorum between them, now that she ruled, but they were still her friends.

Daphne smiled. “I couldn't be happier. You know, daddy and I are still coming up with names.”

The other girls shared looks. It was now an open secret that the Emperor was actually Daphne's legitimate father. There were many murmurs of the impropriety of it all. Some people talked about what a disgrace it was to hold such a wedding in the sacred halls of the Hagia Sophia.

But no one dared challenge the emperor. He had brought prosperity, banished the Saracens and was now using his holdings in Sicily to plot the completion of the age old dream, a dream that had seemed impossible after the days of Justinian: to stitch both halves of the empire back together. To fully revive Rome once more.

It was a ludicrous idea, and yet, they believed he could achieve it.

So what if he was in a sinful union with his daughter, or that he practiced bigamy by wedding both Daphne and Anastasia. So what if he clearly wasn't planning on stopping there.

It was futile to quote laws to men with swords. And Harry's sword was the mightiest of all.

They were on their way to the courtyard, ready to spend a morning basking in the late summer sun.

But as they rounded a corner, a hand tugged at Daphne.

Daphne's eyes widened as she looked over her shoulder.

Her father's eyes were glazed over with lust. It seemed that her pregnant body drove him wild. She thought he was going to spend the day with her mother, but clearly, he couldn't help himself.

“Daddy!” Daphne giggled nervously as she glanced at her maids.

“Its alright honey, I wont keep you for too long.” He said, pushing her up against a wall.

Daphne's eyes widened. “But daddy!” She once more looked over to her maids, who were standing in a line, hands clasped respectfully in front of them.

“Oh, don't fret about them.” Harry said as he pulled down the lower half of her dress, exposing her naked buttocks and her dripping slit. “This is nothing they haven't seen before.” He chuckled as he pulled out his monstrous cock.

Daphne shot the girls a questioning look, and the trio blushed profusely.

“The emperor sometimes requires relief, my queen.” Pansy said sheepishly.

Any reprimand from Daphne was stopped by the cock pushing into her pussy. The girl squealed, hands against the wall as her father fucked her from behind, right in the middle of the castle.

His cock was still too big for her, but she arched her back and wiggled her bum to take in as much of him as she could, to show her maids that while her father would use them, he needed her.

Harry's pelvis slapped against her ass. She was so much shorter than him, he had to angle himself forward to fuck her, keeping his hands at her hips and minding her heavily pregnant belly.

Not that he minded it on the other end. He fucked her with the same desperate need he always had, and as Daphne moaned in pure pleasure, Harry pushed deep into her and once more came with his cock pushing into her womb.

This time, her womb was occupied, and everyone witnessing this depraved scene shuddered at what must be happening, with Harry's own unborn daughters being drenched in their father's seed.

Harry pulled out of her, gave her a kiss on the forehead and moved on, leaving a loopy Daphne to now need even more of her maid's assitance to walk.

On the way down, she pried them for details, wanting to know exactly how many times her father-husband had used them for his own pleasure.

…

Ten years later

Anastasia walked slowly into the castle, being led along by one of Daphne's maids, Tracey if she recalled correctly. Tracey was heavily pregnant, surely with another of her husband's bastard daughters.

Not that Anastasia had any hostility towards the little creatures. They were loved and taken care of, and her lord husband made sure that they were loved. They were just lesser than her own daughters, of course.

She hated being away, but the business of state was never ending. She'd been in Sicily, where the administration of Italy now rested.

They were planning a war against the Holy Roman Emperor. It was a long time coming after they'd taken his holdings in Lombardy. They were also in the process of conquering the Frankish lands.

Her husband was about to set off on campaign, likely to be gone for a year as this was to be one of their largest waves of conquest yet. He wanted to commemorate the occasion, and Anastasia found herself quite excited.

“Mother, you've finally made it.” Daphne greeted her mother with a passionate kiss on the lips, which Anastasia happily returned.

Tracey bowed before walking away, leaving mother and daughter together.

“How are the girls, Daphne?”

“Quite excited.” Daphne giggled. “They've been waiting for this for quite some time.”

Anastasia took stock of her daughter. Daphne was without question the fairest lady in all of the lands. Anastasia could admit that her daughter had taken her own beauty and refined it. On top of that, over the years, with her taking an active role in governing and Daphne's only activities involving laying on her back and being stuffed with her father's cock, her daughter's breasts had grown plumper, rivalling even Rosmerta's, with her ass growing big and round. And yet, despite all of this, Daphne's waist was still the same perfect thinness expected of an empress.

She really was unfair sometimes.

“Come, daddy has been restless.”

They walked into the bedchamber, where they found out just how restless their husband had been.

“Ah, Anastasia, you're finally here.” Harry said from his place on the bed. He was laying against the headboard. The years had only added to his rugged appeal. His beard was now thicker, the scars on his body faded, his body carrying an added layer of pure muscle.

And his cock was still the same thick, bitch-breaking slab of succulent meat.

“Apologies, I couldn't help myself.” He chuckled.

Daphne and Anastasia rolled their eyes, knowing how insatiable their husband was.

Two heads of raven black hair were bobbing on his cock. Daphne's twin daughters, Ophelia and Astoria, black haired and blue eyed, were worshipping their father's cock.

This was far from the first time they'd done it, and it showed. Ophelia's small lips were wrapped around her father's crown, stretched to their limit as she swirled her tongue on his cumslot, greedily sucking up as much precum as she could manage.

Meanwhile Astoria had one of her tiny hands wrapped around his shaft. Well, not even both her hands put together could encircle her father's massive rod, but she was gripping it while she ran her small tongue up and down its veiny length.

These girls, who had felt their father's cum since they were in the womb, were hopelessly addicted to it. Addicted to his seed and his huge cock.

“I've missed you so, my dear husband.” Anastasia said as she made her way over to the bed, shedding her clothing as she joined her grandaughters, taking one of her husband's massive balls in her mouth and sucking it down her throat.

Harry sighed as he received this oral worship from his women. Daphne curled up next to him, content to just watch the proceedings.

Harry was too, for a time.

“”Enough.” Harry tugged both Ophelia and Astoria by their ponytails, pulling them away from his cock.

“Daddy!” Astoria protested in a bratty tone. Ophelia glared petulantly at her father, her lips dripping with his pre-cum.

“What a pair of entitled brats you two are.” Harry growled, though there was a hint of humor in his voice. “It's time to begin.”

To commemorate their future victory, Harry wanted to go big. He'd long taken his baby girl's virginities, he couldn't help himself when he spent every day around their young, precocious cunts.

So instead, they would celebrate in another way. He would impregnate all four of his royal women. Breed them all together, ensuring that their daughters would be the exact same age.

And that was how Harry found himself slamming his thick slab of meat into Astoria's tiny little fuckhole. His youngests were brats, who felt no shame in wantonly begging their father to fuck them until they were beyond cockdrunk.

Astoria yelped with happiness as her father thrust is cock repeatedly into her helpless little pussy. Her mother and grandmother were laying next to her, their cunts oozing father's seed as it was now her turn to be bred.

“Ophelia!” Her father warned. Astoria couldn't move her head to see, but she knew what her twin had done. Ophelia was riding their grandmother's face, and their grandmother was greedily slurping the cum from her tiny little pussy.

She wished she'd thought of that. Her father would be angry over her losing so much cum. He would snatch her up and rape her into the bed while he dropped another thick load into her womb. It would be deliciously brutal.

Oh well, she'd just have to make do with taking this pounding. Father knew that she could take it, so he spared her no mercy, he squeezed her neck tightly while he rutted into her, slamming each thick inch of his meat into her quivering little pussy with no regard for her safety.

Astoria's back arched, her body convulsing in orgasm while her father continued to pound her. Her lewd pussy juices were pooling under her bum as her father was fucking her with the single minded drive to breed her.

She would be filled with his seed, her belly would balloon up in a way that was no girl her age should ever experience. She was an incubator for her father's future queens, and she would be a horny pregnant girl.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as her vision darkened. Her father exploded inside of her, blasting her unprotected womb with thick reams of his powerful semen, filling her belly up with his seed.

Harry pulled out of her, and he made to grab Ophelia. The girl made a show out of trying to escape his grasp, but soon her father had her trapped in his arms, and a half-asleep Astoria watched on as her daddy bounced her bratty sister on his cock. When he sat Ophelia down on his cockmeat, halfway was as far as she could make it, there was a grotesque bulge at her belly, and Astoria wondered if that was what she looked.

Mother and grandmother were below them, lapping up at the combined juices that dripped out of her sister's puffy red quim.

Then, when her father gave one final push into her sister, Astoria's eyes widened in both amazement and jealousy as the bulge reappeared, deep in her sister's stomach, lewd proof of the fact that her daddy's cock had punched into her sister's womb.

Then, her father's cock heaved, and Astoria saw the entire process from bottom to top. The way his balls twitched powerfully, with one popping out of her mother's mouth, forcing the woman to desperately chase after it. The way the exposed part of his cock pulsed and somehow grew even larger.

But worst of all was the way her sister's belly seemed to balloon up as the bulge in her belly, the cockhead in her womb, filled her with copious amounts of incestuous seed.

Astoria looked on in ardent jealousy. She wanted her daddy to fill her womb directly! Why did Ophelia get to do it and not her?

She was already scheming on a way to make her daddy annoyed enough that he would force her down onto the bed and pound her until she passed out.

…

Harry returned from campaign with a smile on his face. There had been many achievements. While the war with the Germans had to be put on hold until the next year, they had been successful in taking over the Frankish kingdoms, and they had their sights set on Iberia, which had been taken over by a group of Saracens.

But most important of all, he had managed to wrap everything up in six months, which meant he could return home.

The first thing he saw when his horse rode in through the Theodosian wards were his four girls. They were clad in their finest dresses, smiling brightly as they stood at the front of the welcoming party. Anastasia, Daphne, Astoria and Ophelia, all four sporting heavily pregnant bellies.

It was good to be home.