Give her a robe.

Your eyes feast on the beauty of a woman before, seeing what few being alive have seen. A beauty that is so profound that she was once considered a national treasure, and you feel a powerful urge to indulge in the pleasure of it. But to do so would be to just sate your lust and greed at the expense of a sweeter prize on the wedding night. No, you hold your kingly resolve and still not only your hands but also your cock. "My dear mother, the deed is done; you no longer possess anything of the Queen's. Now, my loyal mother, let your king present you a robe so you can begin your new life in dignity, head held up high comfortably."

You reach under your throne and pull out a spare servant's robe. The robe is there in case there's an emergency and you need to impersonate being a servant; you need to escape in the middle of a conflict, for example. However, your servants are being kept well-dressed, and the robe is of good quality. You gently wrap it around her body, thus covering your mother's modesty to the outside world.

Your mother, no longer the queen she was, bows deeply in reverence. However, the action causes the robe to hang loosely, giving you another view of her cleavage as she says, "Thank you, my king."

Touched by her humility, you kneel before her and place both hands on her head, gently forcing her to look you in the eyes, unintentionally allowing you to see straight down the front of her body, from her pink nipples all the way to her pussy. "Mother, as I said before, you are still my mother, and I only do and ask for what is needed for my country. So if you need anything in your new life, whether it is the smallest thing in the world or the world itself, I want you to ask your king for it."

She must have missed the second half of what you said, as she was staring at the bulge in your pants that was just a foot in front of her face now. "My king, may I ask a question freely?"

"Ask away,"

"What you did to me, and what you will do to me, is it really everything for the shake of the country?" your mother asks, her eyes fixed on the bulge in your pants,

You're not sure why your mother asked, but something comes to mind. Ius Primae Noctis, the right of the first night. Is she asking whether you will have sex with her on her wedding night?