He does

Briala, her white masque and headdress the only adornments on her otherwise naked body, kneels before Ser Michel de Chevin. Her movements are fluid and graceful, like a predator stalking its prey. She reaches up, her fingers trembling slightly as they undo the laces of his pants. Her eyes never leave his face, watching for any sign of resistance or fear. But there is none. Instead, Michel's gaze is locked onto Celene, who has now pressed her body against his, her lips brushing against his neck as she whispers words of encouragement into his ear.

As Briala's fingers brush against the skin of Ser Michel de Chevin's abdomen, a shiver runs down his spine, his eyes fluttering closed in anticipation. Celene's lips continue to dance across his neck, her warm breath sending shivers down his spine. The air in the grand hall is heavy with tension, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric and the quiet gasps of the participants.

Briala's hands move with a deliberate slowness, her fingers tracing the contours of Ser Michel de Chevin's body as she frees him from his clothing. Her touch is gentle, yet possessive, as if claiming him for her own.

Briala's fingers reach the waistband of Ser Michel de Chevin's pants, and she pauses for a moment, her eyes still locked onto his face. She can feel the tension in his body, the way he is holding himself rigidly, trying to maintain control. She smiles, her lips curling up in a slow, sensual smile, and then she pulls the pants down, revealing his arousal.

Celene's lips continue to move against Ser Michel de Chevin's neck, her hands roaming over his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles.

Briala's fingers brush against the skin of Ser Michel de Chevin's abdomen, a shiver runs down his spine, his eyes fluttering closed in anticipation. Celene's lips continue to dance across his neck, her warm breath sending shivers down his spine. The air in the grand hall is heavy with tension, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric and the quiet gasps of the participants.

Briala's lips close around Ser Michel de Chevin's arousal, her head bobbing gently as she takes him in. Her eyes never leave his face, watching for any sign of discomfort or displeasure. But there is none. Instead, Michel's gaze is locked onto Celene, who has now pressed her body fully against his, her lips brushing against his as she deepens their kiss.

Celene's hands roam over Ser Michel de Chevin's chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles as she explores his body.

As Briala's lips close around Ser Michel de Chevin's arousal, her head bobbing gently as she takes him in, Celene's fingers continue to trace the lines of his chest, her touch feather-light as she explores the contours of his muscles. Ser Michel de Chevin's breath hitches in his throat, his eyes fluttering closed as he succumbs to the sensation of Briala's mouth on him.

Celene's lips continue to move against his, her hands roaming over his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles as she explores his body.

"You deserve this, My Champion." Celene says "And you can have more. Anything you want."

As she say this, she kneels with her lover, licking the knight's balls.

Briala's head continues to bob gently as she takes Ser Michel de Chevin in, her hands gripping his hips as she guides him deeper into her mouth. Celene's lips continue to move against his, her hands roaming over his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles as she explores his body.

Gaspard watches the scene unfold before him, his eyes taking in every detail. He can see the tension in Ser Michel de Chevin's body, the way he is holding himself rigidly, trying to maintain control.

Gaspard's eyes never leave the scene before him, watching as Briala's head continues to bob gently as she takes Ser Michel de Chevin in, her hands gripping his hips as she guides him deeper into her mouth. Celene's lips continue to move against his, her hands roaming over his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles as she explores his body.

Gaspard can see the tension in Ser Michel de Chevin's body, the way he is holding himself rigidly, trying to maintain control.

As the pleasure builds, Ser Michel de Chevin's hands rise, his fingers tangling in the hair of the two women. His palms cradle the backs of their heads, gently guiding them as they continue their ministrations. Briala's head bobs faster, her mouth working in time with Celene's lips as they dance across his skin. Celene's eyes flicker open, her gaze meeting Ser Michel's as he watches her, his pupils dilated with desire.

Celene's lips curve into a smile, her tongue darting out to tease Ser Michel's skin as Briala's mouth continues to work its magic.

As Ser Michel de Chevin's fingers tangle in the hair of the two women, his eyes lock onto Celene's, the intensity of his gaze palpable. Celene's smile widens, her lips curving upward as she teases his skin with her tongue. Briala's head bobs faster, her mouth working in perfect sync with Celene's lips, the two women creating a symphony of pleasure that threatens to consume Ser Michel.

Gaspard's eyes narrow, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before him. He can see the tension building in Ser Michel's body, the way his muscles ripple beneath his skin as he struggles to maintain control.

Gaspard's knuckles whitened around the Blowjob Throne's gilded armrests as psychic tendrils slithered through the musk-heavy air. The throne's power pulsed through his veins like molten lyrium, amplifying every choked gasp and slick sound of flesh meeting flesh. Celene's pearlescent fingernails raked down Michel's quivering abdomen while Briala's pointed ears flushed crimson with exertion, her throat working rhythmically around the Chevalier's girth. Through the throne's prism, Gaspard tasted the knight's conflicted ecstasy - shame and duty warring with base hunger as imperial lips worshipped his mortal flesh. A smirk twisted Gaspard's beard when Michel's hips jerked involuntarily, the man's honor crumbling like wet parchment beneath practiced tongues.

Thick ropes of seed painted imperial cheekbones and elven lashes. Celene's laughter rang crystalline between choked gasps, her tongue darting to catch a pearlescent droplet, while Briala's shuddering inhale drew the musk deep. Through the relic's haze, Gaspard felt Michel's shame burn hotter than his release - a sweet vintage to savor. "Well earned, Chevalier," he rumbled, the throne amplifying his voice into a physical caress across sweat-slicked skin. "Now behold your true liege."

Michel's knees struck marble with a crack that echoed through the throne's psychic web, his seed still glistening on Celene's smirking lips as compulsion threads pulled him taut. "By blood and blade," he rasped, the oath torn from him by relic-forged chains, "I live... to serve Orlais' true emperor." Gaspard's will flowed through Briala's tongue as she licked Michel's spent length clean - a living sigil of submission - while Celene's teeth marked the knight's shoulder with crescents that bloomed like heraldic lilies.