A Simple Plan

“The plan is simple,” Mariana begins, her tone cool and measured as she strolls ahead of you through the garden paths. The gravel crunches softly beneath her feet, and the scent of blooming flowers fills the air, a stark contrast to the tension in her words. “Both Persephone’s birthday and her coronation will take place in exactly seven days. Conveniently, there’s an old Alecton law that comes into play on such occasions.”

She pauses, glancing over her shoulder to ensure she has your attention. Her steel-gray eyes gleam with a mix of mischief and determination, and you find yourself unable to look away.

“On the twelfth hour of her twenty-first year, any daughter of House Alecton must grant the wish of her most faithful subject.”

You furrow your brow, the implications of her words slowly sinking in. “She must grant it?”

Mariana nods, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Exactly. As long as the request is within her power, she has **** but to comply. Should she refuse, she’d be stripped of her name and titles. It’s an ancient tradition, meant to showcase the monarch’s devotion to those who serve them.”

“What sort of wishes are we talking about?” you ask, still grappling with the implications.

“Usually, it’s more of a formality,” Mariana explains with a dismissive wave. “For instance, our mother granted a large parcel of land and a minor title to a particularly loyal maid. It’s all arranged months—sometimes years—in advance to ensure the wish isn’t too burdensome.”

“So who—”

“Katarina!” Mariana blurts out, unable to contain her delight. “My sister is so impressed with Katarina’s loyalty that she’s gone ahead and named her as her most faithful subject.”

Your heart sinks as the pieces begin to fall into place. “And Katarina’s wish is…?”

“To have Persephone make you her husband,” Mariana declares, her grin wickedly triumphant.

“Husband?” you echo, the word catching in your throat.

“Of course,” she replies matter-of-factly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Did you think we’d allow some bastard daughter to inherit the throne? No, male. House Alecton needs a legitimate heir, one born of noble blood.”

You stammer, searching for words. “But… don’t I have a say in this?”

Mariana stops abruptly, turning to face you. Her expression hardens, and the playful gleam in her eyes is replaced with steel. “You will wed her, and then, as per our tradition, you will couple with Persephone in front of the lords and ladies of the realm. You will plant your seed in that icy womb of hers and secure the future of House Alecton.”

Her words hit you like a physical blow, and you struggle to comprehend the weight of what she’s proposing. “And if I refuse?”

The grin vanishes from Mariana’s face, replaced by a look of cold calculation. “Then that would be most unfortunate, male. Because should you refuse, I will personally see to it that you are sent to the pleasure tents alongside the rest of the men from the castle—where you should have been sent the moment Viola named you her consort.”

You stare at her in stunned silence as she presses on, her voice low and venomous. “There, I will make doubly sure that every single woman in the Alecton army has her way with you. If nothing else, it’ll be good for morale.”

She allows her words to hang in the air, their weight pressing down on you like a vice. Then, with an almost careless flick of her wrist, she turns and begins walking away.

You’re left rooted in place, torn between anger and **** admiration for her ruthlessness. Despite the threat, your eyes are involuntarily drawn to the sway of her hips, the curve of her heart-shaped rear as she vanishes down the garden path.

Collapsing back onto the bench, you bury your face in your hands. The gravity of the situation begins to sink in, and for the first time, the magnitude of what lies ahead feels overwhelming.

The fun and games are over.

It’s time to make a decision.