Patience is the name of the game.

Despite last night's exercises, you are so energized by lustful thoughts for your daughter that you awaken early. Marissa murmurs as you rise but otherwise doesn't move. You're a little surprised, you've experienced her fiendish stamina first hand for nearly twenty years. This is the first time you've sprung back first.

You're more than a little prideful, though you know it's probably a fluke. You haven't felt this spritely in years!

It's all you can do to curb your lust on your walk about the castle. The wisdom of age tells you that going straight to your daughter before you have a chance to reign yourself in is a recipe for disaster. You had to approach this as a proper seduction, even if you were ready to ravish Anna right here and now, she'd take some convincing.

The following days pass in painfully slow fashion. True to your plan, your initial contact with Anna is filled with purely paternal affection. Anna relishes the attention you shower on her and the two of you grow closer in short order. She has always been a bit of a daddies girl, you aren't sure if it's because she's half-succubus or if it's just because she's your daughter but it's nearly impossible to say no to her. While your lust simmers and yearns for fulfillment, your more platonic fatherly desires are quite satisfied. The two are pleasantly in synch when you embrace your daughter, gradually acting less and less to conceal your hardness. You get a surprised squeak from her one day but she doesn't comment or avoid you afterwards. Her blush puts an extra spring in your step for days. Even your court picks up your good humor, much to your irritation. You're getting more requests than ever and are correspondingly busy. Between acclimating Anna to your attentions and keeping your courtier's in line, you don't have a spare moment. You catch glimpses of your wife as you go about your duties, never far from Donmal, circling like a shark. Your son, to his credit, seems suitably confused as his mothers typical flirtatious attitude escalates into something else. At least, at first.

You walk in on them one day, Marissa's arms draped over Donmal's shoulders, her back arched against him in a very unmotherly way. The flush across your sons face isn't shared by your wife so you figure she probably hasn't done anything to titillate herself before your interruption. Good. You were worried at the frightful progress she must be making without any kingly duties to attend to.

Donmal jumps back, wearing an uncharacteristically poor poker face, "Father! How go the affairs of court?"

Marissa rolls her eyes, turning to you with a wicked smile. Hm... you weren't going to make this easy for her. She'd gotten this far with only Donmal's morality to hamper her, which was barely worth mentioning in the face of her succubian charms and Donmal's youthful urges.

You narrow your eyes, glancing between the two of them, "As well as they ever do. Are you well Donmal? You look rather pale." He pales further and Marissa's smirk falters, defaulting to a look of confusion as you stride slowly and confidently to the window, surveying your domain.

"You two aren't plotting against me are you?" The question is usually a lighthearted inside joke among your family but you ensure that your voice is hard when you ask it.

"W-what? N-"

"Always dear husband, it's really a miracle you're still alive." Your wife's measured response is her usual one but Donmal's rushed denial was as incriminating as they come. He smiles a little too brightly at his mothers response. You don't smile back.

You let the silence stretch for a long moment before giving your court smile: bright enough to fool the peasants but not reaching your eyes, "Of course dear, how could I forget." You clap a hand on your sons shoulder, your grip hard, "I suppose I just expected better from Donmal." You slip a wink to your wife from behind your sons back and her eyes narrow malevolently. 20 years ago you'd be scared. Hell, 10 years ago you'd be scared. Instead your smile becomes a genuine grin for just a moment before you wipe it off your face.

"A word to the wise, son: make sure you're a little more discrete next time you're spending time with a man's wife. He could get the wrong idea." You step to the door, calling back over your shoulder at your shellshocked son and the seething demon in disguise, "I'll expect you in court son, since you've shown such interest in its affairs."