Recruiting the knight

As you sit upon the throne, the weight of your newfound power settling upon your shoulders, Briala's voice cuts through the silence of the grand hall. "Your Imperial Majesty," she says, her tone dripping with the subtle deference that only a spymaster such as herself could muster, "the next petitioner awaits your audience." She pauses, her eyes flicking towards the entrance of the hall, where a lone figure stands, clad in the worn and faded armor of a Chevalier. "The former Chevalier, Ser Michel de Chevin, has come seeking an audience with you, sire."

You gaze upon the former champion, your mind recalling the tales of his downfall.

Your gaze lingers on Ser Michel de Chevin, the former Chevalier's worn armor a testament to the hardships he has faced. The weight of his downfall is evident in the slump of his shoulders, the faint lines of defeat etched on his face. You recall the tales of his bravery, of the countless battles he fought in the name of Orlais, and the whispers of his subsequent fall from grace. Your mind is awhirl with questions, but you maintain a stoic demeanor, your expression unreadable behind the mask of imperial authority.

Briala's eyes flicker towards you, her gaze a subtle reminder of the power dynamics at play.

Your gaze lingers on Ser Michel de Chevin for a moment longer, before you nod curtly, the gesture a silent command for Briala to proceed. She inclines her head, the subtle movement a testament to her training, and steps aside, revealing the full extent of the former Chevalier's worn armor. The silence in the grand hall is oppressive, the weight of expectation hanging heavy in the air as Ser Michel de Chevin takes a hesitant step forward, his eyes fixed on the floor.

As he approaches, the soft clinking of his armor echoes through the hall, a stark reminder of the man's fallen status.

As Ser Michel de Chevin draws closer, the soft clinking of his armor grows louder, echoing off the cold stone walls of the grand hall. His eyes, downcast in shame, flicker towards the floor, and for a moment, you wonder if he will even dare to meet your gaze. The silence between you is oppressive, heavy with the weight of his fallen status and the unspoken questions that hang in the air.

Briala's eyes, however, remain fixed on the former Chevalier, her gaze piercing and unyielding.

As Ser Michel de Chevin comes to a halt before the throne, his eyes finally flicker up to meet yours. The weight of his downfall is evident in his gaze, the shame and guilt that has consumed him since his fall from grace. You maintain your stoic demeanor, your expression unreadable behind the mask of imperial authority.

"Ser Michel de Chevin," you begin, your voice resonating through the grand hall. "You have been summoned here today to be reinstated as a Chevalier of Orlais."

Ser Michel de Chevin's eyes widen in surprise, his gaze darting towards Briala, who remains impassive, her expression a mask of neutrality. The former Chevalier's eyes then return to yours, a spark of hope flickering to life within their depths. He takes a step forward, his movements hesitant, as if unsure of how to react to this unexpected turn of events.

"Your Imperial Majesty," he begins, his voice laced with a mix of gratitude and trepidation. "I...I do not know what to say. I had thought my honor lost forever, my name tarnished by my failure."

You regard him calmly, your expression unreadable.

You nod to Briala, who seems to leave the room.

As Ser Michel de Chevin stands before you, his eyes wide with disbelief, you cannot help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction. Here is a man who embodies the ideals of a Chevalier, a true warrior who has faced adversity and emerged stronger for it. You are pleased to have the opportunity to restore his honor, to give him a second chance to serve Orlais once more.

"You are the example of what a chevalier should be, my friend." you answer his unspoken question. "But if you are not sure, I have an incentive to give you for your return."

As you say this, Celene handmaidens removes Michel's armor. He is in his travelling clothes, curious about what's happening. He then turns, seeing Celene and Briala coming to him, hand in hand. Completly naked.

As you speak, you gesture to the handmaidens standing at attention beside the throne. They move in unison, their slender fingers weaving a soothing pattern on your skin as they begin to massage your shoulders and neck. The gentle pressure is a welcome respite from the weight of your newfound responsibilities, and you feel your muscles relax beneath their skilled touch.

Ser Michel de Chevin's eyes, however, remain fixed on the sight before him, his gaze darting between Celene and Briala as they approach him, hand in hand, their naked bodies glowing with a soft, golden light in the dimly lit hall. His face is a mask of confusion and desire, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and arousal.

As you watch the reaction of Ser Michel de Chevin, your gaze flickers towards Celene and Briala, who have now reached the former Chevalier. Celene's handmaidens, who had been massaging your shoulders, step back, their movements synchronized as they retreat to their positions at the side of the throne. The silence in the grand hall is deafening, the weight of the moment heavy on everyone present.

Celene's hand, soft and delicate, reaches out to touch Ser Michel de Chevin's cheek, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw as she gazes into his eyes.

As Celene's fingers dance across Ser Michel de Chevin's cheek, her eyes lock onto his, a spark of mischief igniting within their depths. Briala, standing beside her, regards the former Chevalier with an air of quiet curiosity, her gaze tracing the lines of his face as if searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

You, seated upon the Blowjob Throne, watch the scene unfold before you with a sense of detached interest, your mind working to unravel the threads of Ser Michel de Chevin's thoughts. The mental powers granted by the throne allow you to sense the turmoil brewing within him, a maelstrom of emotions that threaten to consume him whole.

Celene's hand continues to trace the line of Ser Michel de Chevin's jaw, her fingers lingering on his skin as she leans in closer to him. Briala, still standing beside her, reaches out to take hold of Michel's hand, her touch gentle and reassuring. The tension in the room is palpable, the weight of the moment heavy on all three of them.

"Enjoy your gift, my friend." you say "We can discuss this later."