The plan in action.

"King Edward!" Sigrun exclaims, answering her door. "To what do I owe this honour?"

The animal keeper receives you at her quarters, just off the menagerie. They're far smaller than yours, Kara's or Donald's, as is to be expected, but comfortable, and for her station, rather luxurious.

“No real occasion.” you tell her. “I just thought I'd check up on you, hopefully Madeleine hasn't punished you for what transpired the other day.”

Sigrun snickers at the very thought of it.

“The princess has been nothing but cordial to me. To tell the truth, I think she enjoyed what you did to her.” the exotic-featured noblewoman tells you.

“What we did to her.” you correct her, eliciting a nod. “I also came by to give you this.”

Lifting your good hand, you show Sigrun a bottle of red liquid.

“Is that what I think it is?” the half-Deanian asks.

“Pyment.” you nod, offering Sigrun the grape mead. “When I heard of it, the Deanian drink made from a fruit that can't usually grow there, I thought of you, had to buy it.”

Or send one of your servants off to acquire a bottle, but you kept that part to yourself.

“It's long been a favourite of mine. But it's so rare, you can hardly ever find any of the stuff, even in a city like Copieux.” Sigrun tells you. “Would you... like to come inside? I can show you what you've been missing out on.”

“That would be lovely, Sigrun.” you respond, following the animal-keeper inside.

-

“You need to get close to this Sigrun, the keeper of Pierre's menagerie.” Corinne tells you. “There are alchemical ingredients that can terminate a pregnancy with little fuss. Chances are, several of these are to be found amongst the menagerie's stock.”

“So you want me to what? Pinch her keys?”

“Just so, cousin. Chances are also good Sigrun will have a spare set of keys in her quarters. You get those, leave them somewhere for me, and smuggle them back, I can take care of everything else.”

-

Sigrun eagerly pours out two measures of your gift, handing you yours before taking a sip. The brown-skinned lady closes her eyes, sighing in contentment as she savours the taste of the pyment.

“I don't remember a lot about Dean. And precious little fondly. But this, well, there's one thing those crazed barbarians can do right.” Sigrun remarks.

You sample your own cup. Both a little sugary and strong for your taste, an unusual combination, but it is far from unpleasant.

“Would you ever venture back?” you ask. Sigrun shakes her head.

“I've no particular desire to. This kingdom is my home, has been nearly as long as I can remember. Besides, my father giving up his longship for a continental lordship, there are many in Dean who would hold a grudge about such a thing.”

“Well Dean's loss is Sinnabarrow's gain.” you tell her.

“You're such a flatterer, Your Majesty! Though it's far from unwelcome.” the animal keeper smiles, her eyes flitting to the ground.

“Would you... care for another drink?” she asks. You're only too happy to oblige.

-

Sigrun's lips are on yours, the sweet, almost flowery scent of the pyment heavy on her breath. The half-Deanian stumbles back towards her bed, tearing at your tunic.

In the end, you and Sigrun had drained most of the bottle in one sitting. You thought it prudent to dull her usually sharp senses as much as possible.

As you drank, you had plied the beast-mistress with equally honeyed words, and within half an hour had her purring like a kitten, inviting you to bed down with her.

Reaching the bed, Sigrun pushes you back, deftly stripping off. As you haltingly do the same, Sigrun lies back on the bed, making a show of her beautiful brown body to you, opening her legs invitingly.

“By the gods.” you remark. “I knew I couldn't leave the kingdom without seeing this again. Putting Madeleine in her place was fun and all, but we didn't spend nearly enough time together.”

“A mistake we've ample time to correct, Edward.” Sigrun says, biting her lip.

Deciding to waste no further time, you take your cock in hand and clamber atop Sigrun, guiding yourself to her petals.

As you start to fuck her, Sigrun places one hand on your back for support, while the other trails down the length of your body.

“Faster, my King!” Sigrun says eagerly, smacking you hard on the arse. Her action is tactless, and impudent, but given the wonderful feeling of her inner walls around your cock, you're inclined to indulge her a little.

You pick up the pace, kissing the half-Deanian as you do. She's different from most of the ladies you've lain with in appearance, but no less alluring, in her own way. On the other hand, after laying with demons, your own kin at that, a little difference in pigmentation or culture hardly seemed noteworthy.

Having just smacked your arse cheek, Sigrun rests on of her hands on your flank now, giving you a little hands on encouragement whenever you flag. She's a exuberant lover, with quite decent stamina, at least when Madeleine is not directing her actions. That all suits you fine, however. Many was the night you'd worn out noble ladies eager to win your favour, pretty serving wenches, even the odd seasoned prostitute.

Though you wagered none of your previous partners had ever tamed a lion, or stared down a minotaur. Primal beings were Sigrun's livelihood, so it was hardly a surprise she excelled in that state of being herself.

She feels so good that you have to call on all your willpower, your fortitude, even a little of your demonic appetite, just to last long enough to bring her to climax. But climax Sigrun does, one hand stroking your back, the other wound into your dark hair.

When you feel the need for release coming, you pull out. Impregnating one such as Sigrun might've been harmless, at least compared to Madeleine or Camille, but you were in no mood for any such concerns, given the events of the past day.

Propping herself up on the down mattress, Sigrun watches on in perverse anticipation, as your wrap your fingers around your cock and begin stroking, bringing yourself to a well-earned release all over her. Your seed rains down, the potent white globules painting Sigrun's wheat-coloured skin. You spurt again and again, arcing your semen onto her thighs, her sex, her tight stomach.

“Oh, Edward.” Sigrun keens. “That was...”

“A good start, aye.” you smirk, before lunging forward, taking her in your arms once more and kissing her.

-

After several more bouts of lovemaking, you and Sigrun relent to your mutual exhaustion, sinking into her bed together.

You hold her, the fingers of your good hand idly tracing her torso, and wait for the inevitable.

Between the drink, the fucking, and the fact Sigrun undoubtedly has to exert herself more daily than you, a king, it isn't long before the half-Deanian dozes off, her frame draped against yours.

It's a bit of a challenge, extricating yourself from her without rousing her, but you just about manage. Padding across the room, you find your knees, rifling through your tunic's pockets until you find what you were seeking.

Lady Alanna had given you the enchanted sleeping mask some months ago, but given the company you kept, you'd rarely had cause to use it. Until now.

Returning to the bed, you gingerly place the length of magical black silk over her eyes. Restful sleep, the kind little more than a full-**** slap to the face could rouse her from, was now provided, giving you ample time to search for her spare keys.

After a good half an hour, anxiously glancing back at Sigrun every few minutes, only to be reassured by a glimpse of her slumbering form, you find the animal-keeper's hiding spot. The Spider's instincts prove to be correct, and amongst her effects are a bunch of keys.

Dressing, you slip out of Sigrun's quarters, travelling nonchalantly down the corridor a brief spell, you alight at the agreed-upon window, open it, and leave the keys on the sill.

-

“Spider, it's done.” you say, having just summoned Corinne's visage with your ring.

This time you're presented not with your cousin's face, pale skin, wild eyes and all, but her silvery, arachnid mask. She's in motion, scaling the cliff face on which the palace rests. The view of the buildings of Copieux far below her, even seen second-hand and blurry through the magical projection, gives you a feeling of vertigo.

“That's good news, cousin.” Corinne remarks, pausing in her ascent to respond to you. Her tone is oddly neutral, despite the fact she's climbing an almost sheer cliff face, in the dark, about to infiltrate the seat of power of a rival kingdom. You attribute her confidence to her demonic heritage. That, or the absolute mindfuck of an upbringing Arvha must've given her to mould her into the weapon she was today.

“You just relax. I'll be in, do what must be done, and away before anyone notices.” Corinne assures you.