Visit her bedroom

A few evenings after settling back into the palace routine, you dismissed your guards and slipped quietly into Abigail’s new, lavishly appointed chambers.

She was sitting by the vanity, brushing out her long hair. Seeing your reflection in the mirror, she laid the brush down and turned to face you, a soft, knowing smile playing on her lips.

"Good evening, My King," Abigail said, her voice a gentle purr. "To what do I owe the honor of a late-night visit? I had assumed your days were consumed by the lords of the council."

You closed the door behind you, locking it with a soft click. "The council can wait. I came to see how my new concubine is adjusting to her quarters."

Abigail walked toward you, stopping just inches away. She looked up at you, her eyes searching yours. "May I ask you a frank question, nephew? Why did you truly elevate me to this position? I had convinced myself you did it purely to protect my reputation and shield Edythe from the fallout of the court."

You reached out, your hand cupping her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin. "Protecting your reputation was certainly a convenient benefit," you murmured, leaning down slightly. "But do not mistake my intentions, Abigail. I made you my concubine because I want you in my bed. I want to continue what we started."

Abigail let out a soft, breathy laugh, her hands coming up to rest against your chest. "A remarkably honest king. Though, you should know, your mother is absolutely furious with you. The whispers have already reached her ears, and she is quite displeased that you have taken your own aunt as a concubine."

A cynical smile touched your lips as you wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her flush against your body. "My mother has very little room to lecture me on propriety. As Sir Trindon so crudely pointed out before we left, I have already tolerated her own fluid definitions of family and power within this court. She will get over it."

"And if she doesn't?" Abigail whispered, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck.

"Then she can complain to the walls," you replied, your voice dropping to a low growl. "Tonight, I am not the king, and you are not my aunt. We are exactly what we choose to be."

You silenced any further talk of politics or family tension by capturing her lips in a deep, burning kiss. The familiarity of her touch ignited the youthful desire that had been building since you entered the room. Without another word, you guided her toward the large, silk-draped bed, your hands eagerly working at the fastenings of her gown.

The shared danger and the thrill of your new arrangement added a sharp, intoxicating edge to the encounter. Stripped of her garments, Abigail met your embrace with a fierce, shameless hunger that rivaled your own. You moved over her, your body aligning with hers as she parted her thighs, her breathing shallow and hurried.

With a deep, heavy thrust, you buried yourself inside her. Abigail gasped, her eyes snapping open, locked onto yours as you established a powerful, unrelenting rhythm. The layers of pleasure built with agonizing intensity, the quiet of the room broken only by the synchronized gasps of your passion and the friction of skin against skin. Her legs wrapped tightly around your hips, pulling you deeper, urging you to lose all restraint.

Driven by the sheer intoxication of the moment, your self-control shattered. You gave up any thought of withdrawing, pressing her deep into the mattress as you climaxed, spilling your warm seed entirely within her.