royal harem

The throne room was bathed in golden light, the crimson velvet curtains fluttering in the breeze that carried the scent of jasmine and lust. The candidates for royal selection were lined up like pieces on a chessboard—each more proud than the last, each destined to fall.

Crusch Karsten was the first. Her posture was impeccable, her gaze sharp as the blade she carried at her waist. As she bowed, her emerald-green hair flowed over her shoulder like a silk curtain.

"We don't need formalities," I said, descending the steps from the throne. My footsteps echoed. "You are already *mine*."

My hands found her chin before she could react. Her golden eyes widened as my fingers traced the line of her jaw, then descended to her neck, where her racing pulse trembled beneath her skin.

"You—"

*TCHAK.*

The sound of the brooch on her cloak opening was as crisp as a finger snap. Her uniform slid from her shoulders, revealing the pale flesh and firm breasts she so carefully protected. Crusch tried to cover herself, but her hands froze in mid-air as my power enveloped her—a heat that penetrated her flesh and rewrote her mind.

"You are no longer *owner* Karsten," I murmured against her lips. "You are *property*. And property cannot be hidden."

Her body trembled as my hand slid between her legs, finding the moist warmth her pride would never admit. "Already wet," I chuckled softly. "Your body already knows the truth."

She moaned as two fingers penetrated her, her legs trembling like those of a young deer. "N-no... I never...!"

"You always wanted to."

It was then that Anastasia Hoshin laughed—a sharp, nervous sound. "What a pathetic spectacle," she said, playing with a strand of her honey-colored hair. "I would never—"

Elsa appeared behind her like a shadow, her blades crossed beneath the merchant's neck. "The master isn't finished."

Anastasia swallowed hard as I approached. Small, cunning, full of tricks—but none of them would save her now.

"You like to negotiate, don't you?" I murmured, pulling down the neckline of her dress until her small breasts were exposed. "Then make an offer."

Her eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't—"

My hand closed around her throat, not forcefully, but possessively. "Your *body* for your obedience. It's a good deal."

She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. "What if I refuse?"

It was then that Felt, now my loyal ****, stepped forward and sank her teeth into Anastasia's nipple. The candidate screamed, arching her back, but Elsa held her firmly.

"You don't refuse," Felt whispered, licking the blood that trickled down. "You *beg*."

Priscilla Barielle was next. She didn't even look at me, her nose held high with arrogance. "Don't waste my time with such vulgarities. I—"

*SLAP.*

The sound of my hand striking her cheek echoed through the room. Priscilla froze, her red eyes wide with shock.

"You talk too much," I said, grabbing her red hair and pulling until the nape of her neck cracked. "Let's see if that mouth is good for anything other than insolence."

When the woman knelt, her resistance lasted exactly three seconds before her lips parted for sheer need of air. Her pride burned in her eyes, but her body already obeyed—hot, moist, ****.

“You’ve always been like this,” I murmured, tugging at her hair until tears streamed down her face. “A spoiled princess who never learned her *true* place.”

She coughed as my hand tightened around her throat, but she didn’t resist. Her tongue slid along my length as if trained for it. Maybe it was. Maybe they all were.

The fourth candidate didn’t wait to be called.

Rem approached with silent steps, her black robes billowing like raven wings. Her violet eyes gleamed in the hall light, but there was no fear in them—only hunger.

“You already possess me,” she said, her voice a spine-chilling whisper. “Since the first night.”

I laughed. She was right.

My hand gripped her neck as I pushed her against the wall, her slender body arching under my touch. “Then why are you here?”

Her lips curved. “To watch.”

She groaned when my mouth met her neck, my teeth marking her skin like a signature. While Priscilla choked against my hip, Rem slid across my body like a shadow, her nimble hands undoing my clothes with the precision of someone who knows every seam.

"You want them all," she breathed against my skin. "But they'll never have *everything*."

Her tongue grazed against my abdomen before I grabbed her hair, forcing her to look up. "Careful, witch. Or you'll be the next to ****."

Her eyes darkened. "Promise?"

That's when the sound of breaking glass echoed through the room.

Ferris stood before the throne, his bottle And his favorite wine was splattered on the floor. His feline eyes gleamed with something between anger and excitement.

"You forgot to call *me*," he bellowed, his tail rising as he approached.

I smiled. "I was waiting for you to make up your mind."

He laughed—a sharp, wild sound—before leaping. His claws scratched my chest as we collided, his agile body coiling around me like a cat in heat.

"I decided *years* ago," he growled, his sharp teeth sinking into my shoulder.

As Priscilla swallowed, Rem arched, and Ferris bit, Crusch finally gave in—her mind broken, her body trembling. She crawled toward us, her mouth searching for any patch of skin she could touch.

"Please," she cried, her trembling hands gripping my thigh.

Felt laughed, licking his lips. "Too late to ask."

And then, like an eclipse consuming the sun, they all fell—not as victims, but as devotees.

And me?

I simply leaned back on the throne, watching as my harem consumed itself in fire and desire.

After all, a king never serves.

He *possesses*.