To Morrigan, in the lower chambers of the palace.

You make haste with the necessary pleasantries, managing to fully dodge the Orlesian representative as you slip into the lower reaches of the Summer Place. If all went according to plan, you wouldn't have to worry about playing their ridiculous "game". Josephine would have called it unsportsmanlike but you refused to play fair with your power on the line.

As you descend you consider the state of things: the Throne's magic made you practically a sex god via normalizing your behavior and the behavior of those around you, working its way into their minds and giving you a shortcut tantamount to direct control. Thus far it had worked laughably well because so many genuinely saw you as Maker-blessed but what about when your seat of power was taken away? You might actually have to (gasp) show restraint when telling women to suck your dick. The humanity.

You come to a door, rapping a series of knocks and pauses before waiting impatiently for it to unlock. You barge in as soon as you feel the snap of a magic ward deactivating. The room is little more than a repurposed wine cellar, tiny by royal standards, a large bed taking up the majority of its floor space. It looks supremely out of place, especially with the occult markings that line the floor and walls of the room. You give it a once over, feeling its correctness thanks to the whispers of Mythal's priests in your head.

"Well?"

Morrigan gives you a scathing look, closing the door firmly from where you shoved her, "Tis' ready, though I loathe to see your undeserved power grow any further." You return her glare with interest, using the Throne's connection and your not inconsiderable will to dominate her. Long moments tick by, your eyes locked, before she finally drops to her knees and you present her with your cock. Her mind had grown slippery as of late and it was becoming a chore to subdue her. You'd never met anyone who could so directly resist the Throne's power, it made trusting her with this ritual particularly difficult.

As she bobs dutifully on your hardening shaft, you make an effort to scan every inch of the walls for any hint of treachery on her part. Nothing stands out to you but then again this kind of magic hadn't been performed in ages.

You intended to avoid losing your power by preemptively increasing it many times over. This ritual would extend your influence over all of Ferelden and Orlais, at least to some degree, allowing you to continue ruling the Inquisition and increasing your worship to the levels you deserved. That was the hope anyway. Morrigan had been preparing for this ritual for months at your behest and despite making a show of just arriving you had actually been here almost as long, looking over her shoulder.

You take a deep breath and sigh as Morrigan's skillful tongue soothed your nerves. If this ritual succeeded it would solve so many problems and give you so many boons. On a personal note: you'd been considering whether you should be thinking of securing your bloodline and siring an heir or five. The key aspect of the ritual involved inseminating the exemplar of the people you wished to influence. You didn't plan to do things halfway: you intended to impregnate Empress Celene and Queen Anora this very evening and spread your control over all those who considered themselves true Fereldens or Orlesians. The effect should last as long as your shared bloodline continued and you were going to make damn sure those kids were the most well protected royals in the history of Thedas.

After fantasizing about what the future held for long minutes, you regretfully pull free of Morrigan's lips. You had to save your seed for later.