"Takeshi." The name hung in the air like a ghost.
Damien stared at Lady Rosalind—at *Yuki*—his mind struggling to process. They were alone in the prince's guest chambers, the afternoon sun casting long shadows through silk curtains. Outside, the palace still buzzed with gossip about the queen's "episode" during morning court.
"Prove it," he said finally. "Anyone could have learned that name."
Rosalind's smile was achingly familiar despite the beautiful face. "June 15th, three years ago. You made Mrs. Tanaka from 3B wear her daughter's school uniform while her husband was at work. You told me every detail over beer and yakitori. You said the best part wasn't the sex—it was making her call you 'sensei' while she sucked your cock."
Only Yuki knew that story. Only Yuki knew his specific brand of degeneracy.
"Fuck." Damien sat heavily on the bed. "You're really here."
"Same truck, same night." She moved closer, expensive perfume replacing the memory of cigarettes and cheap cologne. "I was literally right behind you, reading the same fucking comic on my phone. Truck-kun got a two-for-one special."
"And you became..." He gestured at her body.
"Lady Rosalind of House Dewitt. Virgin princess bride, innocent flower of the Eastern provinces." She laughed. "The irony almost killed me. Do you know how hard it's been playing pure maiden when all I wanted was to find someone—anyone—who'd properly debauch me?"
"Why didn't you find me sooner?"
"I tried! But 'Damien the loyal bodyguard' never visited brothels, never showed interest in women. I thought maybe you'd transmigrated into a eunuch." She sat beside him, thigh touching his. "Then I heard about the queen's interesting behavior..."
A knock interrupted. "Sir Damien? Her Majesty requests your presence."
They exchanged looks. The queen hadn't been stable when Damien escorted her from the throne room.
"We're not done talking," Damien said.
"Obviously. We have a kingdom to corrupt, and now we can do it properly." Rosalind straightened her dress. "Go handle your queen. I'll start working on the noble wives who witnessed her performance. Plant seeds of curiosity."
"Just like old times?"
"Better. We have magic now."
---
Queen Seraphina's chambers were in chaos. Broken glass littered the floor. Curtains hung torn. The queen herself sat at her vanity, still wearing the vibrating crown, staring at her reflection with empty eyes.
"Your Majesty?"
"They all saw." Her voice was hollow. "Lady Catherine, Duchess Miranda, even that prudish Countess Elmore. They saw their queen cum like a whore in front of everyone."
Damien approached carefully. "And?"
"And I can't stop thinking about it." She turned, and he saw fresh wetness on her thighs. "What's wrong with me? I should be mortified. I should be planning damage control. Instead..."
"Instead, you're wet."
"Yes!" The word came out as a sob. "I've been touching myself for an hour, remembering their faces. The shock. The judgment. The... the arousal in some of their eyes."
Damien knelt beside her, running a hand up her thigh. "You loved it. Being exposed. Being seen for what you really are."
"I'm the queen—"
"You're my whore. And now everyone suspects it." He activated the crown's lowest setting, watching her shudder. "Tell me what you really want."
"I want..." She bit her lip. "I want them to know. All of them. I want them to see me serve you."
"Careful what you wish for." He stood, pulling out his cock. "But first, you're going to practice. The king returns in three days. You need to perfect your act."
"What act?"
"The loving wife, of course. Get on your knees and show me how you'll greet your husband."
She dropped immediately, taking him deep. But her technique was all wrong—too eager, too skilled, too obviously practiced on his cock specifically.
"No. Like you haven't had proper cock in months. Hesitant. Rusty." He gripped her hair. "Again."
For the next hour, he trained her to fake innocence while her body betrayed experience. It was delicious torture—making her pretend to be the faithful queen while her pussy dripped with need.
"Better," he finally admitted. "Now for your real task. Tomorrow, you'll host tea with the ladies who saw your display."
"I can't! They'll—"
"They'll be curious. Some disgusted, some intrigued. You'll find out which." He pulled her up, bent her over the vanity. "You'll plant the seeds of corruption in your social circle."
"How?" She gasped as he entered her.
"By being subtly different. A comment about the crown being 'therapeutic.' A mention of new Eastern relaxation techniques. Let them wonder." He fucked her slowly, making her watch herself in the mirror. "Some will approach you privately. Those are our next targets."
"Our?"
"Lady Rosalind will be helping. Turns out we have... history."
The queen's eyes widened with jealousy. "That little virgin bitch—"
"Is far from virgin and far from competition." He increased his pace. "She's a tool, like you. But a useful one."
The door opened without warning. General Marcus stood there, hand on his sword.
"I knew it," he growled.
Damien didn't stop fucking the queen. If anything, he went harder, making her moan despite the situation.
"General. No knock?"
"You dare—" Marcus stepped forward but froze as Damien pulled a knife, holding it to the queen's throat while still thrusting.
"I dare everything. The question is: what will you do?" Damien's voice was calm. "Attack me and she dies. Call guards and her reputation dies. So many deaths, General. Which do you choose?"
"Please, Marcus," the queen whimpered, though she was pushing back against Damien's thrusts. "Just go."
"Seraphina..." The general's face twisted with anguish. "How could you? With him? After what we—"
"What you had is over." Damien pulled out, spun the queen around, lifted her onto the vanity. "She belongs to me now. But don't worry—I'm not selfish. Perhaps your wife would enjoy similar attention?"
"You wouldn't—"
"Lady Margaret, isn't it? Married twenty years? I bet she's forgotten what good cock feels like." He resumed fucking the queen, maintaining eye contact with Marcus. "Maybe I'll remind her."
Marcus drew his sword halfway. "I'll kill you."
"No, you won't." The queen's voice was stronger now. "Because if you do, I'll tell everyone about us. About Adrian. About who his real father is."
The general went white. "You wouldn't."
"She would," Damien confirmed. "Amazing what women will do when properly motivated. Now leave. And Marcus? If you interfere again, you won't just lose your position. You'll lose everything."
Marcus stood frozen, watching his former lover get thoroughly fucked by another man. The queen's moans grew louder, performed specifically for him.
"I said leave!"
The general fled, slamming the door.
"That was cruel," the queen panted.
"That was necessary." Damien flipped her over, taking her from behind. "He'll be careful now. Too much to lose."
"And if he doesn't stay quiet?"
"Then Lady Margaret learns what you've learned. That proper women are just whores waiting for permission."
He fucked her to three more orgasms, each time making her practice her "innocent wife" act between them. By the end, she could switch between cum-drunk whore and dignified queen in seconds.
"Tomorrow's tea party," he reminded her as he dressed. "Three o'clock. Rosalind will attend as the prince's fiancée. Follow her lead."
"I still don't trust her."
"You don't need to. You just need to obey." He headed for the door, paused. "Oh, and Seraphina? Wear the crown. Let them wonder why you can't take it off."
---
That evening, Damien met Rosalind in the palace gardens. They'd chosen a secluded spot near the fountain, the water masking their conversation.
"So," she said, producing a flask of sake from somewhere. "How's the queen?"
"Broken and rebuilt. Ready to spread corruption." He took a drink, tasting home. "How'd you even get this?"
"I have my ways. Being a noble lady opens certain doors." She studied him. "This is weird, right? Being here, being these people?"
"Everything about this is weird. But fuck if it isn't fun."
"More fun than our old lives." She took the flask back. "Remember that plan we had? If we ever won the lottery?"
"Buy an island, fill it with desperate women, live like kings?" Damien laughed. "This is better. A whole kingdom to corrupt instead of an island."
"And we're just getting started." Rosalind's eyes gleamed. "I've been doing research. There are five neighboring kingdoms, all with royal families. All with bored wives and sheltered princesses."
"Thinking big?"
"Why not? We're in a fucking isekai hentai. Might as well aim for the harem ending."
They spent the next hour planning, like old times. Which nobles to target, which servants could be turned into spies, how to handle the king's return. It was surreal and perfect—his best friend, his partner in crime, here in this world of endless possibilities.
"There's one problem," Rosalind finally said. "The prince. My supposed fiancé. He's actually sweet. Naive as fuck, but genuinely good."
"So?"
"So do we corrupt him or work around him?"
Damien considered. "Both. You keep him distracted and slowly introduce ideas. I'll handle the direct corruption around him."
"And when he catches on?"
"By then, it'll be too late. His mother, his fiancée, his entire court—all ours." Damien smiled. "He'll either join or break. Either works."
"Cold. I like it." She stood, brushing off her dress. "Tomorrow's tea should be interesting. I've already had Lady Catherine approach me about 'Eastern customs.' She was definitely fishing about the queen's behavior."
"Perfect. Plant the idea that it's some new treatment for stress."
"Already did. Also hinted that it involves special massage techniques." Her grin was wicked. "Amazing how 'massage' can mean so many things."
As she turned to leave, Damien caught her hand. "Yuki... Rosalind. It's good to have you here."
"Sentimental? That's new." But she squeezed back. "Yeah, it's good. Now let's corrupt this fucking kingdom properly."
After she left, Damien stayed by the fountain, planning. Tomorrow would begin the next phase—spreading the corruption beyond just the queen. But tonight...
Tonight he had a general's wife to visit.
Lady Margaret lived in the noble quarter, her husband staying at the barracks since his confrontation with the queen. Damien slipped through her garden, picked the lock, entered her chambers silent as shadow.
She was brushing her hair for bed, still beautiful at forty. When she saw him in the mirror, she gasped but didn't scream.
"Sir Damien? What are you—"
"Your husband tried to interfere with palace security today." He moved closer. "I'm here to discuss compensation."
"I don't understand."
"Then let me be clear." He took the brush from her hands. "Your husband has been fucking the queen for years. Now he's upset that someone else claimed her. His jealousy is becoming problematic."
Margaret's face went through several emotions—shock, hurt, anger. "Marcus and the queen?"
"Every Tuesday while you attended charity meetings." Damien began brushing her hair, an oddly intimate gesture. "He'd tell you he was reviewing troops. Really, he was reviewing her majesty's ass."
"You're lying."
"Am I? When was the last time he touched you, Margaret? When did he last make you feel desired?"
Her silence was answer enough.
"I thought so." He set down the brush, hands moving to her shoulders. "Beautiful woman like you, ignored for years. It's criminal."
"What do you want?"
"I want you to understand that your husband's actions have consequences. And I want to offer you something he never could."
"Which is?"
He leaned down, breath hot against her ear. "Revenge. Pleasure. The chance to feel alive again."
She shivered. "I'm a married woman."
"So is the queen. Didn't stop her from cumming on my cock while your husband watched."
The crude words made her gasp. "He... watched?"
"Walked in on us today. Saw everything. How she begged, how she came, how she chose me over him." His hands slid down her arms. "Don't you want him to know that feeling? To understand what it's like to be betrayed?"
"I... I shouldn't..."
"But you want to." He could feel her pulse racing. "Twenty years of loyalty while he fucked other women. Don't you deserve something for yourself?"
She turned in her chair, looking up at him. "Would he know?"
"Only if you want him to." Damien cupped her face. "I can be your secret. Or I can make sure he knows exactly what he lost. Your choice."
Margaret made her decision. She stood, kissed him with two decades of frustration.
By morning, she'd made her choice about Marcus knowing too. The nail marks on Damien's back, the bite on his shoulder, the way she screamed his name—her husband would see the evidence and know exactly what he'd lost.
The corruption was spreading. And tomorrow, it would accelerate.