The royal procession appeared on the horizon at noon, banners fluttering in the wind like prayers. Queen Seraphina stood on the palace's highest balcony, crown humming at its lowest setting—just enough to keep her wet, not enough to satisfy.
"Smile," Damien murmured from his position behind Prince Adrian. "Your loving husband approaches."
She forced her lips upward, waving to the crowds below. The noble wives stood with her—Catherine, Miranda, Margaret, Elmore—each wearing the special jewelry Rosalind had provided. Subtle vibrating gems that pulsed with their heartbeats, keeping them constantly aware of their new nature.
"Mother, you look radiant," Adrian said innocently. "Father will be so pleased."
If only he knew. His mother's "radiance" came from being fucked to exhaustion, then edged all morning. The crown hadn't been removed in days. Her pussy lips were swollen, constantly dripping, hidden only by the heavy ceremonial robes.
"There," Rosalind pointed, playing the excited fiancée. "His Majesty's carriage!"
The golden carriage rolled through the gates, and Seraphina's breath caught. Not at the sight of her husband—but at the figure riding beside him.
Princess Celeste had become High Inquisitor Celeste. Where once stood a wild princess now sat a vision in white and gold, radiating holy authority. Her beauty had matured into something devastating, and her eyes...
Her eyes found the queen immediately, knowing and cold.
"Steady," Damien whispered. "Remember your role."
The welcoming ceremony unfolded like a dream. King Aldric dismounted—older, scarred from battle, still commanding. He climbed the steps as the crowd cheered, his queen descending to meet him.
"My beloved," Seraphina said, curtseying deeply.
"My queen." He pulled her up, studied her face. "You seem... different."
Her heart hammered. The crown pulsed. Between her legs, Damien's cum from this morning's session threatened to leak. "The months without you have been difficult, Your Majesty. But I've endured."
"Have you?" His eyes were sharp, searching. Then he kissed her—possessive, public, marking his territory.
She kissed back, using every technique Damien had taught her before remembering to be clumsy, to act like a wife who hadn't been properly kissed in months. The deliberate awkwardness satisfied him.
"We have much to discuss," he said, arm around her waist. "But first, allow me to present my sister, returned to us by God's grace."
Celeste glided forward, an angel in human form. "Your Majesty," she said, voice honey-sweet. "It's been too long."
"Celeste." The name came out strangled. "We thought you were..."
"Dead? No. Transformed. The Tower of Penitence became my chrysalis. I emerged purified, devoted to cleansing corruption wherever it hides." Her smile was razor-sharp. "I look forward to reacquainting myself with court life."
The threat was clear. Seraphina felt the noble wives tense behind her, their jewelry pulsing faster with anxiety.
"Come," the king commanded. "The feast awaits."
---
The great hall overflowed with celebration. Damien stood at his post, watching everything while Rosalind played the perfect bride-to-be at the prince's side. The corrupted wives sat with their husbands, each fighting to appear normal while their bodies betrayed them.
Miranda squirmed constantly, the jeweled choker around her throat vibrating against her pulse. Her elderly husband asked twice if she was well. Each time she blamed excitement over the king's return.
Margaret sat rigid, fighting the anal plug Rosalind had insisted she wear—a reminder of her new status. Every shift sent shocks through her system. General Marcus, broken and suspicious, watched her with dead eyes.
Catherine appeared composed, but Damien knew the truth. The nipple piercings hidden beneath her gown were connected to the same network as the crown. Every time Seraphina felt pleasure, Catherine felt an echo.
And Countess Elmore... the former prude had a vibrating egg inside her virgin-tight pussy, controlled by a ring on Miranda's finger. The two women had discovered a mutual interest during the bath massacre.
"A toast!" King Aldric stood, goblet raised. "To coming home! To victory! To my faithful queen who held the kingdom in my absence!"
"To the queen!" The hall echoed.
Seraphina drank deeply, using the wine to mask her gasps as the crown suddenly intensified. Damien was playing with the control, testing her limits.
"Tell me," the king continued, sitting back down, "what occupied your time while I was gone? You seem to have developed new... interests."
"Whatever do you mean?"
He gestured to her crown. "That's new. And you wear it constantly—the servants mentioned you even sleep in it."
"It's... therapeutic." She chose her words carefully. "The weight helps with the headaches I've developed. Stress from your absence."
"Hmm." He didn't seem convinced. "And these gathering with the ladies? More frequent than before?"
"We supported each other through difficult times." Not a lie, technically. "Shared our burdens."
"I see." He turned to his sister. "Celeste, perhaps you could join these gatherings? I'm sure the ladies would benefit from spiritual guidance."
The Inquisitor smiled. "I would be honored. In fact, I'd like to interview each noble wife privately. To better understand the court's... needs."
Panic flashed across multiple faces. Damien saw Catherine's hand tremble, Margaret's face pale, Miranda bite her lip hard enough to draw blood.
"Interviews?" Seraphina managed. "Is that necessary?"
"Oh yes," Celeste purred. "You'd be surprised what corruption can hide beneath propriety. But don't worry—I'm very thorough."
The feast continued, tension mounting. Then came the entertainment—dancers from the conquered territories, moving with sensual grace. The king watched appreciatively, but Damien noticed Seraphina's reaction. Her thighs pressed together, breathing shallow. The dancers reminded her of being fucked, of moving her own body for his pleasure.
"You seem flushed, my queen," Celeste observed. "Are you well?"
"The wine," Seraphina lied. "And the warmth of the hall."
"Perhaps some air?" The king suggested. "Damien, escort my wife to the balcony."
It was a test. Damien bowed perfectly. "Of course, Your Majesty."
They walked in silence, Seraphina's hand properly placed on his arm. Only she could feel his thumb stroking through the fabric, each touch electric. The balcony was blessedly empty, overlooking the celebrating city.
"I can't do this," she whispered the moment they were alone. "The crown won't stop, I'm dripping through my dress, and she knows. Celeste knows something."
"She suspects. That's different." He positioned himself to block any view from inside. "Lift your skirts."
"What? No! Someone could—"
"Lift. Your. Skirts."
She obeyed, hands shaking. He didn't touch her, just looked at her soaked thighs, the pussy that gaped slightly from constant use.
"You're doing perfectly," he said. "A loving wife overwhelmed by her husband's return. Natural to be emotional, even aroused."
"But the interviews—"
"Will be handled. Rosalind has plans for the Inquisitor." He adjusted her crown slightly, making her gasp. "Tonight, you'll go to your husband's bed. You'll let him fuck you like a dutiful wife. And you'll think of me the entire time."
"I can't! Not after... not when you've..."
"You can and will. Close your eyes, pretend it's me. Let him think he's reclaiming his queen while knowing you're already mine forever."
"Damien, please—"
"Shh. They're watching."
Through the glass doors, King Aldric and Celeste observed them. Damien stepped back to a proper distance, bowing.
"Your Majesty seems recovered," he said formally. "Shall we return?"
She nodded, dropping her skirts. They walked back in, the picture of propriety, while her thighs slicked together with each step.
"Better?" the king asked.
"Much. Thank you, my love." She sat carefully, fighting not to moan as the movement pressed everything deeper.
The feast continued interminably. Each corrupted wife struggled in her own way. At one point, Miranda orgasmed quietly in her seat, covering it with a coughing fit. Elmore excused herself three times, returning more flushed each time. Margaret drank heavily, using wine to mask her gasps.
Finally, mercifully, the king stood. "It's been a long journey. We retire. Tomorrow, we begin the work of ruling properly again."
As the royal couple left, Celeste caught Damien's arm. "Sir Damien, isn't it? The faithful bodyguard?"
"High Inquisitor." He bowed correctly.
"I look forward to learning more about you. My brother speaks highly of your service." Her grip tightened. "I do hope that praise is... warranted."
"I live to serve the crown."
"All crowns? Or just the one that adorns the queen?" Her smile was knowing. "We'll speak soon."
She released him, gliding away like a beautiful threat. Damien found Rosalind in the chaos of departing nobles.
"The Inquisitor—"
"I know. She's dangerous." Rosalind's eyes gleamed. "Good thing I've always wanted to corrupt a priestess."
---
In the royal bedchamber, Seraphina prepared for her greatest performance. The king sat on the bed, watching her undress with possessive eyes.
"You're trembling," he noted.
"Anticipation." She let her robes fall, standing in only the crown and her shift. "It's been so long."
"Remove the crown."
"I... I can't. The headaches return without it." A desperate lie. "Please, let me keep it on?"
He frowned but nodded. "Come here."
She approached on unsteady legs. His hands were rough, calloused from war, so different from Damien's calculated touch. When he kissed her, she closed her eyes and imagined another mouth. When he pushed her onto the bed, she pictured another body.
"You're so wet," he marveled, fingers finding her soaked pussy. "Have you been thinking of me?"
"Constantly," she lied, gasping as he entered her. He was smaller than Damien, less skilled, but her corrupted body responded to any stimulation now.
She came quickly, too quickly for a faithful wife. He didn't notice, too focused on his own pleasure. When he finished, spilling inside her with a grunt, she felt... nothing. No satisfaction, no connection. Just the ghost of better sex haunting her.
"I've missed this," he said, already drowsing.
"As have I," she whispered, feeling his seed mix with Damien's inside her. The crown pulsed gently, a reminder of who really owned her.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. The Inquisitor's investigations. The noble wives' interviews. The constant threat of discovery.
But tonight, she'd passed the first test. Played the loving wife while her body screamed for its true master.
In the shadows outside, Damien watched their window, planning. The game had evolved, the stakes raised.
Time to show a holy inquisitor that no one was incorruptible.