Chapter 63: A Noble's Folly
He had always been the kind of courtier who laughed a little too loud, bowed a little too low, and watched the elder princesses a little too long from the corners of his own light brown, but not amber, eyes. Handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a hawkish nose, Orian Rellshade's wings were glossy, his feathers well-oiled, his smiles polished until they gleamed.
Beneath the finery, he was still what he had always been: a young noble aching to be noticed.
Of course, who else would notice him? Than the younger princess Sephora..
That was enough.
It began in a mid-tier noble's ballroom gallery, in the shadow of velvet drapes and candlelight spilling like liquid gold.
Seraphina had drifted elsewhere with her circle, and Sephora—her pale eyes sparkling like frost in torchlight—had let herself drift toward Orian.
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A few days after the Peacock Royal's had left, the Rellshade's had thrown a Ball. In part to celebrate but it had already been organised anyway.
The music had long since faded, and the corridor outside the east wing of the Rellshade's mid-tier mannor was abandoned after the low level ball that they had held, the banquet long since ended. Music still drifted faintly from the great hall, muffled by thick stone and the press of velvet drapes. Here, there was only shadow and silence.
Sephora leaned against the carved wall, the flickering torchlight painting her pale eyes in ghostly blue. She had guided him here with nothing more than a look, a tilt of her head that promised something far sweeter than wine or dance.
Orian hesitated at the threshold. His breath was uneven, his feathers bristling as though he expected Seraphina—or worse, Queen Nox herself—to round the corner at any moment.
"Sephora…" he whispered, his voice a trembling thread. "This is madness. If anyone—if we are caught—"
Her laugh was soft, sharp, like glass breaking in the dark. She stepped closer, her wing brushing his arm as she passed, circling him the way a raven circles prey before striking.
"If we are caught," she murmured, "they will blame me. I am the reckless one, the flawed one, remember?" Her lips curved in a smile both mocking and sultry. "What could they possibly do to you? You are only a poor, helpless noble… seduced by your princess."
The way she said it made his pulse quicken, shame and exhilaration twined into one.
"I… I shouldn't…"
"You already are." Her voice was velvet and steel, command wrapped in softness. She pressed closer, so close he could feel her breath ghost across his neck. "And if you wish to leave, Orian, then leave. Now."
But he didn't move.
Instead, his wings quivered, his hands hovering as though afraid to touch her, though his body strained with the want of it.
Her pale fingers lifted his chin, forcing his gaze to hers. "I told you," she whispered, the words intimate as a kiss, "this was my idea. Not yours. You'll do nothing but what I tell you. Do you understand?"
His nod was ragged, desperate. "Yes… Princess."
Her smile bloomed—slow, victorious. She guided his hands at last, placing them where she wanted them, molding him as deftly as a smith shapes steel. Orian's restraint shattered like brittle glass; all his careful bowing, all his polished manners dissolved in the space of a heartbeat.
"Sephora…" he gasped, voice breaking as he surrendered wholly, utterly, into her.
"Yes," she murmured, lips curving near his ear, nails grazing the line of his jaw. "Say my name. That's all you'll ever be allowed to say."
And so he did—over and over, until the silence of the forgotten corridor was filled with nothing but the sound of her name, and the hushed, desperate surrender of a young noble who no longer belonged to himself at all.
When it was done, when shadows reclaimed their stillness, Orian was breathless, undone, eyes wide with the shock of how far he had fallen.
Sephora, meanwhile, was immaculate. She adjusted the sleeve of her gown, smoothed her raven-dark hair, and cast him a glance equal parts indulgent and dismissive.
"You worry too much, Lord Rellshade," she said, her tone light as though nothing had passed between them. "It spoils the fun."
He swallowed hard, still trembling. "What if someone—what if—"
"Then you'll do what I tell you," she said simply, her pale eyes glittering like frost. "Whenever I tell you. Wherever I tell you."
And with that, she left him in the shadows, shaking, consumed, and entirely hers.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
She did not need to say much.
She was a princess, so why would she?
A smile, slow and knowing.
A brush of her wing against his arm as she passed.
A single glance that lingered too long.
Really, you could say that Orian was hers before she even opened her mouth.
"You dance poorly," she whispered after one song, her lips almost grazing his ear.
"I—" He choked on his reply, then managed a grin. "Perhaps you could teach me?"
Sephora's laugh was soft, cute and merciless. "Perhaps."
The noble flirtation thrilled her—not because Orian was clever (he wasn't), or because he was difficult (he wasn't), but because he made her feel visible.
Desired.
It was intoxicating, how quickly he melted under her smallest gestures, how his gaze followed her through every chamber as though she were the only one alive.
It wasn't long before whispers turned to touches.
In the shadowed alcoves of Raven Castle, behind carved stone screens, she would let her hand linger on his chest, her lips graze his neck, her breath tease his control until he lost it entirely.
Orian never resisted.
He couldn't.
Why would he resist the raven princess who wanted him, of all people?
The first time they went too far, he was trembling with eagerness, terrified and exhilarated in equal measure.
Sephora had guided him through it expertly, like a predator guiding prey into its own snare, savoring every gasp, every desperate sound that proved her power.
And after?
He was lost to her.
"Whenever you wish, Princess," he whispered, lips still swollen and his body feeling drained, eyes glazed with devotion as now his flaccid member began to shrivel after experiencing shang-gra-la. "Wherever. I am yours."
This promise of devotion and... peculiar loyalty causes her twisted little heart to flutter with glee. She smiled, languid and victorious, tilting his chin up with one pale-tipped nail. "Yes, Orian. You are."
It became regular after that—an indulgence, a habit.
Either way, whenever she called, he came without question. His sword was ready for whichever battle or difficult position she wished to face today. He'd noticed it was always on stressful days and usually... that's when it got really, really good for him.
Wherever she led, he followed.
In the quiet dark of misty-covered ledges, in forgotten chambers, even in the shadowed balconies during courtly gatherings, Orian was hers to command, body and soul - which she did. Relishing every minute and drop of it that he poured into her whenever she asked.
And Sephora?
She enjoyed the thrill at the start of each encounter—the coy words, the attempt by Orian Rellshade to maintain that... noble flirtiness, the way his heart stuttered when she looked his way with a certain sparkle of mischief in her eye.
It soothed something of the raw wound inside her. The one that whispered in her mother's voice, that she was lesser, invisible, flawed.
With Orian, she felt like she was not invisible at all.
She was everything.
Once the thrill dulled and he shrivelled empty, she left him panting, yearning, desperate for more.
Always more, because Sephora Ebonspire—the youngest Raven Princess, shadow of the better twin, the queen's only flaw made flesh—needed the reminder again and again: that she could be wanted, even if only by a fool who was too easily undone.
She had called a few nights ago.
Caught between feeling the stress of her new dungeon pet causing social issues, the weirdness of the silent forest, and the time with Corvin, delightful but now unveiling truths she wasn't sure she quite wanted to know about the dark ones.
On top of that, to her utter dismay she felt completely unwanted as her advances on Commander Sylen Velwraithe didn't seem to be fruitful. She could continue working on that.
At least Orian always came for her whenever she called for him. It was a loyalty and fealty that she had never experienced before, and it was intoxicating.
The young Rellshade lord's tongue snaked around her clit with now familiar and expert skill, causing Sephora to sigh in approval with delight. This spurred him on, tracing lightly around her... This was part of the fun at times for him.
She wanted to be "prepared" by him and for him to worship her, and at every opportunity he got - he did. Her juices soaked around his face and his tongue finished its deep dive in between her legs, as his mouth then returned to gently suck her clit.
"Now, Orian, Your princess commands it." She moaned, pleadingly, although she would never have admitted that was how it sounded, "Use your great big sword."
Already Orian's member was solid; he was embarrassingly slightly below average at 4.7 inches for a raven harpy, but Sephora loved every centimeter that his member took up when it plunged deep into her pussy once more.
She wanted more of this, even if it wasn't that much.
From here, she would only seek, more people to get this... up close and personal adoration and worship from as a princess, and she would get it.
...and Orian Rellshade, young noble of mid-tier standing.
He would remain her fool.
Forever.