Chapter 9: Queen Lysandra of the Crimson Court
The Crimson Court had not welcomed a man in over three hundred years.
Not since Queen Lysandra ascended the Ruby Throne and declared the Sovereign Decree: No male shall walk these halls unless summoned — and none shall leave untouched by Her Majesty's will.
Riven had been summoned.
Escorted by silent guards clad in crimson silk and steel, he was led through a palace carved from red crystal and polished obsidian. The air pulsed with power. Every torch burned with enchantment. The women who walked these halls were all warriors — sharp-eyed, beautiful, and utterly loyal.
But it was she — Lysandra — who ruled them.
When the throne doors opened, he saw her.
And everything in him stilled.
---
Queen Lysandra sat atop a high platform, one long leg crossed over the other, her throne forged of twisted crimson steel. Her crown was delicate but dangerous — a circlet of thorns and rubies that glinted like blood in the torchlight. Her gown clung to her body like liquid fire, slit high enough to reveal the curve of her thigh, low enough to hint at the full weight of her royal presence.
Her skin was a dusky gold. Her lips were crimson. And her eyes — gods, her eyes — were molten garnet, shining with centuries of command.
> "So," she said, her voice like crushed velvet. "You're the man the oracles whisper about."
Riven bowed. "I am Riven of Elvaria."
> "You are mine, tonight," she replied.
---
She dismissed her court with a flick of her fingers. The great doors closed. Silence reigned.
> "Approach."
He obeyed, stepping across the velvet carpet until he stood just below her throne.
> "On your knees."
He hesitated.
And then knelt.
Her hand cupped his chin, tilting his gaze up to hers. Her fingers were tipped with gold — not paint, but actual molten gold, shaped and hardened into talons. They scraped his skin just enough to remind him: this is not a lover. This is a Queen.
> "Do you know what I demand of my consorts, Riven?"
> "Loyalty," he said.
> "No. Surrender."
---
She rose then, descending from the throne with slow, measured steps. Her gown slipped from her shoulders, pooling like wine at her feet.
She wore nothing beneath.
Her body was regal perfection — curves that spoke of indulgence and discipline, breasts heavy and high, hips wide, thighs strong. Her mons was bare, glistening already, the scent of her arousal sharp and rich like spiced wine.
> "You will not take me," she said. "I will take you."
She sat upon the velvet cushions before her throne, legs spread wide, gesturing him forward with one imperious finger.
> "Kneel between your Queen's thighs. Worship as you were born to."
He obeyed.
---
Riven's hands found her hips, and his mouth met her core.
She tasted like power. Like heat. Like something ancient and intoxicating.
She moaned, low and dark, her hand twisting in his hair as he licked, sucked, teased her folds with tongue and lips and perfect pressure. She rode his face like a ruler rides war — fearless, commanding, wild. Her thighs clamped around his head, pulling him deeper, demanding everything.
> "Yes," she growled. "Make your Queen come."
He slid two fingers inside her, curling just right — and she cried out, her whole body arching, her climax shaking the walls.
---
When she recovered, she pushed him down with terrifying strength, straddling him in one smooth motion. Her eyes burned.
> "Now I ride."
She lowered herself onto him — and he gasped as she took him in completely.
She was hot. Slick. Powerful.
And she moved like a conqueror.
Her hips rolled, slow and grinding, every motion perfectly controlled. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, sweat gleaming on her golden skin. Her eyes never left his — not once. She watched him fall apart beneath her, one thrust at a time.
> "You belong to me now," she whispered.
> "Then rule me," he groaned.
She slammed her hips down.
> "I am."
---
Their rhythm grew savage.
She clawed his chest, rode him faster, harder, the sound of their bodies slapping echoing through the empty throne room. He gripped her hips, trying to keep up, trying to hold on.
But she was too much.
Too strong.
Too royal.
He came with a roar, spilling into her as she arched back, her own orgasm rippling through her like fire.
She collapsed onto his chest, both of them panting, drenched in sweat.
---
Later, she stood again — regal and naked — and walked to her throne.
> "No man has made me come like that in decades," she said.
> "No Queen has ridden me like that in… ever," he replied, smirking.
She smiled — not soft, not sweet. Triumphant.
> "Leave this chamber with pride, Riven. You have pleased your Queen."
He dressed in silence, his body aching, soul shaken.
As he reached the doors, she spoke once more.
> "Tell no one what happened here."
> "Why?"
She met his gaze.
> "Because I will summon you again. And next time… I may not let you leave."