The days fell into a predictable rhythm. As morning came, so too did Yue's inevitable destruction of my door, followed by breakfast with the entire Dolorian crew. Then came classes, a blur of lectures and new information. And at night, without fail, Selyra would be there, her presence a warm, demanding constant that I had quickly grown to anticipate and, surprisingly, crave.
For an entire week, this pattern held a steady cycle I didn't miss. My affection for Selyra deepened with each passing day. Her clingy demands for attention, her playful pouts, and her fierce possessiveness, once a novelty, now felt like a comforting embrace. I found myself looking forward to spoiling her, to seeing that triumphant, childlike grin when she got her way. And during our nights together, she truly became my own private world. She simply gave in, letting me do whatever I wanted, her earlier demands replaced by a sweet, eager submission that was both exhilarating and profoundly satisfying. It was an intense, exhausting, but utterly fulfilling routine.
The thought of visiting Professor Dianna again, despite the lingering allure of her sharp intellect and dominant nature, faded into the background. My desires, it seemed, were fully occupied by Selyra. Though, sometimes, between classes, I'd feel a sudden, firm grip on my arm, and Professor Dianna's pale blue eyes would meet mine, a knowing, predatory glint in their depths. "Void Prince," she'd purr, her voice a low, husky whisper that promised both pleasure and command, "I believe we have some... private lessons to catch up on." And before I could protest, or even fully comprehend, I'd find myself being expertly steered, almost kidnapped, into her private study, the door clicking shut behind us. Those were brief, intense interludes, a stark reminder of her unyielding will, but always, I returned to the dorm, my thoughts, and my nights, belonging to Selyra.
As the week drew to a close, Selyra announced that she and the other third-years would be leaving for a two-week field study. This meant the first-years would be alone in the Dolorian Dorm. Knowing I'd be without Selyra at night, I anticipated a degree of boredom. More than boredom, a knot of sexual frustration began to tighten in my gut. My body, accustomed to Selyra's nightly demands and my own insatiable desires, felt a keen, aching absence. Sometimes, lying in my bed, unable to sleep, my mind would drift back to the vivid dream I'd had after my night with Dianna. Aunt Allana, her powerful, athletic body completely naked, her incredibly big breasts pressing against me, her hands roaming. Then Aunt Valerie, her slender, delicate figure bare, her gentle smile laced with passion as she leaned into me, her soft moans filling the dream. The images, once confined to sleep, now played out in my waking thoughts, a potent, almost torturous reminder of the pleasure I was missing.
That evening, feeling the absence keenly, I decided to head to the common room to find a book. There, I found Gianna, sitting quietly. She was wearing an Iskiran nightgown, much like Selyra's—translucent, its delicate fabric clinging to her soft, voluptuous curves, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her ample breasts and generous hips underneath. The pale blue material seemed to shimmer, hinting at the warmth of her skin, and her full, rounded breasts, soft and inviting, were clearly visible beneath the sheer cloth. **As I looked at her, a striking resemblance to Selyra, particularly in the generous curve and fullness of her chest, became undeniable. They really are sisters, I thought, the visual confirmation solidifying the connection. No wonder they both have such incredible figures. It's clearly a family trait. ** She offered me a warm smile and a greeting. I took a seat on the sofa beside her, opened my book, and began to read, though my mind soon drifted to our conversation. "You share a surname with Selyra," I began, my curiosity piqued. "Are you related to her? And to Queen Yvonne too? Is that why you both have mist binds?" Gianna smiled, a gentle, knowing look in her eyes. "Yes, we are related," she confirmed softly. "Selyra and I are both daughters of Queen Yvonne's sister." My brow furrowed as I realized something. "Then why didn't you or Selyra ascend to the throne?" I asked, recalling that Queen Yvonne's last name was de la Tiente, while the current Queen, Armania, was de la Rose. Gianna then launched into the fascinating history of the Iskiran kingdom. "In Iskiran society, we don't define the throne by bloodline, unlike many other kingdoms. We decide it by power. So, when a queen decides to step down, or if someone challenges her, a grand festival is held: the Naveera Ceremony. It's a ceremony where every Iskiran woman can participate. Simply put, it's a blood battle."
"A blood battle?" I interrupted, my eyes wide with disbelief, a chill running down my spine. These elegant, serene women, capable of such brutal tradition? The contrast was jarring, almost sickening. I pictured the graceful Iskiran ladies I'd seen, their ethereal beauty, and then tried to reconcile that image with a "bloodbath."
She continued, "Queen Armania once challenged Queen Yvonne in that very blood battle. It was a brutal, no-holds-barred arena where Iskiran women, from nobles to commoners, fought each other with their binds, with no rules and no mercy. The ground would turn slick with blood, and the air would ring with cries of pain and triumph as bodies fell. It was a spectacle of raw, visceral combat, a terrifying display of ambition where only the strongest survived. One hundred women participated, each fighting for the throne, a terrifying display of raw power and ambition. But Armania, with her power, froze them all instantly, ending the ceremony in just one hour. Everyone in that battle, including Queen Yvonne, is still frozen to this very day."
**"Frozen?" I breathed, a shiver running down my spine. The image was horrifying, yet undeniably efficient. One hundred women, frozen in time, a permanent monument to Armania's power. A chilling display of absolute control. **
"After that," Gianna concluded, "Queen Armania de la Rose truly changed the kingdom. She saw the senseless brutality of the Naveera Ceremony, the endless bloodshed, and decided it was illogical, wasteful, a barbaric relic that served no true purpose beyond destruction. She stopped the bloodbath tradition entirely, replacing it with something far more rational. Now, we hold an election every three years to choose our leader. And until now, Queen Armania has already won ten elections."
The story left me speechless, my mind reeling with the implications. So that's how it works in Iskaria, I thought, a profound understanding dawning on me. It's not about who you're born to, but about raw, undeniable power. A queen can be challenged, and if she's not strong enough, she's simply... replaced. And frozen. The sheer brutality hidden beneath their ethereal beauty, the cold, efficient nature of their succession, and the terrifying power of Queen Armania, who could freeze a hundred women, including a queen, in an hour, painted a vivid and powerful picture of Iskiran might. But what truly amazed me was Queen Armania's decision to stop that barbaric tradition. To turn a bloodbath into an election... that's incredibly wise, incredibly logical, I mused, a newfound respect for her settling in. It takes immense power to win a throne, but even greater wisdom to change the very rules of how that power is wielded. It explained the differing surnames and the complex, almost ruthless, yet now surprisingly progressive, relationship with power in their culture. I now understood a tiny, but crucial, bit of Iskiran history, a history far more intriguing and dangerous than I had initially imagined.