The Queen's Indulgence
Cecil de Malong — 3
Richard surveyed the wrecked room and grumbled. “When am I ever going to clean this up?”
“You’re not the one cleaning it, so stop complaining.”
“It’s coming out of my pocket, so it might as well be me doing the work.”
“How much could it possibly cost to replace all this?”
“You know exactly how much. We’re at war with a certain count—” Richard pointed at Cecil while speaking to Philip. “Zylan’s treasury is already drowning in deficits. Venterum Castle is spending several times its usual budget just to keep extravagant monarchs like you and Philip fed, and now we have to cover this mess as well.”
Philip protested with an aggrieved expression. “Don’t be ridiculous. My living expenses are all billed back to my own country in the end. Why don’t you mention how much your merchants are profiting in the middle? Besides, how much could these cheap furnishings possibly be worth that you’re trying to charge me for them?”
What had begun as a joke struck Richard’s pride hard when Philip, a Zylan native, called the furniture “cheap.” Derim was the glittering center of high culture that every continental noble coveted, while Zylan was dismissed as a barbaric backwater that only knew how to wage war—though the reality was far more complicated, that was the prevailing view across much of the continent.
Richard answered with wounded pride. “You’re right. Compared to the cost of war, the price of a few pieces of furniture and servants’ wages is nothing.”
“Exactly, so—” Philip began to agree, but Richard cut him off.
“Still, I seem to recall that a certain count’s lady made this mess. I wonder if the count’s liege lord—the king of some kingdom—might be willing to cover the damages?”
Richard’s gaze flicked between Philip and Cecil, applying silent pressure for payment. Cecil only bowed her head in shame. At last Philip sighed and answered.
“Fine. I’ll add it to your ransom negotiation.”
Richard had gotten the answer he wanted, yet he remained unconvinced. He eyed Philip suspiciously. “I trust you, but I don’t trust Derim. That country has never kept a promise made with words alone.”
“Ugh. Understood. Wait a moment.”
Philip rummaged through the chaos with obvious reluctance until he found a clean sheet of paper at the desk. He scribbled something quickly, signed it, and brought it to Richard. The document contained exactly what Richard had demanded. After Richard read every line aloud, Philip asked if he was satisfied.
“Of course I am.”
Richard laughed loudly and took his leave. “I’ll be going then, Philip.”
“Good. Get out already.”
“Farewell, Ricky. I’ve got a mountain of work waiting.”
Richard accepted Philip’s goodbye and left the room, with Cecil—now his new lady-in-waiting—following close behind. He returned wearing a satisfied smile, only to realize, once he was already back in the bedroom, that his original reason for visiting Philip had been something else entirely. In fact, he should have gone to his study, not the bedroom.
==========
“Damn it. How could I forget?”
“What do you mean, Your Majesty?”
“It’s nothing you need to know.”
Richard tried to shake Cecil off, but she clung to him persistently.
“No, I am Your Majesty’s lady-in-waiting now. I cannot serve you well if I do not know what troubles you. Please tell me, Your Majesty Queen Ricarda.”
Richard felt a flicker of suspicion. Why was she suddenly so forward? When he studied her expression, the answer became obvious. She was openly displaying her intention to peel back every layer of his mind and examine it; she clearly believed she was conducting a perfectly legal act of espionage.
In that moment he felt a twinge of pity. She was acting this way because she believed she was protecting her family and her liege. Yet her actions might help Raoul and Matilda of Malong, but they would bring her no benefit whatsoever. She had already agreed to keep the attempted assassination of the Zylan queen a secret in exchange for completely relinquishing her rights as Zylan royalty.
He felt a strong urge to tell her the truth. Suppressing it required more patience than he expected. He forced the corners of his mouth, which threatened to curl upward, back down and answered as coldly as he could.
“You don’t need to know.”
“Was it something concerning His Majesty Philip?”
“I said you don’t need to know, didn’t I?”
“Please, Your Majesty. Show me the same generosity you always do and grant me the grace of sharing what you know. I beg you.”
Since ancient times, the languages of the continent had specialized uses. Keldin for scholarship and medicine, Yedinia for military matters, Derim for diplomacy, Jelon for the arts, and Eran for hymns and prayers praising the gods. Hearing Cecil’s polite Eran speech—clear and slightly lower than most girls her age—made Richard feel as though he were a god being worshipped. Moreover, Cecil was no ordinary beauty. Malong was famed for its warm sunlight, fertile fields, beautiful sea, and women even warmer, more dazzling, more voluptuous, and more beautiful than all of those—and Cecil lived up to that reputation. Her beauty was not limited to her face. It was a different kind of beauty from Richard’s own.
Richard’s beauty was feminine, the sort one wanted to embrace. He possessed a small frame, a slender neck, and narrow shoulders. Cecil’s beauty, by contrast, was wild and untamed, the sort one wanted to break. She was tall, with an hourglass figure. Though she stood a full head taller than him, both of them were beautiful—and both stirred desire.
Richard spoke sincerely. “No, I really don’t think you need to ask anymore.”
He smiled. Even to himself, the smile felt playful. Cecil sensed something amiss and took half a step back.
“I see.”
“Well, Cecil? Do you truly want to know what happened?”
She retreated another half step. “No, Your Majesty. On second thought… I don’t think I’m very curious after all.”
“Hmm. Is that so? I’m rather disappointed. I thought you would make a good lady-in-waiting.”
“I-I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”
“It’s all right. Don’t worry.”
Richard smiled brightly and strode toward her. Cecil backed away, but for every step she took, he took two. “From now on, you can learn how to be a good lady-in-waiting.”
In an instant he caught her. He pulled her into an embrace—or rather, it looked more as though he had thrown himself into her arms. He buried his face against her chest. Despite her mature appearance, her breasts carried the fresh scent of a maiden her age. Cecil asked in a flustered voice, “Your Majesty?”
“Yes? What is it?”
“Do I smell of sweat?”
Now that he thought about it, Cecil had been swinging a sword at him earlier and her body had grown warm; naturally, her chest could not have stayed dry. Richard answered, “A little. Why?”
“Ah, it seems rather rude to make Your Majesty smell this… I’ll go wash right away.”
“It’s fine.”
“Pardon?”
Cecil echoed the words, unable to understand the little cat-like queen. Richard continued, “I like this scent. Do you dislike it?”
“But the smell of sweat is so strong… who could possibly like it?”
“I don’t mind it at all.”
Still nestled against her chest, Richard looked up at her with slightly dazed eyes. Cecil’s ivory cheeks flushed ruby red. Panicking, she pushed him away—then panicked even more. She was far stronger than most women, and the thought that she had just struck the back of the Zylan queen’s head and would soon be executed for it made her body go rigid. But her fear was meaningless. Richard was far stronger than she imagined—stronger than she could even compare herself to. She made a foolish sound. “Eh?”
“Heh. How adorable.”
He grinned and buried his face against her chest again. Cecil shrieked and tried to pry him off. He did not budge, but holding his ground against her efforts was becoming tedious. He flicked his tongue lightly across her breast.
“Kyaa!”
“Hehehe.”
Strength suddenly drained from Cecil’s arms. Richard placed both hands on her waist and traced her back until he easily found the ribbon tied in a knot. Cecil stammered, “W-what are you doing?”
“Wiping away the sweat.”
“You mustn’t!”
Richard stopped licking, but his hands continued moving behind her back. “So you want to keep smelling of sweat?”
“Th-that’s… not what I meant.”
“Not this, not that. Then what do you want?”
“C-couldn’t I just go somewhere and wash, Your Majesty?”
“You mean you want me to wash you?”
In Eran, subjects were often omitted except when referring to gods, saviors, the Holy Trinity, or when a slave addressed a master. Richard used the lack of a subject in Cecil’s words to tease her. Her face flushed all the way to her neck.
“That is not what I meant, Your Majesty.”
“It’s all right, Cecilia. I’ll wash every corner.”
“Pardon?”
She looked bewildered; the expression soon turned to alarm. With practiced ease, Richard untied the knot at her back. Only when cool air touched her spine did Cecil realize his true intention. She had no choice but to abandon her attempts to push him away. Instead she clutched at the slipping fabric of her dress.
“Are you ashamed to show your body to me?”
“Th-that’s…”
Cecil hesitated. Richard pressed her. “Answer honestly.”
“Y-yes, I am.”
“Why?”
He undid the buttons at her waist. Cecil wavered, unsure whether to protect her top or bottom first, and Richard launched his next attack. “Why would you hide such a beautiful figure?”
His hands moved with a skill that belied more than a month without practice—an unsurprising talent, given that his entire life had been one long indulgence. Cecil, of course, could not know that. She arched her back as his cool fingers slipped beneath the loosened dress.
“Hyaaat?”
“Hmm? What a cute sound, Cecilia. Have you never pleasured yourself before?”
“W-what are you saying, Your Majesty? Pleasured myself?”
Richard could hardly contain his delight. He felt his male self stir with desire. He had not lost himself at all. No matter how trapped he was in a woman’s body, no matter how surrounded he was by people who treated him as a woman, he remained himself. He felt a twinge of guilt toward Philip, but this pure maiden—his friend’s fiancée—was being defiled by his hands solely so he could confirm his own identity.
Cecil did not even know how her own body felt or what sounds it could make. Richard caressed the warm place inside her with meticulous care, and Cecil cried out. He could scarcely believe she had received no training whatsoever in such matters. He thought to himself that he now understood why Philip had called her “Richard’s type.” He wanted a woman like this—one whose wildness provoked a man’s urge to conquer, who became ready to accept a man with the slightest touch. Of course, in that regard, no one could surpass Richard himself. He had wanted the man who attacked him alongside Daniel—the one sent by Count Raoul of Malong—to be his own younger brother, Leo, trying to violate him. And after being rescued by Leo, he had imagined kissing his own brother, and then…
He stopped thinking. Instead he kissed Cecil roughly. His hands on her body were equally rough. Cecil began to moan in a wet voice. Richard pushed her backward, step by step. Only when her hips met the windowsill did he finally release her lips and gaze at her. Her eyes were as wet as her voice.
“Oh, sweet girl, don’t cry.”
“Why… why are you doing this to me, Your Majesty? Have I committed such a grave sin?”
“No, Cecilia. Don’t cry. You’re simply… so adorable that I want to torment you.”
The moment he spoke those words, he felt the space between his legs grow damp. The sensation defied simple description. He wanted to take Cecil at once, and at the same time he wanted her to take him. He had never regretted becoming a woman as much as he did now. Yet he also realized that if he had remained a man, he could never have brought Cecil this far. One thing, however, was certain: he now understood exactly how Marion must have felt. He apologized to Philip in his heart. He was not touching Cecil merely to confirm his own identity. He was touching her with clear sexual intent.
He whispered into Cecil’s ear, his voice carrying many layers of meaning. His voice was as wet as hers, as wet as the place between his legs.
“It seems I’ve accomplished what I came to see Philip for.”