Here's the next part. It's got a little bit of sex in it, but nothing terribly graphic. Although it is het, warning any "ew, het" readers out there. I enjoyed writing the queen though-she's a huge narcissist.
Queen Ingrid was pleased with her life. She had a gullible husband, an ignorable stepson, and an impressive collection of magical artifacts. What more could a woman want?
When she left the garden, she headed for the home of the Grand Duke. The old man still didn't realize that she went over there nearly every day, and her husband assumed she spent her days in the garden. Fooling them was so easy she couldn't even take any pride in it.
Sneaking in the back door, not caring if servants saw her and knowing they wouldn't recognize her because of the special amulet she wore, she went up the stairs to the office where the Viscount, the handsome young son of the Grand Duke, would be waiting for her. Their tryst had been going on for nearly as long as she'd been in the palace—she'd made love with him before she had with her husband.
The King gave her the power she needed, but his kindly middle-aged appearance clashed with her legendary beauty. Christopher, the viscount, had white-blond hair, a strong face, and an impressive physique. He matched her perfectly.
When she arrived in his office, he was staring moodily through the window overlooking the front of the house, obviously waiting for her visit.
"Guess who?" she covered his eyes with her dainty hands. A pleased laugh escaped her mouth as Christopher turned quickly around and drew her into his arms.
"I missed you," he said solemnly. He was a simple man, always expressing himself plainly. Ingrid had worried about that initially, but once she grew accustomed to it she realized that his simplicity would bind him even more to her.
"I'm sorry I'm late. I had some matters to attend to. We don't want my husband to find out, after all." She petted his arm comfortingly. After that, conversation made itself scarce as the two of them lost themselves in their desires. The window reflected their actions clearly, and Ingrid watched herself as he pounded into her, utterly taken with the way her face looked while locked in passion. Her expression as he finished brought about her own release.
After a few hours, Ingrid had to return to the palace. They littered their farewell with long kisses and refused to keep their hands to themselves. She assured him that she wanted nothing more than to stay; she had to leave to perform her duties as queen.
As always, she was glad to leave.
When she arrived at her home, she headed to her rooms to change for dinner and wash away the evidence of her afternoon activities. While she waited for her maids to help her dress, she admired her figure in the mirror. Her long golden hair hid her left breast, but bared its perfect and perfectly identical twin, round and just pliable enough, decorated by the dark nipple. More hair, a few shades darker than that on her head, curled at the junction of her thighs. All of her skin was smooth and firm and touchable, and she confirmed this by running her hands over it.
Stepping closer to the mirror, she admired her face. Her eyebrows arched fashionably over dark green eyes. Ripe lips the same color as her nipples expressed only what she wanted them to. Cheeks always bore just the right amount of color.
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all?" Even her voice, which lilted or cut at her whim, sounded just as a woman's should.
The mirror's face shimmered like disturbed water. Ingrid's reflection was distorted, but still beautiful.
"You are the fairest in all the land," the mirror intoned in an unearthly voice. Satisfied, Ingrid turned to the door as her maids entered to dress her.
Dinner went as it always did. The small brat sat at his place and didn't speak, the only good thing about him. Her husband sat across from her at the handsome table and smiled at her beauty. From her place at the opposite end of the table, she smiled back and lifted her chin. The food tasted fit for a royal family and the brat's nurse prompted him to eat his vegetables.
After he ignored his green beans for the fifth time, Ingrid spoke up, tired of hearing the common woman's voice.
"Child, do as your nurse tells you and stop being defiant." She made her voice as cold as she could. The first time she'd done that to him, he'd sobbed throughout the rest of the meal. Now, he just looked frightened and did as he was told. This time was no different: his eyes grew round and snapped to her face, he stared at her a few moments with a trembling lip, and then he picked up his fork and began doing as he was told.
"That's a good lad," the king approved. His eyes were still focused on his wife, so he didn't see the way Finnian looked over at him sadly.
When dinner finished, Finnian went up to bed and the king and queen to their offices. Ingrid's office was decorated in soft colors and had mirrors on every wall. She didn't work much, being too distracted by her own reflection. No one minded, and everyone agreed that beauty like hers served the kingdom simply by existing.
The clock struck ten and their Highnesses retired to the large bedroom between their offices. Every night the King made reverent love to the Queen. And every night she hid her sighs of boredom under fake cries of passion, remembering how Christopher held her during the daylight hours. Each drifted to sleep dreaming of Ingrid's face.