It's the first personal invitation the new God-Queen has made in longer than she can recall. These days, with her sick Lord crawling the badlands, she is much more ought to banish mortal company than welcome it. Rennala is no Tarnished, though, and if they had met a lifetime ago Marika may have benefited from her fellowship in studies. A frivolous thought.
Her marriage to the Carian Queen's husband has not only been ordered by the Will, but it has been all but sealed by the Altus courts. Legally, spiritually, and wholly, their fate is set. There is undoubtedly unrest in Liurnia, unrest that Marika intends to weaponize to further fracture the nation's lame foundations. Tradition and history mean nothing when they're based in blasphemy, sheltered from the eye of the Will. But no matter.
The House of Caria's own King Radagon, regardless of his status as a puppet, has decided in his own right to wed her. He's made his own journeys here, often to Marika's annoyance. His feelings, his thoughts, have begun to leak into her. The Will whispers to him, he tells her, draws him back to her like some sick gravitational sorcery. It is not an analogy Marika appreciates. He is weak-willed, for a Lord-ling, and Marika often hates him for this. She hears these whispers too, but she will not crawl back to the Lakes for him; she is not an animal.
She is not blind, either. Her Order is threatened by the No-Longer-Lord Godfrey's ineptitude, and banishing him alone certainly wasn't enough to change that. Every attempt on her life is another chance to catch Maliketh off guard, bless him, to get the clawing hands of heretics on her Death Rune. She can feel it in her bones, in what's left of her human-parts, and she hears it every waking moment. The Will whispers, her dissidents whisper, her allies whisper. Without a consort, she is vulnerable. Unfortunately, wars must be waged, and renegades must be silenced, no matter how tedious Marika may find it. Alas, Radagon excels in these areas.
Her impure blood threatens her Order the way she imagines Radagon's does. Bastard son of bastard Giants, spat out from his village at her feet, created to serve her in the name of Wholeness. He'd go so far as to forsake his own abominable blood. An inescapable failure; one of the many impurities they have in common.
Rennala could grasp nothing of this. Born to noble blood, a meaningless distinction for a myopic human, sheltered in a manor with her lifespan extended over a skeleton of flimsy sorceries. Her policies reflect her insecurities, still painfully mortal, despite her theatrics. She is malleable. It's odd, but Marika pities her.
Perhaps it is the act of petty theft that bothers her. Then again, Radagon never belonged to anyone but her, despite the independence he tries to play at time and time again. He's always been her true Lord, the Will says, though he feels more like a petulant creature in need of a master than a deity. Had the Fingers not decreed their union, she would be quite content to leave him to putter away in the Lakes through her ascension, breeding and dumbing himself over telescopes. She knows, though, this is not possible. He must be at her side.
It's a day wasted over pointless waiting and brooding, but it's a necessary sacrifice, Marika thinks. The sound of hoofbeats on stone doesn't come until late in the afternoon, when the Erdtree casts its long shadows over the windows lining her chambers. Radagon, daft as he is, has at least not let the Queen bring her Giant-kin servants here. She watches her guards meet them at the gates, watches Radagon's fiery head pop out of the window of his carriage. He seems jovial as he speaks to them, gesticulating grandly. Marika snorts at the sight. He looks up, across the expanse of the castle, focuses in on her through one of her hundreds of windows, locks his eyes directly onto hers.
His presence washes over Marika, and she stands up abruptly, turns away from the window. This meeting is not to appease him, but she can feel his desperation, and she intends to staunch it, if only to give herself room to think. She breezes through her courtyards, through the main hall, where the Envoys have lined the walls, droning on their pipes, as her servants and noble guests stop and bow to her as she passes, heading to the throne.
In Godfrey's absence, she had taken to sitting on the Lord's throne. It was convenient, while the Will allowed it, but with her marriage to Radagon all but sealed, the throne must remain empty until he takes his place. She settles at the foot of it instead, drapes herself over the stairs in a display of hospitality, a serene, practiced smile plastered across her features. She fidgets with the hem of her dress as she waits.
The procession of guards rounds the corner and parts at the bottom of the stairs, allowing Marika to see her guests. It's the first time she's seen the Full Moon Queen outside of her academy garb. Her hair is long, her dress finely tailored, likely Radagon's own work. It's undoubtedly beautiful, though markedly conservative for Marika's tastes. Rings adorn her fingers. She bows her head, curtsies deeply.
Radagon's robes show much more skin, of course. He steps forward, kneels to bow at the foot of his own throne. It's a laughable show, so Marika does not stop him. Instead, she says, warmly, "My esteemed guests. I welcome thee to Leyndell. Thou hast accepted my invitation, despite your duties in this time of transition. For this, I thank thee."
She stands up and floats down the stairs, takes Rennala's hand in her own and studies her. She's pretty, really, when she's not slaughtering Marika's troops, by mortal and Godly standards alike. Rennala tilts her head, and Marika presses a kiss to the back of her hand.
The Queen is about to say something, but Radagon cuts her off. "Please, your Highness. Spare the formalities. We're here for pleasure, not border reevaluations."
Marika shoots him a look, though she knows he can sense her annoyance, anyway. He winds his arm around Rennala's waist. She already looks uncomfortable, though she does well enough to hide it.
"Thy hospitality is radiant," Rennala finally says. "As radiant as thy Tree."
How charming. "You mustn't flatter me," Marika laughs, "I've brought you here to flatter you, my Lady. I trust thou hath some reservations about this new era. I intend to demonstrate my loyalty to thou, to thy House. The Fingers speak highly of your graciousness."
Rennala studies her, now, and Marika can see Radagon's eyes flicker between them, like a nervous dog. "All of Liurnia speaks highly of her graciousness," he adds.
"That's enough," Rennala says, soft but firm, and Marika is thoroughly amused. "Of course I am gracious. The wellbeing of my people necessitates it."
Marika eyes the line of guards behind the couple, unmoving. "As do mine."
"Furthermore," The Queen speaks a little louder now, "We have plenty to discuss. The Altus mines, for one-"
Marika takes both of Rennala's hands, and she stops, clearly caught off guard. Her skin is smooth, uncalloused, and cool. "The Altus mines can wait until after we feed you. Half of my city is here to see you, O Queen of Caria," she laughs. "I hope you've come prepared to sign scrolls."
Rennala just narrows her eyes.
"You needn't worry about that." Radagon jumps in again, squeezes the Queen's waist affectionately over her tight-laced bodice. Marika watches. "Our Highness has sworn to extend Her protections as long as the House of Caria stands."
Marika nods. "But you need to hear it from me. I understand."
"Of course." Rennala leaves it at that, lets Marika run her hands up her arms, squeeze her shoulders. "Our King is a blind optimist."
"Yes, well," Marika sighs, "The Will regards him highly for this."
"Evidently." Marika can feel Radagon's annoyance without looking at him, and Rennala pats his back in soothing. Marika can feel the contact quell him. "Such is his purpose," Rennala says, sounding resigned. As good a start as any.
"I promise you, O Queen of Caria," Marika says, solemnly, hands still resting on Rennala's shoulders. Rennala straightens up. "Your affairs in our lands will continue uninterrupted. The Will recognizes the importance of your work. You know this. Caria and Leyndell will remain at peace, and we will remain allies, as long as the House of Caria lives. You have my word."
Marika kneels this time, for emphasis, crosses her arm over her chest in a deep bow. It's a show of submission she remembers working particularly effectively on her, before she ascended. She feels both sets of their eyes bore into her. "This is a rebirth," she continues, looking back up at the Queen. "Not only for Our Will, but for Caria, and the Will has promised you an epoch of fortune in exchange for this sacrifice. Your heirs will flourish. Your research will know no bounds. Dissenters of the Academy will fall at your feet."
"That isn't necessary," Rennala finally speaks. Radagon extends his arm to her, and she takes it to rise to her feet. His gaze is sharp, somewhere between threatening and hungry. Marika ignores it. "All I ask is for our people to continue to coexist peacefully. I know you to be truthful."
"The Will insists," Marika sings, motioning to her guards to resume their escort formation. "Now, please. Let us entertain you, my Lady."
The evening stretches on with courses of dancing, music, and food, the Envoys blaring their pipes all the while. The airs Rennala puts on for Marika's subjects is impressive; she makes a wonderful attraction. Marika is content to see her people aflutter, grasping after the Queen in fascination. She dances with Radagon alone, with his arm stuck around her waist most of the night. It is even clearer to Marika that this loss will be traumatic. They all know it.
Marika's body, now fortified by the Greater Will twice over, can handle much more than ever before. She tests her limits, tonight, sees how much she can imbibe without incapacitating herself. She does not reach a definitive answer, but as she sends for another keg from the cellar, Radagon approaches her at the head of the banquet hall. Rennala is, evidently, occupied.
"Stop that," he orders, frowning. Marika just laughs at him. His outward disgust is a poor mask for his lusting. "You'll embarrass yourself."
"Oh? Already defending my honor, I see." She stands up, spins graciously in a circle to demonstrate her steadiness. "Between you and me, my Lord, I'm not sure I'll ever be drunk again. A small price to pay."
Radagon looks behind him, and Marika knows he is checking on his Queen. "Marika."
She hushes him. "Don't be uncouth."
He sighs. "Your Highness. You needn't lay your sweetness on my Lady so heavily. She already hardly trusts you. I thought you intended to soothe her doubts."
"And I'm doing a fine job of it, don't you agree?"
"No. You're an enchantress. You lie."
Marika purses her lips, narrows her eyes. She steps closer, their faces are only a few breaths apart. "I weave my words the way the Fingers have instructed me to."
Liar, he thinks, a snake-oil Queen. The thought cuts her, likely more than he intends. Marika just tuts her tongue. "You are unnecessarily cruel. I did not pluck you from your Carian homestead fantasy, and I'd send thee straight back if I could." She grabs a handful of his robes at his hips, feels him tense under her touch. "I can only hope you'll grow to be a better disciple of the Will under my guidance."
She kisses his cheek, and he turns away. "I just ask you to be truthful to my Lady. Don't pretend like she won't suffer for this."
"For what? For thine own foolish elopement?"
Radagon has nothing to say to this. She will never let him live this failure down. If he had not failed so miserably at conquering the Lakes, there would be no marriage to annul in the first place. "I want her to suffer as little as possible by our hand," she continues, weighing her thoughts in his presence very carefully. "You understand that, don't you? If you allow her to hate us for this, she's liable to forsake our Order. Do you understand what that means for her people, or are you that unwise?"
It is not hard to convince him, certainly not with her hips pressed to his, her divine serenity washing over his mind. "Of course," he grunts, lingers for a second longer than he should before turning away from her. "You intend to placate her."
"Precisely. If you don't want to help me, I suggest you retire early. Or, better yet, you could go home. Enjoy that manor of yours while you're still allowed inside."
"No," he blurts, and Marika scoffs, settling back in her chair. "This is…" he shakes his head. A wave of guilt washes over her, and she's unsure of its origin. "I have to do this. I have to see this through. Regardless of how facetious you are."
"Keep talking. I'm sure the Will is pleased with your choice of words." She flicks her wrist dismissively, brushing her braid out of the way so Radagon can get a better look at her form poised across her chair. He obliges immediately. "Go back to your Queen, while she is still yours. If you're so inclined, extend her an invitation to my chambers when you inevitably come to trouble me. It's the least congeniality we can offer her."
She can feel the doubts Radagon has extinguished by this statement. He bites his lip, stares through her. Predictable. "You'll help me make her comfortable," he says, as if to convince himself. He lets his mind be prodded by hers far too easily.
"I intend to, my Lord, if you'll allow me." She smiles sweetly. She has every intention of pacifying the Queen, a desire which she is sure Radagon shares. The attention of a God, albeit fractured as she is, is not without its consequences. It is the least she can do, she thinks, to offer Rennala a life free of the burden of truth.
"Fine." Without another word, Radagon turns on his heel and returns dutifully to Renalla's side as she wades out of the crowd surrounding her, fussed over by guards. Marika offers her the same sweet smile, and, much to her satisfaction, Rennala returns it. It is an endearing gesture, a practiced, noble one, despite her evident discomfort. Marika wonders if this is something that contributes to Radagon's inexplicable fondness for her. It certainly would make sense.
The night rolls along without incident, and Rennala excuses herself before the last of Marika's drunken patrons have filtered out of the banquet hall, likely saturated by their affections. Marika politely dips from the crowd to catch her in the doorway. Her face is flushed.
"Your Highness. Hath thou accepted my bribe?" Marika laughs. Despite all her machinations, there is no use dancing around the truth.
Rennala purses her lips. She takes Marika's hands in hers, this time, likely emboldened by her stupor. "What choice do I have, my Lady?"
That same sorrowful feeling creeps up in Marika's abdomen. It makes her feel some strange sort of phantom-nausea. There is no reason, though, for this sacrifice to burn more than any other she's made for her Order. "I am," she starts, urging the Will to interrupt her words with a flowery diversion. She comes up empty. "I am sorry, you know."
The Queen tilts her head. She drops Marika's hands, and it takes a decent amount of self control to not grab them back. In one of her more selfish fantasies, she wants to keep her here, let her stay at her Lord's side while the Will has its way with him. Marika knows better than anyone, though, that she will not abandon her throne. A remarkable trait for a mortal, one that's made her a fine queen until now.
"I know this," she says, finally, and Marika can tell she's choosing her words carefully. "Both of you are no better than servants." There is no malice in her voice; her words sting with truth.
"Radagon is a hound," Marika says, simply, "And I am a vessel. I have learned not to defy what grants me divinity." Rennala nods. She knows this well enough already, but Marika continues anyway. "I certainly question it. Trust, my Lady, that I have questioned the reasoning of this union to the ends of my wits." She smiles, softly, shaking her head. "But I will never defy."
Idly, Marika traces her fingers along the lacy neckline of the Queen's dress. Rennala watches her, still and poised. "It is in thy nature to serve," she murmurs, almost experimentally. Marika cocks an eyebrow, amused. "You and my King alike."
Well, he is no longer a King, not really, nor is he hers. Regardless, Marika is inclined to let her keep at it. "We are not the same," she settles on. The Will chimes into her skull, reminding her of her inaccuracy, and Marika tunes it out. Her fingers work up, and Rennala lets her touch the strip of exposed skin below her chin. Marika can feel her heartbeat. "I would give anything to make this up to thee. He knoweth not how to recompense thee for his failings."
Rennala laughs, a small, restrained sound. Marika savors the sound. "And thou does?"
"I will try to." It is the most earnest statement she's made all evening. Rennala lets her hands go. She goes for an earnest approach; something she had not planned for. "My Lady. Please, make use of our amenities, and be comfortable. My footmen will escort you wherever you please." She leaves out the fact that the Queen's husband could navigate this manor in his sleep. "And I hope, O Queen, that you will save time to visit me before thy slumber."
Rennala's expression gives nothing away. "We shall see," she says, simply. Marika kisses the back of her hand, and motions for her escorts. Rennala disappears down the hall in a billow of silk.
Radagon, for all his fealty, has not yet noticed the Queen's absence. With Marika's purpose complete, though, she dismisses her guards for the evening to mingle, and slips away. She tries to draw as little attention as possible, an action which is mostly in vain, but it doesn't take long for her to return to her chambers. She bathes, smoothes her skin with fine oil, and has her attendants dress her in one of her finer slips, with a deep slit down the front of her chest.
She dismisses her staff, and she waits.
Radagon does not knock once he passes the attendants at her door; he rarely does, but Marika had at least expected he'd show more decorum in front of his wife. She can sense his tension, his nerves. They've both changed into leisure robes, and for a moment, Marika is taken by how delicate Rennala looks next to him, tall and lilting, stripped of all her pomp. Her hair is wet, and it leaves a patch of her gown beneath it transparent. She looks nervous.
"You came," she says, warmly, standing up from the center of her extravagant rest. She glides over to meet them, kisses Rennala's cheek, then Radagon's. "The festivities did not sufficiently tire thee?"
Radagon snorts. Rennala looks pensive, and Radagon places a hand at the small of her back. "I know well of your ways, Your Highness. Thy farces could be improved."
Marika tilts her head. He does, he does.
"You intend to charm me," Rennala says, straightening up. "You will fail, my Lady." She tucks her hair behind her ears, waltzes past them both to settle on the edge of Marika's bed. "If I am to become a plaything of Gods, you may as well show me mercy."
Radagon exchanges a look with Marika, but it's not necessary. They have the same thought at the same time. She lets him go first, settling down next to her, and Marika can feel her warmth as she leans into him. He kisses her, mumbles his affections, his weightless apologies. It's a nice show.
After a moment, she settles at Rennala's other side. Experimentally, she lays an arm across her waist, feeling the soft curve of her hip against Radagon's sharp edges. They fit together nicely, Marika thinks. Another shame.
"Stop-" Rennala breathes out, and both of them pause in their tracks, Marika's arm hovering above her. Rennala shakes her head and takes a deep breath. She smooths her skirt, guides Marika's arm back down to touch her. "Do not apologize to me. Not right now. I've had enough."
"Of course," Marika hears Radagon breathe, and their lips meet again. With Rennala's head tilted, Marika kisses the slope of her jaw, lets her hands creep up Rennala's frame. Her lips glide down, and she reaches up to unfasten the top few buttons of her gown.
The little breathless sounds Rennala makes are sweet, and her breasts are soft. They fit perfectly into the palms of Marika's hands, making her hum with satisfaction. "Your Majesty," she murmurs, her lips pressed just-so to Rennala's earlobe. She feels the Queen shiver beneath her. "You are exceedingly beautiful, you know."
"So beautiful, my Queen." Radagon mumbles his agreement, cradling her jaw in his strong hands. Rennala moans before her lips are taken by his again, and Marika continues unbuttoning her gown. She can feel Radagon's restraint, knows that if he had it his way he'd already have Rennala on his lap. She assumes, though, that his Empyrean endurance does not extend to Rennala, so she moves slowly, plastering marks along the ridge of the Queen's shoulder.
Marika finishes unbuttoning Rennala's gown, and she breaks away from Radagon momentarily to shrug it off. She sighs, leaning back against him, and Marika guides her legs up onto the bed so she can float between them. "Your skin, like fine porcelain," she continues, pressing kisses up her smooth stomach, drawing her lips in a line up her chest. She can feel Radagon watch them, hungry. "Your hair like silk."
Rennala runs her fingers through Marika's hair, and it makes her stomach twist. "Tell me more," she breathes, gazing up at Marika through half-lidded eyes. Radagon reaches around to trace his fingers along Rennala's breasts.
Marika kisses her lips, a soft, quick movement. "Your lips are satin," she mumbles, and kisses her again, this time dipping her tongue between Rennala's lips. When she finally breaks away, she breathes, "You taste of fresh air, of starlight. Your Current must have blessed you."
Rennala laughs a little at that, resting her head back in Radagon's lap to gaze up at him. "Do you agree?"
"Marika speaks my mind," he says, lifting a hand to caress her chin. Marika watches him shift his hips beneath the pressure of the Queen's head. "You are a masterpiece, Rennala. You are my everything. My stars, my Moon."
The same sick feeling tears through Marika's abdomen. She moves her lips down as they speak, delicately unfastening the Queen's drawers as she places kisses atop her thigh. She raises her head, smiling softly between the two of them as she gently slips Rennala's drawers away to pass them to Radagon. "May I, my Lady?"
"You may," Rennala breathes, and she parts her thighs, letting Marika run her palms along the insides of them. She's soft all over, picturesque against Marika and Radagon's equally scar-stained skin. She bows her head, and whispers a prayer; the palms of her hand glow with warm golden heat, illuminating Rennala's curves as they pass over her. Her fingertips buzz, just-so.
Rennala gasps at the sudden sensation of divine heat, her head rolling back as Marika slips her hand between the Queen's legs. "Your Order never blessed your hands this way?" Rennala lilts, tilting her chin up to face Radagon.
"The God-Queen was a cleric," he says, erroneous as ever. He should know better, she thinks, than to bring up her humanity. Rennala must not view her as anything less than divine.
"I was a shaman," she mumbles, resting her chin on Rennala's stomach. A certain level of clarity flickers across Rennala's face. Even Marika's not quite sure why she lets it slip out; that life, that failure, is no longer a part of her. Perhaps it's guilt, then, that compels her.
"I see." Rennala, with all her crystalline knowledge of the Lands, could say any number of biting things about her people, about the Hornsent, about Marika's wretched bloodline. She could interrogate her, write all her non-answers down in a book and distribute it to her people. She does none of this. The silence is too much to bear, and Marika busies herself with pressing kisses over the mound of her pelvis, running her glowing, buzzing fingertips through the soft hair there. "You were undoubtedly a talented one," Rennala says, simply.
"I was," Marika coos, reaching a hand up to toy with one of Rennala's breasts as Radagon gropes the other. Marika grazes her tongue along Rennala's slit, a drawn-out, delicate movement. She feels the Queen's thighs quiver. "It's why I'm so intent on relieving you of this burden." She parts her with her fingers, again outlines her cunt with her tongue before she gets to work. "I'm quite well-versed."
Marika does well, she thinks, judging by the whines that escape the Queen's lips, the way she twists and angles her hips up against Marika's mouth. Radagon hums his approval, and Marika can feel warmth pool in the pit of his-her stomach. He must be touching himself. Typical. She hasn't lain with as many women as she'd like, and even rarer are they on the receiving end of her service. She knows Radagon, at least, is likely envious. Radagon, however, doesn't need his mind scrubbed.
Rennala tastes sweet, sweeter than Marika imagined. Her clit is small and fragile, a beautiful contrast to the broadness of her hips, her shoulders. Marika slips a finger, then two, into her as she presses Rennala's clit between her lips. She wills all the warmth her Order will grant her to emanate from her lips and tongue. She pauses for a moment, and mouths another prayer with her lips still pressed to Rennala's cunt. With her free hand, she traces a crude sigil of golden light between Rennala's ribs, before she returns her attention to Rennala's clit.
She hears Radagon laugh, and she can feel her lips tingle as he bends over to kiss Rennala. "She won't let you finish until she's done with you," he explains, and Marika watches him nuzzle kisses into Rennala's neck.
"I- I s-should have known," Rennala forces out, her back arching so severely that Marika uses her free hand to hold her in place as she sucks at her clit. The Queen whines, knotting her fingers in Marika's hair. "This- This is your idea of mercy?"
Marika hums in agreement, slipping a third finger inside of Rennala. She pauses momentarily to make her point clear as she starts to fuck her properly, watching the Queen tremble with every stroke. "I know you can be patient, my Lady," she murmurs, placing a kiss against her clit. "Your position demands it."
Rennala has no retort to this. Marika works her up again, and stops, over and over, until Marika's sure that the Queen can no longer think about anything but her. Radagon, for one, knows nothing of patience. This is not about him, but he butts in anyway, incessant, pressing at Marika's forehead with his hand. "You glutton," he teases, and Marika thinks he might be right. "She's my wife, not yours."
Marika doesn't stop until he forcefully pushes her away, though she's sure it doesn't take much strength for him. Saliva and slick drip down her chin, and Rennala cries out with the sudden emptiness. Her fingers still wet, fingertips buzzing and glowing, she strokes Rennala's hips as Radagon lowers her head carefully onto the bed. "You've done wonderfully," she coos, dabbing her lips clean on her slip. "So humble in the presence of Gods."
Rennala just whines, her gaze flickering desperately between them. "Please," she whispers.
"Enough teasing her," Radagon snaps definitively as he undresses, practically shoving Marika out of the way to take her place. She will have him for this later.
It is comforting, somehow, to watch them fall into their rhythm. Marika breathes heavily, the glow in her hands dulling as she watches Radagon hook Rennala's legs around his hips, press himself steadily into her. The sound she makes fills the room, and both Marika and Radagon close their eyes in unison, savoring it.
"My Queen," Radagon sings, his breath hitching as he presses in, then out of her in long, steady strokes. Faintly, she can see holy light on his breath, feels his praises imbued with gold. He fills his role here well, and Marika wonders why she was worried in the first place. "My Moon."
"Rada-, ah, -gon," Rennala slurs, draping her arms around his broad shoulders.
"You feel, ah, fucking amazing. You're perfect, Rennala. You're, fuck, everything I need."
He is a loyal dog. Marika catches her breath, and delicately moves around to sit near Rennala's head. It takes the Queen's eyes a second to focus on her through Radagon's shower of red hair, and Marika can see that her pupils have blown out, glassed over. Softly, she pets Rennala's cheek. "It's a lot to handle, I know," she soothes, combing her clean fingers along Rennala's scalp. "You're the only woman in the Lands to take two Gods into your bed. How does it feel?"
"Please," Rennala repeats, and Marika tuts her tongue.
"I asked you a question, my Lady."
"It feels- like I'll melt-"
"Lovely," Marika coos, and Radagon growls his approval, slamming fervently into Rennala now. The Queen cries out, reaches a limp arm out to grab at Marika's thigh. "You already need more of me?"
Rennala just whines, and Radagon gives her a parting kiss before leaning back to allow Marika room, in turn hitching one of Rennala's legs up over his shoulder. He groans as she shifts her weight to allow the extra pressure of his hips. My love, he thinks, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Marika shakes her head, hard, willing him to stop thinking so loudly, so close to her. She poises herself on her knees, swings a leg to set herself over the Queen's face. She watches a bead of sweat, then another, fall from Radagon's forehead to Rennala's hips. "You've taken us so well, thus far," she says, and in response, Rennala wraps both arms around her thighs. "The Will watches, you know. Your service puts you in high regard."
Rennala doesn't look like she cares about this much, but Marika thinks the reminder is pertinent. She angles her hips down, lets Rennala pull her close and press her tongue inside of her. She moves quickly, precisely, despite her fatigue, despite Radagon's unrelenting pace. Distantly, Marika wonders if Rennala is, perhaps, less sheltered than she imagined.
Rennala's moans against her are a pleasant hum, and Marika rocks her hips, bracing her hands firmly against Rennala's breasts. She presses her nipples between her fingers, cooing out praises, letting the Queen prove her submission as long as she wants. "So devoted," she hums, feeling her back arch as the rocking of Radagon's hips into Rennala's body drags her tongue across the length of Marika's cunt.
She watches Radagon lose his composure, feeling as though he might be doing the same to her. Eyes half-lidded, he gazes at her as he fucks the Queen, hot breaths of gold-tinged air that she's almost positive Rennala can't see escaping from his lips. Marika cocks her head, smiling lazily at him. "I told you I was helping," she breathes.
Radagon rolls his eyes, leaning forward to get a better angle at Rennala. Bitch, he thinks, and Marika just laughs, letting Rennala pull her closer. She watches him tense up and grab the Queen's hips, watches his eyes roll back into his head.
"Wait," Marika orders, breathless. Radagon curses her under his breath, but obeys, not dropping his pace. "You've been so patient, my Lady," she pants, running her fingertips back along the sigil pressed to Rennala's skin. In an instant, it disappears, and Rennala screams. Marika tilts her hips back, giving Rennala room to breathe as she comes. Radagon holds her in place, grinds his hips as he finishes inside of her. To come inside of her so soon before leaving her, in the presence of the God-Queen of rebirth- at the foot of the Erdtree, no less- is a risk all too characteristic of him, Marika thinks. She hopes he will carry that guilt alone.
"Rennala," he groans, and Marika feels the name reverberate in her head. She doesn't come (a side effect of her ascension, most likely), but the numbing feeling of Radagon's climax is pleasant, regardless. Rennala shudders and hitches, her nails anchored in the flesh of Marika's thighs. Gingerly, Marika guides Rennala's hands away, turning to face her, lapping her tongue at the wet corners of her lips. Rennala squirms.
"How do you feel?" Marika whispers, feeling Radagon start to grope at her ass.
"Your Highness," she gasps, her voice quivering. There is not a hint of misery in her voice, and Marika feels personally successful. "I, ah. So good. S-so good. Th-thank you." The Will is pleased with her gratitude.
Still, Radagon grabs at her. Empyrean men are rarely satisfied, and, Marika supposes, she is grateful for his compliance. She gazes at him over her shoulder, watches him whisper a prayer to produce a pool of golden oil cupped in his hands. He uses one hand to work it over his cock, the other pressing a few fingers to her cunt. He gathers her slick on his fingers and trails them up, pushing them against her ass. It's something he's made abundantly clear Rennala won't allow, and Marika is not necessarily opposed to acquiescing, for him. Nevermind the vulgarity.
He works his fingers into her slowly, but easily. He knows her body well. Marika kisses Rennala and the Queen obliges, her jaw hanging open to grant Marika's tongue entrance. Radagon works her open expertly, and Marika feels her muscles relax. Rennala wraps her arms around Marika's waist, and she savors the feeling of being revered.
Radagon eases her open, presses the tip of his cock against her ass. His pressure is as unyielding as ever, and Marika's breath catches in anticipation. Radagon braces his hands on her hips, and Marika can feel Rennala hold them. The fact that she doesn't mind is the confirmation Marika needs that this endeavor has been successful. Even if the idea of success still makes her sick.
She can't care, though, because she feels herself melt as Radagon presses into her, starts to slowly fuck her. This is what she needed, she thinks. The feeling of being Whole with him is like nothing else Marika's experienced. Not with Godfrey, not with anyone. She can feel herself tremble around him from both sides, as if her nerves extended through his limbs, as if they were two halves of one body.
Rennala just watches, her breath finally steadying as Marika braces her hands against Rennala's waist for leverage. "Marika," she hears Radagon grunt as he picks up a fixed rhythm. She feels herself stretch and rearrange to accommodate him, feels the way his heart thumps in his chest, feels the blood rush in his head. The rush of power and the burn of submission all hits her at once. She knows he feels it too. She tosses her head back, and Radagon catches her easily. He knots his fingers in her braid and pulls, hard, slamming into her as she does.
"Marika," Rennala repeats, voice wavering, trembling hands dancing up Marika's front to frame her breasts. "Allow me, my Lady."
Marika gasps her assent to whatever it is, her eyes rolled back as Radagon moves faster. She rocks her hips against him, and he wraps her hair around his fist to give himself more leverage. She feels like he might split her in two, claim her body as his own, the very core of him leaking into hers- the thought practically makes her scream, and the Will sings to her.
The room is illuminated in stark blue, for a moment, and Marika tenses for a moment, eliciting a moan from Radagon. She strains her neck against his grip to focus on Rennala, who's produced a sizeable, smooth cylinder of glinstone that hovers in her palm. It is, of course, phallic. It's cold against Marika's chest.
"Make her take it," Radagon growls, flexing his nails steadily into her hips. "The God-Queen's a whore."
Rennala scoffs, guiding the crystal down with a flick of her wrist. "You said it, not I," she rasps, cupping Marika's cheek with the hand not focused on her sorcery. Marika just hums as Rennala guides the crystal up against her cunt, the movement of Radagon's hips against hers practically grinding her onto it. Renalla lets it slide inside of her, slowly, too slowly, and Marika's whole body shakes. Radagon lets go of her hair to grab her hips with both hands, and she falls forward, dropping her face into Rennala's chest.
"I- nn- you're so- aggravating-" Marika chokes out, and Radagon crashes into her for that, so deep Marika can feel him in her stomach. His blood runs so hot, and the glinstone is so cold and unyielding, Marika can't hear herself think. Perhaps this is what they've done to Rennala, she thinks, before another thrust from Radagon wipes the thought away. It's not so bad.
The glinstone seems to move automatically now, and Rennala has both hands on her, brushing her hair out of the way, kissing her temple. "I forgive you, my Queen," she whispers, and the glinstone twists and grinds up into her organs deeper than any cock could. She can't respond. It's revolting, the way this soothes her. Marika just whines and kisses her, languid and crass.
Radagon's leaned over her, and he pants against the back of her neck as he grinds her down onto his cock. She's not sure whose looming orgasm she can feel in the pit of her stomach, but it doesn't matter much. He slams heavily into her, and Marika's almost sure now that she'll split open.
"Fuck, Marika-"
She screams as she comes, a wave of static electricity that makes her whole body contract. It is an exceptionally good orgasm. Rennala holds her as Radagon finishes, again, and she can feel his sticky warmth seep through her insides. "There you go," Rennala hums, and Marika flops over her, rendered limp for a few moments. Radagon pulls away as she does, groaning in satisfaction. "I meant it, you know," Rennala continues, closing her eyes and splaying back on the bed. Marika listens to her heartbeat, feels Radagon gently dab her clean with a handkerchief. "I think you're in over your head."
"Hush," Marika finally croaks. The Will whispers its agitation, and Marika takes a breath, tries to sound dignified. "I do not need your counsel, my Lady. Only your approval." She hears Radagon sneer at that as he makes his way across the chamber to ring for her footmen. It is unnecessarily bitter, but she can hardly face herself tonight.
Once Marika can stand, both of them follow her into her bath in a rather unbefitting procession of stumbling and disarray. Marika slides into the hot water, sinks her head under and holds it. Her lungs do not react. Rennala's settled into Radagon's side, and he holds her, combs his fingers through her hair and whispers sweet nothings to her until she can't keep her eyes open. Marika watches them in silence.
That's it, then. Nothing to worry about anymore, she thinks, with the House of Caria complacent with Radagon's abandonment. It doesn't hurt anymore, at least, another gracious blessing of the Will. She was made to withstand decisions like these. The numbness is pleasant, and Marika lets the steam burn her eyes until Radagon finally speaks to her.
"She's asleep," he says, drawing Marika out of her stupor. She blinks at him. Rennala's head rests on his shoulder, picturesque, her skin red from the heat of the water. "We should let her rest. She's…" He leaves the rest unsaid, because they both know. They know she will not be the same when she wakes up.
"On we go, then," Marika says, plainly. She stands up, rings for her servants that wrap them in downy robes. Rennala mumbles her thanks, and Radagon winces, just enough that Marika can see it. Back in her chambers, despite the expanse, they sleep pressed together with Rennala between them. All night, Radagon holds the Queen like he's afraid she might disappear if he lets go. With Rennala's soft breath on the back of her neck, Marika lets sleep take her, and prays that she dreams of her future.