Content Warning:
This story contains mature themes, including emotional manipulation, romantic obsession, political betrayal, intense conflict, and suggestive scenes.
It also explores dark emotional states and past trauma that may be sensitive for some readers.
Reader discretion is advised.
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It was the first time she had slept with three men.
Curtsey to her lover, Lucien. A duke and soon to be husband. It was his suggestion that they do it and she very much enjoyed it.
She slept well too body tingling from the pleasure she had experienced. Her nipples were still hard, pussy still wet as if craving for more.
She would love to go on another round-- already missing his lips on her neck, her lips and breasts.
Cressida softly smiled to herself as she shifted beneath the silk sheets, bare skin brushing against cool fabric, a sigh caught at the back of her throat. The candle by the window had burned low. The sky outside was still dark, stars clinging faintly to their place.
She reached out blindly across the bed. But felt nothing but air.
Lucien's side was empty.
She blinked, lazily at first, then sat up just enough to scan the shadows.
Her fingers brushed the hollow in the pillow where his head had been just hours ago. It still smelled like him, lavender, leather, and smoke. Her mouth curled slightly.
Typical of him to vanish before dawn. Always careful. Always cautious. The Duke of Valedrith knew how quickly love could become a scandal.
If only she had a cleaner name then they wouldn't have to hide.
Alas! It wasn't so.
She stretched her body, and settled back with a quiet exhale, eyes fluttering closed again.
But that was short lived.
The door exploded open.
It was kicked. Hard. Loud. The crash echoed off the marble.
Cressida jerked up, heart slamming against her ribs, arms scrambling to pull the sheet to her chest. It was too late.
Four guards flooded the room like hounds let loose. Their boots thundered across the floor. Steel swords shone at their sides. Not one of them spoke.
"What in the gods' name—" her voice caught, but she forced it out. "Get out! Now!"
No one stopped. No one turned.
They marched past her slippers, past her lace robe folded neatly over the armchair.
She clutched the sheet tighter, backing away until her shoulders hit the headboard.
"What is this?" she snapped, breath catching. "Where is Lucien? Who gave you permission to—"
The captain stepped forward. His face was all angles and nothing. No pity. No shame.
"By order of Her Majesty, Cressida Valmont, you are under arrest for high treason."
"Treason?" she echoed, laughing once, the sound dry and ridiculous in her mouth. "You've lost your mind. You dare to accuse me of Treason?"
"Grab her," he barked to the others.
"No, don't you dare—" Cressida pushed forward, clutching the blanket as if it were armor. "You think I'll let you parade me through the palace like this?"
One of the guards, younger than the others, looked away.
The captain didn't.
"You won't need your dignity where you're going."
"Don't touch me," she hissed.
They lunged anyway.
Hands grabbed her arms, yanked her forward. The sheet slipped—exposing her nakedness, baring her like something shameful. She fought, but there were too many. Fingers bruised her wrists as they pulled.
"I command you to leave me!" She screamed.
"Where is he?" she choked. "Where is Lucien?!"
No one answered.
They didn't need to.
Hands yanked her again. The sheet slipped further. Her breasts were bare now, bouncing with each tug, the chill slicing across her skin like punishment.
She fought them, elbows swinging, nails scratching. But they were just too strong.
"Let me go!" she shouted, matching their steps as they pulled her across the corridor. "I said let me go!"
They didn't stop.
"I am soon to be the Duke's wife! Do you hear me?" she cried. "You're disgracing me! He will have you all hanged for this!"
Still nothing.
Stone walls blurred past. Her heels scraped the floor. She stumbled, nearly fell, but they didn't slow down. The palace was too quiet. Like it had already decided she was guilty.
When they reached the double doors to the throne hall, one guard shoved them open. The others dragged her in like she was nothing but a sack of potatoes.
They threw her forward.
She landed hard. Knees hit first, then her palms. The stone tore skin, and her breath caught as pain surged up her arms. Blood trickled down one wrist.
She didn't cry.
Instead, she looked up, eyes wide, mouth parting in confusion.
The queen stood in front of me.
And beside her stood Lucien.
And a woman.
Tall. Pale. Regal. A soft green gown draped over her belly, full and swollen.
Pregnant.
Cressida's blood ran cold.
"What… is this?" she asked, voice like broken glass.
The Queen didn't flinch. Her lip curled.
"Silence you shameful child."
Cressida's shoulders drew back despite the nakedness, despite the blood on her knees.
She looked at Lucien.
He looked back.
"Lucien," she whispered, "what is this?"
The Queen laughed softly. Bitterly. "This," she said, "is the woman you thought could be your equal. A whore. A prostitute. And now she stands here, bare and bleeding, and you dare bring shame to this family for her?"
Lucien's jaw clenched. "She's not a whore."
"Then what is she?" the Queen snapped.
"She saved me," he said quietly. "Five years ago. On the border. You remember that night."
The Queen's face didn't change.
Lucien stepped forward, his voice firmer now. "She took a blade meant for me. She bled beside me. We've been together ever since."
Cressida couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Her chest ached, but she didn't know if it was from the fall or the words.
And then the Queen turned, slowly, to the woman beside her. "All while married to Lady Evelyne Harrow, daughter of Lord Marius Harrow of the Eastern Province. Do you know…how embarrassing this is for us?"
The woman bowed her head slightly, trembling. Her hands rested over her swollen stomach.
Cressida blinked. "He… what?"
The Queen's face twisted, lips sharp. "You thought you were his secret? No, girl. You were just a break from the political wife. And now you sit there, naked in front of your betters, because you thought you mattered."
"I didn't know," Cressida said, breath catching in her throat. "He told me he was unmarried. He—he swore it. I didn't know."
"You're lying," the Queen said flatly.
"I'm not!" she snapped, her voice breaking out sharp and loud. "I would never—I didn't know she existed! Am I being disgraced for his sin?"
Lucien said nothing.
He stood there like a painted figure. Silent. Motionless. Eyes empty.
Cressida looked at him, jaw clenched, heart cracking open and spilling rage. "Say something!" she yelled. "Tell them I didn't know. That you lied to me!"
He didn't speak.
He didn't blink.
She stared at him like he'd turned to stone.
Coward.
The Queen's brow lifted slightly. "That's what I thought."
Lady Evelyne turned, tears streaming silently down her face. She didn't speak either—but it was worse than yelling.
Cressida's breath hitched. "I didn't seduce him. He came to me. He wanted me—he said he loved me."
"How convenient," the Queen said.