The solar doors sealed with a soft hiss of wind-magic, cutting off the outside world.
Only the crackle of the hearth and the slow drip of milk onto marble broke the silence.
Seraphine Valmont stood motionless before Alex, her midnight velvet gown already darkening at the breasts where milk had begun to leak in earnest.
The scent rolling off her was intoxicating: aged rose attar, warm skin, and beneath it the sharp, fertile tang of a woman whose body had waited decades for this exact moment.
Her five sons formed a half-circle behind her—Alaric rigid with fury, Theron calculating, Cassian flushed, Draven brooding, Lucian trembling—each breathing the same thick air.
Mira never stopped her slow worship.
She knelt at Alex's feet, lips stretched around the head of his cock, tongue swirling the salty bead of pre-cum with reverent care.
Her own milk dripped steadily from heavy breasts onto the marble in warm, creamy plops that echoed softly.
Vespera pressed in from the side, sliding her milk-slick breasts around the shaft in a slow, luxurious boobjob, the plush, veined flesh squeezing in perfect rhythm while her nipples left sticky white trails along his length.
The combined texture—hot velvet mouth and warm, leaking tits—drew a low groan from Alex that made every son flinch.
Alaric reacted first.
The eldest prince's hand twitched toward his sword hilt, knuckles bone-white.
His jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped beneath the skin; eyes fixed on his mother's leaking breasts and the way her thighs trembled beneath velvet.
The scent of her arousal hit him like a blow—rose attar drowned in thick, maternal musk—and his own cock betrayed him, straining visibly against his breeches.
He wanted to roar, to draw steel, to drag her away, but the linkage pulsed through him like a second heartbeat, forcing blood to pool hot and heavy between his legs.
Alex watched the internal war play across Alaric's face and smiled inwardly: Protective rage is the sweetest fuel. The harder he fights, the tighter the chain will bind him when he finally kneels to hold his mother open for me.
Theron, the scholar, studied everything with cold precision.
His gaze flicked between the slow glide of Vespera's milk-slick tits, Mira's throat working, and the faint golden threads shimmering beneath his mother's skin where the sigil had already begun to take root.
He catalogued every detail—the wet sounds of suction, the creamy scent flooding the room, the way Seraphine's breath hitched with each pulse of the linkage.
Yet beneath the scholarly mask his cock throbbed painfully, pre-cum soaking through silk in a dark bloom.
Theron swallowed hard, lips parting on a silent calculation: If this power can end the curse… then logic demands submission.
Alex caught the flicker of reluctant acceptance and thought: The thinker breaks slowest, but once broken he becomes the most useful tool—recording every conquest for posterity.
Cassian could barely stand still.
The golden-haired prince shifted from foot to foot, cheeks burning scarlet, eyes locked on Mira's mouth sliding down Alex's cock.
Every wet slurp made his own hips twitch involuntarily; the scent of his mother's leaking milk and sudden arousal made his mouth water.
He had never seen her like this—regal Seraphine trembling, nipples dripping, thighs slick beneath velvet.
His cock strained visibly, leaking steadily, and he hated how much he wanted to step forward, to touch, to taste.
Alex noted the restless hunger and filed it away: The impulsive one will beg first. He'll hold his brothers' mother open and thank me for the privilege.
Draven stood like a statue carved from shadow, scar across his jaw twitching.
His dark eyes burned with something deeper than rage—old grief mixed with new, unwanted desire.
He watched Kael's hands rest lightly on Seraphine's shoulders, guiding her closer, and the sight of his mother's body responding to another man's touch made his chest ache.
Yet his cock betrayed him completely, throbbing visibly, pre-cum soaking through in thick drops.
The linkage forced phantom strokes along his length with every thrust Alex gave Mira.
Alex read the brooding pain and thought: Grief is the deepest anchor. When he finally breaks, he'll guard her womb like a sacred relic.
Lucian, the youngest, was trembling openly.
Twenty-one and still boyish, his face was crimson from collar to hairline.
He couldn't tear his eyes from Vespera's breasts sliding along Alex's cock, from the creamy milk coating everything, from his own mother's leaking nipples.
His cock had been hard since the gate; now it ached so fiercely he was leaking through three layers of silk.
A soft, involuntary whimper escaped him when Mira took Alex deeper, throat bulging visibly.
Alex smiled inside: The innocent one will shatter fastest. He'll cry when he finally holds his mother's thighs apart and watches me breed her.
Seraphine took one more step forward—close enough that her velvet brushed Alex's knees.
Her voice was barely a whisper, ragged with need.
"Show them… show my sons what true alliance costs."
Mira pulled off Alex's cock with a wet pop, strings of saliva and pre-cum connecting her lips to the glistening head.
She looked up at Seraphine with gentle authority.
"Kneel, Your Grace. Let your sons hold you while the Mother fills you."
Seraphine sank to her knees—graceful even now—between Alex's spread thighs.
Alaric moved first, compelled by shame and the linkage, kneeling behind his mother and wrapping strong arms around her waist.
Theron followed, taking her left wrist, fingers trembling.
Cassian knelt at her right, breath hot against her ear.
Draven and Lucian completed the circle—Draven's scarred hands on her shoulders, Lucian's youthful fingers shaking as they rested on her thighs.
Mira guided Seraphine's mouth onto Alex's cock.
The queen-regent's lips stretched around him—hot, hesitant, then eager—tongue tasting the mix of Mira's saliva, Vespera's milk, and his own salty essence.
Vespera resumed her boobjob from the side, milk-slick breasts squeezing the shaft while Seraphine sucked the head.
The combined sensation—warm throat, plush tits, leaking milk—drew a low groan from Alex that made every son flinch.
The private audience had truly begun.
And the Valmont bloodline was about to be rewritten in seed and sigils.