Rebirth of the Villain
Chapter 46: The Queen’s Devotion ( 18+)(VOL2)

Chapter 46: The Queen’s Devotion ( 18+)(VOL2)

The first rays of dawn painted the royal bedchamber.

Arthur Lionheart, King of Lyranth, stirred as a familiar warmth engulfed his dick, waking him up from his sleep with waves of pleasure.

"Good morning, my King," Isolde breathed before taking him deeper, her tongue working expertly along his length. The queen’s crown—her crown now—glinted on the nightstand beside an overturned portrait frame.

Arthur’s eyes focused on the woman who had once been his stepmother, watching her head bob eagerly between his legs. She wore nothing but the sapphire necklace Gareth had given her last winter, the gems bouncing against her full breasts with each movement.

"Eager this morning, aren’t we?" Arthur’s hand tangled in her hair, forcing her to take him to the base. She gagged slightly but didn’t pull back, her submission absolute. "Tell me, my queen, what has you so... inspired?"

She released him with an obscene pop, saliva connecting her lips to his glistening shaft. "Gareth sent another letter last night. He’s begging to see his mother."

She wrapped her breasts around him, using the necklace’s chain to squeeze them together. "Should I write back and tell him she’s dead? That only your whore queen remains?"

"No," Arthur commanded, thrusting between her soft flesh. "Let him keep hoping. His suffering is far from complete."

The next hour passed.

She whispered comparisons that would have destroyed Gareth to hear—how Arthur’s strength made her former husband seem like a child, how her years of maternal duty had been wasted on such a weak son.

"I used to sing him lullabies," she gasped, her body trembling against Arthur’s. "Now I only want to scream your name."

As their morning ritual concluded, Isolde lay draped across Arthur’s chest, tracing patterns on his skin with one perfectly manicured nail.

"The court assembles in an hour, my King. Gareth’s weekly petition for an audience is on the docket."

Arthur smiled, the expression holding no warmth. "Then we should make it memorable. Wear the blue dress—the one from his coming-of-age ceremony."

"The one where I told him how proud I was to be his mother?" Isolde’s laughed.

The throne room of Lyranth had seen centuries of royal grandeur, but never quite like this.

Arthur sat upon the throne, while Isolde perched on the armrest, her legs draped possessively across his lap. The blue dress, as requested, clung to her body—the same dress she’d worn while dancing with Gareth at his eighteenth birthday, now repurposed for her new role.

Courtiers filled the great hall, their eyes carefully averted from the intimate display yet unable to ignore the palpable shift in power dynamics.

Where once Queen Isolde had stood beside the throne as a dignified maternal figure, now she existed solely as an extension of Arthur’s will.

"Bring in the petitioner," Arthur commanded.

The doors opened, and Prince Gareth Lionheart entered under guard.

The transformation was shocking. Where once stood a proud, if somewhat weak, prince now shuffled a broken shell.

His clothes hung loose on his frame, his eyes sunken and hollow. But it was the way those eyes fixed on Isolde that truly revealed his torment—desperate, pleading, still hoping against hope.

"M-mother?" The word cracked from his throat.

Isolde’s response was to shift closer to Arthur, her hand sliding possessively across his chest. "That title belongs to the past, Gareth. You will address me as Your Majesty."

The court held its collective breath. Even the guards, hardened soldiers all, couldn’t hide their discomfort at the scene unfolding before them.

"Please," Gareth took a stumbling step forward, only to be stopped by crossed spears. "Mother, I haven’t seen you in weeks. I just need—"

"What you need," Arthur interrupted,

his hand sliding up Isolde’s thigh, fingers brushing the edge of her soaked undergarments, Your mother made her choice. Haven’t you, my queen?"

Isolde turned in Arthur’s lap, straddling him. The blue dress rode up, revealing the glistening evidence of her arousal and the fresh marks Arthur had left that morning.

She cupped his face and kissed him deeply, her tongue dancing with his in a shameless display, her moans muffled against his lips. When she pulled back, her lipstick was smeared, her eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.

She kissed Arthur deeply, performance and genuine desire indistinguishable, while her son watched with mounting horror.

When she finally pulled back, her lipstick smeared, she glanced at Gareth with cool dismissal.

"Did you need something else? The King and I have important matters to discuss.

"You’re still my mother!" Gareth’s voice broke completely, tears streaming down his face. "How can you—with him—he’s your stepson!"

"Correction," Arthur said, his supernatural presence flooding the room with dark authority. "I’m her King. Her lover.

Her entire world. And you? You’re a reminder of weakness she’s outgrown."

He gestured lazily, and Isolde responded instantly, dropping to her knees beside the throne in a position of submission that somehow radiated power.

She looked up at Arthur with absolute devotion, then turned that same expression—twisted into contempt—toward Gareth.

"Do you know what your father lacked, Gareth? What you lack?" She rose gracefully, returning to Arthur’s lap.

"Everything that makes a real man. I wasted twenty years learning to accept mediocrity. Your brother showed me what I was missing."

"Brother?" Gareth laughed hysterically. "He’s not my brother! He’s a monster who stole—"

Arthur’s power slammed into Gareth like a physical force, driving him to his knees. The guards stepped back instinctively as the temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

"I stole nothing," Arthur said quietly, infinitely more terrifying than any shout.

"She came willingly. Eagerly. Tell him, Isolde. Tell him about our first night."

Isolde’s smile was radiant and terrible. "That night you were helpless, he punished me, Gareth. You are powerless, and I... I was discovering what it meant to truly live."

The court had gone deathly silent. Several nobles excused themselves quietly, unable to witness further humiliation of the fallen prince. But Arthur wasn’t finished.

"You know what I find most pathetic?" He pulled Isolde closer, his hand tangling in her hair exactly as he had that morning. "You still love her. Even now, knowing she feels nothing but disgust for you."

He whispered something in Isolde’s ear that made her laugh—bright and genuine and utterly devoid of warmth for her son.

"Shall we tell him about the nursery?" she asked, loud enough for the entire court to hear.

Gareth’s head snapped up. "Nursery?"

"For our children," Isolde said simply, each word a dagger. "Your replacements. Born of passion instead of duty, strength instead of weakness."

[ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: THE MOTHER TAKER]

[Energy Overflow: +300]

[Evolution Progress: 52%]

[New Ability Unlocked: Bloodline Corruption]

"Gareth," he said, his tone shifting to mock kindness. "I’m going to offer you a choice. Leave now, go to your chambers, and accept your new reality. Or stay, and watch your mother demonstrate exactly how thoroughly she belongs to me."

Isolde’s hand was already moving to Arthur’s belt, her intentions clear. Several courtiers audibly gasped, while others turned away.

But Gareth remained frozen, unable to move, unable to look away.

"I thought so," Arthur murmured. "Guards, help the prince to a chair. He seems unsteady on his feet."

"No," Gareth whispered, but the guards were already moving, positioning him with a perfect view of the throne.

"Mother, please—"

"Shh," Isolde said. "Just watch, sweetling. Maybe you’ll learn something about how to please a woman. Gods know you’ll need the education if you ever hope to—oh!"

Arthur had pulled her fully onto his lap, cutting off her cruel words with action.

The throne room, built for royal pronouncements and ceremony, became a stage for absolute domination.

"Tell him," Arthur commanded between Isolde’s gasps. "Tell him who you belong to."

"You!" She cried out, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "Only you, my King! My love! My—"

"Your what?" His hand tightened around her throat, not enough to harm, just enough to command.

"My everything," she finished, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy. "My son means nothing. My past means nothing. Only you, Arthur. Only you!"

Gareth’s broken sobs provided a counterpoint to his mother’s cries of pleasure.

The guards stood frozen, uncertain whether to intervene or simply endure.

The remaining courtiers watched in horrified fascination as their former queen degraded herself—no, elevated herself in her own mind—before them all.

[Energy Maximum Exceeded]

[Evolution Progress: 58%]

[Warning: Primordial Influence Detected]

[Integration Status: Controlled]

Arthur felt the surge of power threatening to overwhelm him, the ancient presence within stirring at the feast of corruption. But his will held firm, channeling the energy into controlled growth rather than chaotic transformation.

When it was over, Isolde lay boneless against him, her dress ruined, her crown askew. She looked at Gareth with lazy satisfaction, like a well-fed cat regarding a mouse.

"Did you learn anything useful, darling?" she asked with mock sweetness. "No? Pity. You always were a slow learner."

Gareth had gone catatonic, his mind simply unable to process the complete destruction of everything he’d held dear.

"Take him to the medical wing," Arthur commanded the guards. "Ensure he receives the best care. I want him healthy."

As they carried the broken prince away, Isolde nuzzled against Arthur’s neck. "Was I cruel enough, my King? I can do better next time if—"

"You were perfect," Arthur assured her, already planning the next phase of Gareth’s torment. "Absolutely perfect."

The throne room slowly emptied. Soon only Arthur and Isolde remained, emperor and empress of their own dark kingdom.

"The blue dress was an inspired choice," Isolde murmured, examining the ruined fabric. "I’ll have to burn it now. Along with everything else from my old life."

"Not yet," Arthur said, his mind already working through future possibilities. "We’ll need props for future performances.

And Gareth’s education has only just begun."

She shivered against him, whether from cold or anticipation he neither knew nor cared.

The sun climbed higher over Lyranth, its light doing nothing to warm the cold new reality that had settled over the palace.

And in the medical wing, a broken prince mumbled a single word over and over, a child’s plea that would never again be answered:

"Mother... mother... mother..."

Hawklight entered the room seeing the prince dragged away. " My Lord area confirmed. Waiting for your orders."

"I would join you soon " Arthur replied.

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