Chapter 27 | Sephania
Sephania
We meet no resistance as we make our way through the dizzying heights and glamorous streets of the Commerce Ward.
A few vampires pass us, heading in the opposite direction toward the central and southern regions of Olhav, likely to lick their chops at the sight of so much fresh blood making its way up the mountain.
It makes my insides itch, my body shudder, even though they leave us alone. They’re much too preoccupied to worry about Aramastun’s fugitives.
Liolen Sesk’s opulent abode is a cock-shaped fortress with a high tower in the middle, and smaller buildings surrounding it. Platforms lead from the tower to the balconies of the smaller spires.
Staring at the network called Fort Flittus, I mutter, “Quite on the nose, isn’t it?”
“Nothing about Overliege Liolen Sesk is understated,” Skar answers in a blithe, annoyed tone.
Nothing about you is, either, my haughty nobleblood, I resist saying it. No point pushing buttons when things are so tenuous right now between half my mates.
Two guards wait for us at the double doors that reach twice the height of a man.
The guards wield halberds and advance cautiously, dressed in garb suited to their mercenary purposes: mismatched armor, colorful scarves across the necks to stave off chill, foppish hats.
They look less like guards and more like gala attendees roleplaying looking fierce.
“You are the Loreblood keeper?” the one on the left asks in a lisp.
I note they’re interfolk, a rare breed of vampire with the exception of Palacia and the Gilded Liege. “I am.”
“The overliege has been expecting you.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Inside the castle is no less ostentatious than it looked on the outside.
Carved pillars and colonnades hold up vaulted ceilings, with priceless chandeliers hanging from the rafters.
Numerous winding staircases with golden handrails lead up seemingly to nowhere.
Doors are open and closed, servants wandering through the many rooms. Red and green carpets, pricey imported rugs, tapestries of naked vampires in sensual positions, and a cloying scent of perfume and decadence in the air.
After a confusing walk through the maze that spits us out on the third or fourth level, the guards deposit us in front of a small door, less gaudy than the rest of the place, which by itself is a surprise and makes it stick out like a sore thumb, as if to say, “Don’t look over here at the homely door, it’s not important. ”
The guards step aside and I share one last look with my mates, inhaling slowly and breathing out even slower. I give them a firm nod and lead the way into the room.
When we enter, the scent and situation is an immediate shock to the system. The smell is a combination of honeyed perfume and the musk of sex, creating a heady mixture. The scene is right out of an erotic storybook I might find hidden on one of Manor Marquin’s rare bookshelves.
Liolen Sesk stands before us in the center of the room, halfway between us at the door and the throne behind them.
They are naked, alarmingly so, and holding out a golden robe with both arms stretched wide, creating a winged appearance.
Like they’re presenting their enviable body to anyone who enters, telling us to come hither and be amazed.
Liolen’s porcelain skin is unblemished, impeccable, and utterly soft and sensuous.
My wide eyes take them from bare feet to smooth pate.
Their hips are wide like a woman’s, their waist narrow and seductive; small pert breasts stand at attention, somehow gently bouncing as if on their own; between their legs is a tiny cock, also standing at attention, and their body is completely hairless except for the long golden hair gleaming down to their hips.
A small smirk plays on their beautiful face, which is gaunt and hollowed at the cheeks, with high features that seem slightly .
. . flushed? I didn’t think vampires could blush.
But Liolen’s entire body seems to be precariously trembling. Perhaps from the cold.
“Ah, you made it, Sephania Lock,” Liolen murmurs. Their voice is airy yet somehow guttural, combining the anatomical situation of their male and female parts, which I’m currently looking at with no small amount of stun.
It’s hard to keep my mouth from falling open.
My throat is dry, my lips are wet, and I lick them.
I don’t mean for it to look any certain way, but the appearance of the Gilded Liege, mixed with the haze-inducing scents in the room, seem to scramble my brain.
“I-I have,” I let out in a rasp, clearing my throat. “Where’s Palacia?”
“By all that’s Damned,” Skar scolds. “Do you not have any fucking clothes to wear when taking guests?”
Liolen’s smirk widens, their full pouty lips tilting upward. Glancing left and right, Liolen takes in the golden hems of the robe held in either fist, their figure the appearance of one being crucified. “Is this robe not an article of clothes?”
“Clothes to wear, you strange fu—”
“Perhaps I can answer both your questions at once,” Liolen murmurs, their voice like honey. The blush of their face goes deeper, or perhaps that’s the light-pink rouge playing tricks with the torchlight in the room. They let out a small sound, almost a whimper.
Then Liolen drops the gold robe to the ground at their dainty bare feet, in a flourish that has the effect of tossing the expensive garment aside.
That’s when I see the offset shadow behind Liolen.
Small hands gripping those wide, womanly hips.
The overliege is a tall figure, statuesque with their porcelain qualities and perfect skin.
There’s a person behind them, previously hidden by the robe, and they are clearly not tall, because I can’t even fucking see them except for the spindly hands on either side of Liolen’s hips.
The overliege lets out a mewling grunt. Their fine eyebrows arch helplessly.
“Uhhck,” they let out in a sound of constrained relief.
Veins protrude along their perfect thin neck.
And then their tiny, trembling cock throbs and abruptly spurts cum across the floor in front of them in thin ropes of white.
I gasp.
A squelching wet sound, as Palacia steps back from Liolen’s upright form and shyly moves to the side of the overliege. The contrast is utterly absurd, and my mates let out various sounds: amused, confused, disgruntled, and perhaps even aroused.
I’ve always known that despite being a cute, small person, Palacia had something between her legs that put almost every man’s to shame. I’ve seen it before, too, in the shadows of the Firehold, or even in that cave from weeks back when we shared our awkward and confusing “moment.”
Never have I seen it in such visceral detail as I do now, however, when Palacia withdraws her cock from Liolen’s ass after fucking them to completion, and steps beside them.
She hardly comes up to Liolen’s shoulders in height.
Their slender frame is so undeniably female.
Yet her cock is a long, thick monster with a beautiful pink hue, weighed down by its own girth, swinging between narrow thighs with wet slapping sounds that gently ring out in the room.
Dripping with gleaming juices. She is naked as well, sporting a placid, flat expression across her pretty face that makes no sense for the torrid situation she’s just been in.
It’s physically impossible to stop myself from becoming aroused, even though I know I shouldn’t.
They are two incredibly beautiful people, pale and perfect in the moonlight through the window behind them, even if their appearances are antithetical to everything I’ve ever known that constitutes what a man and a woman is supposed to look like.
This is my friend. I shouldn’t feel this way about them.
I grew up with Palacia in the Firehold, long before she became an emotionless vampire.
I know there’s still a human in there, somewhere, begging to be released.
It’s an urge I feel to steal my friend away from this tall vampirex menace standing so close to her.
To make the feeling worse for me, Liolen drapes a spindly arm behind Palacia’s neck and puts a soft hand on her far shoulder, squeezing possessively and squishing her against their body. Claiming her. My friend.
Looking at Skartovius with that dancing little smirk, Liolen says, “You never told me what an incorrigible libido my little fae queen has, Lord Ashfen.” They huff a little laugh, completely unembarrassed someone so miniature out-mans them, seemingly by a fivefold ratio if I had to guess.
Skartovius can do nothing but gawk and sputter in shock. Same for all of us. We came here to discuss steps moving forward—not to be exposed to utter lust and depravity the moment we stepped through the door.
“Do you want to give them the good news, little fairy, or shall I?” Liolen asks, inclining their chin to stare down a sharp nose at Palacia.
Pala remains flat, unaffected, somehow looking like they haven’t just had an amazing time stuffing full one of the most powerful vampires in Olhav. Her half-lidded eyes fall on me, and my heart lurches. “I’ve decided to stay, Sephania.”
I blink wildly. The only thing keeping me from stumbling back is Vall’s firm body behind me. “W-What?”
Palacia nods deeply. “I’m sorry, my friend.”
Before my throat can close up, something like anger and utter jealousy wraps around me, squeezing tight. “No. It can’t be. Did you decide this on your own, Pala? Are you being coerced into—”
“I promise, Liolen Sesk is not persuading my decision in any way.”
Lightning screams through me. I see it then, the truth plain on Pala’s face. The truth she wants to be near people like her. Other interfolk, which it’s impossible to deny Liolen is the champion of in Olhav.
“I . . .” My voice trails off. The truth doesn’t change my feelings, my strange, twisting emotions. Or the heat in my belly I can’t deny. My voice comes out raspy. “. . . I would like to speak with Palacia for moment, everyone. Alone.”