Work Text:
I am Imperia Hali Fortessence aux Val-Regalia, daughter of Kaska and Hwyngarde, third of her name, and ninth empress of the Regalia Universum, the rightful demesne of humanity that rules from the Nebula Orion to the Cygnus Spur.
And by no heroics, with no great triumph to score its end, nothing but that mad beast of a man drawing his last breath, the war that I have known raging my entire lifetime draws to a close. Fleets in my name sweep across the worlds of Chroniclis, a kingdom already being torn in half by the animosity between its warmongers nouveaux and dukes vielles with the loss of their leader. The opposition army flees ahead of our march, and my generals tell me of how soon the capital will fall like a jewel into my palm.
Yet… My parents are still dead, after years of seeing naught of them but broadcasts of their mobile armors burning comet trails through the void. Sometimes, I believe this war was simply an excuse for the cucked king to kill them both, for after their passing, he lost the desire to win and only sought to sow as much devastation and horror for their daughter to face before the worms pureed his brain. It’s hard not to feel that gilded streets and technological treasures are a worthless sum for a lonesome, bitter childhood.
Of course, I didn’t even get those.
An opportunistic conqueror rose and devoured the other half of the kingdom we had not yet reached, the cause for the sudden retreat. And somehow, our enemies make the most of this cruel turn, offering up their core system in an unconditional surrender so it may be spared the potential retribution of a bereaved, gloomy girl.
I wanted nothing more than for this war to end, and that wish was granted swiftly at the cost of stripping away every satisfaction and joy it could bring. Even as victory lost its meaning, this end that could only be called a conclusion invited a deep, oppressive hollowness. My name, bestowed upon me with love and honor, feels hollow when for now it only means that the duty of tying off the last loose threads falls to me by convention, when I know anyone could take the tired steps I now must take. At last, all that remains is a peace conference with our unexpected ally, our newest neighbor and partnering governor in the occupation of Chroniclis, the now-”Eternal” Empire of Helstorm, and I—my people—will know peace. Perhaps, with peace, I will figure out what the life of this empress is supposed to mean.
I wait at the front of the meeting chambers, within an old Chroniclisian villa, with a few of my private retinue for the crown princess of Helstorm to arrive. I’m not left standing for long, as one-by-one, her militant attendants pour in with some distinguished officer at their head. I try to pay her gorgeous face and figure little mind as I wait for her to step through the double doors and join them, and the lead officer steps my way. I wonder if she is heading towards one of my retainers, but instead, she comes right up to the front of me, and… and…
She grabs my hand and pulls me into a handshake.
The shivering and chills crawl up my spine. I almost snap right there. Dirty cur! Pig human! Beast from beyond the borders of civilization! I'll seal your death even if you aren't one of my subjects, it's more meat for my banquet! However, the thoughts are interrupted by a flash and shudder from a camera produced by one of her attendants. And another, as one of my retainers followed suit, the two of us, posed together, in both of their frames. It is at that point I realize the hand holding mine is that of royalty apparent, the crown princess in her glory. I pull myself away, and shakily raise my hand, as if to strike her. Even if we are to regard eachother as equals out of mutual respect here, how dare this upstart take that as an invitation to be chummy with the sworn Val-Regalian Empress.
"Justicia Eowyndel XI, Crown Princess of the Helstorm Empire. My apologies if the greeting startled you, princess?"
"I'm…" My name and all its titles spill forth from my lips, but my mind is elsewhere.
Princess? Princess?! I'm an empress! That ought to be 'your majesty' to this bitch! She eyes me like a hawk, her gaze full of the ambition that drips from her cocky smile. She wears no braids, no locs, nor curls, but rather some shameless shaggy cut draping over her like wolf’s fur. There is no elegance to her face, no refinement as she openly proclaims her presence is a greedy and decadent one. I waltz into the meeting room at her side, preparing myself for our terms to clash with her most unreasonable demands. Such would naturally be the character of a brutish strumpet such as this!
We sit, aligning ourselves around the table. Our desires must be obvious, but we let her speak first, a courtesy. First, she brings up trade, to the protest of basically everyone present but us. She settles them down, as she flatly states such relations of commerce bind neighbours together in cooperation. It is practiced and vapid, and she knows this, this stage is not where she shall make her push. She must maintain an image of civility first, of someone that wants to consider friendship before letting border disputes cloud our head. Our common exports and imports mesh well with each other, a bridge is easily built even if it will soon be overturned, and she smiles.
Then as if on cue, she kicks me under the table.
I know it's coming now, her play is coming up. I keep my composure, letting none of the discomfort spill. I will respond calmly and coolheadedly, letting her know that she isn't capable of riling me up into poor decisions if that's her aim.
Next, she astutely points out the free exchange of the sciences and invites me to speak. I gladly do, offering that after we are able to sign a non-aggression pact, we will allow the open movement of all scholars, including their own, into and out of our borders so long as they have not signed specifically with us. She tells me afterwards, "You are the ideal picture of a lady wise beyond her years, your majesty." It almost freezes me in place, such a sudden and unexpected exaltation, but I realize she must just be doing this to save face, preemptively or because of her mistake calling me princess before.
I realize I'd be prudent to return the generosity though. I look her face over and then I fix my gaze upon a purple blemish on the side of her neck, though I catch myself before I can be caught leering in jealousy. Oh gosh, that could have been worrisome if I had been noticed. She doesn't however, she just continues leaning with her elbow on the table, the very reason her neck was so exposed despite her collar. Such posture… Is she making a mockery of me with her casualness? I don't have the time to think about such things, I simply tell her of how fortunate she is… to be blessed with such a glamour, to be… endowed with such natural leadership, hoping no blush comes to my face. She doesn't move from where she smiles resting her head in her palm.
The negotiations resume, and subject over subject goes by, the toe of her flat jabbing my shins every so often. She draws out the subject of borders, keeping it just out of reach as she insists that we can foster better communication first. However, as it becomes increasingly clear it seems she is stalling out of nervousness, bringing wonder to how egregious her proposal actually is, she relents. Her border treatise is brought to the stage. I wait with baited breath, thinking over how to respond with grace to every breed of insult and deception she could bring forth.
She begins to read, "Two great empires have met, both of great determination and spirit, and in order to respect the reality of the rightful assertions of both claimants, wherever they conflict…" Oh yes, this will be quite excellent. She continues with the prologue, as I wait to pounce on the first actionable statement. Clearing her throat, she finishes by saying, "In summary, we propose an opportunity for the Regalia Universum to purchase the capital system in its entirety, and four other habitable worlds from the current Helstorm occupation at our new border."
Huh?
What?
She's joking, what kind of trick is this? It's unthinkable, unthinkable that this burgeoning titan of ambition will voluntarily put to rest the momentum that all its estates must feel after such rapid ascent. She did not just try to propose our current borders as is, she actually offers to sell me what they have already taken, victories only in recent memory that still embolden the glory of her family name. It's madness! She again leaves me drooling in disbelief at the idea that all that agitation I felt was for tactical purpose, no advance, no aggression on her part!
Then she adds, letting the taught-stretched bracelet snap back at my wrist, "Further specifics notwithstanding. Are such terms amicable to your camp, Imperia?"
I jolt, naturally. I haven't heard my name for months. All it had ever been to me is a special word for between they who sired and birthed me and myself, and hearing it almost causes me to spring from my seat. The only reason I do not immediately boil over with aggression is because I am too stunned to believe what I've just heard from this harlot's lips. My hand grips the table, and I tell her flatly, "We must have a word alone. All else please recess for the sake of our privacy." They depart without question. Even in a great crisis of highest import, no one would diminish the personal matters of an empress just called so brazenly by her first name.
When they are gone, I start. "How dare you? How dare you be so craven? What breed of vermin must your mother have lain with to produce a daughter so feckless in everything but paltry jives. I shall take everything offered of yours here and flood your markets, pillage your scholars, all else if you think you could ever buy the right to needle and disrespect a sovereign over the cosmos. These gaffs will only be good for drinking stories you shall tell in hell." Even as she stands and begins to walk around me, I remain in my seat, with arms crossed in great displeasure.
"Oh Imperia…" She coos.
"Justicia."
"Imperia"
"Justicia, of the Eowyndel merchants."
She steps behind me, I do not grace her by turning to face her without her asking, even as I hear something fall from her to the ground.
"I'm so saddened to hear that. I thought we could be peers, like sisters equal in our stature." She says, wistfully.
"My equal? Hah, you never had a chance no matter how you grovelled, and never with such bantering fit for the commonborn." I scoff, as her hands touch the top of my chair.
"Really, aww, well it did give the one opportunity I desperately wanted." She leans down, and I suspect she must have swiped her hair out of her face, for I feel it briefly swish at my neck. "An opportunity no one has had with you before, I'm sure given how guarded you are. Turn for me, I have a gift for you."
Hah. If she hopes to smother me while we are alone she is dumber than I ever thought, I begin to swivel to face her, humoring her pointless request.
Her fingers at the top of my chair forcefully reel me around as I am brought almost perfectly at the level where, across from her unbuttoned blouse, I can practically put my face into…………. Ohmygodwhatwhatwhhaaattttnowaitwhatsgoingonshe'spracticallynakednothingherchestcoveredbynothingbutpracticallyseethoughdrapesofwinecoloredlacewhatisthisssssssss?????
The bulk of her uniform has fallen to the floor beside her, and she leans over me with nothing more than a frilly bra to give modesty to her sizable breasts. No, actually, the sheer material, with only occasional gold florals making it half-opaque, does not even fully blot the red that surrounds her perkiest parts.
I try to imagine scrambling away, but her arms corral me at either side as my legs are caressed by hers in the act of her pulling herself on top of me. Suddenly, I feel quite small before her… and not in any of the direct comparisons you just thought of!!
"Even you at the top of the world, Imperia, deserve to be loved," she says with a giggle. I stare in awe, looking up at her face and seeing that even there I am not safe, the fluttering of her shaggy heart brings warmth to my core. Butterflies fill my stomach until I am lightheaded, heat pouring over me until I want to cover my face in shame. Justicia looks at me curiously, then asks, "Are you going to keep drooling, or will you touch me, Imperia~"
I am suddenly back in myself, and I would feel like the most neurotic inexperienced virgin if that were not a perfectly accurate description already. Below this precocious girl, I can't help but feel as though I am at her mercy even as she offers me her body, but… but… that doesn't mean I should give up and be outdone! I reach up with shaky hands, sliding my fingers underneath the fabric as a breathy moan escapes her throat. I find myself cast back into perdition as my whole body shudders at the electric sensation it ignites, my legs clenching as I feel myself quickly growing wet under my skirt. I feel like such a lowly pervert for this, so easily tempted, but I cannot be made weak-willed or bashful simply by a beautiful bosom. Any way my hand moves causes her to whine with such passion, happy to let me hear her melting under my fingers. I finally work up the nerve, chiding myself for my more basal urges, and pinch.
She shudders, body quaking for a moment before she wraps one of her hands around the back of my head and roughly shoves it forwards. I am pressed for the briefest moment between the gates of heaven, softness enveloping me on every side.
When I am pulled free, still awestruck, the part of my brain that screams not to be treated so demeaningly fizzles out into a deluge of want and disbelief at this dreamlike pleasure. It makes me relax into her firm grip, falling almost limp. I want to be bestowed this love, showered in it without reservation.
She looks deep in my eyes, which I think have almost glazed over, and the pity I see briefly reignites the honorable flame in me. "How dare you?" I croak out, "Have you no shame in flustering an empress?"
"Aww, poor lonely Imperia," she pouts mockingly. "So proper, modest, and starved that this is a dream too overwhelming to her. You deserve to feel nice too, so it's your turn now. No protests, just let me work."
She climbs off me and stands, then slides the toe of her heel up toward me. I let it slowly part my quivering legs and stay silent until it reaches the object of her desire. Then, with the grip in my hair, she pulls me forward, using the hold to grind me against her as I clutch onto her leg to stop myself from keeling over. I whimper, trying to stifle moans unbecoming of my stature. But Justicia just coos, "Imperia… Imperia…", delighting in utter my given name.
I barely make out the words, "Such… disrespect…"
She chortles, "Because an empress should have her lover address her so coldly. But if you don't appreciate the warmth of a princess given so graciously, I can always stop." I furiously shake my head no, and I think my hips buck against her as I let my desperation slip. I've… needed this, needed it for longer than I can imagine because there was no one who did not bow before my station. She is rough, and rude, but attentive to my pleasure. "Good girl," she says, and I melt at the honest praise, resigning myself to being the subject of her embrace.
My body trembles as I grow close, and she notices, pouting to my confusion. "Aww, already Wimperia?"
"Wimperia?" I say, practically nauseous.
"Yes, whimpering while you look so helpless. God, you'd be so easy to take advantage of, but simply because you're an empress you've never been able to feel like you're crushed under foot, completely at the mercy of a beautiful woman who's your better." The word sends shivers down my spine, she… really is beautiful, confidant, amazing in a way I so desperately desire. She is a lover worth me, no… I am a lover worth someone like her.
"So we're going to start now, you can come now, or you can have the capital you've fought so hard for. One or the other, your choice."
"Huh?" No. No. No, what is she saying? She can't do this to me. She can't, she can't! However, the reality dawns on me, as her hand slacks and her foot begins to slide away, that she absolutely can. There's nothing more awful I can think of at the moment than finishing myself afterwards in private, no greater solitude. All this happiness at this moment would spoil, just as the whole joyous victory of this war was spoiled, just as these past few years and my whole childhood were spoiled. I understand then, as I whine for my princess.
After so long, I deserve to be indulged. An empress' pleasure is worth the riches of the heavens, and nothing ought to tie her to dreary past.
Have my empire, I think, if I can have your cold, cruel love!
I crumple back into my chair, drawing in ragged breaths as my head dances in the afterglow. My panties are soaked and I try to draw out my skirt even as my legs quake. She sits, and pulls up a chair next to mine, kicking about so I can see the sock stained through by my juices. As our heads are nuzzled together, she runs her hand along the inside of my thigh.
"We don't have to stop there… What world should you give up next?"
The next day, the press proclaims, "The sovereigns of the Universum Regalia and Helstorm Empire have reached a landmark treatise, a historic gesture of good faith cooperation, with the agreement to the co-governance of the capital world of Chronicilis, along with six other worlds!"
We exchange letters, dripping with sweetness—even palpable sweetnesses I learned the taste of on that day too. Next time, we meet over tea, and when the guards leave us to the privacy of my quarters, she lays me back on the bed and works her fingers until I can barely stand, with her bountiful kisses running around my neck. Then she writes on my thigh a list of names that ought to die, and to be good to her highness, I don't hesitate to find contrived reasons to oblige.
Word of a friendship that ushered in unexpected lasting peace spreads, and to the drums of a parade, we wave to the crowds of the capital we jointly rule from the cockpit of her mecha. As we stop at the end to watch the sunset, she has the visor closed and in the privacy of that small enclosure, she drops her shorts, fastens her harness and claims me from behind as I am sprawled across the pilot's seat. She delights in my loud cries as she digs her long long nails into my side and rocks her hips into mine. Eventually, she swoops an arm underneath me and forces me up, still inside me as she licks a tear from my face. Her hand moves down and squeezes my breast firmly as she whispers in my ear, "Wimperia, Wimperia… God, I wish I could marry you just so I could knock you up and watch these swell. I'd milk you like the prized cow that you really are." I come on the spot before she even starts moving again, and her words ruin my ability to focus for days to come.
Then, they turn to anguish, a yearning about what cannot be mine by the laws of heaven itself has been introduced to me again. However, pride stirs within me and I depart for the royal library, knowing that whatever an empress desires she ought to have. Within the texts, as I find what I'm looking for, I drop the book, fall to my bed and roll around, kicking my legs about as I do in a fit of pure elation.
When my lady-in-waiting visits me again, I ask her, "Dutiful maid, would you please bring me domperidone every day from now on?"
Her highness is so charmed by the experience of milking me, and the little horns, ears and tail too, that the smile it puts to her face forever is burned into my memory.
Then one night, a night like many others where we find one reason or another to share a bed, she speaks so nervously it's barely even like her. "I… I have a gift for you."
I ask, "That's wonderful, honey, but… why do you look so worried?"
She cannot meet my eyes, "I'm just worried you won't like it, I… I think I may be moving a little quickly with this one."
My heart begins to beat rapidly as I understand the implication. She sees me start to fluster and says a little irritated, "By god, you are so predictable, it's nothing like that. Ugh, we're going to go see it right now." She grabs my wrist as I giggle at seeing her embarrassed—a rare sight—and pulls me through the darkness of her palace, carefully checking that no one has seen us.
We come up upon a gate and she places her finger against a needle to let it prick her. A few seconds later, after the interlocks click and red lights turn green, steel peels away to reveal a long staircase heading down, down, down. At the very bottom, the locked passage opens into a hall of stone where from electric torches, dim light streams across barren walls and a few old oaken doors. She comes up on one, and after a deep breath, pushes it open.
Inside, there is a plain bed, a shower, a toilet, some books and a plump girl, steel collar and long chain tying her to the bedframe. I wonder if her worries were about this common consort she seems to be passing to me, which earnestly I would be disappointed by given the anticipation for something so plain and milquetoast. Even seeing the floppy canid ears and tail biografted onto her, or looking between her legs and seeing she is an invert doesn't change much for me, it's all quite elementary. When she speaks though, her words stir in me great dread.
"Your… majesty? Oh, your majesty! It's you, young empress, isn't it? I'm… I'm not going crazy, please tell me so. Thank… thank god, you're here. You've finally done it, finished the war. And… and now you're here to save me," She sputters, tears pouring uncontrollably down her face as she scampers towards me and bows her head. She speaks reverently like a proper subject of mine, but also a proper one, one of importance, one with the privilege to expect this audience.
There's familiarity about her face. Yes, it's one I feel I've most definitely— wait, wait, no, oh god what!?
Gael! She's Gael Chalchenon, the Solar Flare—ace pilot of the Val-regalian army mobile armor corps! Before my parents' deaths, he went missing in action and after no traces of his whereabouts following the end of the conflict, he was presumed deceased. In his place now, a twisted chimera in both apparent sex and species weeps.
The dog woman's eyes focus on Princess Eowyndel behind me, and they go wide with fear. "No, no, no, no……. Why is she here? Please no, this has to be a joke." Still stunned myself, her highness comes up to my side and plants a kiss on my cheek, and Gael falls silent.
I am betrayed! I pull away from her. All that fills my mind is the want to shout and cry. However, she pulls me quickly into a hug, whispering hush and stalling words in my ear. "It was not me who did the lot of this, look…" She walks over and takes a position seated next to the terrified Gael. She grabs the girl's wrist and hoists it into the air, showing me how it loosely flops around. Her other hand traces over old bruises and needle-pricks covering her abdomen and thighs. "This hero of yours was captured and tortured, tendons cut through by Chroniclis. Whatever they were trying to get out of them was worth ruining a fine pilot in such a brutal display. These, however…" She caresses those floppy ears and plump breasts as Gael pathetically tries to push her off. "These are my additions, making the poor wretch fit such a better purpose now."
"Your majesty…" Gael whines, and for a moment I am ready to abandon all love and curse detestable Justicia out. Before I can, however, she wraps her arms around Gael's neck and says mockingly, "You'd never do anything to deserve this, young puppy~, right? You'd never spill anything under their knife you shouldn't have."
Furiously trying to shake her head no, Gael blurts out, "It's… it's not true. She li— err, your majesty, I don't know your friendship but she misunderstands. I've— I've always been faithful, I'd never give in no matter what they did to me. My body broke before I did, you have to believe—" But the princess simply draws something from her coat, a notebook whose pages roll open to Gael's moans of terror. Her voice breaks and she tries to grab hold of it even as a firm hand on her chain pulls her back. She cries, desperately, "No, please, it must be a fabrication. I'd never give that up, not over my dead body. There's no way, through scourge or tincture, they could make me tell that. Please believe me, your majesty!" Her face is drenched in snot now, and her highness presses a handkerchief into her face and says.
"But you did, and now you need to work to atone."
I… I understand. Something like rage and desperation tears at my guts, I want to hurl from understanding that someone so trusted to my cause crumbled in the dungeon, and the consequences it wrought. Even knowing how hard it is to blame those who try with all their heart to remain loyal does not change what has to be done now, a just end to meet out forgiveness to a wayward soul. I will be what she needs of me, a cold frozen-hearted sovereign able to properly admonish her for her crimes. It's sad, but I know Justicia has brought me here so I can have closure, as hard as that must have been knowing her care for me.
"Wimperia, why do you look so glum? This puppy is yours to play with however you please, should that be how it makes this matter up to you?" Justicia asks, confused.
It's mine?
"Wimperia… I saw for a moment the woman you were before you met me, tying weight to her heart for an empire that was always meant to glorify and satisfy her desire. There are no more battles she can fight in your name to be redeemed, but her life still belongs to you, and wouldn't making you happy be better than a "righterous" tragedy for you both? Use her as you truly see fit." Her highness' voice beckons me towards me, as well as the silvered choker and leash she offers within her hand. "I put a lot of work into making her beautiful, and yet so perfectly degraded as well. For such an awful circumstance, I sure made of it quite the tantalizing whore to give you." She fastens it around my neck, gently letting the leash spool from her grip as she goes.
Her voice is pure honey as she says, "So partake, my dear."
I think then, she really does have such a cheerful vision for this world. I begin to loose buttons and doff my clothes, even as Gael cries, "Your majesty, you have to see through this. Don't be so naively swayed."
I bring a finger up to shush her though, as I, now bare, join her on the bed. I ask, "I am your empress. You have sworn to serve me eternally, even now. Isn't that so?"
Her highness performatively swoons, "Aww~! My two doggies are about to kiss and make up. I just wonder which one will end up on top… Ehehe…" Meanwhile, her hand rifles through her bag until she draws forth a bulky analog camera. "I'm gonna make such good memories, can't believe something like this hasn't been done since the New Millenium Century!"
"What's that mean?" I ask.
"Nothing… anyways, you'll just sign each reel with your lipstick, right?"
My better judgment is something I left in the past for the sake of blissful moments like these. "Awrf!" I bark affirmatively.
"Wonderful, Wimperia. Say cheese!"