When she finally regained consciousness, it wasn't the afterlife that welcomed her.
There were no pearly gates, no blinding light, and no choir of angels.
Instead, she was staring at the intricate ceiling of a luxurious bedroom, one she didn't recognize, one that didn't belong to any place she'd ever known.
The silk sheets beneath her body, the gold-trimmed drapes, the faint scent of perfume and incense, none of it matched the expectations of heaven she'd been told about.
Was she alive?
Or was this some twisted version of paradise?
If this was the afterlife, then it was strangely flawed. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't peaceful either.
The creeping hunger in her gut, the sticky discomfort on her skin, and the overwhelming need for a proper bath, none of those sensations belonged in the realm of the dead.
She blinked slowly.
No... this wasn't heaven.
And the truth began to seep in.
She remembered the explosion. The heat. The screams, agonized, panicked, final. Her subordinates, her loyal faction members, all caught in that violent ambush.
The memory hit her like a punch to the gut.
Their terrified cries still rang in her ears, clawing at her sanity with guilt and disbelief.
She hadn't just failed them, she had led them to slaughter.
Whatever came after her supposed "death," it was nothing short of bitter.
Everyone who followed her into Clovis' banquet hall had died, gunned down mercilessly by Clovis.
She groaned, sitting up slowly.
Her mind was a fog of pain and confusion, but one question stabbed at her:
Why did she still feel hunger, anxiety, and the stickiness of blood and sweat?
Shouldn't death have erased all of that? Shouldn't she be floating in peace, untouched by mortal needs?
Then the door opened, breaking her thoughts like glass shattering under pressure.
A maid entered the room, moving quietly but without fear.
Guinevere's face twisted with immediate disdain the moment she recognized the face.
An Eleven.
"How dare you, Eleven, for intruding into this princess's chambers?" she snapped.
The maid bowed, unshaken. "Princess Guinevere… forgive me for the intrusion, but I act under Prince Clovis's orders. You are to be made ready to meet him. I was instructed to tend to you and prepare you for his arrival."
Her tone remained neutral, but the words carried weight.
"Prince Clovis also issued a standing order," the maid continued. "Any sign of disobedience or non-cooperation... will be met with serious consequences."
Guinevere's eyes narrowed, fury bubbling in her blood.
"Are you threatening me, Eleven?" she spat, her voice laced with venom.
So that was it. She wasn't dead.
She was captured by her half-brother like some prize, some possession.
Her stomach twisted in disgust and rage.
And now this lowborn servant, this common Eleven, dared to threaten her?
The maid's expression didn't waver. "This is the Prince's will. If you accept his offer, you will be treated with utmost respect. You will be bathed in fine oils, served lavish meals, and reinstated as royalty once more."
She didn't bother to say what would happen if the offer was refused.
But Guinevere didn't need the warning spelled out, she knew Clovis too well. His cruelty wasn't subtle. He didn't bluff.
She clenched her teeth and snorted coldly at the maid. "Fine. Lead the way."
And so she did.
Before taking her to the Prince, the maid bathed her, her hands rubbing warm oils into Guinevere's skin, massaging her body like she truly was royalty.
She washed every inch of her without hesitation or shame. She dressed her in silken robes, styled her hair, and then laid out a lavish meal; meats, fruits, sweets, all while Guinevere sat in silence, her rage simmering under the surface.
The treatment continued, day after day.
Clovis still hadn't appeared, but his presence loomed over everything.
Guinevere didn't know what he planned.
But she knew one thing for certain.
This wasn't mercy.
This was preparation.
When she saw the news on the TV, Guinevere almost choked in disbelief.
She was declared dead?
How dare he?
Why did none of those bastards say a damn word about how her prick of a half-brother basically murdered her in cold blood right after the banquet?
Even her other half-brothers and half-sisters, those spineless cowards chose to stay silent.
Not one of them stepped forward. Not a tear, not a question, not even a whisper of resistance.
Her heart turned cold, her face drained of color as her pulse spiked in a wave of sheer panic.
Why?
Why did they all treat her death like it meant absolutely nothing?
A chill ran down her spine as Clovis used her "death" to launch a full-blown political campaign.
He painted her as a tragic victim of terrorism, throwing all blame on some poor scapegoats, fabricated enemies, most likely.
And the worst part? Even the royal family and the nobles who had attended the banquet nodded along like mindless puppets, clapping and crying on cue.
If she didn't already know the truth that he was the one who tried to kill her, she might've actually been moved by his speech.
His words were poetic, even heartfelt on the surface.
But no.
It was all a lie.
Nothing but pretty, hypocritical bullshit dripping from Clovis's silver tongue.
She was, honestly, disgusted.
And all she could do was watch, silently, day by day, as her name and death became nothing more than fuel for Clovis's political campaign.
Waiting.
Waiting until he finally showed up, ready to tell her exactly what he wanted.
And now, here he was.
He walked into her living room like he owned the place, cocky as ever, a fake smile on his lips, strolling in with swagger and sitting his smug ass down on her sofa like nothing had happened.
Pretending this was all normal.
But both of them knew the truth.
Guinevere let out a sharp, bitter snort as she glared at him, not bothering to hide her disgust.
"If you came here to talk, Clovis, then say it. Don't waste both of our time pretending you care."
Clovis didn't flinch. His eyes turned cold, his smile vanished.
"That's not how captives speak. If you have no interest in living, I can grant you the death you clearly crave, Guinevere. I don't need tools that disobey me."
She narrowed her eyes, her expression darkening. She didn't flinch—but she also didn't respond directly. Instead, she aimed somewhere deeper.
"Why, Clovis?" she asked quietly. "When did you become like this? Was it after the Pentagon? Or was it Vienna? Twice rejected… did that break something in you?"
She knew how obsessed he used to be with art. The way he'd talk about colors, brushwork, expression, like it was his entire soul. He poured everything into it. He was passionate, driven… and deluded.
But his dream had been trampled. First by politics, then by humiliation. Vienna had rejected his application not because his art was bad—no, it was good. Too good. But Europa United used the chance to spit on Britannia's pride, to mock the royal family through him.
Twice they humiliated him.
After that, he was stripped of his ambitions and shipped off to Area Eleven as a viceroy.
From failed painter… to head of state.
Ironic didn't even begin to describe it.
All he was missing now was a world war, a shitty mustache, and changing his name to Adolf Clovis.
Clovis shrugged at her question, completely unfazed by the disbelief in her voice.
"I never changed," he said flatly. "This is who I've been from the very beginning."
And it was true. That weak, cowardly version of Clovis, whatever mask he once wore meant nothing.
At his core, he'd always been the same violent, twisted man, and nothing had ever really changed, nor would it.
His eyes slid toward her, scanning her body from head to toe with deliberate slowness.
The lust in his gaze wasn't hidden, it was blatant and hungry.
He took in her curves, the sway of her hips, the way her outfit clung a little too tightly.
She wasn't really his type. He didn't care for the slutty ones, and even less for the whole 'milf' aesthetic.
But damn it, Guinevere was fucking hot.
Her figure was pure temptation: full tits, thick thighs, and a face that could still make men kneel.
Guinevere flushed faintly, a reaction she wouldn't normally have, not with how much she hated Clovis.
But that wasn't her acting of her own free will anymore
Not since he cast Ero Geass on her.
With that perverse power twisting her mind, things like resistance, pride, and hatred didn't stand a chance.
Even when his hand casually started roaming along her thigh, she said nothing.
She just gritted her teeth, jaw clenched as she tried to pretend the warmth rising inside her wasn't real.
Clovis grinned, eyes gleaming with dark amusement.
"You folded, Guinevere," he murmured. "I'll be sending you back to Britannia. You'll whisper everything you hear and see into my ear like a good little spy. No one will suspect a thing."
She stiffened, her face twisting in a mixture of shame and disgust.
The heat in her belly was doused in an instant, replaced by a cold wave of humiliation. "You think too highly of yourself, Clovis. I would never..."
But before she could finish the sentence, her eyes widened in shock.
Clovis pressed his lips against hers, hard and possessive, cutting off her words.
He shoved her down onto the nearby sofa, his body pinning her in place.
His hands moved fast, ruthless.
He yanked her skirt up roughly, bunching it around her waist, and tore through the waistband of her panties with no hesitation.
Guinevere let out a shaky breath, biting back a moan as his fingers slid between her legs and touched something they shouldn't.
Her thighs twitched involuntarily as his fingers rubbed against her slick folds, spreading the wetness he found there.
"You… How dare you touch me, Clovis… Even if you take my body, you'll never get my heart," she spat, breath trembling.
But her body didn't resist. Worse, her thighs parted just slightly on their own, her breath quickened, and heat kept pooling between her legs.
Clovis smirked but said nothing, pulling his shirt up and tossing it aside. Now half-naked, he let her eyes drink in the view.
Guinevere hesitated, her gaze flickering over his face and down to his bulge.
Her heart thumped hard.
Her mind was a mess.
He caught her staring and grinned arrogantly. "Do you want it or not? If not, I'll stop right here."
She glared up at him. "Tch. Just make it quick. Let's get this over with."
Clovis's smirk deepened. "Spread your legs then. Beg me for it."
She scoffed, but still obeyed, sliding her thighs apart as she got into position.
"Hurry up," she muttered, refusing to say the words he wanted, but her dripping cunt spoke louder than anything.
Yes—this was nothing but a release. She just wanted to get rid of the unbearable heat between her thighs, and Clovis was the closest, most convenient cock to do it.
She was going to use him like a living dildo. Nothing more. Nothing less.
But the moment his cock slammed into her, all thought fled.
She gasped sharply, his cock was thick, long, and merciless. He didn't give her time to adjust, ramming himself deep into her without restraint.
His thrusts were brutal and fast, her wet cunt squelching loudly with every violent pump.
The sofa creaked under their weight as he kept slamming into her again and again, fucking her into the cushions like a beast.
He grabbed her by the hips, bent her over, pulled her hair, shoved her into degrading, humiliating positions and kept pounding her relentlessly in every single one.
Guinevere screamed, moaned, cursed, but never stopped him. Her pussy clenched tight around his cock, desperate for more, even when her pride said no.
And Clovis? He came again and again, filling her womb each time, pumping her full until his cum oozed out of her twitching hole and onto the sofa.
By the end, her legs were shaking, her pussy raw and messy with his seed, her pride shattered by the brutal truth of her own pleasure.
...
Yeah, I finally got some motivation to write smut again. I thought I was bored with it, but I realized I just prefer more taboo scenes when it comes to lemon.
Anyway, got any recommendations for who the MC's mother should be? Or should I just write her off as dead?
Right now, my only candidate is Lady Phenex from DxD. Yeah, my memory's kinda shit, I only remember her: blonde hair, blue eyes, just like Clovis and his sister.
As for the rest of the cast, I honestly don't fucking remember who else has those features. I need the name to jog my memory.
Oh, and if you can, don't recommend Artoria or any girls who are unmarried or virgins. I get kinda repulsed writing them just to be bred by Charles.