Incest Pendragon

"Mother, King Uther sent a message." Baobhan Sith, who had already stripped off her maid outfit and returned to her usual gothic dress, stepped forward with a letter in hand.

She extended it toward the queen, Morgan le Fay, who sat before her with a serene yet commanding presence.

Morgan wasn't in any hurry to read the letter; instead, her sharp eyes flickered to Sith, a faint glimmer of amusement dancing in them.

"You shouldn't have left his side, Sith. The role of messenger is for someone more suited to the task, not you," Morgan said, her tone soft yet laced with reprimand.

"Your duty lies with him. But, well, it's too late now, isn't it?" She let out a quiet sigh, her voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and affection.

Morgan's gaze softened as she gestured for Sith to come closer. "Come here, Sith. Let me get a good look at you."

Sith obeyed without hesitation, stepping nearer until she was within arm's reach.

Morgan placed a delicate hand on her cheek, her touch cold but gentle.

Her fingers traced Sith's pale skin with an almost motherly care.

She stroked Sith's face softly, her eyes brimming with something unspoken, before letting out a deep, apologetic sigh.

"Do you hate your task?" she asked, her voice quiet but piercing.

Baobhan Sith shivered under the queen's touch, an involuntary tremor betraying her nerves.

Fear gripped her as she forced herself to meet Morgan's penetrating gaze, terrified that her secret—her illicit relationship with her father—might somehow be discovered.

Still, she composed herself and answered with a calm voice, hiding the storm within.

"No, I don't hate it, Mother," she replied, her words steady despite the turmoil.

"Of course you don't," Morgan said with a smirk, her expression cold and unreadable, as if she already knew the truth behind Sith's carefully chosen words.

She continued stroking her face, her fingers lingering in an almost unnerving display of affection. "You've done an excellent job, Sith. You may rest now. Leave the rest to me."

Baobhan Sith bowed deeply, obeying the queen's command.

Reluctantly, she turned and left the room, her steps echoing down the halls as she made her way to the chamber she once called her own in the palace.

Once Sith had left, Morgan's playful demeanor faded.

She turned her attention to the letter, breaking its seal with practiced grace.

Sitting upon her throne, she unfolded the parchment and began reading its contents, her expression calm and calculating, as if already planning her next move.

...

Lying back on the makeshift mattress in his camp, Uther let out a satisfied groan as Francesca Prelati worked her tongue up and down his cock.

She was completely naked, her lithe body fully on display, her silver hair cascading down her back as her mouth sloppily engulfed him.

Her lips moved with skill, her tongue teasing every sensitive spot, while her eyes, filled with submission, occasionally glanced up to meet his gaze.

Uther loved every second of it, relishing the sight of her bare figure and the wet sounds that filled the tent.

She wasn't just fulfilling his desires; she was serving him, submitting to him entirely.

And yet, this wasn't just about pleasure—there was a purpose behind this indulgence.

He had just received a summoning ticket from the ero system that had accompanied him since his arrival in this world.

Now, he planned to test it.

The individual summoned would be forced to witness this debauched scene of his escapade with one of his subjects.

It was a power move, a test of loyalty. If the summoned individual dared to show defiance or disobedience, Uther would cut them down without hesitation.

He had no interest in keeping tools that could betray him, especially those summoned from another world.

Too many fics he'd read had warned him of such dangers—like that one dogshit story where the protagonist summoned Scathach only to be betrayed by her.

Uther sneered at the thought.

What kind of fool keeps a weapon they can't control?

If this system proved untrustworthy, he would abandon it.

But for now, he was willing to test it.

As Prelati's lips slid further down his shaft, her soft moans vibrating against him, Uther tore the summoning ticket in half.

A bright light filled the tent, and as it dimmed, a figure emerged.

She was breathtaking.

Black hair cascaded down her back, her crimson eyes glowing with an otherworldly intensity.

Her petite but perfectly proportioned body was wrapped in a short black dress with red accents, a matching red tie, belt, and gloves that gave her an air of both elegance and lethality.

At her waist hung a sword, its edge glinting menacingly in the dim light.

Uther's eyes roamed over her figure, taking in every detail.

Her dangerously short skirt revealed smooth, creamy thighs that practically radiated seduction, while her exposed armpits added an unexpected allure.

She was both deadly and tantalizing—a vision of beauty and danger intertwined.

As the girl knelt before him, Uther felt a rush of new memories flooding his mind.

The system had taken care of everything—her identity, her backstory, her loyalty.

It was all engraved into him, seamless and unquestionable.

The girl was entirely devoted to him.

The identity of the girl is that she was an orphan adopted by him and trained as an assassin.

She has no family, nothing, having been abandoned by her parents and deemed a burden by them.

When he adopted her, he shaped her into the dark part of Camelot, tasking her with assassinating anyone who threatened Camelot's interests.

Her expression remained indifferent as her crimson eyes briefly glanced at Prelati, who was still enthusiastically pleasuring him.

Unfazed, Akame spoke with unwavering calmness, "Father, is there anything you command?"

"Yes, Akame," Uther replied, his tone authoritative. "Go outside and scout the area. Search for anything suspicious, and take command of the scouts to ensure no ambush awaits us in the forest before we march."

"As you wish, Father." Akame rose gracefully, saluted, and left the tent without a hint of hesitation.

Once she was gone, Uther let out a low chuckle, his hand stroking Prelati's silver hair as she continued sucking him with renewed vigor.

"Good girl," he murmured, pushing her head further down. He could feel himself throbbing in her mouth, her tongue expertly coaxing him closer to release.

This was the life of a king—a life of power, luxury, and submission from those around him.

With the system proving its worth and Akame's loyalty confirmed, Uther felt nothing but satisfaction.

It's good to be him, indeed.