Rowen & Freya
Copyright© 2024 by TabooTalesIn
Chapter 4
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 4 - Queen Freya the most beautiful women in land, was forced to abandoded her son who was born ugly, but fate had other plans for her.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Consensual Romantic Fiction Fairy Tale Alternate History Cuckold Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Aunt Harem Anal Sex Cream Pie Facial Lactation Pregnancy
The palace was deep in the quiet of midnight, an hour when the world seemed to hold its breath and secrets felt safe. In the Queen’s huge bed, Rowen woke up. He didn’t drift awake he was instantly alert, a warrior’s habit. The first thing he noticed was a deep, boneless peace in his own body. His muscles had that pleasant ache of being well used, and he felt the heavy, satisfied feeling of a powerful hunger finally fed.
He turned his head carefully, not wanting to wake the woman sleeping next to him, his mother Lila.
She was on her back, one arm thrown above her head, totally relaxed and trusting. Moonlight poured in from the balcony, painting her in silver and shadow. Her face, which so often looked worried like a mother or, more recently, tight with anger, was completely peaceful. The deep satisfaction of their lovemaking had smoothed away every line. She looked younger, almost like a spirit. A light pink flush was still on her cheeks, and her lips, a little swollen and tender from his kisses, were parted slightly. A soft, happy sigh escaped with each breath.
Rowen felt a wave of emotion so strong it was like a punch to the chest. It was a powerful mix of love, pride, and a fierce, animal like need to possess her. He was the happiest man alive. No, more than that. He felt like a god who had just brought a goddess back to life.
His eyes moved down her body, a slow and respectful journey over the skin he had just claimed. The moonlight slid down the graceful line of her throat to the full curve of her breasts. Her nipples, which had fit so perfectly in his hands and mouth, were pink and still slightly hard from his touch. His gaze continued down, over the soft slope of her stomach to where her thighs met. There, in the dark, honey colored curls, his seed was a pearly, sticky shine on her swollen lips of her pussy, glistening in the moonlight. A small, dried trail of it marked a path down her inner thigh, a brand marking her as his. The sight sent a new, hot jolt of lust through him, and his cock, which had been resting softly against his thigh, began to wake up. He wanted to wake her. He wanted to push his cock inside her again, to feel her hot, tight walls of her pussy squeeze around him, and to hear her scream his name as she came.
But as he watched her sleep, another thought, one deeper than lust, took hold. He was looking at her happiness, a pure and total happiness that seemed to glow from her skin. And he knew, with total certainty, that he was the reason for that glow. What they had done, the raw, passionate sex, had been more than just sex. It had been a connection. A healing.
And in that moment of clear understanding, his thoughts turned to the other man who loved this woman. His father. Hector.
The King who had slept next to this amazing woman for years, unable to give her this feeling. The man who had lived with the silent, humiliating shame of his body’s failure. The man whose love was so deep and selfless that he had planned this very night. He had given his son the pleasure that should have been his, just so she could be happy.
The joy Rowen felt for himself, the pride in his own body, suddenly turned into a huge wave of sympathy for his father. The pleasure he had just felt wasn’t something to be selfishly kept. It was a basic joy, a power that made a man feel like a king in a way that wearing a crown never could. And his father, the true King, had been denied it.
A new decision, as hard and solid as steel, formed in his soul. This wasn’t enough. Giving his mother this pleasure was only half the job. With a tenderness that almost hurt, he reached out and gently moved a stray piece of hair from Lila’s cheek. He leaned in and gave her a kiss as light as a feather on her forehead, a silent promise. Then, as quiet as a ghost, he slipped out of the bed. He quickly found his clothes and dressed with fast, determined movements. He gave her one last look a sleeping queen in the moonlight, covered in the proof of his love and then he walked out of the room, closing the door with a click that was barely a sound.
He found Hector in his private chamber and a low fire was crackling in the big stone fireplace. Hector sat in a large, worn leather chair with a half empty glass of red wine in his hand, staring into the flames. He looked up when Rowen came in, and a small, knowing smile appeared on his lips. It was a smile of real happiness, like a father seeing his son come back after a great victory. But as Rowen got closer, he could see the deep sadness in his father’s eyes. It was the bittersweet pain of a man watching a feast he couldn’t eat, the sorrow of a king who had given up the most private part of his kingdom. He was happy for them, but his happiness was haunted by his own loss.
Rowen crossed the room, his boots making no sound on the thick rugs, and stopped in front of his father’s chair. And then he did something that broke the friendly, casual way they always were in private.
He dropped to one knee.
Hector stared, his smile fading as his eyes went wide with surprise. He started to say something, to tell him to get up, that they didn’t need to be so formal. But the look on Rowen’s face stopped him. It was a look of serious, unbreakable purpose.
Rowen looked up, his green eyes, locking with his father’s. “Father,” he said, his voice low and heavy with his new promise. “I’ve come to make an oath.”
Hector was stunned into silence, the wine glass forgotten in his hand.
“I swear to you,” Rowen went on, his voice ringing with power, “on my honor as a man and as your son, that I will find a cure for your sickness. I will search to the ends of the earth. I’ll find every healer in every kingdom, every mystic on every mountain, every forgotten magic book in every dusty library. I will not rest. I will not stop. I will see your manhood, your birthright, returned to you. This, I swear.”
Hector was completely shocked. He had been ready for a totally different conversation. He expected Rowen to come back full of pride, like a young buck who had won the finest doe. He expected a small, or maybe not-so-small, change in their relationship a new claim over Lila, a quiet challenge to Hector’s own place by her side by his son. He had been ready to accept that as the price for her happiness.
But this ... this was an act of incredible kindness. This wasn’t the move of a rival. It was the act of a son who wanted to put his father back where he belonged.
“Rowen...” Hector breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “Why?”
Rowen’s face softened. “Because tonight ... when I was with mother ... when I made love to her,” he said, his voice dropping, “I finally understood. I felt what you’ve been missing all these years. That connection ... that power ... it’s a joy that makes a man feel whole in a way a crown never can.”
He looked right at his father, his eyes full of love. “The happiness I saw on her face tonight ... you deserve to be the one to put it there. She deserves to feel it with you, her husband. I was just filling in, Father. A temporary fix. I won’t be happy until the true King is back on his throne with his queen.”
The words hit Hector like a physical blow. The careful walls he had built around his heart for years crumbled. This young man, his son, wasn’t trying to take his place. He was trying to give it back. A hot, surprising tear escaped his eye and ran down his weathered cheek. Then another. He set his wine glass down with a shaky hand and leaned forward, pulling his son up from the floor and into a fierce, crushing hug. He held Rowen tight, a father’s hug, filled with a pride so huge it was painful.
“My son,” Hector whispered, his voice thick and broken. “In every single way that matters, I have never been more proud of you than I am right now.”
They stood there for a long time, a king and a prince, a father and a son. They were tied together not just by love, but by a shared, strange, and powerful devotion to one amazing woman.
The grand palace of Dariah was quiet, but inside the royal rooms, sleep wasn’t coming easily. In her lavish room, decorated in rich red and gold silks, Princess Bella tossed and turned. The soft mattress felt like a bed of needles, and the expensive sheets felt like a hot cage. She punched her pillow with a frustrated growl. It was no use. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face, burned into the back of her eyelids.
Rowen.
She saw how he moved in the fight, like a deadly, graceful storm. She felt the raw power that seemed to pour off him. She remembered the surprising gentleness in his hands when he knelt to talk to Ava. She saw the hint of a shy smile in his green eyes when she’d told him he was incredible. Her heart, which was as wild as she was, gave a painful little jump. She had admired handsome men at court before, but this was different. This was a deep hum in her blood, a powerful ache in the center of her chest. She wanted him. The feeling was as sharp and clear as the tip of one of her arrows.
Princess Ariel was in her own kind of torment. Her room was calm, decorated in soft blues and silver. She lay perfectly still, her red hair like fire against the clean white pillows, but her mind was a raging storm. She was the calm one, the thinker, the one who analyzed everything with cool logic. But now, she was a complete mess.
Rowen.
It wasn’t just his power that had captured her, even though it was amazing. It was his quiet confidence, the way he commanded a room without having to shout. It was the kindness she saw when he spared the bandit and his brother. It was his face, his strong jaw, and those impossible green eyes that had looked at her with real concern. And his smile that small, hesitant smile he’d given them before he rode away. It was a quick look at the man underneath the warrior, and it had stolen her breath and her heart. In all her years of meeting carefully chosen princes from friendly kingdoms, she had never felt anything like this. This was a wildfire. Her heart, which she had always protected so carefully, was beating a fast, new rhythm, a drumbeat that sounded like his name.
Ariel couldn’t stand the silent storm in her head any longer. She slid gracefully out of bed. Maybe talking to her mother would help calm her down. She put on a silk robe and padded quietly out of her room.
At the exact same time, Bella, driven by her own restless energy, threw her covers back. She couldn’t stay in that bed for one more second. She needed to walk, to move, to do anything but lie there and ache for a man she might never see again. She also slipped on a robe and left her room.
They ran into each other in the wide, moonlit hallway between their rooms, like two lonely ghosts in the sleeping palace. They both stopped, surprised.
“You couldn’t sleep either?” Bella whispered, her voice quieter than usual.
Ariel gave her sister a small, sad smile. “My thoughts wouldn’t stop.”
They stood there in a patch of moonlight, the silence between them full of things they weren’t saying. It was Bella, always the bolder one, who finally spoke.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” she said. It wasn’t a question. “The Prince of Mu. Rowen. I can’t get him out of my head.” The words just tumbled out of her, raw and honest. “The way he fought, Ariel ... but it wasn’t just that. It was him. All of him. I think ... I think I’m in love with him.”
Ariel’s breath caught in her throat. Of course Bella felt it, too. How could she not? She looked at her fiery, beautiful sister, and she knew she couldn’t keep her own secret. It felt like a relief to share the weight of this huge, impossible feeling.
“Yes,” Ariel whispered, her own voice barely there. “Me too. I’ve never felt anything like this for anyone.” She knew that kings sometimes took more than one wife, especially for political reasons. The thought of sharing him hurt, but the thought of not having him at all was worse. Right now, feeling like they were in this together was more important than the sting of being rivals.
They looked at each other, two sisters in love with the same man. Without saying another word, they turned and walked together to their mother’s rooms. Maybe she, the great Queen Freya, the goddess of love, would understand. Maybe she could help.
Freya too couldn’t sleep. A deep, nameless worry had settled over her, a cold fear that had nothing to do with her daughters’ recent attack. It was a bad feeling, a sense that the peace in her kingdom was about to break, that a dark storm was gathering somewhere. She desperately wanted to talk about her fears to Robert, to be held and told everything would be okay. But her husband, wasn’t in their bed. He was, like he was most nights, with his other women.
A bitter wave of self-hate washed over her. She couldn’t even blame him. She had lost all interest in sex a long time ago. The thought of a man’s touch was forever tied to the act that had created her greatest shame. For years after her son was born, every time Robert tried to touch her, the image of that small, discolored, blind baby would flash in her mind, and her body would turn to ice. The guilt, the memory of the son she had thrown away, was a ghost in her marriage bed.
She knew, with a terrifying certainty, that her kingdom was in danger. Robert was a politician, not a fighter. And Asher ... her son was a coward, a fool who was drunk on praise he hadn’t earned. If a real enemy showed up, Dariah would fall.
A soft knock on her door pulled her out of her dark thoughts. She called out, and the door opened to show Bella and Ariel, their faces pale and worried in the candlelight.
“My darlings,” Freya said, a mother’s concern pushing her own fears aside. “What is it? Are you sick?”
They came in and sat on the edge of her huge bed. They were quiet at first, and their hesitation worried Freya even more. “What’s wrong?” she asked gently.
It was Ariel who finally spoke, her voice low and unsure. “Mother ... it’s about the Prince of Mu. It’s about Rowen.” She took a deep breath. “I have ... I’ve fallen in love with him.”
Before Freya could even take in this shocking news, Bella added, “Me too, Mother. I love him.”
Freya stared at her daughters, her beautiful, perfect daughters, and felt the world fall away beneath her. It was some kind of cruel, twisted joke. Of all the men in the world, they had to fall for him. Their cousin. The son of her sister, Lila. The man who couldn’t possibly be her own lost son, because he was magnificent, and her son had been a monster.
“No,” Freya said, her voice sharp, almost mean. “That’s not possible. You need to forget about him. Right now.”
“But why, Mother?” Ariel asked, confused. “He’s a prince. He’s brave and good. It would be a strong alliance for our kingdoms.”
“It’s not possible,” Freya repeated, panic scratching at her throat, “because the kingdom of Mu is our enemy. And that makes Prince Rowen our enemy.”
“But why?” Bella demanded, her temper flaring. “Why are they our enemy? We’re old enough to know. You can’t keep treating us like children.”
Freya’s heart hammered in her chest. She couldn’t tell them. To explain the real reason for the conflict with Mu, she would have to explain where it started. She would have to tell them about the baby. She would have to admit she gave away their brother because he was ugly. She would have to watch the love in their eyes turn to disgust. She couldn’t stand that. Her image, her perfect mask, was all she had left.
“I can’t tell you,” she said, her voice turning cold and distant. “It’s a state secret. Just know that it’s impossible.”
“We’re not children, Mother! We can handle secrets!” Bella protested.
“Enough!” Freya’s voice was now the hard, royal command of a queen, not a mother. “You will forget about Prince Rowen. I will start looking for good husbands for you both from kingdoms that are our friends. This conversation is over.”
Ariel and Bella stared at their mother, their faces showing shock and hurt. They had come to her for comfort and got a cold, stone wall instead.
“We want Rowen,” Ariel said, her voice quiet but now filled with a hard determination.
“Only Rowen,” Bella added, her eyes flashing with defiance.
They stood up and left the room without another word, leaving a feeling of anger and disappointment so strong you could almost touch it. Freya was left alone, her heart aching with a fresh pain. She had just pushed her daughters away. She had just become the one standing in the way of their happiness. And it was all her fault. The sin she had committed all those years ago wasn’t gone. It was right here, right now, a tangled, poisoned trap of her own making, and it was catching everyone she loved. She buried her face in her hands and cried, not for the son she had lost, but for the daughters she was losing now.
Lila woke up to soft morning light coming through the silk curtains of her bedroom. She stretched slowly, like a cat, and a happy little purr rumbled in her throat. Every muscle in her body buzzed with a nice, well used ache. It had been years since she woke up feeling so completely and totally alive.
She reached a hand across the huge bed, her fingers looking for the warm, solid body she expected to find there. But the sheets were cool. The spot next to her was empty.
A small sting of disappointment, sharp and surprisingly strong, cut through her happy feeling. He was gone. Rowen had left her sometime during the night. She lay back on the pillows, her body still buzzing with the memory of their night together. The sex ... Gods, the sex. It had been amazing. It wasn’t just the act itself; it was the raw, wild passion, the way he touched her like he was worshipping her, the pure, overwhelming force of a desire that had been building for a lifetime. It was nothing like the gentle, loving, but ultimately satisfying sex she had with Hector in their early years. This had been a storm, a conquest, an act that had broken her apart and put her back together as someone new.
A warm, tingly feeling pulsed deep inside her, a ghost of his thick cock buried inside her, and she smiled a secret, womanly smile. The sheets under her were still a little damp and smelled like sex, sweat, and him. It was the best perfume she had ever smelled.
“Good morning, my love.”
The quiet, familiar voice startled her. She sat up, grabbing the silk sheet to cover her bare chest, and saw him. her husband Hector. He was sitting in a soft armchair by the bed, holding a cup of what smelled like spiced tea. He was already dressed for the day in his king’s robes, but he was staring at her. His face showed a mix of tenderness, love, and something else ... something she couldn’t quite figure out.
In a second, her happy, sensual fog was gone, replaced by a cold, flooding wave of shame and guilt.
Hector had given her his permission. In his endless, selfless love, he had planned this. But the reality of it the fact that she had just spent the night moaning in pleasure in her son’s arms while her husband sat in a chair and waited for morning was a brutal, ugly truth. She had betrayed him. No matter if he said it was okay, she had betrayed their marriage vows with his own ... with their own son.
Tears, hot and shameful, filled her eyes. She looked at this good, kind man who had given her everything, and she felt like the worst woman in the world.
Seeing she was upset, Hector put his cup down and came over to the bed. He sat on the edge and pulled her into his arms, sheet and all, into a warm, fatherly hug. He wasn’t her lover, but he was her rock, her safe place.
“Shh, my love, shh,” he murmured into her hair, his big hand rubbing her back in slow, calming circles. “It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not,” she sobbed into his chest, her voice muffled by his robe. “Hector, I have to tell you something. And you’re going to hate me for it. You’ll be jealous and hurt, and you have every right to be.”
He pulled back just enough to look at her. He was patient, his eyes full of a deep, sad understanding. “Tell me what, Lila.”
She hesitated, the guilty words getting stuck in her throat. “Last night...” she began, her voice shaking. “With Rowen ... the sex ... it was the most satisfying, most incredible sex I have ever had in my entire life.” Saying it felt like a betrayal, like she was twisting a knife in his heart. The tears were flowing freely now. “I am so sorry, Hector. I am so sorry I betrayed you like this. Please, forgive me.”
She expected him to flinch, to pull away, to show any sign of the pain she was causing him. Instead, he just pulled her closer, calming her down with the steady, reassuring feel of his hug.
“There’s nothing to forgive, my love,” he said, his voice a low, gentle rumble. He sighed, a sound heavy with the weight of his own lonely night. “I’ll be honest with you. Last night, as I sat alone in my room, knowing that you and Rowen were here, in our bed ... it was hard.”
Lila looked up at him, her heart aching for him.
“Even though I said it was okay, even though I wanted this for both of you ... my mind played tricks on me,” he confessed, his eyes looking far away as he remembered the dark hours of the night. “Jealousy is a sneaky poison, Lila. I thought about him, his youth, his strength. I thought about him taking you so completely that you would be his forever, and that I would lose you, not just as a lover, but as my wife, as my queen.”
“Oh, Hector, no!” Lila cried, putting her hands on his face. “That will never, ever happen. You are my husband, my king, my heart. That will never change.”
A real, warm smile finally broke through his sadness. “I know, my love. I know.” He took her hands in his. “And I know it because of what happened after he left you.”
Lila looked at him, confused.
“He came to me,” Hector said, his eyes now shining with a father’s huge pride. “In the middle of the night. He came to my rooms, and he knelt in front of me. And he made an oath.” He told her everything about Rowen’s promise to find a cure for his problem, his selfless wish to see his father made whole again, his statement that he was just a stand-in until the true king could have his queen back.
As Lila listened, her own tears of guilt turned into tears of overwhelming, joyful love for her son. He hadn’t just thought about his own pleasure, or hers. He had thought of his father. He had seen his father’s pain and, in an act of incredible kindness and love, had promised to fix it. She was so incredibly happy. Her son was a man with more honor and kindness than she had ever imagined.
She lunged forward and kissed Hector, a deep, passionate kiss filled with the love they both shared for their amazing son. It was a kiss of partnership, of a bond that was deeper than just physical, a sign of the strange and beautiful family they had made.
When they pulled apart, Hector was smiling. A real, teasing sparkle was back in his eyes for the first time. “We are lucky, my queen,” he said, his thumb rubbing her cheek. “We have a selfless son who loves us both more than anything in the world.”
Lila hugged him tighter. The last of her guilt washed away, leaving only a deep feeling of peace and rightness. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, we are.”
Hector pulled back, his face turning playful. “So,” he teased, his voice a conspiratorial murmur. “What does my generous queen have planned for our heroic son tonight? Are you planning some elaborate new sexual attack? Some new land to be conquered?”
Lila laughed, a real, joyful sound that filled the room. She poked him playfully in his broad chest. “That, my dear husband, is none of your business.”
Hector threw his head back and laughed, a deep, booming sound of pure happiness. The shadows of the night were gone. The morning was bright. And in the heart of the palace of Mu, their strange, unconventional love felt like the sanest, most beautiful thing in the world.
Walking down into the palace dungeons felt like entering another world. With every step down the spiral stone stairs, the air grew colder. The rich warmth of the royal rooms upstairs was replaced by a damp, deep-down chill that got into your bones.
Torches sputtered in iron holders on the walls. Their flickering light cast long, dancing shadows that looked like twisted, living things. The darkness between the torches felt total. The only sounds were the steady drip, drip, drip of water somewhere in the dark and the quiet scurrying of rats inside the walls.
Rowen’s clean wool shirt and good leather boots looked completely out of place in this miserable hole. He walked with purpose, his face a calm, determined mask. Behind him, the guards’ footsteps echoed loudly. They unlocked a huge, groaning iron gate that opened into the main block of cells. A low sound of groans and curses came from the cells as the prisoners stirred, their suffering interrupted for a moment.
They stopped at a cell at the far end. It was a little larger and drier than the others a small kindness Rowen had ordered when they were brought here. Inside, Hunter and his younger brother, Pole, sat on a thin layer of straw. Hunter had his back against the cold stone wall with his arms wrapped around his knees. He looked like a coiled spring, angry and ready to fight. Pole looked pale and scared, huddled close to his older brother with wide eyes.
When he saw the Prince, Hunter’s whole body went tight. He stood up slowly, and every move he made screamed danger and hate. He moved so he was standing slightly in front of Pole, like a human shield.
“What do you want with us, Prince?” Hunter’s voice was a low, rough growl. It had no respect in it, only the hard edge of a man with nothing left to lose. In the shaky torchlight, his eyes burned with a wild anger.
Rowen looked right back at him, not even flinching. He motioned for the guards to open the cell door, which made Hunter’s hand ball into a fist. The guards did as they were told, the heavy lock grinding open. Then, at a signal from Rowen, they backed away down the hall, leaving the Prince alone with the two prisoners.
Rowen didn’t go into the cell. He stood in the doorway, his strong body filling the space. He was calm but had total command of the situation.
“You’re full of a lot of anger,” Rowen said. His voice was quiet and steady, seeming to soak up the hate instead of fighting it. “Why so angry at the man who let you live?”
Hunter let out a short, bitter laugh that sounded more like a dog’s bark. “Let us live? For what? To rot in this pit? To be your toys?” He took a step forward, sticking his chin out. “Powerful men like you are all the same. You use poor men like me for fun, for your games, for whatever you want. You move us around on your map like pawns and don’t give a damn about the lives you break.”
“And you?” Rowen shot back, his voice losing its softness and gaining a hard edge. “Aren’t you a man who robs and kills for a living? A man who attacks innocent travelers? You were about to grab two women, two princesses, and who knows what you would have done to them. You have no right to talk to me about broken lives.”
The words hit their target. Hunter flinched like he’d been slapped. The anger in his eyes flickered, and for a second, it was replaced by shame and a deep, terrible pain. He was quiet for a moment, the fight seeming to leak out of him. All that was left was a tired, desperate man.
“I had no choice,” he finally whispered, the words torn from his throat. He looked down at the dirty straw, not able to meet Rowen’s sharp gaze. “The leader of my group, the one who got away ... he has my wife and daughter. He took them from our village months ago. He told me if I didn’t ride with him, if I didn’t bring him back enough loot ... he’d kill them. Or worse.” He finally looked up, and the anger was gone. In its place was a raw, naked pain that was much more powerful. “So don’t you preach to me about what’s right and wrong, Prince. You have no idea what it’s like to have everything you love used as a weapon against you by a monster.”
Rowen listened, his face hard to read, but a flash of understanding crossed his eyes. This was the missing piece. This was the man’s weakness, the key to him.
“I have a deal for you, Hunter,” Rowen said after a long silence.
Hunter’s cynical sneer snapped back onto his face. “Ah, there it is,” he said. “Now we get to it. This is the part where the great Prince offers me a tiny bit of hope if I sell him my soul. What do you want? Someone killed? A message delivered where your clean soldiers can’t go? What dirty job do you need done that you’re too high and mighty to do yourself?”
Rowen ignored the bitter words. “Before we talk about what I want from you,” he said, his voice calm and clear, “I’m going to give you what you want.”
Hunter stared at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I will rescue your family,” Rowen said simply.
The words just hung there in the damp, cold dungeon air. They didn’t make any sense. Hunter’s smirk faded, his mouth hanging open a little. He looked at Rowen like the Prince had just started speaking a dead language.
“You ... what?” he stammered.