Chapter 33: The Court Comes to Karsfeld

Seraphine held little Rosalie by the hand, stepping arm in arm with her into the great dining hall.

Inside, a throng of noblewomen invited to the betrothal celebration had already gathered, greedily feasting upon the exquisite dishes.

Ladies and heiresses spared no praise for the castle cooks - though in truth, this entire lavish menu comprised Seraphine's personal favorite delicacies, recreated through the knowledge of her former life.

Platters boasted succulent roasts, herb-seasoned sausages, crispy fritters, and rich sauces, introducing a breath of early modern cuisine onto medieval tables.

As Seraphine crossed the threshold, every gaze immediately turned toward her.

She wore a black velvet doublet embroidered with gold, tailored to perfection across her frame, tightly hugging her firm, high bosom before tapering down toward an impeccably narrow waist.

Over her shoulders draped an exclusive, sleeveless mantle of black fur, paired with form-fitting velvet trousers and gleaming leather boots reaching to her knees.

Her feminine yet proud, statuesque futa silhouette looked utterly breathtaking in the attire.

The snug cut shamelessly showcased the curve of her hips and the contour of her firm abdomen. Across her neck gleamed a heavy gold chain set with black gems, draping straight into the alluring valley of her cleavage.

The noblewomen in the hall froze in jealousy and admiration. Was this truly the same sickly, emaciated girl about whom such vicious rumors had swirled?

Beside her walked Rosalie in a gown fashioned in the very same style, in black and gold. The young Lady von Rosenfeld looked darling, and many young maidens and heiresses fairly gnashed their teeth that such a low-ranking heir from Karsfeld had snatched the daughter of the Countess of Greifenmark herself.

With the arrival of Countess Margarethe von Rosenfeld and Countess Eleonora von Drachenberg of Arnsbruck came a vast host of their vassals and noblewomen. Ladies from across all of Tyravia and Greifenmark converged upon Karsfeld, eager to curry favor with Seraphine, discerning in her a rising power.

In the crowd, right beside a fuming Cordelia, stood Vivienne. Lady von Drachenberg devoured Seraphine with her eyes, feeling a sharp pang of jealousy in her heart.

Her mistress looked otherworldly! Why wasn't it her standing at her side in such a gown?

She knew, of course, that as Cordelia's official betrothed she could hardly parade around in gifts from the elder sister without arousing her mother's instant suspicion. Even so, the sight of little Rosalie holding Seraphine's hand made Vivienne bite her sensual lips, yearning to feel the weight of her breasts and the caresses of her mistress once more.

Seraphine's plan worked flawlessly. Enamored noblewomen immediately began inquiring about the extraordinary garments.

Seraphine explained with a smile that the gowns and doublets were tailored in her new textile manufactory in Karsfeld. Should they wish to commission pieces of their own, they would need to negotiate with her in person.

A new, immensely profitable trade was born on the spot. While the riverside workshops currently possessed only a handful of machines, in time they were destined to flood the entire duchy with fine fabrics.

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While Seraphine shone in the center of attention, serving cheesecake and spiced biscuits to the young noblewomen, an entirely different atmosphere hung over the far end of the table.

Cordelia sat with a sullen scowl amidst her partisans. One of the young knights in her retinue inquired in a whisper:

"Is it true? Lady Ulrike perished from an accidental shot fired by peasant women outside Eisenwald?"

Cordelia gritted her teeth, burying her face in her hands. Officially, Seraphine was said to have left the traitor's corpse to the wolves, leaving no body for anyone to inspect.

The vassal fief of Eisenwald lay in ruins, its mines annexed by House Karsfeld, and its armed retainers had fled. Cordelia's supporters were beginning to falter - witnessing the catastrophe of the assassination, they feared continuing to back the younger sister.

Only the presence of the formidable Eleonora von Drachenberg kept the faction in line.

The Countess of Arnsbruck herself, however, seethed at Cordelia's sheer incompetence. Looking upon the flourishing, vibrant Seraphine - with her firm bust, commanding bearing, and mounting wealth - Eleonora cursed her own past choices.

Who on earth had convinced her that this firstborn was a dying cripple?! Had she known sooner, she would have given Vivienne in marriage to Seraphine instead!

Yet the longer the Countess observed the elder sister, the clearer it became that Seraphine was far too sharp and far too dangerous. She would never surrender Karsfeld's iron mines for free.

Eleonora needed a blind, pliable puppet, and Cordelia, hopelessly infatuated with Vivienne, suited that role to perfection.

At one point, one of the young ladies gazing at Seraphine asked aloud in admiration:

"Lady Seraphine, word has it that, wounded after the ambush, you personally took command of a hundred knights against two thousand brigands sent by Ulrike!"

Seraphine barely suppressed a smirk. The rumors circulated by Vivienne's network had swelled to absurd proportions. With feigned modesty, she decided to gently "correct" the tale, offering... almost the exact truth, which to the guests' ears sounded like pure bravado:

"I fear the rumors exaggerate. In truth, I faced sixteen hundred rebels with merely six hundred of my militiamen. Yet thanks to our new fire-tubes, we shot their ranks to pieces before they could ever reach the trenches."

The maidens at the table let out breathless gasps of wonder at this "heroic" account. Cordelia, on the other hand, nearly choked on her wine - her sister's tale sounded so brazen and confident that the younger futa completely lost all sense of what was truth and what was fabrication.

The banquet table distinctly fractured into two camps. The younger noblewomen, heiresses, and daughters of great houses gravitated toward the radiant, sensual Seraphine, while the older, rigid feudal traditionalists rallied around the grim Cordelia and Countess Eleonora.

In the shadow of this betrothal, a ruthless struggle for influence erupted.

As the feast slowly drew to a close, Rosalie, socially contented, was escorted by the maidservants to her chambers to rest. Weary from the long day, Seraphine slipped away to her own bedchamber with relief.

She unbuttoned the tight velvet doublet, allowing her full, rounded breasts to spill free from the bodice into the cool air of the room. Shrugging her shoulders with a sigh of relief, a soft rustle of silk sounded from the corner of the chamber.

From behind the drape emerged Vivienne. The noblewoman wore only a gossamer, sheer slip that concealed absolutely nothing - her perky, pink nipples and the curve of her rounded hips were plain to see in the glow of a solitary candle.

The girl approached silently, dropping to her knees before Seraphine.

"My lady..." she whispered in a sensual, trembling voice, resting her hands upon her bare, smooth thighs and tilting her head back. "All day long I had to watch that little brat hold your hand... Please, remind me who you truly belong to..."

Seraphine smirked predatorily. Her senses flared to life in an instant, her hardening futa cock surging with force against the fabric of her trousers.

Tilting the girl by the chin and forcing her mouth open, with a proud, imperious smile she commanded her beautiful, jealous slave to prove her devotion.

Vivienne parted her lips without hesitation, taking her scalding cock into her mouth, and the night within the heir's chamber once more drowned in shameless, feral ecstasy.