Roseia looked over her shoulder to him, as his gaze fell away to her, while his hips continued their uncaring yet knowledgeable rhythm. Like a hand that knows the words and without looking writes it onto parchment. The queen's sweet channel a bore to the king's loins as the sheets churned from their un-passionate movements.

Erard kept a hand on one side of his wife's head, the other near her waist as his near limp cock pushed in and out. Unwanting. The length seemingly disgusted by the womb that had mothered his and bastard's children. The king looked at her pale hair, hearing quiet, artificial moans as his cockhead found her physical pleasure.

His thoughts twisted themselves to the stable boy's soft, lithe frame beneath him. Recalling the first time the stable boy took the king, late in the night, both lying in the hay of some unguarded stable. Trembling legs, flushed cheeks with the younger male's hands scrambling for purchase and for stability as he was taken on the stable floor.

The king's cock rushed with blood at the thought of the stable boy, the young male under him with submission and sin corroding the fruit of the boy's sweet lips with Erard's sinful wants. The king's breath hitched, a growl ripping through him as he thrusted harder into Roseia, closing his eyes to pretend for a moment he was buried balls deep into the warmth of the stable boy.

"Erard-!" Roseia moaned, her feminine, well-known and nearly grating voice cracking his delusions. The king growled, his hand, donning his wedding ring shoved her face to silk pillows before he found his hips halting, his cock once again flaccid at the reminder he was buried not inside the stable boy, but simply that of a woman whose heart- similar to his own, gave up.

"Enough." Erard muttered, the king hissing with low breath as he pulled out of the queen, collecting his robe along the bed and wrapping it around himself as he stood. Pinching the bridge of his nose, glancing to the mirror, not looking to the woman whom held the title of wife and queen.

"Erard?" Roseia cracked, the queen's voice not of a woman missing the warmth of her husband in bed. More confusion, frustration in lack of understanding. "What compels you now? Is it so hard to stay in the grounds?"

"Quiet, woman." The king snapped, "I have no desire for your loose cunt. 'Tis a shame to even gaze upon it."

"Be gone, I have no want for cruel words from a failure of man." Roseia spat, the queen pointing to high polished doors that led out of the royal bed chambers.

Erard made no further acknowledgment of his wife, simply exiting his bedchamber and walking through tall walls. Painted with finery and paintings of old, staring down to those who passed in dismay and disgust for the sins they committed behind glass doors. Gloved hands painted in debauchery and sin in the palace walls.

The king made his way to the gardens, walking to the stables where he'd informed Lambert he wanted the stable boy working late in nights. Alone. Unguarded. The head groom made a gaze, though said no further to the nobleman. The king entered the stable, his eyes catching to the messy, sweaty frame of his lover, his tunic lightly riding up to the reveal the sweet curve of his waist and the dip of a backside.

The older man's lips curled into a smirk as he walked to a pile of hay, sitting on it as if a throne of gold, his legs spread. Revealing his heaving cock, the tip angry and red, still slick with Roseia yet it's desire for that of the peasant boy in front of him.

"Mon amour." Erard murmured, teeth showing beneath small lips, motioning for the young man to come forward as he showed him from prior interactions. "Come, your king's in need of your... assistance."