Forbidden Desires: Conquering Kingdoms And Women In a Fantasy World!

"W…what are you both doing?!!!!"

Rosaluna and I both snapped our heads toward the doorway. Our mother—Isabella—stood frozen there, eyes wide, pupils trembling, the faintest shake in her hand as it rose instinctively to cover her mouth. The lamplight spilled across her face, picking out the pale wash of shock that had drained all color from her cheeks.

The scene needed no explanation. Rosaluna lay sprawled on her back across my bed, hair spilled in a dark, tangled halo, her chest still rising and falling with uneven breaths. Her gown was rucked high over her hips, the soft curve of her thighs bared, and I was crouched between them—so close my breath still warmed her skin—one hand cupping the firm swell of her right breast through silk, my thumb idly circling as though my body hadn't yet caught up to my mind.

There was no way to pretend. No lie clever enough to mask the truth Isabella had walked in on. Every detail told its own story, painted in sweat and heat.

"M…mom…" Rosaluna's voice cracked, thin and breathless, dragging her back from the fog of pleasure that had wrapped her moments ago. She jolted upright, fumbling with the strap of her gown, yanking it up to hide her bare shoulder and the flushed peak of her breast. Her face was crimson—part shame, part the leftover pulse of desire—but her eyes darted between Isabella and me like a cornered animal.

I turned toward our mother slowly, my face an uneasy mix—caught halfway between the guilt I knew she'd expect and the unshaken satisfaction still humming low in my gut.

"W…what… you…" Isabella's words tangled in her throat. She swayed slightly, her knuckles white where they pressed against her lips. The disbelief in her eyes was raw, as if she could still undo what she was seeing if she only blinked enough times.

"M…mom… I wanted to tell you this, but… you don't have to worry about it," Rosaluna spoke first.

Isabella shook her head violently, strands of hair slipping loose from her bun. "No… no…" Her voice rose, shaking with horror. "How could this be happening?! What are you both doing?!"

"Harold was just giving me pleasure, mom!" Rosaluna blurted, stepping down from the bed barefoot, the hem of her gown whispering against her calves.

"P…pleasure?" Isabella's voice cracked, breaking on the word. "Is that what you call it? You cannot do that with your own brother, Rosaluna! I don't know what has gone through your heads—" She swung her gaze toward me like a blade, fury sharpening her tone. "—and you too, Harold!"

"Mom, I—"

"No!" She cut me off, a shaking hand pressing to her temple as though she could block out the memory of the sight she'd just witnessed. Her breathing was uneven, shallow, her chest rising in tight bursts. "This mustn't be possible…"

"Mom, it's my fault," Rosaluna said quickly, stepping closer. "I asked Harold to help me with my nightmares."

"Nightmares?" The word sounded strange in Isabella's mouth, almost like she couldn't place it there.

"Yes… I couldn't sleep," Rosaluna continued softly, "so Harold… gives me pleasure, and it works. I can fall asleep after."

I watched Isabella's throat work as she swallowed, torn between shock and the urge to deny what she'd already seen with her own eyes. Maybe Rosaluna could have kept her words gentler, left it at nightmares—but that wouldn't have served my purpose.

I had planned this. The sound-magic I'd woven into Rosaluna's voice earlier ensured Isabella would hear, would come. I was tired of hiding. It was time to take us to the next step.

"W…what are you saying, Rosaluna?" Isabella's voice shook, but the heat in it was there. "Have you gone mad?! He is your brother—"

"We can do it because we love each other, mom!" Rosaluna cut across her, chin lifting. "And he also helped you, like me! W…we should be happy about it."

The words dropped like stones into still water. I saw the ripple in Isabella's face—the moment she began to connect the things she'd brushed off as half-remembered dreams. The horror returned, sharper now, and her gaze locked on me.

"H…Harold…" It was a despaired expression tinged with disbelief.

"Mom…" My voice was low, guilt curling around the edges, fists clenched at my sides. "I also gave you pleasure because you… you keep having nightmares. You kept screaming and—"

"Harold!!" Her voice cracked even louder.

"Listen to me, mom!" I shouted, louder than I ever had at her before. The sound startled even her; I could see the flicker of it in her eyes. "W...When I was a child, I slept beside you often. I saw how much you hurt… how you couldn't rest, how you cried, whispering father's name, begging him to leave us alone. I couldn't stand it—I had to do something."

"Harold! This isn't a reason to do such things!" She spat, shaking her head hard, as if she could rattle the words right out of her ears.

"But you wanted it, mom…"

"W...hat?!"

The words landed heavy. She stepped toward me sharply, closing the gap between us. Her nearness was electric—anger and something unspoken threading through the heat of her breath.

I really thought she was going to slap the hell out of me and for the first time. As a mother it would be reasonable to use violence for something this serious but I stopped her with words.

"You wanted it," I said again, my voice lower now, my eyes holding hers. "I saw you touching yourself, mom…"

She froze mid-step. The room went still around us.

"I couldn't sleep next to you, not when you were like that… writhing from nightmares, then touching yourself until you made that happy little sound, like it chased the dark away. So I helped you. You said it felt good, you asked me to lick you, and I did." The lie slid easily from my tongue, coiling through her thoughts.

No, actually it wasn't a really a lie since she indeed asked me to lick her more even though unconsciously.

Her face changed—horror and realization tangling together. Because she believed me. She knew she'd done it before, even if only rarely, and that was enough to let the guilt take root.

"I wanted to tell you," I went on, my fists tightening at my sides, "but later I read it wasn't allowed between family. I was scared… so I stopped. But when you were in pain, crying in your sleep… I couldn't let you suffer."

I lowered my gaze, letting my voice drop into a quiet murmur. "I'm… sorry."

The words hung in the air, thin and trembling, but Isabella didn't move, didn't even blink at first. She just stood there, her lips parting soundlessly, her whole face caught between disbelief and a pain she clearly didn't have the strength to hide. When her knees wavered and she nearly lost her balance, she caught herself against the doorframe with one palm, as though it were the only thing holding her upright.

Then, without another word, she turned and stepped away.

Rosaluna and I exchanged a glance…hers still flushed and damp-eyed, mine steady — and followed her into the hall.

She had collapsed into one of the chairs by the wall, her posture folding in on itself as if she wanted to vanish. Her hands covered her face, shoulders shaking. "T… this can't be…"

I didn't need magic to know exactly what was running through her mind. The pieces were fitting together for her now — all the unguarded things she had moaned in sleep, all the details she'd thought were safely locked away in dreams. The little gasps and murmurs of my name she'd never meant for me to hear. She was realizing they hadn't been dreams at all.

Horror colored every tear she shed, but shame was thicker. Shame in herself as a woman, and even more as a mother.

And to my own surprise, something in me twisted — guilt. Not sharp enough to turn me back, but enough to remind me that Isabella wasn't just some conquest. She was the woman who had raised me, lived under the same roof with me every single day for sixteen years, a woman whose beauty and warmth had always been part of my world.

But guilt or not, this was for her good. I could make her happier than she had ever been, but first she needed to accept me.

"Mom…"

"D… don't." She didn't look up, just raised a trembling hand in my direction, a fragile barrier I could have walked through but didn't.

"I'm sorry…" I said again, softer.

She shook her head, her voice breaking. "No. I… I am at fault. I taught neither of you anything. I only wanted to keep you both safe, and in the end…" Her voice caught. "My own daughter and son… I… am a terrible mother…"

"You aren't, Mom! What are you saying?!" Rosaluna stepped forward quickly, her eyes wide.

Isabella looked at her for a long moment, the tear tracks glistening on her cheeks. "You don't understand. What you've done — what happened — it isn't possible. It's forbidden. It's not healthy."

"But we love each other, Mom," Rosaluna insisted, her voice trembling now, too. "I… don't see what's wrong. Who cares?"

Isabella's lips pressed into a thin, weary line. She said nothing.

Silence stretched between the three of us, five long minutes where the only sound was the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.

When she finally looked up at me, her eyes were different — not softer, but more focused. "You must stop, Harold. You must promise me you'll stop doing that."

"M… mom?!" Rosaluna's voice rose, disbelief sharp as glass.

"I am serious." Isabella's tone cut across the space like a blade, her gaze locking on Rosaluna.

But my sister shook her head hard, her white hair falling loose around her shoulders. "I… I love Harold, and I don't want the nightmares to come back! What's wrong with my brother helping me?" She turned to me, pressing a hand to her chest as though my answer could change everything.

"This is wrong, I told you," Isabella snapped, rising to her feet.

"Not wrong for me! We love each other!" Rosaluna's voice cracked but she didn't back down.

"Enough, Rosaluna!" It was the first time Isabella had ever shouted at her eldest daughter, and the sound of it made Rosaluna's eyes glisten with fresh tears.

She glared at our mother, jaw trembling, then turned sharply and stormed down the hall to her room, the slam of the door echoing after her.

In the sudden quiet, Isabella stood with her chest rising and falling too quickly, her hands curling at her sides.

"You… you have to stop."

"Mom…" I took a step toward her, but she raised her hand again, the gesture sharper now, though her fingers still trembled.

"L… leave me some time, Harold." Her voice was softer again, almost pleading, before she turned and walked toward her own room.

I watched her go, the sway of her hair, the faint stagger in her step, until she disappeared behind her door.

Only then did I move. I poured myself a glass of water, the cool weight of it grounding me for just a moment. Sitting at the table, I drank slowly, the chill sliding down my throat.

And then I smiled—not wide, but deep, a smirk curling my lips as the tension bled out of my shoulders.

Everything had gone exactly as I wanted.

The truth was out now, and the burden of hiding it was gone. All that was left was time… and persistence. She would come to me.

They both would.