Mate’s Behind Masks

Plans for the Royal Ball

Yasuf.

Out of all my brothers, he was perhaps the most dangerously underestimated.

He shared the same dark blond hair as me, though his frame was slimmer—more graceful than imposing. Handsome in that effortless way that made people trust him before he had even spoken, Yasuf possessed the one quality none of us had mastered quite like him:

the love of the people.

Not the fake ceremonial kind.

Not waving from balconies.

Not rehearsed speeches.

Real love.

He lived among them instead of hiding behind castle walls with the rest of us. He walked their markets, listened to their complaints, attended their funerals, knew their names, knew which families had lost sons in the war and which mothers had gone hungry because taxes bit too hard.

He understood our kingdom in a way ledgers and military reports never could.

And because of that, he was the invisible hand keeping my people from slipping through my fingers.

If it were not for Yasuf, half this kingdom would have already turned its back on the Valor name.

Mother knew it too.

Which was exactly why she did not immediately reject him.

His idea was perfect.

Annoyingly perfect.

And Mother, for all her pride, knew how to twist any given material into her own tapestry once a decision was made.

I straightened my shoulders.

Fine.

Then the decision was mine to close.

“It seems we have a plan,” I said, voice firm enough to cut through the stale tension. “And you may have the grand ball you so desperately desire.”

Mother’s lips pressed thin.

“But make no mistake, Mother—we are still at war.”

I stepped forward.

Each word sharpened with the frustration that had been rotting inside me for months.

“And only after this war can we truly celebrate. Our people deserve peace, not a spectacle that displays how incapable we have become because we no longer pay attention to the reality of their lives.”

Tariq lowered his eyes.

Khalil folded his arms.

Yasuf remained still, listening.

“This matter was not brought to my attention the last time strategies were discussed,” I continued, now staring directly at Mother, “yet you believed you knew better than the men actively holding this kingdom together and directed me toward a choice that would have cost us more of our people.”

Her nostrils flared.

Good.

Let her feel challenged.

I was done nodding like a child while she played queen over a throne that was already mine in all but title.

“Have the royals send their daughters,” I ordered coldly. “They will return the next day. There will be no prolonged stay, no endless waste, no drawn-out festivities.”

I exhaled through my nose.

“I do not wish to make this worse for my people, so I will do the damn speech myself tomorrow morning. In person.”

That made Yasuf nod quickly.

He understood the importance immediately.

The people would hear me.

See me.

Not through screens.

Not through royal announcements.

A king standing before them and speaking directly.

Whether they hated me or not, they would at least know I was not hiding.

I turned toward Khalil.

“Have the castle secured for the arrivals. I want guards visible on every floor. Four minimum per corridor.”

Khalil gave one sharp nod.

“It’ll be done.”

I looked at Tariq.

“Stay with Queen Mother and monitor the budget. We do not need our economy crumbling while the military drains us.”

Tariq adjusted his papers.

“Understood.”

I glanced around the room.

“Is there anything else requiring my immediate attention?”

Silence.

Good.

Then I let my gaze slide back to Mother.

This part mattered more.

Because if I did not plant the boundary now, she would continue slicing pieces off my authority until I had nothing but ceremonial power and a smile for cameras.

“Then we may all return to our estates,” I said. “And Mother—”

I paused just long enough to make sure she looked at me.

“You are going to make both balls extraordinary.”

Her chin lifted.

I continued before she could speak.

“Do not minimize this kingdom to which you contributed for so long simply because your ego cannot tolerate the idea of seeing me wed.”

Her eyes flashed.

There it was.

That wounded, offended maternal fury.

She wanted to argue.

I saw it in the twitch of her painted lips.

Saw it in the rigidness of her spine.

But I did not.

I was done.

Done with these pity-filled political debates that somehow always circled back to one thing:

a woman.

A female.

A bride.

A queen.

That was what my entire life seemed to be reduced to now.

Not military success.

Not economic survival.

Not preserving a kingdom under attack.

No.

Apparently my greatest royal failure was not having a woman warm enough beside me to make my mother retire.

The absurdity of it nearly made me laugh.

I turned without waiting for dismissal.

Without asking permission.

Without caring whether Mother called after me.

Because at this point, if one more person reminded me that I needed a female in my life, I might willingly marry the first breathing creature who looked at me twice just to end the conversation.

Leaving my mother's office, the weight of royal bullshit clung to me like a bad hangover.

I scratched at my dark blonde hair, messing it up under the crisp lines of my modern royal suit—tailored red jacket hugging my broad shoulders, pants straining just enough over my thickening c**k from the frustration.

My green eyes scanned the polished hallway, marble floors echoing my heavy steps, gilded walls mocking my tension.

Fuck this stress.

I needed to bury it deep in some tight, willing holes.

As I strode away, my gaze locked onto two maids at the end of the corridor—perfect blondes with flowing golden locks cascading down their backs, green eyes sparkling like emeralds under those frilly caps.

Same sharp cheekbones, plump lips begging to be stretched around my shaft, and holy s**t, those t**s.

Massive, heaving udders that could milk a herd of bulls, straining against their low-cut uniforms, n*****s already poking through the thin fabric like they knew what was coming.

I crooked a finger at them, my voice low and commanding.

"You two. With me. Now."

They dropped their cleaning supplies without a word, hips swaying as they hurried over, those enormous breasts bouncing with each step, threatening to spill out.

The first one, had her name tag saying she was called Lena—curvy ass filling out her skirt—brushed against me first, her green eyes locking onto mine with hungry submission.

The second, Mira, pressed in close from the other side, her cleavage a deep valley I could lose my face in.

I grabbed Lena's wrist, yanking her into the nearest side chamber—a lavish lounge with velvet couches and dim lighting.

Mira followed, shutting the door with a soft click.

No time for games.

I shoved Lena against the wall, my hands diving straight for those bull-milking t**s, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp.

Fabric tore under my grip, exposing pale, creamy flesh veined with blue, n*****s thick and rosy, already leaking a bead of milk from the pressure.

"Suck my c**k," I growled, unzipping my pants.

My thick shaft sprang free, veined and throbbing, pre-c*m glistening at the tip.

Mira dropped to her knees first, her green eyes wide as she wrapped those soft lips around my head, tongue swirling greedily.

Lena joined her, their blonde heads bobbing side by side, mouths stretching wide to take turns slurping down my length.

Wet slurps filled the room as they licked my balls, sucked my shaft, tongues dueling over the underside while their massive t**s mashed together, n*****s rubbing.

I tangled my fingers in their hair, f*****g their faces alternately—thrusting deep into Lena's throat until she gagged, spit dripping down her chin onto those jiggling udders, then switching to Mira, who hummed vibrations around my c**k like a pro.

Stress melted away with every gag, every slobbering suck.

But I needed more.

I hauled them up, bending Lena over the couch arm, hiking her skirt to reveal a bare, dripping p***y—pink folds swollen, juices trailing down her thighs.

"Spread for your king," I ordered, slapping her ass hard, watching it ripple.

She obeyed, arching back as I slammed my c**k balls-deep into her cunt in one brutal thrust.

She cried out, walls clenching like a vice, milking me as I pounded relentlessly—hips slapping skin, her t**s swinging wildly beneath her, slapping her own thighs.

Mira watched, fingering her own soaked slit, then climbed onto the couch to shove her p***y in my face.

I devoured her, tongue plunging into her wet heat, lapping at her c**t while I railed Lena.

Mira ground down, flooding my mouth with her tangy nectar, her green eyes rolling back as she came hard, thighs quaking around my head.

Lena followed, p***y spasming, squirting around my pistoning c**k.

Not done yet.

I pulled out, slick with her cream, and flipped Mira onto her back.

Legs spread wide, I drove into her ass—no lube needed with how drenched she was—stretching that tight ring until she screamed in ecstasy.

Lena straddled Mira's face, grinding her c*m-soaked p***y on her tongue while I f****d that ass raw, my balls tightening.

"Beg for my load," I snarled, pinching their leaking n*****s, twisting until milk sprayed.

"Please, Your Majesty, fill us! c*m in our holes!" they moaned in unison.

I exploded, pumping rope after rope deep into Mira's ass, pulling out to spray the rest across Lena's t**s, marking them as mine.

They licked each other clean, slurping my seed from skin and folds, while I caught my breath, stress finally f****d into oblivion.

But one round wouldn't cut it.

"Again," I commanded, c**k already hardening at the sight of their wrecked, eager bodies.