The elf queen is reclining on a grand throne of ice, cushioned by furs and fanned by barely-clothed attendants despite the freezing cold. Her pale skin shines with scented oils, perfectly accentuating her well-toned muscles and full breasts. To your bemusement, you realize that the powerful queen before is Etheryn, although hardly the Etheryn you know. Perhaps this is what Etheryn feels like inside, the Etheryn you helped create — she only wears jewelry, large bands of silver and iron, studded with the most opulent of star sapphires and flawless diamonds. From your kneeling position, you have an excellent view of her shaved crotch and prominent flower of womanhood, which she flaunts casually, her legs spread as she looks down on you.
You’re vaguely aware of the elf ladies and lords sitting in the stands, the high nobility of pale elf society come to watch the spectacle. Rare is it that the Queen herself presides over trials. Whichever way this goes, no doubt it will be the talk of the Winter City for days to come, if not weeks.
Etheryn speaks a single word, pointing towards her pussy, a triumphant smile playing on her lips. The language isn’t one that you understand, but the meaning is clear — lick. You need no further encouragement, eager to please your mistress and try to win her pardon. Far more important is the taste of Etheryn’s cool, sweet nectar, which you lap up greedily. Your queen moans as you plunge your flexible tongue into her folds, using every technique within your considerable repertoire to please her.
Her lean, powerful legs wrap around your head, trapping you in an intimate embrace as she arches her back, shaking as she cries out. Clear nectar flows onto your tongue, a deliciously sweet ambrosia. You drink and drink from her ceaseless fountain, getting your fill and then some.
Is it enough? Will it be enough?
Silence reigns in the stands. As the massed ladies and lords watch with bated breath, the Queen of the Winter City stretches out her hand, her fingers balled in a fist. All await the verdict.
A quick flick of Etheryn’s wrist, and she points her thumb downwards.
Guilty.
Shakily, you raise your head, peering left and right at the Queen’s guards. With the same triumphant smile, Etheryn repeats her command, pointing to one of them. The guard inclines her head ever so slightly, then begins to unbuckle her armor in full view of all of the court.
When you wake up, you are drooling slightly. Taking a moment to wipe your mouth, you tuck yourself back in and head to bed.