Morgana: The Mother Of All-Chapter 494: The New Protocol

Tsk... I’m losing my touch.

The Captain of the Royal Guard didn’t even have the decency to blush. She just turned around and said, "Open the gate."

I was disappointed. I’ve been practicing that line. Maybe I need to adjust my approach.

Ah!... I figured it out!

I just need to fuck the elven queen and let her order the captain to fuck me. Yes... perfect plan, if I do say so myself.

...

The journey to the palace was, for me, a delightful experience. The people were all either staring at me with a mixture of awe, fear, and lust. All of them.

As they should be, after all, I was a silver-haired elven beauty with big tits and a dick riding on top of a majestic white stag through their capital’s streets. I’m a sight to behold.

And I made sure that every pair of eyes saw me. I sat up straight on the stag, my tits pushed out, my head held high, my cock hard and proud, like a queen on her coronation day. Especially with the captain at the front and twenty-four armored futas on each side clearing the way for me. My entourage. My procession. It felt good.

Very good.

Vespera, on the other hand, looked like she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. She was trying to make herself as small as possible on her black steed, her hood pulled down over her face.

"What’s wrong, Pointy?" I asked, casting a sly smile. "Not enjoying the view?"

"I don’t like being the center of attention," she muttered, not looking at me. "And I definitely don’t like being the center of attention with your dick in plain sight."

"Hehehe~... But my dick is the best thing about this city." I then turned to the captain. "Isn’t that right, captain?"

The captain just grunted. She’s a tough nut to crack.

Hmm?... Tough nut to crack? Please. She’s just holding her breath so hard I’m surprised her emerald breastplate hasn’t popped a rivet yet. I can see the pulse jumping in her jaw. She’s professional, I’ll give her that, but professional just means the explosion is better when they finally snap.

Anyway.

The procession moved like a slow, glittering wound through the heart of the city.

Every bridge we crossed sighed under Snowball’s hooves. Every floating lantern dimmed for a heartbeat when my shadow passed beneath it, as though the light itself was embarrassed on behalf of the elves watching from balconies and vine-suspended platforms. Whispers followed us in waves—sharp High Elven, liquid Wood Elven, the low hiss of Dark Elven amusement cutting through like a blade. They all said variations of the same thing.

"She’s real."

"The white stag."

"The bloody moon-bitch."

"Look at the size of that thing."

I gave my cock a friendly little pat, making it bounce. A few elven matrons fainted. A group of young elven women in translucent silks giggled and dared to wave.

I winked at them. Vespera made a sound like a dying kettle.

"They’re not your type," I murmured to her.

"I don’t have a type," she hissed back. "And I don’t want—"

"Gasp... am I not your type?" I said in a dramatic ’hurt’ tone. "I thought you wanted me to pop your cherry later?"

Vespera’s entire body went rigid. She didn’t answer. She just dug her nails into her steed’s mane. The poor creature twitched.

"Hehehe~ I love making you blush." I then looked around.

The captain—still marching ahead like a siege ram with tits—didn’t turn. But I saw her shoulders tense every time I spoke. Tiny victories.

We reached the final span. A wide, round courtyard before the palace gates. The Royal Plaza. It was paved with mother-of-pearl that shimmered like a trapped piece of the night sky. Statues of ancient elven heroes and queens lined the path, their stone faces frozen in expressions of serene dignity that probably looked a lot less dignified a few minutes ago.

However, every single one of them had a perfectly sculpted cock and balls.

"I guess the cock is the ultimate symbol of power here," I whispered, casting a glance at my own cock. "My dick fits right in."

That’s when I saw her.

A lone figure, waiting just before the palace doors. She wasn’t a guard, but a steward or some such, dressed in robes of emerald green that were even more vivid than the captain’s armor.

Of course, she was a high elf, and by the look on her face, she thought highly of herself, only second to the queen.

She was standing there with her chin tilted so high I half-expected her to start counting the leaves on the World Tree’s ceiling.

The steward didn’t bow.

She didn’t even incline her head the regulation half-degree most courtiers manage when they’re trying to look superior while still remembering protocol. She just stood there—tall, willowy, skin like fresh cream poured over moonlight—with arms folded beneath breasts that were probably insured by the crown treasury.

Her eyes darted from the White Stag—accepting its magnificence with a mere flicker of approval—to Vespera, a brief, dismissive glance, and finally to me.

Then her gaze settled on my cock.

Held.

And one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched.

Not in shock. Not in lust. In... appraisal. Like she was mentally measuring it against some invisible royal standard and finding it annoyingly close to passing.

"Thank you, captain, for safely escorting the white stag," the steward said, her voice as smooth and cool as polished jade. "Her Majesty will be pleased. I’ll take it from here."

The captain grunted again, then gave me a look—a deep, long, complicated look that said ’I’m a professional, but I’m also going to be thinking about this in the shower for the next decade’—before turning and marching her troops away.

’Did this bitch just ignore me?’ I tilted my head, letting my silver hair spill over one shoulder, watching as this woman approached the White Stag.

"Dismount," she ordered, not looking at me. "An animal of this purity should not be sullied by common touch."

When she was about to touch the stag...

SNAP!

I spread my fingers and instantly four blood swords materialized, their sharp tips pressing against her pale neck, her throat, and right next to her eyes.

"M-Morgana!" Ves called in a panic.

But I ignored her and slid off the stag.

"I’m sorry, did you say something?" I asked, my voice dangerously sweet.

The steward froze, her composure finally cracking. Her eyes widened, a flicker of genuine fear in their depths.

"How dare you..." she started, but I cut her off.

"I am Morgana," I said, taking a step closer, the blood swords hovering menacingly. "I am the one who tamed this stag. I am the one who brought him here. And I am the one who will decide who touches him. Understood?"

"I... I..." the steward stammered, her face pale with fear. I could see the battle between her ingrained arrogance and her instinct for self-preservation raging in her eyes.

"I’m waiting for my invitation," I said, my tone casual, as if I was asking for the weather forecast. "Do you have it?"

"N-no," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "B-But I can get it for you if you allow me to lead the stag—"

"Do you think I am stupid?" I cut her off, a small, predatory smile on my face. "Do you think I don’t know the rules? ’The one who brings forth the White Stag shall be granted an audience with the Queen.’ I brought the stag. I get the invitation. And you, my dear, are going to be the one to give it to me."

"I... but the protocol—"

I flicked my wrist. One of the blood swords sliced through her sleeve, nicking the skin just enough to draw a single, perfect bead of blood. It rolled down her arm like a jewel.

"Protocol?" I said, leaning in close, my lips brushing against her ear. "I am the new protocol."

"..."

The steward was trembling now, her arrogance shattered like cheap glass. It was a beautiful sight. Watching that high-and-mighty mask crumble to reveal the panicked, shivering girl underneath was worth more to me than any of the gold currently lining the palace walls.

"I... I understand," she choked out, her gaze fixed on the crimson blade hovering just millimeters from her left pupil. "Please... lower the weapons. I’ll send someone to guide you to the stable, and I’ll personally bring you the invitation."

I chuckled, a low, dark sound that vibrated in my chest. With another snap of my fingers, the blood swords dissolved into a fine mist of red vapor, staining her pristine emerald robe with tiny, macabre speckles. She looked down at the ruined silk and let out a small, wounded sound.

"See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?" I said, patting her on the shoulder. "Now, piss off before I change my mind and decide your blood would look better on the inside."

The steward didn’t need to be told twice. She scrambled back like a frightened crab, her elegant grace completely gone, before turning and fleeing into the palace, leaving a trail of wounded dignity in her wake.

"Vespera, stop looking like you’re about to have a stroke," I said, turning to my companion. "You’ll get wrinkles."

"You’re going to get us killed. You’re going to get us slowly killed," Vespera slid off her steed, her legs looking a bit like jelly. "You threatened a royal steward. With your dick out. In the middle of the Royal Plaza."

"Oh, hush. The Queen will love me," I said, giving Snowball an affectionate pat on the neck. "I brought her a pretty pony. And a promise of a very good time."

"That royal steward will have your head, Morgana," Vespera said, her voice a strained whisper. "You didn’t just threaten her, you... You humiliated her."

"Good," I said with a cheerful grin. "Maybe it’ll teach them why they called me the Impaler back in my old country."