The Starlance hovered at the edge of the Draconis Cluster, its starfire runes dimming as it prepared for the jump to the Aether Veil, a cosmic nexus where Mira Tselvar and Kaelith Varn had fled with the Starheart. The bridge was a tense silence, the void beyond the viewport swirling with temporal distortions. King Zevryn Thaloryn stood at the helm, his white hair tied back, his violet eyes clouded with a rare uncertainty. His obsidian armor gleamed, his silver tattoos pulsing with starfire, a testament to his dual kingship over Aeltharion and Varenthia—and his sacred lineage as a Lord of the Blood, a title binding him to honor and power. The Starheart's rifts threatened galactic stability, but a new crisis demanded his attention, one that tested his pride and duty.Lysara Veyne stood beside him, her shadowweave armor shimmering, her dark hair framing her sharp face, her amber eyes searching his with concern. Her shadow magic sensed his turmoil, their recent intense passion a foundation now strained by the news. "Zevryn," she said, her voice low, "the message from Lord Gavren—he's serious. Peace with the Solaris remnant hinges on this. But you're a Lord of the Blood… this choice could break you." Zevryn's jaw tightened, his starfire flaring, his tattoos glowing as he reread the encrypted holo-scroll delivered by a Solaris envoy.Lord Gavren, a grizzled warlord of fifty-five who led the Solaris remnant after the recent battle, had demanded an unprecedented concession. The remnant, weakened but still formidable, threatened war unless Zevryn performed a blowjob, an act of submission to seal their alliance and prevent Solaris from joining Mira's cause. Gavren's terms were clear: Zevryn must drink his cum as a symbol of loyalty, a degrading ritual rooted in Solaris's ancient customs of dominance. Refusal would ignite a conflict, splitting Zevryn's forces and leaving Aeltharion and Varenthia vulnerable to Mira's Starheart-powered rifts.Zevryn's political intelligence wrestled with the dilemma. As a Lord of the Blood, his lineage demanded purity and strength, his royal dick—more veiny, an extra inch longer—a symbol of his dominance, not submission. Yet war would drain his empires, giving Mira and Kaelith the edge they needed. He paced the bridge, his mind a storm of duty and disgust, his starfire sword resting against the console, a silent witness to his struggle. "I've conquered with this blade," he muttered, his voice a growl, "not my knees."Lysara stepped closer, her shadow magic coiling, her amber eyes fierce. "You don't have to," she said, her voice a vow. "We can fight—my shadows, the dragon riders, we'll crush Gavren. But if peace buys us time to stop Mira, it might be worth it. Your choice, my king." Her words cut deep, her trust in him a lifeline, yet the weight of his title as Lord of the Blood clashed with the pragmatic need for stability.Selene Mirath, her golden hair loose, her starry eyes wide with unease, monitored the rift data. "The Aether Veil's instability is growing," she reported, her voice urgent. "Mira's amplifying the Starheart—rifts are spreading to Draconis. We need unity, not war." Zevryn's dual kingship hung in the balance, the decision a razor's edge between honor and survival.That night, Zevryn summoned Gavren to a neutral chamber aboard the Starlance, a stark room of obsidian and starlight, its walls etched with runes. Gavren entered, his frame broad and scarred, his gray hair cropped short, his golden armor dented from battle, his dark eyes glinting with expectation. "King Zevryn," he said, his voice a rumble, "my terms stand. Prove your commitment, or Solaris burns your empires."Zevryn's starfire flared, his tattoos glowing, his royal dick stirring with defiance beneath his armor. The Lord of the Blood in him recoiled, his lineage screaming against the act, but the king in him saw the cost of war—lives lost, empires fractured. He shed his armor, standing bare, his muscular frame tense, his violet eyes locked on Gavren. "This is for peace," he growled, his voice raw, kneeling before the warlord, a gesture that felt like a blade to his soul.Gavren smirked, unfastening his armor, revealing a thick, veiny cock, its size a challenge. Zevryn's hands trembled as he gripped it, his starfire dimming, his pride warring with duty. He leaned forward, his lips closing around the tip, tasting the salt and musk, his tongue tracing the veins as he sucked, the act foreign and degrading. Gavren groaned, his hands gripping Zevryn's hair, forcing him deeper, the cock filling his throat, gagging him. Zevryn's starfire flared briefly, a silent rebellion, but he pressed on, his lips working, his tongue swirling, drinking the pre-cum with a bitter grimace.The warlord's thrusts grew erratic, his groans louder, and Zevryn braced himself as Gavren came, hot cum flooding his mouth, thick and bitter, spilling down his throat. Zevryn swallowed, the taste lingering, a violation of his bloodline, but a strategic victory. He pulled back, wiping his lips, his violet eyes burning with suppressed rage as Gavren fastened his armor, nodding. "Peace is yours, King," Gavren said, his voice smug. "Solaris stands with you—against Mira."Zevryn rose, his starfire flaring, his tattoos glowing as he donned his armor, the act a scar on his soul, yet a necessary sacrifice. He returned to the bridge, his expression guarded, Lysara's shadow magic sensing his turmoil. "It's done," he said, his voice hard, avoiding her gaze. Lysara touched his arm, her amber eyes soft but fierce. "You chose peace," she murmured, her shadow magic calming him. "That's strength, not weakness." Zevryn nodded, his royal dick stirring at her touch, though he restrained it, the memory of Gavren's cum a bitter aftertaste.The Starlance jumped to the Aether Veil, a cosmic nexus of shimmering light and temporal storms, the Starheart's energy a beacon within. Selene reported, "Mira and Kaelith are at the Veil's heart, using its power to stabilize the rifts. Solaris's forces are with us—Gavren's ships are en route." Zevryn's political intelligence clicked, the alliance a double-edged sword, but a tactical gain. "We strike at dawn," he ordered, his voice a growl, his dual kingship now bolstered by Solaris, the hunt resuming with renewed force.
