Princess Alexia's Secret Surrender: A Royal's Desperate Plea for Cid's True Face

The night was a heavy, velvet curtain drawn over the Midgar Royal Spellsword Academy. Moonlight, as pale and fine as spun silver, spilled through the tall arched window of Princess Alexia Midgar’s private chambers, tracing the elegant lines of her furniture and pooling on the plush rug. The air was still, thick with the scent of expensive oils and old books, but for Alexia, it was suffocating. She sat on the edge of her canopied bed, the silk of her nightgown cool against her skin, her silver hair a chaotic halo around a face etched with a frustration so deep it felt like a physical ache in her bones. Before her, standing with an infuriatingly placid expression, was Cid Kagenou.

He was the most vexing, most unremarkable, and most profoundly confusing person she had ever met. Their “relationship” had been a sham, a convenient tool for them both, but the threads of that fabrication had tangled themselves around her heart in ways she refused to acknowledge. She saw flickers, mere slivers of something more beneath his meticulously crafted persona of Mundane Mann. A flash of impossible speed in a sparring match, an unnervingly perceptive comment disguised as a bland observation, the way his dark eyes sometimes seemed to see straight through her royal facade to the trembling girl beneath. It was those moments that haunted her, that ignited this maddening curiosity which now burned like a fever in her blood.

“Did you hear me, Cid?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended. She had summoned him here under the pretense of discussing a recent string of mysterious disappearances near the capital, a flimsy excuse that he had accepted with his usual noncommittal shrug. But the topic had been exhausted an hour ago, and still, he remained, a quiet, unassuming shadow in her opulent room.

“Every word, Princess,” he replied, his tone as flat and even as a calm lake. “You believe the Cult of Diablos may be involved.” He wasn’t looking at her, his gaze fixed on a tapestry depicting a legendary battle from the age of heroes. It was as if she were just another piece of the room’s decor.

That dismissiveness was the final spark on the tinder of her patience. Alexia rose from the bed, her movements fluid and predatory, the silk of her gown whispering against the floor. She closed the distance between them, stopping so close she could feel the faint warmth radiating from his body. She tilted her head back, forcing him to look down at her. His eyes, dark and bottomless, finally met hers. There was nothing there. No desire, no fear, no interest. Nothing. It was a perfect, infuriating void.

“Is that all you see when you look at me?” she whispered, her voice a low, dangerous purr. “A princess? A political figure discussing state affairs?” She let her fingers trail up his arm, feeling the surprisingly solid muscle beneath the cheap fabric of his uniform. “Or do you see a woman, Cid?”

A flicker. She was sure of it. A momentary tightening of his jaw, a fractional narrowing of his eyes before the placid mask snapped back into place. “I’m not sure what you mean, Alexia-senpai.” He used the honorific, a deliberate act of distancing that only fueled her determination. She wanted to shatter that composure. She needed to see the man she knew was hiding underneath, the one whose power she had glimpsed, the one who lingered in her thoughts long after he was gone. She was a princess of Midgar, a master of the sword, a woman from the world of Kage no Jitsuryokusha ni Naritakute where power was everything. And right now, she felt utterly powerless against his apathy.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of desperation and burgeoning arousal. This was insane. Reckless. A violation of every rule and protocol she had ever known. But the need to provoke him, to force a genuine reaction from him, eclipsed all reason. Her pride warred with a primal, aching need that had been building for weeks. She wanted to dominate him, to make him see her, but a treacherous part of her, a part she loathed, wanted to be the one to submit, to offer something so intimate that even he couldn't ignore it.

“I’ll show you what I mean,” she breathed, the words a promise and a threat. Her hands, which had been resting on his chest, slid slowly downwards. She felt him tense, a subtle, almost imperceptible stiffening of his entire body. It was the most honest reaction she had gotten from him all night, and it was intoxicating. Her fingers brushed against the buckle of his belt, and his breath hitched. It was a tiny sound, almost lost in the silence of the room, but to her, it was a thunderclap, a victory.

With a resolve that felt both foreign and deeply instinctual, Alexia sank to her knees before him. The cool floorboards were a shock through the thin silk of her nightgown, the act itself a seismic upheaval of her entire world. The second princess of Midgar, kneeling. For him. For this maddeningly average boy who was anything but. She kept her gaze locked on his, searching for any crack in his facade as her trembling fingers worked at the buckle of his trousers. She saw surprise, then a flicker of something darker, more intense, before it was ruthlessly suppressed. But she had seen it. It was enough.

The fabric parted, and she freed him. He was larger than she had imagined, thick and heavy, the veins tracing a proud path along the shaft. A drop of pre-cum, clear and glistening like a jewel in the moonlight, already pearled at the tip. Her own body responded instantly, a hot, wet clench deep within her. The air grew heavy, charged with unspoken things. This wasn't just about lust; it was a desperate interrogation, a demand for truth using the most intimate language she could conceive.

She hesitated for only a second, a final, fleeting moment of royal propriety warring with raw, unadulterated desire. Then she leaned forward. She took him into her mouth, her lips closing around the swollen, purple head. The taste of him was shockingly clean, musky and distinctly male. It was the taste of the secret he kept so well hidden. Her tongue, at first tentative, began to explore, tracing the sensitive ridge of his corona, flicking against his frenulum. She felt a tremor run through his leg, his thigh muscles bunching under her hand, which she had rested there for balance.

A low groan rumbled in his chest, a sound so deep and primal it sent a shiver straight to her core. Finally. A real sound. Encouraged, she grew bolder, taking him deeper, her throat muscles learning the unfamiliar rhythm of accommodating his length. She slid her hand down to cup his heavy sacs, her thumb stroking the delicate skin. He was hard as stone, a rigid pillar of restrained power that she was determined to unravel. She wanted to make him beg, to make him lose that infuriating control. This was her battlefield now, and she would be victorious.

She moved with a newfound confidence, a rhythm born of pure instinct. Her silver hair cascaded over his thighs, a stark, pale contrast to the dark fabric of his trousers bunched around his knees. The sounds in the room were now purely hers: the wet, slick noises of her mouth working on him, her own ragged breaths as the pleasure of her own actions began to build. She loved the feeling of power, the knowledge that she, the princess, was bringing this enigmatic man to the edge. She glanced up at him through her lashes, her lips still wrapped around his shaft. His head was thrown back, his eyes were closed, and his jaw was clenched tight. The mask was gone. In its place was a raw, unguarded expression of pure, unadulterated pleasure. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

The sight spurred her on. She quickened her pace, her throat muscles expertly working him, her hand pumping his base in time with her mouth. She could feel the climax building in him, a gathering storm of energy that made his whole body tremble. His hips began to move, a slow, instinctive thrusting that met the eager suction of her mouth. He wasn't the placid, boring Cid anymore. He was a man on the brink, a man undone by her. By Princess Alexia Midgar. The thought was a heady aphrodisiac.

His breath came in harsh, ragged gasps now. “Alexia…” he grunted, her name a broken, desperate sound on his lips. It was the only victory cry she needed. She felt the final, violent contractions begin at the base of his cock, and without a second thought, driven by an overwhelming urge to consume this moment, to take all of him, she tightened her throat and swallowed. A hot, thick rush of semen flooded her mouth, its taste salty and potent. She took every last drop, her throat working convulsively, refusing to spill a single bit of his surrender.

When it was over, she remained there for a long moment, her cheek resting against his thigh, his fading pulse a rhythm against her lips. The room was deathly quiet again, but the silence was different now. It was filled, saturated with the weight of what they had just done. Slowly, shakily, she released him and looked up. The mask was back, but it was imperfect. His eyes were dark, hazy with pleasure, his breathing still slightly uneven. He looked down at her, kneeling before him, her lips glistening, and for the first time, she saw something in his gaze that was not a void. It was a complex storm of emotions she couldn't begin to decipher, but it was real. It was something.

He didn't say anything. He simply reached down, his hand surprisingly gentle as he cupped her chin, his thumb swiping across her lower lip. He then adjusted his clothing with a practiced, almost dismissive smoothness that was jarring after such an intimate act. He turned and walked to the door, his composure almost fully restored.

“Goodnight, Princess,” he said, his voice once again maddeningly level, as if nothing had happened. Then he was gone, the soft click of the door latch echoing in the chamber.

Alexia remained on her knees for a long time, the moonlight bathing her in its cold, ethereal glow. She was trembling, not from cold, but from the aftershocks of the encounter. She had wanted a reaction, and she had gotten one, however fleeting. She had tasted his release, felt his control shatter, and seen behind the curtain, if only for an instant. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, but it was a start. A slow, triumphant smile spread across her lips. The game between them had just changed, and Alexia Midgar knew, with every fiber of her being, that she was finally beginning to win.