But finally it was Friday again and the weekend had arrived. With it came the day Fleur and Gabrielle would finally be joining my peerage.
....
I glanced again at Fleur and Gabrielle, lying peacefully unconscious across the inn's bedding. The rook pieces had settled perfectly inside their chests, the devil transformation process already deep underway. Their breathing was steady and slow, completely relaxed, as if simply enjoying a deep sleep.
"They look so peaceful," Apolline murmured from beside them, leaning forward slightly to tuck a silky strand of Gabrielle's platinum-blonde hair behind her delicate ear. Her voice was warm, carrying the thick, lilting melody of her French accent. "I am... so incredibly proud, Harry. Truly. The opportunity you're giving them is beyond anything I dreamed of."
I smiled softly, genuinely touched. It wasn't every day I got to see a mother so earnestly proud of her daughters becoming literal devils.
Apolline straightened, gracefully smoothing her hands down the front of her dress as she took a deep, shuddering breath. Even her smallest gestures radiated sensuality, elegance, and poise.
She looked stunning today-dressed deliberately, I suspected, to distract me as thoroughly as possible. The white dress clung sinfully to every delicious curve of her body. Thin, delicate straps adorned her creamy shoulders, supporting fabric that hugged her full, round breasts tightly enough that I could see the clear outline of her hardened nipples pressing through the material. The dress cinched around her waist, accentuating how slim yet shapely she was before flaring gently over the luscious swell of her hips. The hem ended daringly high, baring most of her perfect thighs and leaving no doubt that she'd deliberately chosen not to wear anything underneath. With her silver-blonde hair cascading down her smooth back in an elegant, shimmering curtain, she was practically screaming temptation.
She sniffled softly, turning her head slightly towards me. Her blue eyes sparkled, half emotional and half mischievous. "Do tell me, Harry," she teased playfully, a gentle smile spreading on those glossy lips, "when will Fleur and Gabrielle become high-class devils? I'd very much like to join one of their peerages soon. Imagine it-I'd be young and sexy forever."
I chuckled, shaking my head lightly. "At your current rate, Apolline, I'd say you're already dangerously close to eternal youth," I replied, letting my gaze blatantly trail down her body again. "But I'll be sure to hurry them along, just for you."
She laughed softly at that. After one more lingering look at her sleeping daughters, she turned fully towards me, hips swaying provocatively with every measured step.
Without hesitation, she lowered herself gracefully onto the edge of the bed beside me, crossing one smooth, toned thigh elegantly over the other and angling her body towards me in unmistakable invitation. Her knee brushed gently against my leg.
She tilted her head slightly, giving me a coy, knowing look. "They will be asleep for a while longer, oui?" she murmured softly, her voice deliberately sultry and low. "What shall we do to occupy ourselves until they awaken...?"
My eyes flicked briefly to Fleur and Gabrielle again, confirming that they were still peacefully unaware, deep in their devilish transformation. "We do have some time," I agreed slowly, deliberately lowering my voice to match hers. "Did you have anything in particular in mind?"
Her smile turned positively wicked.
"Oh, mon prince..." she purred softly, leaning closer until her intoxicating floral perfume enveloped me, her hand moving from her thigh to rest lightly, almost possessively, on my leg. Her manicured nails traced slow, teasing circles over my inner thigh, inching dangerously close to my now rock-hard cock beneath my robes. "We both know exactly what's on my mind. You've already made both of my daughters yours today. Isn't it fair that their poor maman receives some attention too?"
— Fleur —
Fleur woke up on her back on the floor, not on the soft mattress she very clearly remembered collapsing onto, and for a second her brain simply refused to accept the input her body was sending her.
Cold floorboards pressed against her bare shoulder blades and the back of her thighs. Her eyes blinked open slowly, lashes dragging once, twice, as her vision came into focus on the underside of the bed frame above her and the rough-hewn beams of the inn's ceiling beyond it.
She flexed her right hand without thinking, fingers curling into a fist and then spreading again, and immediately she felt it-that sharp, dense, grounding weight sitting in the very core of her being that hadn't been there before. The Rook piece. It pulsed inside her, and power rolled through her veins in response, heavier and deeper than anything she had ever felt as a Veela or as a witch, like someone had quietly poured molten iron into her muscles while she'd been unconscious.
Fleur drew in a slow, controlled breath, watching her fist in front of her face as she clenched it deliberately. Her own hand looked the same-slender, pale, fingers long and elegant-but when she squeezed, she felt the resistance of her own strength, felt the tendons and muscles engage with an ease and solidity that hadn't existed before. There was no trembling, no strain. Her arm felt like it belonged to someone who trained with a hammer or sword every day instead of to someone who had always used a wand and a smile to get what she wanted.
She pushed with her palm flat against the floor to sit up, expecting the groggy heaviness that usually followed magical exertion or emotional collapse. Instead, she almost launched herself clean off the boards. Her torso snapped upright faster than she anticipated, her balance shifting too quickly, and she had to plant her other hand down sharply to arrest the movement before she accidentally flung herself into the bed frame.
"Merde..." she muttered under her breath, eyes widening slightly as she processed how little effort that had taken. Her demonic body responded like a well-tuned instrument, no sluggishness, no slip between thought and motion. Even her magic felt different-heavier, more compressed, like raw power had been packed into a smaller, denser vessel. Her usual Veela magic, normally airy and fluid, now sat under a layer of something sharper, distinctly devilish, humming under her skin like a coiled spring.
She turned her head to the side, instinctively reaching out with her senses before her eyes followed. Gabrielle lay on the other side of the room, half on and half off the second bed, blonde hair spilled everywhere like a silk curtain. Her little sister was still completely unconscious, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Fleur extended her awareness, brushing lightly against Gabrielle's aura. The new devil signature was there-strong, steady, anchoring itself deeper with each breath. There was no sign of rejection, no turbulence in the flow. Gabrielle's transformation was progressing smoothly, her body busy knitting together magic and flesh into something new.
Fleur exhaled slowly in relief. That had been her one real worry, that somehow the piece wouldn't take, that all of this would leave Gabrielle trapped in some half-finished state. Seeing her peaceful like that loosened something tight in Fleur's chest.
A long, drawn-out moan cut through the quiet of the room like a knife, rich and throaty and absolutely unmistakable. Fleur's head snapped toward the sound on reflex, every muscle going taut for half a heartbeat before her brain caught up and recognized the voice.
Her maman.
She turned fully, pushing herself up onto her knees so she could see over the edge of the bed she'd apparently rolled off at some point, and the scene in front of her burned itself into her retinas in one painfully vivid instant.
Apolline was on the bed, naked on her hands and knees, facing the headboard. Her silver-blonde hair was a wild, tangled curtain down her back, some of it sticking damply to her shoulders and spine with sweat. Her arms trembled just enough that Fleur could see the effort it took to hold herself upright like that, fingers clenched hard in the sheets, knuckles pale. Her back was arched deeply, spine curving down into the broad flare of her hips, and her ass-Fleur's own future reflected back at her in perfect, mature form-was presented high and open, cheeks flushed pink from repeated impacts.
Behind her, Harry was buried to the hilt inside her, his hands locked like iron around Apolline's waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above her hips hard enough that Fleur could already see the faint red outlines forming beneath his grip. His bare thighs slapped into the backs of Apolline's with a wet, rhythmic sound that matched the rough, heavy cadence of his breathing. His cock-Fleur had felt it countless times herself, thick and heavy and almost unfairly long-disappeared and reappeared from between her mother's slick, stretched folds in relentless, deep thrusts, each motion dragging a fresh shuddering moan from Apolline's throat.
Fleur watched, her new devil eyes tracking every obscene detail whether she liked it or not. The base of his shaft was shiny with her mother's arousal, a mixture of their fluids clinging to the skin and stringing between his cock and Apolline's pussy every time he pulled back. Each thrust slammed his pelvis against the swell of Apolline's ass, making it jiggle and rebound, the sound of skin on skin sharp in the otherwise quiet room. Her mother's breasts hung heavily beneath her, swaying with every movement, hard pink nipples grazing the sheets each time Harry drove her forward.
Apolline's head was thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted. Wordless sounds slid out of her with every exhale, half moan and half broken whimper, punctuated by hoarse, breathless pleas whenever Harry hit a particularly good angle.
"Oui... oui, mon dieu... encore... plus fort, Harry... s'il te plait..." she babbled between gasps, voice shaking, switching into French without even noticing. "Oh, putain, oui... right there-don't stop..."
Fleur just sighed and rolled her eyes, the reaction more resigned than shocked. She shifted her weight back, sitting down fully on the floor with her back against the side of the bed, knees bent, hands resting loosely on them as she watched the scene with a kind of weary inevitability.
Of course this was happening. Of course.
She'd known this was going to be inevitable the second she realized Apolline still had veela blood humming through her veins and that Harry was exactly the kind of man that set every Veela instinct on fire. Her mother was far too hungry for affection, far too aware of her own body and desirability, to stay on the sidelines forever while Fleur and Gabrielle glowed about their time with him. Add to that a failing marriage and years of simmering frustration and loneliness, and the equation had only ever had one answer.
Honestly, Fleur was more surprised it had taken this long.
That didn't mean she was thrilled about it. A small, sour note of jealousy curled low in her stomach as she watched Harry's hands dig into Apolline's hips, watched his cock stretch her mother's pussy wide every time he slammed forward. But there was another, more comforting certainty layered over the jealousy-one she'd already decided on before any of this had happened.
Her mother could have her fun. Harry could take her, fuck her, even make her scream his name like this. But Apolline Delacour was not going to be a permanent addition to Harry's harem if Fleur had anything to say about it. Her mother was still married, even if that marriage was hanging by a thread and deserved to be cut. And Fleur refused to spend the next century dealing with her mother as both parent and co-wife.
"Ah! Harry, mon dieu, you're going to break me-" she whimpered, collapsing briefly onto her elbows before forcing herself back up.
Harry grunted, his voice rough. "You were the one begging to see how devils fuck, Apolline," he said, slapping her ass sharply with one hand. The sound cracked across the room. Her flesh jiggled deliciously. "Don't act surprised now."
Fleur rolled her eyes again. "Maman, you are unbelievable," she muttered under her breath, half annoyed, half impressed.
Apolline's head turned slightly at the sound, and one blue eye blinked open blearily. It took her a second to focus. When she finally registered Fleur kneeling at the side of the bed watching, her eyes went wide, then hazy with pleasure again as Harry drove into her especially deep.
"Ah-F-Fleur-cherie," Apolline gasped, managing a crooked, blissful smile. "You're awake...? O-Oh, bon... good timing... you can see how magnifique your King is treating your maman..."
Harry looked up then too, his thrusts faltering for one or two strokes as his eyes met Fleur's.
For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other.
Fleur lifted her chin and gave him a flat look. The sort that clearly said, Yes, I see you fucking my mother. No, I'm not surprised. Yes, I will be bringing this up later.
He had the decency to look slightly sheepish for exactly half a second.
Then Apolline rolled her hips back against him with a needy, frustrated whine. "Harry! Don't you dare slow down now," she scolded breathlessly, reaching back to grab at his thigh. "Ignore her and keep fucking me properly, mon roi..."
He snorted, eyes flicking back down to Apolline's ass, and picked his pace back up.
His hips snapped forward faster now, driving into her in quick, hard thrusts that made Apolline's whole body jolt with each impact. Her moans climbed in pitch and volume, filling the room, bouncing off the walls.
Fleur's enhanced devil senses picked up everything-the sound, the heat, the sharp, heady scent of sex thick in the air.
On the bed, Harry adjusted his grip, sliding his right hand up from Apolline's waist to the small of her back. He pressed firmly, forcing her arch even deeper, tilting her hips just so. Fleur could see the change immediately-his next thrust sank even further, the angle shifting so that Apolline's entire body jolted, her fingers clawing desperately at the sheets as a strangled scream tore from her throat.
"Harry!" she cried out, voice breaking on his name. "Oh-mon prince, mon prince-la, la, la-don't stop, don't you dare stop-"
His left hand stayed clamped around her hip like a vice, pulling her back to meet each thrust. His pace was picking up now, his hips moving faster, more brutally, the muscles in his back and arms standing out sharply under his skin with the effort. Fleur's eyes tracked the movement automatically, new devil senses cataloging the control and sheer physicality in every motion. His balls slapped up against Apolline's clit with each thrust, her entire lower body shaking from the impact.
