Chapter 39: The Church Must Change

A few days passed, and Sunday arrived. A day on which the women of Karsfeld, from humble peasant farmwives to highborn noblewomen, gathered for service in the local chapel.

Rosalie stood before the door to Seraphine’s bedchamber, summoning her courage. The maiden was devoutly pious and held great reverence for the Church, whereas Seraphine - at heart an absolute atheist - always managed to concoct some excuse to wriggle out of mass.

The young betrothed genuinely feared her intended would grow into a godless heretic, something she could never permit. Today, she had resolved to drag her beloved before the altar at all costs. She knocked firmly upon the door.

"Seraphine! Will you come to the liturgy with me? The pew is so dreadfully empty without you..."

To her astonishment, the door swung wide open almost immediately. Seraphine beamed a broad smile, having completely forgotten that she had just interrupted her morning strength training.

She wore only scant undergarments, and her sensual, athletic physique glistened with fresh sweat.

At the sight of the heir’s taut, firm breasts and her hard, chiseled abdomen, little Rosalie flushed a fiery crimson, staring at those curves as if hypnotized.

Seraphine took in the situation, chuckled softly, and held up a finger:

"Give me just a moment."

She shut the door, and a minute later peered out once more, having thrown on a white linen shirt. The sheer fabric clung to her sweat-dampened skin, outlining the contour of her bust and nipples, but Rosalie had managed to master her fluster:

"So then... will you accompany me to mass?"

"Of course!" Seraphine replied without hesitation. "I have a lighter morning today; I would gladly keep you company."

Rosalie was practically struck dumb with joy. She had anticipated a long ordeal of coaxing and pleading, yet here was such a delightful surprise!

The heir sniffed the air, catching the scent of her own exertion:

"I'll just pop over to the bathhouse to wash off the sweat. Wait for me by the gate in a quarter of an hour, all right?"

"Just don't be late!" Rosalie chimed with a smile, dashing down the stairs.

Once the girl was out of sight, the polite mask dropped from Seraphine's face. She smirked under her breath:

She's lucky I needed to pay a visit to the local clergy anyway...

A quarter of an hour later, pristine and clad in an elegant tunic of black velvet that accentuated her waist and hips to perfection, Seraphine descended to the gate. Taking a radiant Rosalie by the hand, she led her toward the settlement, where the rest of the household was already waiting in the chapel.

Stepping inside, Seraphine immediately caught sight of Cordelia standing alongside Vivienne, as well as little Marielle by Adelgarde and Isolde's side.

At the sight of the heir arriving for mass, Vivienne arched her eyebrows in sheer astonishment. She knew full well that her beloved avoided the altar like the plague.

What was more, the stunning Lady von Drachenberg felt a sharp pang of jealousy seeing Seraphine's hand resting warmly within little Rosalie's.

Seraphine took her place among the congregation, listening to the sermon. In those times, pews were virtually non-existent in sanctuaries - the faithful stood packed tightly across the stone flagstones.

The heir swept her gaze across the interior, barely suppressing a scoff. The chapel was dripping in gold, costly tapers, and ornate candelabra, while the simple peasant women toiling in the fields lived in squalor.

The Church in this world was a titanic power in its own right - fabulously wealthy, ruthless, and brazenly corrupt. Ruled with an iron fist from the distant Sacred Dominion by the Holy Mother, the Papess in Aurelis, its tentacles coiled around every duchy and barony of the Alarian Empire. Here, theological doctrine was tailored seamlessly to the biological and societal hierarchy of women and futanari.

Holding center stage above the altar was a massive, gilded crucifix that drew Seraphine’s icy stare. Rather than a male martyr, the ebony beams bore a marble-sculpted female Messiah - Christa the Savior. The figure was depicted as a suffering yet statuesque Firstborn Futanari. A crown of thorns adorned her brow, from which wept crimson droplets of enamel, while carved, naked breasts of lush fullness cascaded from her torso, pierced at the flank by a spear. Her hips were draped in a scant perizoma of gold brocade silk, which did precious little to conceal - the sculptress having lovingly accentuated the prominent, dormant outline of the divine member beneath the fabric. In local theology, this was the bedrock of faith: Christa as the Divine Sire, who had shed not only the blood of her heart, but also her life-giving seed to beget and redeem humanity for all eternity.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Beside the altar, in a side aisle, stood a shrine dripping with jewels dedicated to the Most Holy Mother Mary. Frescoes portrayed her as an ideal, sinless maiden who, through the grace of the Holy Spirit, received the divine seed into her womb and brought forth the Savior into the world. From the pulpits, the local priestesses hammered this eternal hierarchy into the minds of the flock: just as Christa reigned in heaven as the Supreme Sire and Mary stood as the Eternal Bearer, so on earth the nobility of futanari possessed the sovereign right to rule, impregnate, and take subservient women under their dominion, so long as they shoveled gold into the Church’s coffers.

Her disgusted grimace did not escape the notice of a young deaconess assisting the priestess at the altar.

Once the liturgy concluded, Seraphine intended to seek out someone with an open mind whom she could bend to her designs. Yet before she could even approach the altar, the young deaconess materialized before her with a courteous bow:

"Lady Seraphine, is it not? I have heard much praise regarding your deeds for our folk. Might I trouble you for a word in private?"

Intrigued, Seraphine nodded and followed the cleric into a quiet, shadowed corridor behind the vestry.

The deaconess was a young woman, perhaps even a shade younger than Seraphine. She had short, dark-blonde hair, sharp emerald eyes, and a modest cassock that concealed a shapely figure beneath.

She hailed from a noble lineage, yet had chosen the cloth to flee the bloody inheritance feuds between her sisters.

She was cunning, intimately versed in the affairs of the barony, and... belonged to Vivienne's espionage network!

Seraphine was not yet acquainted with every informant in her favorite's stable, so the woman took it upon herself to introduce herself:

"My lady, you likely do not recognize me, but I am one of the little birds in your web. I know why you came here today - you wish to sound out the mood within the Church, do you not?"

Seraphine narrowed her eyes suspiciously, resolving to test the stranger on the spot:

"Fascinating... Rosalie never mentioned a word about you."

The corner of the deaconess’s lips curled in a knowing smirk. She saw right through the bait - had she been an impostor, she would have nodded along, presuming the young betrothed was her handler:

"Amusing. Seeing as I deliver my reports to a dazzling lady with strawberry-blonde hair, azure eyes, and... an exceptionally bountiful, tempting bosom."

Seraphine relaxed, admiration flashing in her eyes. She possessed an operative within the sanctuary itself! She laid a hand upon the woman’s shoulder:

"Forgive my caution. In times like these, one cannot take anyone at their word. What is your name?"

"Ludolfa, my lady."

Seraphine stepped toward an intricately carved table, lifting a heavy chalice of beaten gold:

"Tell me, Ludolfa, what do you make of all this gold? Gilded crosses, candelabra, vestments of silk... Is it not brazen, obscene waste?"

The young cleric sighed in distaste:

"I agree with you whole-heartedly, my lady. Our parish priestess and the bishop in Arnsbruck care only for their own bellies and golden vessels, rather than feeding starving babes. They gorge on the people's blood like leeches, peddling salvation for clinking coin. Meanwhile, you have granted common women honest labor, security, and a roof over their heads. The Church has strayed far from the righteous path."

A predatory smile bloomed upon Seraphine's lips. This girl was prime timber for a local Martin Luther!

Should she steer her rebellion wisely, she could shatter the iron grip of the Sacred Dominion across the imperial duchies.

"I share your outrage, Ludolfa. That is precisely why I rarely show my face here. Let us take a walk through the churchyard - I would gladly expound upon how I envision the separation of spiritual and temporal authority..."

For the next two hours they strolled beneath the canopy of trees, Seraphine dripping concepts of reformation, freedom of conscience, and the mortal sin of simony into the deaconess's ears, all while masquerading as a deeply troubled, virtuous reformer.

Ludolfa hung upon her words as if receiving holy revelation, pledging herself entirely to her command. In this manner, Seraphine secured a formidable ally for her impending clash with the papacy.

Returning to the keep and partaking in the family dinner, the heir sequestered herself in her bedchamber, inking new aqueduct schematics for Karsfeld across the parchment.

Around midnight, a soft tap echoed at the door. Seraphine cracked it open, and Vivienne slipped inside in an instant, draping her arms around her neck.

The heir kicked the door shut behind her and buried her mouth against those parted, sweet lips, her hands taking in the plush yield of the woman's curves.

After a lingering spell of passionate kisses, Vivienne pulled back barely an inch, tracing Seraphine's lips with a slender finger:

"You've never taken those church fables seriously for a second... Why did you attend mass?"

Seraphine poured red wine into two goblets, handing one to her favorite with an insolent smirk:

"I hold grand designs concerning the Church. I intend to break their stranglehold over these lands. Their corruption and avarice cry out to high heaven, and I will not allow some Pontifex in the Sacred Dominion to dictate how I am to rule."

Vivienne froze, the goblet halting halfway to her lips:

"If word gets out, they will brand you a heretic and burn you at the stake!"

Seraphine barked a hearty laugh, taking a hearty draught of the vintage:

"Let them try! I don't count on the mercy of heaven, little one. I believe in the thunder of my cannons, the steel of bayonets, and the women holding them! It is soldiers who win wars, not hollow prayers!"

Catching that feral gleam in her lover's eyes, Vivienne felt her heart race as a shudder of illicit arousal cascaded down her spine. This woman was utterly unhinged, yet she possessed a commanding majesty poised to turn this entire realm on its head.

The noblewoman set her goblet upon the table, discarded her silk gown, and strode to the bed with parted lips, reclining upon her back. Her lush breasts heaved rapidly, her moist womanhood beckoning for touch.

Seraphine shucked her trousers, freeing her hard, scalding futa member into the open air.

She fell upon the mattress, covering Vivienne's delicate frame, and for the rest of the night the two abandoned themselves to wild, shameless ecstasy, sealing their pact under the cloak of darkness.