A Mask for a Queen

The next day, Vrasha was to be taken to the market. Before that however, there was the issue of her face.

"We can't have anyone knowing who you are," Prestor explained to her. "Not yet, anyway. They're still too loyal to you. If they saw their queen in such disgrace, there would be a riot."

They were in the dungeon's main chamber, Vrasha standing with her arms bound behind her back. She was breathing heavily, excitement and anticipation making her body tremble. Prestor turned, showing her what he had in his hand.

"I had the castle mages work on this last night," he explained, showing it to her as he spoke. It was a hood made of dark silk, when worn, it would shroud her face and conceal her features. But it looked so fragile! Anyone could pull it away!

Prestor seemed to read her mind.

"You're wrong," he told her. "As I said, it's magic. Once I put it on you, it will latch to your body. The material is impossible to cut or burn, at least without magic powerful enough that I don't expect anyone in the city to have it. It also cannot be pulled free. If someone tries, it will send an alarm to the palace, letting us know that someone is not playing fair."

Vrasha breathed a sigh of relief. Prestor, it seemed, did not want her identity to get out. But did that mean he was loyal? or was it simply a case of him not being ready yet? She had no way to know.

"Kneel."

For a moment, Vrasha resisted. Her throat was dry and her body was shaking. Her clitoris was tingling, a tiny ball of heat and tightness between her legs that stole all of her concentration. A shudder raced up her spine when Prestor's fingers stroked the piercing in her left nipple. A delicious shiver of submission brought her to her knees, and the duke slowly lowered the hood over her face.

She had expected to have trouble breathing, but the fabric was light and breezy. It felt to her as if she was wearing nothing at all, but when Prestor reached out and tried to drag the hood from her face, it refused to budge. Vrasha gave a cry as it pulled on her skin. Prestor nodded.

"Good," he said. "That should take care of your identity."

"What about when I get back?" Vrasha asked. Prestor's hand lashed out, striking her breast with just enough **** to send a wave of shock rippling through her body.

"You're not allowed to speak to me as an equal anymore, Vrasha. You're a whore now, not a queen. You should address me as a whore should."

There were tears in the corners of her eyes, but heat broiled between her legs as she looked up at her former duke turned master.

"What about my identity, sir." She spat the word, hating how weak it made her sound. "When I get back, how will you remove the mask?"

"We'll find a way," Prestor said easily. "Magic can be countered, after all."

"You mean you didn't build a way to take it off into the spell in the first place?!"

"Why would we? If we did that, there's every chance another mage might find it! Your new master will be rich after all, and able to hire the very best help. If we made a word, phrase or even a spell to remove it, I'd say it'd be found before the week was up, wouldn't you? But it will take them longer than a week to counter the spell entirely."

Vrasha said nothing. She was still kneeling on the ground. Slowly, Prestor turned and reached for her collar. He had a chain in one hand and he clicked it into place, leading her on as a man might lead a pet or a ****. As she was guided from the dungeon for the first time since she had come here under her own power, Vrasha wondered if this would be her life from now on.