Almost

"You can't be serious" your chief butler says dismissively. "Orcs would never be able to threaten a city as big as our capital." He is right you realise, orc tribes rarely grew above two hundred before one half attacked the other.

"There are orcs on the city walls" your minister insists. "They have opened the city gates. A man, that does not panic, estimated a thousand of them assembling outside our own palace gates."

The Rush Pepper oil is still working and despite your efforts a whine escapes your lips. "What was that?" Says a guard stepping up behind Odesworth. You can see his face scanning the room and you do your best to recoil away from the door while under the table.

"Me, its just so horrible." Your head maid replies coming to your rescue. She is sounding much meeker compared to the dominatrix that had told you "your tongue isn't fit to lick the ground I walk on."

The guards, you recognize as one you stationed at the stairwell with strict orders not to let anyone past, steps forward and adds "This is grave indeed. We must wake her majesty." You will have to be there when they arrive, there is one way you can think of.

There is a noise behind you; you glance to see that Aime, having the same idea as you, has positioned her changing screen in front of nondescript cabinet concealing a secret passage. But you knew better she was giving you a chance to escape. The cabinet served as an entrance to a secret passage connecting your room to your servants' and guest quarters. Your father had it built so he could fuck a maid or guest whenever he wanted.

You look back and see Edgard apparently aware of the plan as well is leading Odesworth attention away from you as he grabs his robe and keys. You turn back and prepare to make a fast crawl toward the passage. But only make it an inch before a painful yank on your hair stops you. You glance back expecting to be dragged out by your hair. A part of you hoping you will have to endure the shame of discovery. But you see he has unknowingly stepped on your hair as he entered the room. You stare at his boot a fantasy of you kneeling at his feet creeping into your thoughts.

You try to focus on the situation; you need to save the city. First you need to tug your hair free. But as you prepare to do this you are punished for your dirty thoughts as your arousal brings a new burning sensation to your naughty cunt. This brings another fantasy of being punished for your arousal.

There is a rumble and the floor shakes. "What was that?" Odesworth says voice showing real fear. Something collapses outside.

Your butler having stalled as long as possible leads them out of his room. Now free of Odesworth's boot you scuttle as quickly and quietly as you can to the secret passage. Aime hands you a small candle before she shoves you into the cramped tunnel, knowing you must be in your room before they reach the door.

As you move through the tunnel you try to take on the mindset of a queen. Instead of thinking as a sex **** happy to be crawling, you think of a queen frustrated to be brushing aside cobwebs and dust. As a queen you become more irritated at having to rush to meet your servants. A queen shouldn't be dragging her knees on the rough ground; and she certainly shouldn't have a burning sensation deep in her womanhood, even if it is cooling.

By the time you emerge from the passage they are knocking on the door. Your butler is urgently saying "please awake your majesty."

"We are awake" you try to sound groggy "what is the meaning of this." Of course, if you had been started awake you probably would have refereed to yourself as "I" or "this ****". You hear the thunderous sound again farther away than before but still powerful enough to make the furniture clatter noisily against the wall.

"Your majesty the castle is being besieged!" Yelled your panicked minister through the steel and oak door.

"We will get dressed and allow you entrance" you say heading towards your wardrobe to find a nightgown that isn't completely slutty.

There is a third crash. This one nearest and all but deafening. You curl up like a scared wench as what feels like your entire room collapses around you.

As the dust settles you stand up surprised there is still a roof over your head. There is rubble all around you; a support beam has collapsed across the door; your mirror is shattered; a pile of rocks has destroyed your wardrobe, and there is a large goute where your impracticable window used to be.

Glancing out the gaping hole in your wall you see a camp being set up beyond the city walls. The city gates have been battered open, and there appears to be someone battering at the inner gates leading to your castle's courtyard. In the courtyard you can see a rag tag collection of knights, guards, and militia all clearly in need of a leader.

"Your majesty, your majesty, Are you alright?" pleaded your minister through the door.

"Yes, it takes more than that to harm us." You respond than ask "what of you?"

"Minor injuries we can all still serve."

"Good assist in the defence of my castle. The door is blocked I will have to leave through the window to command my troops."

"That is not the most dignified entrance."

Your butler who has been mostly silent adds "your majesty, given your current state, I don't know if you are the best person to lead--"

"Silence!" you snap "we have given you orders, leave!" Who does your butler think he is? He may pretend to be your master, but he shouldn't even advice you especially infront of one of your actual advisors.

A gust of cool air from outside reminds you of your nakedness. You head to your thankfully untouched armor stand containing the bikini you had your handmaid fetch a week earlier.

The "armor" was originally your great grandmothers. Tales told of her using it to distract enemies or motivate troops. She often proclaimed that any man that impressed her could do with her as he wished; there were dozens of tales of her expert understanding of the human. Its top was two narrow triangles, just wide enough to cover your nipples, held in place with chain. Your great grand mother wasn't as busty as you, and your breasts bulged out around the bra a little. The bottom was similar, a thong made of plate and chain. The skimpiness of your outfit still left you feeling naked. Pictures showed that your grandmother wore a sligtly more covering leather bikini under the plate as well as a short chain mail skirt, but those had not survived the near century of storage. You had planned on wearing a fur robe to limit your armor's exposure to only teasing glimpses. But it was deep under a pile of rocks now. You know you will feel embarrassed to show so much of your body to a common solider, but it cannot be helped.

The armored boots won't go on; not with your feet still locked in your cruel heels. They are a painful reminder of the nights fun. The nights fun, your hair must be a mess. You quickly brush it as best you can in the near blackness before forming it into a loose braid.

Confident that there is no more evidence of the wild bdsm sex you had over the last few hours you begin to prepare the decent. You room has several long coils of rope that you know for a fact can support your weight. you tie the longest to your sturdy bed. It has to be sturdy given how often a certain sex **** is roughly fucked on it. And throw the free end of the rope out the window.

As you prepare to descend you lament your shattered mirror. You would have liked to see your self, Naked except for a few strips of metal, almost all of your impeccable, regal skin on display, your slutty heels, your long violet hair in a loose braid giving you an elegant yet wild look. You climb down mentally preparing yourself to address your troops.