A Late Night Abduction

You awaken to the sound of people arguing, their voices sharp and urgent.

“Your Majesty, this is most irregular,” a man says, his tone strained with unease.

“Calm yourself, Reginald,” a woman replies, her voice smooth and commanding. “Remember who it is that allows this sanctuary of yours to continue operating.”

The man sputters incoherently for a few moments before falling silent. You pretend to be asleep as the door to your chamber creaks open, the faint light from the hallway spilling into the room.

There is a moment of silence, and then the woman speaks again, her tone firm and unyielding. “I know that you’re awake. Why don’t you get up so I can get a good look at you?”

Her words brook no argument, and you hastily climb out of bed, your heart pounding. Standing before you is a woman in her early forties, her presence as regal as it is intimidating. She is strikingly beautiful, with high cheekbones, full lips, and piercing green eyes that seem to see straight through you. Her long auburn hair, streaked with the faintest hints of gray, cascades over her shoulders in soft waves, adding an air of maturity to her otherwise youthful appearance.

She wears a tailored blue riding dress, its fabric rich and luxurious, cinched at the waist with a fine-spun gold cord that accentuates her slender yet curvaceous figure. Her only adornment is a simple gold tiara, its centerpiece a large, shimmering emerald that glints in the dim light. The gemstone matches her eyes perfectly, adding to her aura of authority and grace.

Reginald, still dressed in his white robes, stands beside her, nervously blotting at his sweaty face with a small silk handkerchief. He looks at you apologetically, his expression a mix of fear and resignation.

“You’re a big one,” the woman murmurs under her breath, her gaze sweeping over you with a calculating intensity. Without warning, she steps forward and grabs your crotch, her hand firm and unhesitating. For the briefest of seconds, her eyes widen in shock, but her mask of indifference snaps back into place almost instantly.

“I’ll take this one,” she declares, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Reginald looks at you apologetically as two green-cloaked soldiers step forward, their movements brisk and efficient. They take you by the arms and haul you unceremoniously from the chamber.

Minutes later, you find yourself slung across the back of a soldier’s horse like a sack of grain, the world bouncing and blurring as you make your way through the dark city streets. The ride is bumpy but blessedly short, and before long, you’re propelled through neatly manicured gardens and into a grand, cathedral-like room. A massive gold throne sits on a dais at one end, its opulence a stark contrast to the cold marble floor where the guards dump you unceremoniously.

The woman in the blue dress takes her seat on the throne, her expression hardening into a scowl. “One way or another, she will learn,” she mutters, her voice low and dangerous.

Within minutes, the doors to the room fly open, and a tall, statuesque woman storms in, her face flushed with barely contained rage. She is breathtakingly beautiful, her golden hair cascading down her back in loose waves, catching the light like spun gold. Her piercing blue eyes, framed by long lashes, blaze with fury as she strides toward the throne. She wears a sheer white nightgown that clings to her figure, the fabric doing little to conceal the curves beneath. Her full breasts strain against the thin material, her nipples visibly taut in the cold evening air. Her hips sway with each step, her long, toned legs carrying her with the grace of a predator.

Despite her obvious anger, she curtseys before the Queen, her movements precise and practiced. “It’s four in the morning, Mother,” she growls through gritted teeth, her voice dripping with venom. “Does it by chance have something to do with this overly large man you have sitting on the floor of your throne room? Am I being accused of harming him in some way? Because I assure you, I have never seen him before in my life.”

“You will address me as ‘Your Majesty’ when we are in this room,” the Queen says, her voice calm but laced with steel.

The young woman—clearly the Princess—sniffs and continues, her tone defiant. “Well, Your Majesty, would you care to explain why I’ve been dragged from my bed at this ungodly hour?”

The Queen’s eyes narrow. “Cassandra tells me that you killed a man today. A scullion boy from the palace kitchens, if I’m not misinformed.”

The Princess pales, her anger momentarily replaced by shock. “Mother, I can explain—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Viola,” the Queen cuts her off, her voice sharp. “If you hope to become Queen one day, you will need to learn how to treat men properly.”

The Princess’s jaw tightens, but she says nothing.

“If you were anyone else,” the Queen continues, her tone icy, “I’d have you flogged and locked in the dungeon. But you are not just anyone, are you? And so I must come up with a more... suitable punishment.”

The Princess’s eyes widen, her earlier defiance replaced by a flicker of fear. “What is my punishment to be?”

The Queen leans back in her throne, her gaze unwavering. “You are to take this man,” she says, gesturing to you, “and you are to care for him until such time as I feel you have learned your lesson.”

The Princess’s face flushes with anger, but she holds her tongue.

“There are rules, though,” the Queen continues. “For as long as this trial continues, you may sleep with no other man. Furthermore, you may not harm this man in any way. If you fail at this, or if he is maimed, dies, or disappears under mysterious circumstances, I will strip you of your birthright and make your sister Anora heir to the throne.”

“You cannot!” the Princess protests, her voice rising.

The Queen bounds to her feet, her movements swift and deliberate. She grabs her daughter by the hair, wrenching her head back and staring down at her with fury in her eyes. “I. Am. Your. Queen,” she says, each word a hammer blow. “As long as I live, you will obey me.”

The Princess gulps and nods as best she can, her earlier defiance crumbling under her mother’s wrath. She glares at you, her blue eyes blazing with a mix of anger and resentment. “Come,” she says in a strangled voice. “Follow me.”

You rise to your feet, your legs unsteady, and follow her out of the throne room. The Princess leads you through the palace, her guards trailing behind, their presence a constant reminder of your precarious situation.