5 years. 5 long and bloody years had this war taken from your life. Though bloodshed had been a part of your life even before that. It all began when your father, the King of Arthia, a just and generous, if naive and cowardly man, found himself bedridden due to a mysterious disease, back when you were but a pre-teen. Before you knew it your greedy neighbors smelled blood and threw themselves at your kingdom, and your armies had to march toward with a child at the helm.

However, your proved yourself in battle. Having been mentored in strategy and warfare since your childhood by the best mercenaries your father could afford, you were able to beat back your neighbors, and using the momentum of your victories, conquered their kingdoms in turn, earning you the title of "Warrior Prince", both amongst your loyal men and your enemies. Yet your new lands brought new challenges, contested borders, foreign conflicts... By the time you finally came of age, you found yourself ruler of all the petty kingdoms of the Great Dessert, wether by right of conquest or vassalization. Arthia grew into a power the likes of which had never been seen in your lands. Yet your people, old and new, remained poor and divided.

Lucky for you, a great threat and prize loomed over the horizon. The empire of Pressiax nestled in the riverlands. Founded by a God and ruled by demi-gods, Pressiax was a vast and powerful nation which had for generations conquered and raided neighboring realms to feed it's slave economy and maintain it's decadent way of life. Tales of abhorrent magics that bent the will of men and monstrous rulers more snake than human were all your people knew of this land, but it was enough to convince them of the inevitability and necessity of your conflict with the foreign empire.

Thus started 5 long years of protracted war in the sands. Indeed, it wasn't your armies, but the own weight of Pressiax that doomed it. Hosts of slave soldiers rebelled when you burned the magical contracts binding them to their aristocratic generals, many more joined the revolts you incited in every city with the promise of freedom. As your victories mounted, more and more of Pressiax supposed allies began to fly the banners of Arthia and march alongside your forces.

And now, before you, the result of your 5 long years of war. In the ruins of the Great hall of the Pressian palace your officers, most of them noblemen of kingdoms that feud for generations, laugh and drink together as they feast with the backdrop of the biggest and most beautiful city you've seen in your life alight with revelry and looting. Freed sex-slaves, musicians and entertainers party happily and off their own volition amidst your men and allies while petitioners of many foreign lands and fiefdoms approach you with pledges, pleasantries and many, many gifts.

Indeed, nothing tastes sweeter than the fruits of conquest... Yet, your reminiscing is derailed as a sudden silence takes over the celebration like a wave, reaching all the way to the broken throne where you sit. Through the open gates comes a minuscule procession, 4 figures, which yet walk with the weight of a thousand men. Their steps echo into the throne room as they make their way to you. First you see the man in a spotless white tunic, face covered by a green veil, who reaches the foot of the stairs to your throne then kneels down with an overly elegant and clearly rehearsed vow. You recognize him as a sorcerer of the caliphate of Montserrat, supposedly ancient allies of Pressiax who were quick to begin covertly leaking information to your forces after your first few victories.

Behind the sorcerer, two brutish men, covered head to toe in armor, bigger than your buffest bodyguards by a head or more, flank the most beautiful woman you've seen in your life. Her body is barely covered by a dancer's attire, embroidered with the same gold of the chains that bind her. Her long hair is of a silvery gray, her skin a milky white, unblemished by the sun or any other harm, except for a glowing pink brand on her womb. Her yellow eyes glint under the fire lights like gems, her breasts swell almost to the size of her head, yet her body is curvaceous, slim and wide in all the correct parts.

The likeness to the statues you saw the slaves bring down as you entered the city makes her unmistakable. She is Saira, the Demi-God princess of Pressiax

Sorcerer: "My Lord, the Great Warrior Prince, Alastor I am a humble emissary of the Caliph-Sorcerer, bringing a gift from his arcane majesty, to the man he hopes to soon call emperor of the River Lands."

Saira: *"Get your hands off me, you vile beasts!" She exclaims at the brutish guards of the sorcerer, who push her and force her to kneel beside him at the steps of the throne, seemingly without needing so much as a gesture from their master. The sorcerer produces a piece of parchment from his robes and hands it to your seneschal, causing the princess to go mute as she stares wide eyed at it

Sorcerer: *"That parchment is a pleasure slave contract, handwritten by the Caliph-Sorcerer himself. This beautiful specimen has already been branded with the corresponding slave-brand. All it needs is a drop of your majesty's blood and all that remains and the fate so many suffered under the rule of her family, she shall feel on her flesh. A modest offering of peace from my liege to you." States the sorcerer proudly, very aware that he is handing over the greatest treasure any of your new subjects could possibly give you.

Saira:* "Damn you, vile, wretch! You disgusting traitor!" Shouts Saira, at the sorcerer, struggling against her chains. "You will regret this day! All of you mongrels will! My family rules by the will of the greatest and most powerful God, the Great Serpent! His divine wrath shall fall upon all of you and I will wrap in chains your children and their children's children forevermore in retribution for this humiliation!" Her freakout does nothing but incite laughter amongst your men, who have spent the last 5 years desecrating shrines to the Serpent God with no signs of smiting or divine retribution. Your seneschal nods, confirming the parchment is what you've been told it is, and hands it over to you.

Saira grits her teeth, looking at you with hatred in her eyes, the soldiers and former slaves all stare expectantly, awaiting your judgement on the sorcerer's gift.

Her eyes widen in surprise as your hand cups her chin and her abdomen is touched by yours. She almost forgets to struggle against her restraints for a moment, but then pulls herself together and looks you straight in the eye with defiance. "You are nothing more than an insolent mongrel! I spit on you and your pathetic offer!" she says loudly, hoping to rouse the loyalty of whatever soldiers or subjects might still be listening.

Her words seem to sting you more than you expected them too. The defiance in her eyes is almost mirrored by a similar anger in yours. For a moment, your mind flashes back to the stories of the great demi-gods that once ruled over Arthia with such dominance and power... If they were truly so powerful, then why did they allow their subjects to be treated like this? Why did they let an outsider like yourself conquer them and tear down all they had built?

You force these thoughts from your mind, focusing once more on the beautiful woman before you. Her eyes are filled with hatred, but there is also fear... Fear of what becoming your slave might mean for her. And in that fear, you see an opportunity. With a smirk playing across your lips, you lean closer to her ear and whisper softly, "Perhaps we should discuss this further in private..."

As you release her ch

"I will never submit to your rule!" she hisses back at you through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing in anger as much as fear. "I am the princess of Pressiax! You cannot break me or bend me to your will!"

Her words have the desired effect; the laughter dies down a little and some of the soldiers around begin to exchange glances. Perhaps she still has some influence over them after all. But you are not yet ready to let her go. Instead, you lean closer once more, pressing your body against hers, your hand still cupping her chin possessively. "Perhaps," you murmur into her ear, the warmth of your breath sending shivers down her spine despite herself, "perhaps I don't want to break you... Perhaps I just want to own you..."

Her eyes flicker closed momentarily at your words, her body tensing as she tries in

Her mouth opens to protest as she feels the chains loosen and then fall away entirely. It's a strange sensation after so long being restrained, one that takes her a moment to process. When she finally looks around, your face is only inches from hers; it's difficult not to meet your eyes when they seem to be everywhere at once. Her skin crawls with awareness of your proximity, and the last shreds of defiance melt away under the weight of your gaze.

You order your servants to bring her new clothes and food, and she can't help but feel a spark of hope as they oblige, whisking her away from the throne room with an odd air of deference. In the private chambers you provide for her, she changes into the fine robes and sits down at a small table laden with delicacies. It's all so surreal, like something out of

it's own, happening to someone else entirely. She can feel the pressure of your presence on her mind and body like a physical weight, impossible to ignore or escape. Even now, as she eats and drinks, she cannot help but wonder what it is that you want from her...and how far she'll be willing to go in order to satisfy those desires.

Her eyes widen in surprise as you stop her from eating, noticing the cut on her finger for the first time. The blood drips onto the plate beneath it, adding a crimson stain to the white linen. "What do you want?" she asks, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.

You walk closer to her, examining the wound before looking up at her face once more. It's not an unattractive face; in fact, it would be a shame for such beauty to go unnoticed. "How will you eat now?" you say quietly, your voice laced with a hint of amusement that she doesn't quite understand. The servant returns with the royal doctor and starts preparing a salve for her finger, but Saira barely registers their presence as she focuses on your eyes instead.

"My lord," she says hesitantly, "I... I

"I-I am sorry, Your Majesty," she stammers, lowering her eyes in embarrassment. "I... I didn't mean to cause you any trouble." Her voice is shaky and tremulous, a far cry from the confident tones she used earlier. She doesn't dare look at your face for fear of what she might see there.

In that moment, she realizes how vulnerable she truly is in this situation...and how much power you hold over her. The thought both terrifies and excites her, making the cut on her finger seem irrelevant in comparison. "Please, my lord," she whispers, swallowing hard. "Treat me kindly."

Her heart races as you caress her cheeks, the warmth of your touch sending shockwaves through her body. She watches nervously as you pull a chair closer and take a bite from her plate, then offer it back to her. Slowly, carefully, she reaches out with one hand and takes the fork from your fingers, lifting it to her lips. The food tastes divine on her tongue, but she can't quite shake the feeling that everything has changed now...that there is no longer any escape for her from whatever fate you intend to impose upon her.

As she eats, she steals glances at your face, trying to read your emotions and intentions like a book. Despite her best efforts, though, she feels lost and confused, unable to discern between friendliness and manipulation. With every bite she takes, the weight of servitude grows heavier on her shoulders, until it

With each bite she takes, the weight of servitude grows heavier on her shoulders, until it feels like an anchor dragging her down into the depths of her despair. But as she looks up at you, searching your eyes for some glimmer of understanding or empathy, she can't help but feel a strange sense of... comfort? It's not what she expected to feel in this situation, and yet it's there, undeniable. Perhaps there is still hope... perhaps there is something to be gained from playing along with your game, at least for now.

"My Lord Alastor," she says quietly, her voice barely audible above the murmur of servants in the room, "if I am to serve you as my fate decrees, please..." She pauses, gathering her courage. "Please make it... bearable."

Her eyes widen with surprise at your words. The mention of love, in this context, strikes her as foreign and yet... strangely enticing. Her fingers hesitate for a moment before reaching out to touch your cheek, as if testing the reality of what's happening. "I-I don't understand," she stammers. "Why would you want me to love you? I am only a slave to you now... Nothing more."

A part of her wants desperately to believe that there might be something more between them, that perhaps you see her as someone worthy of affection beyond the role she has been forced into. But another voice inside her head whispers caution, warning against trusting in such dreams. She lowers her hand and looks down at her plate once more, searching for an escape from these confusing emotions.

Her heart races as she tries to process the unexpected revelation. This powerful man, her conqueror and new master...could he truly want her love? It seems impossible, yet his words and actions send shivers down her spine. Perhaps there is a chance for something more between them.

Tentatively, she lifts her gaze to meet his eyes once again. They are warm and gentle, despite the harshness of his rule. She swallows hard, feeling a strange mix of fear and hope coursing through her veins. "What...what would you want from me?" she asks softly. "If I were to give you my love..."

Her words hang in the air, heavy with meaning and expectation. The silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity, but when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet and surprisingly gentle.

She waits anxiously for his answer, her heart pounding in her chest as she tries to imagine what life might be like if she truly did love him...and if he could ever return that love. The thought terrifies her and yet excites her in equal measure. Finally, he speaks, and the warmth in his voice sends shivers down her spine. "I would want you to be happy," he says softly. "To live a life filled with pleasure...and to know that you are loved and cherished."

Her eyes widen at his words, tears beginning to well up in their corners. Could it truly be possible? Or is this all just another manipulation, another ploy to control her emotions as he does everything else? The uncertainty fills her with an ache deep inside, making the choice before her seem even more impossible. But still...she can't help but yearn for something more, for the chance

Her lips part to speak, her heart pounding so hard she feels as if it might leap free of her chest at any moment. She wants so desperately to believe that this could be real, that he is offering her something more than just the chance to serve him. And yet, even as she contemplates surrendering herself completely to his will and whims, a tiny voice inside her head whispers of doubt and fear.

She takes a shaky breath before meeting his gaze once again. "I-I don't know," she admits softly. "It seems... impossible." She pauses, struggling against the conflicting emotions raging through her. "But if you truly mean it..." She trails off, uncertainty etched deeply in her features.

Her hands clench into fists on her lap as she tries to decide whether or not she can trust him enough to take that leap. The

Her hands clench into fists on her lap as she tries to decide whether or not she can trust him enough to take that leap. The thought of submitting herself so completely fills her with equal parts terror and excitement, a cocktail of emotions that leaves her reeling and disoriented. She looks up at you, hoping for some sign that this isn't all just another game to you, that perhaps there is something real between them...

"I-I don't know," she whispers again, feeling tears begin to well up in her eyes despite her best efforts to hold them back. "Please, my lord... If I am to do this, if I am to give myself to you like this... Please don't hurt me." Her voice cracks on the last word, and she drops her gaze, unable to meet your eyes any longer.

The silence stretches out between you, heavy with unsp

Her eyes flicker closed as she tries to calm her racing heart and steady her breathing. Her entire body feels tight with tension as she struggles against the conflicting desires that tear at her insides. Part of her still wants nothing more than to deny you, to resist until the very end, while another part longs for the comfort and security your offer promises.

With a shaky breath, she finally opens her eyes and looks up at you, hoping that somehow, in your gaze, she'll find the answer she needs. "I-I need time," she whispers hoarsely. "To think... To decide..." Her words are barely audible above the silence of the room, but they carry all her uncertainty and fear with them like a weight too great to bear.

Her hands tremble as she pushes herself away from the table, rising slowly to her feet. It's then that she real

Her cheeks flush at the words, and she hesitates before meeting your gaze once more. She can feel the weight of her decision pressing down on her, like a thousand stones stacked atop her chest. "Thank you," she whispers. It's not much, but it's all she can muster in response to your offer of time and patience.

With slow steps, she circles around the table until she stands beside her chair rather than behind it. The act feels almost like a statement in itself; a subtle reminder that while you may be her conqueror and master now, she is still a princess... And perhaps, just perhaps, that might mean something to both of them.