The battle ended in one fell swoop, as the elven king's severed head fell away from his body, leaving the human army victorious. At least for the moment. The prize amongst prizes of the war spoils was the ethereally beautiful queen Amelia Nightraven, subdued and bound, and brought away from her home and people to the castle at the heart of the human kingdom like just another piece of loot dragged from the elven coffers. Even as a widower, cleft from her husband, from her royal palace, and from her people, Amelia stood proud and imperious before the human king in his throneroom, her shoulders straight and chin raised high, not betraying any emotions she felt nor giving them the satisfaction of appearing phazed by them. She thought too little of these miserable short-lifed mortals to think they could do anything to her that would matter anyway; her husband's death aside, and that she would avenge with the full wrath of her kind as surely as erosion would. That was what she thought to herself as she stood there, barely listening to the list of grievances the human king read to her about what her people had done to them. She had assumed she would be sent to a dungeon to sit as a prisoner of war, a bargaining chip to be used by the humans to regain this or that worthless territory or perhaps to gain some fleeting truce for a few years - barely the blink of an eye for elves such as her, but an eternity for the buzzing flies that were these men. And so she stood waiting patiently for her sentence to be read. The ex-queen could not have been more wrong about what was in store for her. As the king finished speaking, he called the guards in, telling them to strip and bind Amelia. Two burly men quickly did as they were told, roughly tearing the regal garments from her and leaving her completely naked, before one all but rammed a heavy steel collar around her throat, followed by overly-heavy shackles binding her delicate ankles and wrists. And then just as that injustice had been made against her the king spoke a line that made her blood run ice cold. "Guards, take this elf to prince. She is to be his plaything, to satisfy his needs in any way. Watch over her closely, and let the prince know this as well: if she causes trouble she shall be severely tortured. Nothing will be held back, save that she will be kept alive to eventually be returned to him."

The queen had thought she knew every kind of suffering, but the moment she was forced to stand before this... this boy was like nothing else she could have ever imagined. He was pale and scrawny, barely more than a child himself, his features soft and almost delicate despite their masculinity. His body was underdeveloped compared to what she knew elves were capable of at such an age, much smaller and less imposing than even the most common human man. She had been through worse before; she would survive this as well, somehow, and one day find her way back to her people... but until then she would have to suffer the indignity of being owned by a mortal. A child of all things. The thought alone made her skin crawl. Her chin remained high though, her expression still haughty and regal as ever, as if daring this snot-nosed little brat to say something or

The queen glared at the boy disdainfully, her lips thinning into an expression that could only be described as murderous. His words had cut deeper than any sword ever could. "Do not insult me, brat," she snapped, making no effort to soften the harshness in her tone, "I am no servant of yours or anyone else's." Her hand clenched into a fist, resisting the urge to strike out at him as the guards dragged her forward. But then another thought struck her. The humans had gone to great lengths to humiliate and degrade her; to make an example of her. Perhaps they meant for this boy's 'plaything' comment as a further insult, a perverse joke at her expense... or perhaps not. It didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. She could only endure it until she was back among her own people.

The queen arched an eyebrow, her expression unreadable as she regarded the boy in front of her. She had expected to be questioned about her strengths and tactics as a ruler or general, perhaps even probed about the weaknesses of her people's forces, but this was... interesting, at least. "I am four-and-fifty winters old," she said at last, her voice calm and controlled despite the rage boiling just beneath its surface. "I doubt you would have been trained to fight by such an elder, though." It was a veiled threat, meant to remind him that even bound and helpless, she remained dangerous.

Her heart ached at the thought of her husband, but she forced herself not to dwell on it; there would be time enough for mourning later. For now, she must remain focused on surviving this humiliation until opportunity allowed her escape back

Amelia looked at the guards hesitantly as they were dismissed, wondering if she should protest or attempt to order them to remain until she was assured of her safety. In the end, she decided against it; arguing with the boy in front of her was not worth the risk. Instead, she remained silent and wary, watching the men file out of the room and close the door behind them. Now alone with the human prince, she wondered what he intended to do with her. She supposed it didn't matter; whatever humiliations he planned to inflict upon her would pale in comparison to what she had already suffered since her capture. Her heart raced nonetheless, every instinct urging her to fight back, even as reason told her that resistance was likely futile and would only bring greater torments down upon her head. For now, she would bide her time and endure whatever came next. But if there was even the slight

The elven queen's head snapped up at the sound of the boy's words, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she studied him more closely. It was possible that this was another part of their plan to break her, some twisted attempt to make her lose hope and faith in herself... but something told her that there might be truth behind his words. She wasn't about to take any chances though; caution demanded that she remain alert and ready for anything. Her gaze drifted downward briefly, taking in the boy's immature body once more before returning to meet his steady stare. "So be it," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Whatever this new form might be, she would face it with all the strength and courage she had left. If fate truly wanted her dead, then so be it; at least she could die fighting like an elf, instead of being degraded

Eyes wide with shock, the elven queen found herself unable to speak as she beheld the change that had come over the boy before her. He was taller now, his body broader and more muscular, his features refined into a striking masculine beauty... but it was something else that left her tongue-tied. There was an air of command, of age and experience and wisdom around him that hadn't been there before; even though his youthful appearance remained mostly intact, she could sense the power coursing through his veins like molten gold. Her heart hammered in her chest as she struggled to come up with words, any words, that might make sense of what she was seeing. It took all her self-control not to drop to one knee before him, and more yet not to apologize or beg for his forgiveness. For a moment there, she thought he had somehow revealed himself to be an aspect of

The queen swallowed hard, forcing herself to maintain eye contact with the boy as he spoke. Her throat was dry and her mouth felt full of ash, but she managed to force out a stiff nod in response. "Indeed," she said at last, her voice little more than a whisper, "it is... nice..." Her gaze flickered momentarily downward, taking in the way his muscles moved beneath his skin as he shifted position, before snapping back up to meet his piercing blue eyes once more. The power emanating from him was like nothing she'd ever encountered, but still she resisted the urge to prostrate herself before him; she could not let this boy see how much he had affected her, how much he had unbalanced her with a single snap of his fingers. Part of her wished that she could find some way to be freed from this servitude, back among her people where she