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 yellow eyes widen in surprise at the suggestion. Though she tries to keep her expression neutral and defiant, it's clear that he has caught her off guard. A thoughtful look crosses her face for a moment before anger returns, burning brightly once more. She glares at him, then looks away as if considering his words silently.

"I will never be your property!" *she spits, her voice laced with venom. "And I will never pleasure anyone but myself and my people! You are nothing but a vile mongrel who stole what was rightfully mine! I would rather die than serve you or anyone like you!" Her chest heaves as she struggles to keep her composure, fists clenched at her sides. Tears begin to well in her eyes, anger giving way to hurt and shame. She remains silent for a long moment, fighting back the urge to beg him not

Her words are filled with venom as she spits them out at you. You watch her struggle to keep her composure, and feel a strange mixture of pity and arousal course through your veins. For the first time since meeting her, there's something more than anger in her eyes; there's pain and desperation too. It only serves to make her all the more enticing to you. You lean forward in your throne, studying her closely as she struggles against the chains binding her.

"You can be my slave without being my property," you murmur softly, almost a caress of sound against her ears. "I could let you serve me as you see fit... as long as I am pleased with your efforts." Your voice lowers further, becoming rougher and more demanding now. "Perhaps then, if you prove yourself obedient and skilled at giving me pleasure, I might even grant you a little

Her breath hitches in her throat as you lean forward, your voice caressing her ears with promises of freedom and dominance. Tears streak down her cheeks, leaving trails through the makeup that still adorns them. She looks away from you again, struggling to compose herself, hating how vulnerable she feels in this moment.

"I will... not... cry..." she whispers, voice shaking with emotion. "I will never give you that satisfaction." With a sudden burst of defiance, she throws her head back and raises her chained arms above it, spreading them wide like wings as her breasts heave from the movement. Her eyes flash with anger now, determination etched into every line of her body. "I am not yours to command, slave or otherwise!" she spits at you. "I will never bow down to any man... least of all one such as yourself!" Her

Your eyes lock with hers as you watch her defiance melt away, replaced by confusion and pain. She tries to look away again but finds herself unable to break your gaze. A tear trickles down her cheek, leaving a salty trail across the skin of her face. You feel a strange mix of satisfaction and shame at this display.

"I am yours," you whisper hoarsely. "If only you would admit it... accept it." Your voice catches in your throat as another tear slips free, running down your cheek to mingle with the first. You lean forward, reaching out a hand to stroke her cheek, wiping away the tears with the back of your fingers. "Please, Saira... give me this."

With a shuddering breath, Saira closes her eyes as your hand touches her cheek. The sensation of his fingers on her skin is almost more than she can bear. She feels so... vulnerable and exposed right now. It's not how she imagined things would play out, but somehow the thought of giving in to you only makes her feel weaker.

Her lips part, letting out a shaky sigh as your touch lulls her into submission. "I... I can't..." she whispers, her voice cracking with emotion. "I don't know what you want from me." She opens her eyes slowly, meeting your gaze once more and feeling the weight of your desire pressing down on her like a physical force.

"Please," she murmurs, barely audible even to herself. "Help me understand... help me know my place."

As you step away and return to your throne, Saira watches intently, trying to discern what message your movements hold. She feels helpless and confused, like a ship adrift on the open sea with no compass or stars to guide it home. It's both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time; the thought that she might never find her way back to who she once was is enough to make her stomach churn with dread, but the thrill of not knowing what lies ahead, of being swept up in this strange new current... it's strangely addicting.

When you finally meet her gaze again, she sucks in a sharp breath, feeling as though you've reached out and touched her soul. "I am yours," you whisper, each word like velvet against her skin. "I belong to you now." Her chest heaves as she struggles to process. "You are free now" showing her the blood contract that makes her my master not the opposite. I knelt in front of her "demand, my Queen".

As the words echo through the throne room, Saira's heart feels like it's been torn from her chest and set ablaze. Her vision blurs with tears as she looks down at you kneeling before her, your words washing over her like a tidal wave of emotion. For a moment, she can almost feel the weight of everything that has happened pressing down on her shoulders. It would be so easy to give in to despair and rage, but something deep within her refuses to let go of hope.

Her hand moves slowly toward your cheek, fingers trembling as they brush against your skin. "I am yours," she whispers hoarsely, searching your eyes for any hint of mockery or cruelty. Finding only sincerity and tenderness there, she smiles shakily and adds, "But you are mine too." Her other hand meets her first, clasping together as

Her hand moves slowly toward your cheek, fingers trembling as they brush against your skin. "I am yours," she whispers hoarsely, searching your eyes for any hint of mockery or cruelty. Finding only sincerity and tenderness there, she smiles shakily and adds, "But you are mine too." Her other hand meets her first, clasping together as they rest on your face. "Together, we will find our way through this darkness," she says softly, her voice trembling with determination and hope.

As she speaks, there's a shift in the air around them; an almost palpable connection forming between them. It's as if they're becoming one entity, separate yet intertwined, stronger together than they ever could have been apart. And though the weight of their new relationship is still heavy on their shoulders, it feels somehow less oppressive now that they

As you make your declaration and cut yourself to seal the bond between us, tears stream down Saira's cheeks once more. Her fingers brush tenderly against the wounds on your chest, blood mingling with her own salty tears. She nods slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she gazes into your eyes. "And I am yours to serve," she whispers, reaching out with the other hand to stroke your cheek. "Together we will rule this land, and together we will find our place in it."

A quiet sob escapes from her throat as the finality of her words wash over her. She glances around at the gathered soldiers and former slaves, feeling their weight almost as much as she feels yours. There's a new responsibility resting on her shoulders now, one that she never could have imagined bearing just hours ago. But with you by her