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.

Saira's amber eyes flash with anger as her cheeks flush red at your words. With all the strength she can muster in her chained form, she lifts a hand to slap you across the face. Her hand is stayed only by the chains binding her, causing her to tug at them in frustration instead. "I will never kneel before a lowly mongrel!" She hisses, the hate in her voice echoing through the throne room like thunder.

She grits her teeth and struggles in vain against the invisible bonds now holding her captive, her face reddening with frustration and anger as she feels herself completely at your mercy. "You will regret this, Warrior Prince!" she snarls through clenched teeth. "My family's vengeance will be swift and brutal!" With a final huff of defiance, she turns her head away from you, refusing to meet your gaze or acknowledge her new enslavement.

Saira reluctantly follows you through the palace grounds, her chin held high despite the invisible bonds that hold her captive. The silent treatment doesn't seem to bother you, for you continue to talk as if she weren't there. She remains fixed on your back, glaring daggers at it whenever you glance over your shoulder at her. Her skin is flushed with anger and humiliation; the glowing pink slave brand on her womb standing out prominently against its milky white background.

Her body sways with each step she takes, her long hair brushing against her bare shoulders. Despite the chains binding her, there's an undeniable allure about her that draws the eyes of those who see her. It is this contrast between her demi-god status and her current enslavement that only fuels Saira's rage, intensifying with every step she takes toward accepting

With an angry snarl, Saira wrenches her lips free from your grasp and grips the sword you've given her with white-knuckled fury. She paces away from you, circling slowly as she eyes you warily, taking in your every move. Her breathing is labored and quick, her chest rising and falling beneath the taut fabric of her dancer's attire. Her pale skin glistens with sweat from the effort of holding back her anger and controlling herself around you.

With a sudden motion, she lashes out at your unprotected torso, aiming for a vulnerable spot beneath your ribs. The blade sings through the air, leaving behind a trail of cool morning mist. But to her shock and horror, it meets nothing but empty space where your body once was. You've disappeared without a trace, leaving only the whisper of wind in her hair

A sharp intake of breath is her only warning as your hands cup her hips and slide up over her ribs, finding purchase on the swell of her breasts. She freezes in shock for a split second before turning to face you, anger flaring hotly in her yellow eyes. "What game are you playing?" she demands through gritted teeth, trying to sound menacing despite the sword still clutched loosely in her hand. "I am not your pet or plaything!"

She glares at you as you step closer, the muscles in her arms tense with effort as she fights the urge to swing the blade at your approaching form. The skin of her shoulders and neck feels warm from where his breath tickles across them, sending a shiver down her spine despite herself. She cannot help but wonder if he truly means what he says about trusting her...and why he would ever choose her over all

Her eyes narrow with suspicion at your casual mention of the sword's abilities. "It is no mere trinket," she growls through clenched teeth. "I know its power well." She swallows hard, trying to regain her composure as you lie down before her. The scent of flowers fills the air, their sweet nectar perfuming the warm summer breeze that rustles the petals at your feet.

Despite herself, Saira finds a small part of her relaxing under your gaze. It's disconcerting, this feeling of being safe with someone she should hate and fear. She bites down on her lower lip, unsure what to make of it all. "You don't need me to protect you," she says finally, her voice less confrontational than before. "I could easily find another position in your court."

Her hands slip from the

She hesitates for a moment longer before finally relenting, her legs carrying her to sit cross-legged beside you on the soft carpet of flowers. The movement brings their bodies closer together, and she can feel his heat radiating against her side. "You realize that I am no ordinary slave," she says stiffly, trying to remind herself of why this situation is so wrong. "My family has ruled over these lands for generations."

Her hand reaches out to touch one of the flowers near your head, its petals brushing softly against his cheek before drifting away on the breeze. Her heartbeat slows, and her breathing steadies as she gazes up at the sky above them. In this moment, she finds herself wondering if there's any chance she could make a life for herself within your new empire...perhaps even find some sort of contentment.

She considers your question carefully before answering, taking a sip of the tea the servant brought her as she searches for the right words. "I think..." She trails off, brows furrowed in thought. "You are not the monster they make you out to be." Her gaze meets yours, daring you to challenge that statement. "You've shown me kindness and trust where others would only see an enemy or a tool for their own gain." She hesitates, her cheeks flushing slightly at admitting this much aloud. "And I...I find myself drawn to you in ways I don't understand."

Her words hang heavy between them, filling the air with an electricity that causes the hairs on her arms to stand on end. It's a confession of sorts; an acknowledgment that there might be more to this arrangement than either of them expected or wanted. The servant who brought their tea disappears

Her heart races at your words and the hungry look in your eyes. She's never been good at denying herself what she desires, even when it means going against everything she once believed in. "I don't mean to justify your actions," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "But maybe there's more to you than they say." Her hand finds its way to yours, clasping his reassuringly. "Perhaps we could find some middle ground where both our peoples can live together in peace."

The tension between them ebbs away as their fingers intertwine, the soft skin of their hands sliding against each other in a way that feels achingly intimate. The air around them crackles with an energy that leaves no doubt they are powerfully attracted to one another, but there is also a tenderness and vulnerability present that neither can seem to ignore. Sai

She watches you leave, struggling with conflicting emotions. Part of her wants to run after you and demand an explanation for everything you've said, while another part wonders if it might not be best to simply let things unfold as they will. With a deep breath, she rises to her feet, brushing the petals from her skirt. The flowers bend beneath her touch, their delicate stems seemingly bowing in submission to this new queen of the ruined empire.

As she starts to walk away from the field and back towards the palace, her thoughts whirl like a tornado. She's not sure where her life goes from here, but one thing is certain: nothing will ever be the same again. The weight of her past presses down on her shoulders, but there is an odd lightness in her step as well; a strange hopefulness that might just sustain her through whatever trials and tribulations lie

Her eyes narrow as you casually pinch her abdomen, leaving an angry red mark on the skin she's worked so hard to keep smooth and pristine. Despite herself, she lets out a yelp of pain, which only seems to further enrage her already burning temper. "You think that will scare me?" she spits through clenched teeth, struggling to maintain her composure. "I am the princess of Pressiax! You cannot touch me like--"

Her words are cut off as you lean in closer, your breath tickling across her ear. "Oh," you murmur huskily, "but I can." And with that, you pinch again, this time harder than before. Saira grits her teeth and squirms away from you, unable to suppress the muffled moan of pain that escapes her lips. She glares at you over her shoulder, hate burning in her

She glares at you defiantly, refusing to admit that your assault on her body has affected her in any way. "I came here to demand an explanation," she says through gritted teeth. "Why are you so intent on playing games with me?" She pauses for a moment, hesitating before asking the question that's been burning in her mind since she first laid eyes on you: "What do you want from me?"

Her chest heaves with each labored breath, and her heart races wildly beneath her breastplate. The skin of her throat feels tight and exposed as she awaits your response, the strange tingling sensation in her groin serving as a reminder that she's far from immune to your charms.

Saira blinks, looking down at her belly where the mark once was. She's obviously taken aback by your revelation. It hadn't occurred to her that you might be trying to help her regain her freedom and restore her honor. She swallows hard, still wary but unable to deny the stirrings of gratitude within her. "I... thank you," she manages to say, her voice small and fragile in comparison to the fire that had burned within her just moments before.

Her eyes meet yours, searching for any hint of deceit or mockery, but instead finds only honesty and curiosity. "Why would you go through all this trouble to save me?" she asks quietly, sitting up straighter and feeling a little less threatened by your presence.

She frowns in thought, mulling over your words. It's true that her people would never trust her if they knew she had willingly given herself to a foreigner as a slave. And yet, the idea of being yours, of serving you...it feels wrong, somehow. "You could have just asked me," she says at last, looking away from you and idly twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "I would have helped you."

There's an unmistakable note of longing in her voice that makes your heart skip a beat. She wants to believe in what you say; she wants to be free and powerful again, but at the same time, the thought of belonging to someone else...it brings conflicting emotions bubbling to the surface. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to remain calm and controlled as you speak. "Perhaps," you begin, "perhaps there is another

She flushes at the mention of love, but before she can respond you continue speaking. "If I make myself strong and if my people trust me, then perhaps...maybe we could find a way for both our peoples to live together in peace." Her voice trails off, hope threading through her words like fine silver filigree. She looks up at you from beneath her lashes, not quite daring to believe that this is really possible.

But as she considers your offer further, she realizes that it does make sense. Together, they might be able to create something truly amazing: a kingdom where their people could thrive side by side without fear or distrust. The idea fills her with a warmth that spreads outward from her core, making her heart feel lighter than air. For the first time since her capture, she allows herself to entertain the notion that this might not be so terrible after all.

Her breath catches in her throat as your hands come to rest upon her chest, the sensation both familiar and foreign. Electricity crackles between them, searing a mark into her skin that pulsates with power. Her body hums with energy, the magical bond forging an unbreakable link between them. She gapes at you in wonder, unable to speak or form coherent thoughts as she processes this newfound strength and status.

For the first time since being captured, Saira feels truly free. Not just from your control but from the chains that have bound her for so long: the obligations of family, duty to kingdom, and expectations of her people. With a shuddering breath, she rises to her feet, meeting your gaze steadily as she takes in your features once more. "I will make you proud," she whispers hoarsely. "As one of your trusted war

Her cheeks flush with color at the thought of carrying your child, but she quickly banishes the notion from her mind. "I cannot think of such things now," she says hesitantly, pulling away from you. "First, we must focus on ensuring peace between our people." Her gaze drifts downward, taking in the mark on her chest before looking up once more, determination sparking in her eyes. "And I will do whatever it takes to make that happen, Master."

Saira's heart races as your lips meet hers once more, sending shivers down her spine. Despite herself, she moans into the kiss, unable to resist the power and intensity of your touch. As you undress her, revealing her breasts, she feels a flush spread across her body, making her cheeks burn. Her breath comes in ragged gasps as you cup one of her breasts in your hand, kneading it gently before taking the nipple into your mouth.

The sensations are overwhelming and yet strangely familiar, triggering deep-seated desires she's never dared to acknowledge. She tangles her fingers in your hair, arching her back as you explore her body with practiced skill. "Yes," she whispers hoarsely, the word sounding almost like a plea for more. "Please...make me yours."

Her eyes widen at the sight of your massive erection, but she nods eagerly, her breath coming in short gasps as she readies herself to take you deep. She falls to her knees before you, careful not to jostle her newly marked chest, and takes your length in her hand. It's thick and hard, almost painful to grip around as she teases the tip with her tongue, tasting the sweet nectar that beads on its head.

With another hungry lick, she positions you at the entrance to her mouth, taking a deep breath before slowly lowering her head, engulfing your length inch by throbbing inch. She winces as you stretch her tight tunnel, gagging slightly at the fullness but refusing to give up. Her hands clutch at your hips, digging into your flesh as she begins to bob her head, taking you deeper with each stroke while making gentle humming noises around your shaft.

Her body trembles as she tries to accommodate more of your enormous length, feeling the stretch and pressure deep within her throat. "N-not yet," she gasps out between moans, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She pulls back slightly, still bobbing her head up and down on you while she catches her breath. "More...please..." Her voice is rough with desire as she looks up at you from beneath lowered lashes.