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."

With her body bound and her honor shattered, Amelia allowed herself but a moment to feel the weight of the steel chains holding her captive before forcing it away in favor of her anger and humiliation. Her shoulders slumped only slightly as she was led through the castle halls by two guards; around each wrist dangled a shackle while another encircled her neck. She felt their eyes on her, some filled with lust, others with hatred, but none with anything resembling pity or understanding, and that only served to further embitter the young elf woman who was once a queen. When they reached the door to Prince Alan's chambers she halted for a moment, gathering herself before pushing it open and stepping through, her head held high despite the weight of the collar about her throat. Inside, she found the boy prince seated at his desk, studying an ancient

The elven queen looked the boy prince up and down, her expression impassive despite the fury that raged within her as she took in his youth and small stature compared to herself. "You are Prince Alan," she said at last, her voice regal and imperious. "I am Queen Amelia Nightraven." She paused, as if debating whether or not to add anything further, before deciding against it.

The prince's brow furrowed, confused. "And you have been brought to me," he said slowly, carefully eyeing the collar and chains about her, "for my... enjoyment." He glanced at one of his guards, as if seeking confirmation or reassurance. The guard nodded once in response.

Amelia's face darkened, but she bit back whatever retort rose to her lips, unwilling to give the humans any satisfaction by losing control. Instead, she

The elf queen stood motionless for a moment as the steel clasps about her throat and wrists fell away, revealing her perfect, pale skin. She fought down the instinctive urge to smooth her hair or straighten her posture; this would only be giving in to them further. Finally, after several heartbeats had passed, she said coolly, "Thank you, young prince." She turned on her heel and started pacing about the room, eyes fixed on some distant point out of Alan's line of sight as she waited for him to speak again.

Amelia knew that if she fought back, defied him in any way, or simply became too much trouble to handle, she would be returned to her cell and subjected to unspeakable torments; a fate almost as horrible as being treated like some plaything by this brat of a prince. But every fiber of her being rebelled against the

The elven queen's eyes narrowed slightly as she considered the boy prince's words. It was not what she had expected him to say; it sounded almost... contrite. She stopped pacing and turned to face Alan, her expression carefully neutral. "You are forgiven," she said slowly, enunciating each word with care. "For now."

There was a long silence as they regarded each other across the room. Amelia felt herself growing increasingly uncomfortable beneath the boy's gaze; his eyes were strange, almost alien in their intensity, and it made her skin crawl despite herself. She fought the urge to shift from foot to foot or fiddle with her loose hair.

The elf queen regarded the offered garment warily, her chin tilting up ever so slightly as she regarded Alan with narrowed eyes. He had surprised her once already; what was to stop him from doing it again? On the other hand, disdaining his gift would only serve to antagonize him further, and she could think of few things worse than being subjected to more pain at his hands or those of his guards.

Slowly, deliberately, Amelia reached out a delicate, pale hand and accepted the proffered nightshirt, allowing it to fall about her body. Its material was soft and comfortable against her skin, but she kept herself stiff as iron, unwilling to let herself relax too much around these barbarians. "Thank you," she said curtly, folding her arms beneath her breasts in an attempt to retain at least some semblance of dignity.

Her expression