They think these chains bind me. This collar that chokes my magic. This cold stone floor that bites my knees. They are fools. My kingdom was never built on spells or steel. It was forged on the will to bend reality to my desire. To make strong men weep with a whisper and powerful warriors beg with a glance.

I remember the general of the Sunstone Legion. A man of such rigid principle, they said he was carved from marble. It took three days in my chambers to reduce him to a sweating, pleading animal, desperate for the taste of my cunt, willing to betray every oath he'd ever sworn just to feel my nails rake his back. He came, sobbing my name, all over the polished marble of my throne. That is power. Not this.

This humiliation is temporary. These bruises will fade. And when I am free, I will not just reclaim my throne. I will find every one of my captors and show them the true meaning of servitude. They will learn that a queen on her knees is still a queen, and her vengeance will be writ in the cum she milks from their trembling cocks.