𝔏𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔏𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔔𝔲𝔢𝔢𝔫 【ᴄʜᴇᴠᴀʟɪᴇʀ x ᴄᴏʀᴘsᴇ】

[Chevalier]

ᴄʜᴇᴠᴀʟɪᴇʀ x ᴄᴏʀᴘsᴇ
◤                                         ◥
"Long may she reign!"



◣                ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs ᴀʜᴇᴀᴅ                 ◢

𝔗ʜᴇ ℌᴜɴᴛᴇʀs

ғᴇɴʀɪsᴜʟғʀ
The Wolf
6'6" | Thirty-Eight

Beyond the great, eastern mountains and far from the eyes of civilization came a horde of terrifying power
endless waves of barbarians crashed across the kingdoms, tearing their castles asunder while pillaging and
raping those unfortunate enough to be caught in their wake. Those that were not killed were enslaved and
soon, it wasn't long until even the most powerful and prestigious Kingdoms had fallen to the flow of history.
Led by the accursed Wolf King, Fenris is a giant among men, a warrior that puts all others to shame, he rules
his armies with but a single commandment, that: only the strongest survive. As such, all others are merely
people to be conquered, toys to be claimed.

sɪʀ ᴏʟɪᴠᴇʀ ʜᴀʀᴘᴇʀ
The Lion
6'2" | Twenty-Four

Sir Oliver Harper is the new Commander of the Queen's Guard, appointed following the death of his
predecessor who was slain in battle protecting the late King. He is often regarded within the Kingdoms
as the greatest swordsman to have ever lived, besting every warrior to ever challenge him and taking a
countless number of tournaments in the name of the Royal Family. A childhood friend of the new Queen,
he has been infatuated with her since his youth, often citing his love for the Queen as his main motivation
for becoming a Knight. His romantic feelings have only become more obsessive over time, the Knight often
cursing his commoner birth for separating him from the woman that he loves dearly.

ʟᴀᴅʏ ᴀsʜʟʏɴ ᴇʟʏsɪᴀ
The Succubus
5'6" | Twenty-Eight

The Duchess of Hironedein, Lady Ashlyn is the last of Ecclesia's Great Lords. Ruling the fertile southern
lands, she commands the largest army in Ecclesia and is well respected by the remains of the nobility.
With the fall of her most prominent rivals, there exist few nobles remaining to contest her ambition,
and while it is hardly a secret that Ashlyn desires the throne for herself, challenging her power would
plummet the already faltering and wounded kingdom deep into the never-ending depths of ruin.

ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴛʀɪsᴛᴀɴ ᴠᴏɴ ᴀᴜʀᴇʟɪᴀ
The Dragon
6'0" | Twenty-Six

The Crown Prince of the Imperialis, Prince Tristan is set to inherit the largest and most populous nation
within the charted world. The Imperialis' territories stretch from sea to sea and their seemingly endless
legions are infamous for their brutal efficiency. The Imperialis has always been recognized, even by their
rivals as the pinnacle of civilization. While their warlike tendencies often put them at odds with their smaller
neighbors, they are often content with allowing other Kingdoms to remain their sovereignty, so long as
they recognize the validity of Imperial rule. Tristan represents all of the positive and negative traits of the
Empire... Tristan is arrogant, ambitious, but most of all, the Dragon is terrifyingly cunning.

𝔗ʜᴇ 𝔓ʀᴇʏ

Queen of Ecclesia                                       Knight of Ecclesia

♕

The throne room was vibrant and lively, the dense crowds of younger nobles intermingling with one another as the Queen's servants attended to their every whims. At the center of the room, they danced gracefully to the gentle hymns of violins, a lavish spectacle befitting for a newly crowned Queen. But despite the spirited festivities, there lingered a dark and brooding aura over the room; an unsettling feeling which brought uneasiness upon what remained of the nobility. Though they danced and celebrated, the silent murmurs which passed from ear to ear spoke about the fall of the civilized world, a doomed kingdom, an incompetent Queen. Indeed, it was no secret that Ecclesia itself was in turmoil, threatened by the Horde that encroached upon their very gates, leaving an endless sea of destruction and suffering in their wake. The Royal Army had been defeated, leaving the King and the Prince slain - just how long would it be until the capital city would fall as well ?​

​

As the Queen sat upon her father's throne, the silhouette of a noblewoman would approach, separating herself from the crowd. She was slender, her fair height accentuated by tall heels which clattered confidently across the glossy veneer beneath her feet. "I would like to be the first to congratulate you on your coronation, your Majesty." Her voice was soft spoken, yet possessed an authoritative allure to it. It was the sort of voice with the ability to gently instill fear into those who listened, the type that need not be raised to invoke powerful emotions. When she spoke, the violins croaked into a sudden halt, for even the violinists knew better than to play over the Duchess' lips. The noble who stood within the Queen's presence was none other than the Ashlyn von Elysia, the Duchess of Hironedein. "It aches me to hear about what happened to your father and brother, but I trust that you will lead us in the same way your family has led us for generations." The Duchess delivered a terse bow, electing to bend at the waist and curve one hand beneath her chest in the same fashion that men bowed. While the more conservative nobles may have seen a woman bowing rather than curtseying a deprave and uncouth act, there were none still alive that dared to question the Lady. ​

​

"I, Ashlyn von Elysia, vow to protect Ecclesia... and you, to my last dying breath. My armies will ensure the safety of this city." The inflection upon that single word pierced deep into the ranks of nobles, who immediately turned to exchange their venomous gossip. ​

​

"I think you're mistaken, my Lady." The retort stemmed from a familiar voice, one that may have been comforting to the Princess during such a foreboding time. "Those armies belong to the Queen." Standing adjacent to the throne lingered the Queen's closest ally: A tall male with an unerringly handsome gaze and a mane of gold, he sported the full uniform of the Queen's Guard, complete with decorative, shoulder epaulets that matched the hue of his shining locks. Sir Oliver was the Commander of the Queen's Guard, a man that found fame and prestige not through noble blood, but through dedicating himself to a single cause: the Queen.​

​

"Ah, the commoner speaks." The Duchess' vibrant gemstones lulled lazily towards the man that stood at the Queen's flank, "Perhaps the young man needs a refresher on politics. Tell me, my little Lion, who pays the salary of my soldiers? The gold does not come from the Royal Treasury, I assure you." The corner of her lips curved upwards into a mischievous smile, of course, what she spoke of was akin to treason, but who was going to stop her? What powerful lords remained were all under her thumb, while the Queen's army had been rendered practically nonexistent. "But, these are difficult times." She averted her gaze back to the Queen, her dark eyes reaching up into the Queen's own. Then, to the alarm of the guards surrounding the Queen, she slowly ascended the steps. "We should stand united as one. After all, what hope will we have if we bicker and squabble to the very end?" She hovered nearer still, her distinctly feminine hand reaching outwards. Her soft digits delved down towards her neck, before arching upwards to capture the bottom of her chin. "An unmarried Queen is certainly a powerful tool. I'm almost jealous with how many suitors will posture themselves beneath your feet." She leaned closer, until her lips lingered dangerously close to the Queen's own, the warm exhalation of each breath brushing across her face with every word. ​

​

"I'll give you three seconds to remove your hand, before I remove it for you, my Lady." Oliver's hand hovered down to his waist, towards the sword which rested in a scabbard upon his hip. "One... Two..."​

​

Before the Knight could sound off the third number, the Duchess drew her hand away from the Queen, "Relax, little Lion, I just wanted to make sure the Queen considers all of her options... however unconventional they may be." She stepped backward, retracing her steps while never averting her gaze away from the Queen. "A strong Queen should never be tied to such traditions anyways." With that, the Succubus bows, before turning and disappearing back into the crowd of nobles. "Until then."​

​

"Your Majesty, do you have a moment? I would like to speak to you... in private."​

♕

​

Upon the border of Ecclesia lay an abandoned spire, nestled upon an ominous cliffside and reaching towards the sky; blackened by the deviant powers which encroached upon the land. To the outward observer, the dark tower was in a state of obvious disrepair, even the pathway leading up the titanic slopes being lost to the weathering elements. But despite its crumbling battlements and weathered defenses, its mountaintop position meant that any that dare encroach upon it be met with the full might of its defenders. Indeed, the ruins of the once marvelous fortress represented Ecclesia's best hope for stemming the tide of invaders which sought to break into the countryside. For two months, the defenses held, mostly in part to its favorable position, but in no small part the efforts or its garrison and of course, the talented Captain which commanded them.

But even if their resistance had been admirable, their defense had been destined to fail.​

Within the derelict, dark corridors of the cavernous spire, a single man sat upon a dejected throne, the last vestige of a Kingdom that had once existed thousands of years ago. He was a towering, foreboding figure, with a chiseled jaw that accentuated his masculine features. A set of deep scars marred the corners of his portrait and a dark, leather eyepatch obfuscated the right flank of his gaze. The dreadful hulk was none other than the Wolf King himself, the warlord that was destined to conquer the world: Fenrisulfr.

"My Lord, we've brought the enemy commander to you, as you've requested."
​

From beyond the doorway, the lithe silhouette of a woman appeared into his single-eyed visage, the familiar chime of metal shackles reverberating through the abandoned throne room as the light haired figure was presented before her new master. Her wrists were bound together behind her back, the chains reaching upwards and connecting to a metal collar which had already been locked around her slender neck. With a single curl of his index finger, the Wolf beckoned for her to approach him, watching as the warrior behind her shoved her forward, until her own feet would carry her towards him. "You caused quite the ruckus among my ranks. But I'm sure you're quite proud of that, aren't you?" The man snarled, waiting for her to draw closer before speaking once more, "Leave us." Upon command, the other figures in the room dispersed, until the Knight was left alone with the towering warlord. Once they were alone, he stood from his seat, hovering closer towards her so that the little Knight could see just how overwhelmingly large he was in comparison to her. His mere presence blocked out the light, obscuring the knight's vision so that she would only be able to see him.

"I will give you but one chance to receive mercy..." His voice was deep and primal, like some sort of voracious, masculine beast. "Kneel."​

 

[Corpse]

_____________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________

𝕍 𝕀 𝕍 𝔸 𝕋 ✧ ℝ 𝔼 𝔾 𝕀 ℕ 𝔸



" Our beloved Queen.

I expect this will reach you in four sunrises, as the crow flies. So, by the time you are reading this, we will have fallen.

Know that it was not without equal bloodshed, and know that we love you.

Long may you reign.

- Lucia. "


_____________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________

​

The scrap of carefully written parchment sat in the grasp of cold, delicate fingers; beheld by the Queen who had read it repeatedly over the course of mere hours, dwelling over it ever since the pigeon had landed. Her study was dreadfully lonely, and she sat wistfully at her desk, leaning her forehead against the its surface as she steadied her emotions. She had little left to give beyond despair, now, having been drained of all ability to mourn. Her father, her brother -- and now Lucia, snuffed out like candlelight.

"This is why it is the Council's duty to open your letters first." A voice spoke from the entryway. Evelyn did not move, unwilling to meet the gaze of the man who addressed her. The voice belonged to Rune, Council-Master and close confident of her late father. His features were stern and wise, and he leaned against the door frame in impatience. "They are beginning to question your absence. Save your pining until after the event."

"I sent her to her death." Evelyn muttered, her voice muffled beneath folded arms.

"She hardly gave you a choice."

"Still --!"

"Your duty does not end with your retinue, your Highness. Our allies are waning, so address them, lest we all fall at your behest." There was resentment in his voice. No matter his connection to the King, he - like the rest of the Council - observed their fledgling Queen as an asset. A weapon of war and betrothal, and a connection to otherwise untouchable Kingdoms.

Evelyn's grip tightened on the parchment, before pressing it flatly against the desk. She stood, then, and excused herself in a less-than-royal manner, pushing past Rune in a way which reflected her particularly volatile state.

The long walk to the dais would allow her plenty of time to reflect.

- ✧ -​

The throne room was alight with candlelight and music, bearing host to the wealthier crowds of Ecclesia. Yet, despite everything, the vibrancy of the palace was a little more than grim masquerade; a facade against the burning onslaught of the outside world. A moment of respite, perhaps, from the dread that swelled at their breasts.

At the forefront of such tension was the Queen herself, perched upon the ornate throne and attempting to emulate the shadow of her father and former King. However, where he had once issued orders and legislation, she remained silent, insecure in the manner with which she should interact with such a noble confluence. Such weakness did not go unnoticed amidst her subordinates, who had begun to circle like carrion birds and scrape for power in the wake of invasion.

It was not long until the first serpent approached.

The encroach of bitter silence drew the Queen's attention to Lady Ashlyn, who spoke outwardly at the foot of the dais and addressed the throne boldly without request. Evelyn's own lips parted in observation, strangely curious of the Duchess' callous mannerisms and the confidence with which she spoke. More-so, there was an air of envy about the Queen, as she silently wished that she could render a room silent with mere words. In time, brooding thoughts of Lucia were put to rest, and her indifferent expression slowly lifted into a small, curt smile.

"An honor, Lady Ashlyn. My father spoke highly of your line." Her words were carefully recited, and almost forced. She lifted her hand as a gesture to silence the interjection of her guardsman, though it did not last. "I am ever grateful of your aid during these times."

She had perhaps expected the exchange to end there, but she was gravely mistaken. Wide eyes watched in silence as the woman ascended towards her, seemingly undeterred by the surrounding crowd who watched her missteps in curious silence. Even members of the High Council sat in quiet observation, awaiting the Queen's reaction to such an immense presence. But there was nothing. Evelyn froze at her approach, and her breath held at her invasive touch. The warmth of breath against her own lips caused her flesh to prickle and a lump to swell in her throat, subdued by an emotion she could only describe as something dangerously akin to fear.

This time, she was thankful for Oliver's intervening. She caught her breath finally, swallowing as the hand drew away from her face.

"My betrothal is my own concern, now. There are matters in far greater need." She uttered, mulling over the Duchess' implications. Unconventional options, breaking traditions? Could she have meant..? Evelyn almost flushed at the thought, her knuckles raising to her lips to discreetly clear her throat. Slowly but surely, the crowd prized their eyes away, lest they offend their shaken Queen.

"Your Majesty, do you have a moment? I would like to speak to you... in private."

"Hm?" The Lion's familiar voice pulled Evelyn away from her pondering, and she turned her head, glancing wide-eyed in his direction. She smiled in short time, and stood. "Of course I have a moment." She offered a subtle curtsy to those in her immediate company, dismissing herself temporarily from the throne. Her insecurities were not present among Oliver, replaced instead by trust; a feat which had developed over the course of their youth.

Yet, despite this, there seemed to still be a great distance between them. Even as they left the party alone, there was an almost painful air of formality between two childhood friends. A division of class, and power; the dynamic between nobility and commonality which had only widened as they both entered adulthood. Though the Duchess' actions had suggested otherwise, Evelyn had become entirely untouchable, and a chasm seemed to have opened up around her.

The atrium was dimly lit and empty, save for the occasional footman who procured empty glasses to and from the event. Short heels clicked against marble and the tresses of her silken dress trailed gently as she walked. Her eyes surveyed the room, running across the painted ceiling and falling upon her Queen's Guard as she turned to face him.

"Will this suit?" She asked eventually, referring to their surroundings. The smile never left her face, but she still seemed distracted, her thoughts seemingly still seized by the Duchess' feminine grasp. "Is something bothering you, Ser? Forgive me, I... don't often find the time to check in on you."

​

Four days. It had taken four days for the Northern Spire to fall, and it had ended in flames and bloodshed, drawn out over long, sleepless nights. Captain Lucia Caldwyn and her company had observed their approach from afar; a trail of burning hamlets amidst the hills, and a monstrous horde at their wake. Their presence had drowned the moors in a clotted veil of shadow which remained unrelenting and without rest. She knew that they would die atop this fort, but they had each sworn that they would not die easily. They were among the last of Ecclasia's own forces -- members of the City Guard itself, marching far from home to defend their Queen's name.

The horde's visible approach had allowed the Captain plenty of preparation time. The ascent to the fortress was laden with often crude traps and treacherous dug-outs, each procured with the streamlined purpose of slowing their aggressors down. From there, archers took up their vantage points, and rained steel down upon them in successful waves of defense. Their formation was nigh impenetrable, but like everything else, it slowly succumbed to the passing of time. Arrows eventually ran low along with food, and soldiers struggled to fight against their restlessness. The fourth night was grave, with tyrannical beasts finally knocking through the heavy iron doors.

She was made to watch as her company was slaughtered. The Spire was cleared in its entirety, hunted down to the last living man. But not her. Death was not so easy for the Captain, who had single-handedly delayed the tyrant's assault by a string of valuable days.

Lucia had been bested by numbers, and bound in her defeat. She had questioned her state, begged for it to end, yet nothing came of it; instead, the end of the battle saw that she was dragged to her feet and made to walk over the corpses of her brethren. The gargantuan interior of the Spire had become somewhat familiar to Lucia during her stay, and she knew well that she was being escorted to the throne room. The marred walls of the fortress had once been home to the many moots of the Old Kings during their travels, and withered artifacts and furniture told tales of such times. But there was no King on the throne. As her eyes adjusted to the presence of dim firelight and flickering candelabras, her breathing hitched as she beheld the Great Terror himself, amidst his pack of beasts. The air was heavy, no doubt, and the glares of many fell upon the disheveled silhouette of the once prideful Captain. Nevertheless, she did not falter, remaining somewhat regal even as she was shoved towards her enemy.

"You caused quite the ruckus among my ranks. But I'm sure you're quite proud of that, aren't you? Leave us."

Her own gaze lifted, fixing with the beast's own. There was no humanity to be found -- not a shred of reason that Lucia could detect. Her form stood firm even when approached, though it very nearly faltered as she was swallowed whole by his shadow, perhaps not quite anticipating the immense presence of his stature. War-torn, overbearing, aggressive... She should not have expected any less. Lucia's own expression was firm and frowning -- her brows knitting tightly above her widened glare. Her prior exchange with his subordinates had left its mark -- the fabric of her skirt was partly shredded, and blood smeared at the corner of her lip. Somehow, her expression was still somewhat smug. She had bought her Majesty time, in exchange for her life.

Or, perhaps not.

"Kneel."

"Kneel?" The Captain blinked. Her expression faltered, and she laughed. It was a quiet, melodic chuckle, accompanied by a small step backwards as she did her best to recollect herself. Boldness and fear made for a dreadful cocktail, and she had unwittingly found herself grimly amused by his command. That... and whatever it was that a monster would deem as 'mercy.' Her hands tugged testingly at their binds as she did so, causing the chain to tinker quietly against her neck. "Before you? I bow only before our Queen." Her eyes lifted once more, her laughter settling back into breathy silence. "And long may she reign, beast."

 

[Chevalier]

Murmurs and gossip spread amongst the nobles as the Queen excused herself from their presence, leading her guardian from the room and finally away from their venomous gazes. From the next room, the pair were finally embraced with a moment of privacy, a luxury that was becoming far more difficult to enjoy following the chaos of recent events. Ser Oliver's eyes habitually darted about, as if checking their surroundings once more to see if they were truly away from any prying eavesdroppers. It was only after he was positive that nobody was listening to their conversation that the Lion's lips finally parted to speak. "This is fine, Eve." Behind closed doors, Oliver addressed the Queen in a more casual fashion.​

​

"Is something bothering you, Ser? Forgive me, I... don't often find the time to check in on you."​

​

Oliver nodded, his emerald gaze transfixed upon the Queen which stood in front of him. Although her words were filled with their usual, noble cadence, he could tell that she was distracted, her soft gemstones not entirely focused upon her knight. "Word has already spread fast about Lucia. Apparently, someone is leaking information." Oliver explained in a low voice, pausing as he leaned closer towards his Queen, "The nobles are panicking... some of them are going to flee after your ceremony ends, others are talking about surrendering." Indeed, the Knight had even heard horrible rumors about how some nobles wanted to give the Queen as an offering to sate the Wolf King. ​

​

"Our scouts report that the Wolf will be at the capital within a fortnight." Fourteen days... even a Queen inexperienced in military affairs would know that was simply not enough time to gather a new army. The City Guard and the Queen's Guard numbered less than five thousand, whereas Oliver and Evelyn had been receiving reports that the enemy numbered easily into the hundreds of thousands. Even ignoring the tragic loss of Lucia, the situation seemed untenable at best, while horrifying at worst. "We will be sieged... the city will starve... I... I won't be able to protect you." Slowly, the Lion stepped forward, his vastly overwhelming size becoming immediately apparent as he hovered closer towards her. He moved closer still, until the Queen would have no choice but to step backwards to avoid crashing into his chest. He kept her moving backwards, until she would feel the flesh of her back press up against the cold marble of the wall behind her. ​

​

It was then, that her Lion struck.​

​

Placing his hand against the wall behind her, he leaned inwards in a fashion not dissimilar from the Duchess' own approach. His stubbornly chiseled features delved closer, until his taller stature cast a shadow over the beleaguered Queen. "Run away with me, Evelyn." He muttered softly, his warm words blowing across the Queen's face. The Lion's eyes stared longingly into his Queen's, vibrant, emerald kaleidoscopes yearning for the object of his affection. Oliver had been infatuated with the Queen since his youth, from those days when she was a Princess and Oliver amounted to nothing more than a poor Blacksmith's son. Now he was her Lion, her protector and perhaps the only person whom she could trust. But even the most tamed Lions could prove to be unpredictable, a fact which the Queen would soon learn the hard way. "I can't sit by while this Kingdom tears you apart. Your father, your brother... Lucia, their deaths will be in vain if you let yourself fall as well..." He closed his eyes, leaning closer until their lips were only inches apart. ​

​

"Be with me, Evelyn." With that, the knight's lips crashed forcefully against the Queen's own, pressing his portrait against hers in a passionate, bruising kiss. His hands promptly found the Queen's wrists, holstering them above her head and pinning them against the wall as the voracious Lion claimed her lips for his own. The knight kissed her like he was going into battle, attempting to conquer each and every one of her senses with the direct assault upon her plush lips. A string of hot growls dribbled from his lips, poker-hot, his possessive grip upon her wrists tightening as he bit his way into the Queen's mouth. The primal hums which emanated from the back of the Lion's throat tenderly reverberated between their locked lips as Oliver's tongue began to lap devilishly against the Queen's own.​

♕

"Before you? I bow only before our Queen. And long may she reign, beast."
​

Despite the little Knight's untimely cackle, the Wolf King knew well that deep down, the shackled woman was nothing other than terrified. But such boldness in the face of danger intrigued him. After all, it had perhaps been the first time a slave had the audacity to laugh in Fenrir's presence. "Clever girl." The beast cooed, his lips curling upwards to display a malevolent grimace. His voice was remarkably calm for such a towering figure, but Lucia would soon learn that it was not his words that the captured knight needed to fear.​

​

Before more words would be able to leave her soft lips, the hulking beast that stood before her lashed outwards, his colossal arm surging just below her chin as his hand swiftly captured her dainty throat. Masculine digits immediately claimed her neck, thick, coarse appendages crinkling at the skin underneath her collar and tightening around her supple windpipe. His uncouth, barbaric hands began to press tightly upon her walls, until he could see the whore's eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and pain, the slow realization of asphyxiation gripping her mind as he brutishly tightened his grip upon her. He tightened his grip further, watching and watching as his new toy's proud gaze began to waver, squeezing the oxygen from her lungs until he could hear the deprave and familiar melody of choking grace his ears. ​

​

"I wonder how long it will take for you to break."​

​

As he choked her, his great offhand drew backwards, opening into a flat-faced palm before he brought it down upon her face in a resounding CLAP! The sheer power of his strike would send her visage reeling to the side, the perfect, fleshy hue of her cheeks marred with a crimson streak. "Until then, we're going to teach you how to properly behave." He finally released Lucia's throat, allowing fresh oxygen to once again fill her lungs as he struck her cheek again, this time with even greater force. The power of his slaps would send her thudding against the ground at his feet, before he would reach down to pluck a handful of her silvered locks within his objectifying hands. "Get up." He pulled her upwards from the floor, her bangs tightly and mercilessly wound between his massive fingers as he pulled her up to her knees. But now, the Wolf King was unsatisfied with his new whore being presented upon her knees.​

​

"No. Only good toys get to sit on their knees." He growled, pulling her slightly upwards. The knight would find herself powerless to resist his grip. Even if her hands weren't shackled behind her back, it was painfully obvious that she was much weaker than the giant of a man. He pulled her up, until Lucia would have no choice but to move off of her knees and onto her heels. He forced her to dedicate her entire body weight and stability upon her legs, elegantly bending down her thighs in order to become symmetrical with her hamstrings as she was made to humiliatingly squat before her new master. ​

​

"A more fitting stance for a bitch." With one hand wound through her scalp and holding her in place, his other navigated towards his waistband, skillfully undoing his belt before pulling down the front of his pants to reveal the terror that lurked beneath. Almost instantly, her face was obscured by a gigantuous, thick shadow which draped over her view, blocking out what little light had been previously cast upon her face as she was made to glance upon the object that would soon be used to break her. A massive, throbbing slab of fleshy masculinity, she would be forced to look upon the cable-thick veins that pulsated underneath its shaft.​

"Open your mouth."

 

[Corpse]

​

Slowly, the Queen's attention averted, and her visage held her characteristic smile, slight and gentle. A beautifully crafted facade, veiling her own inner turmoil as she pondered the words of her closest guardian. His concerns were well-founded, and felt her frontage quiver. Her fingers knit together anxiously, as they always did.

"I know." She spoke softly, her gaze briefly lowering to the floor. She was painfully aware of the vulturous eyes which befell her in the throne room, and the prevalence of ill-sought rumors which circulated among them. "I'm afraid I cannot blame them. But, I --"

Unsure words faded as she paid heed to his slow, looming approach. Her brow knitted, and her kindly features dissipated into subtle concern. She found herself retreating from his shadow, pacing a short ways until the bare flesh of her upper back met the cold marble behind her. Forlorn eyes peered into the lion's own, liquid amber meeting ice. His returning gaze was confident, intense -- different. There was an awful feeling in her gut. What was he saying?

"Run away with me, Evelyn."

"What?"

The Queen's eyes widened into a mute glare, rendered aghast by Oliver's dire change in demeanor. She felt her stomach turn, her psyche twisting as he spoke bluntly of Lucia's demise and the downfall of her bloodline. Offense swelled at her breast and her hands curled into fists, paling the delicate flesh of her knuckles as for the first time, she felt anger towards her friend. Such emotions were stunted by the invasion of his lips; swift and strong against her delicate portrait.

The room resounded with a soft hum, muffled against the knight's assault as the Queen was forcefully pressed between him and the wall. Her silhouette tensed and she tugged against his constricting grip, her eyes closing for a moment as his tongue danced with her own. Muscles quivering, a shiver ran down her flesh, provoked by the invasive and ultimately foreign incursion of her lips. She remained in such a state for a short while, stunned into motionless surrender until her perseverance reanimated once more. In a brash, sharp action, she wrenched her arms free of his grip, shoving her palms sharply into the lion's chest as to free herself from his shadow.

Evelyn stumbled sideways, freeing herself from the wall and standing aside him with a demeanor which spelled her bubbling anger perfectly. Her hand raised upward, poised as if to slap the knight, but nothing came. Hesitation spilled over her, part of her still unwilling to hurt him, and her arms lowered tensely to her sides. Nevertheless, her expression seethed. The flesh of her cheeks burned red with shaken offense and humiliation.

"Have you lost your mind, Oliver?" Her voice was raised into a near-shout; a rarity for Evelyn, who had been raised to be entirely subtle. Rarer still was her usage of the knight's true name -- a once common occurrence which faded into the realms of maturing formality. She aimed to steady her breathing, exhaling a long, begrudged sigh as she recollected her passive nature. "They fought for all of us, and died for this city. Lucia threw herself to the wolves in order to buy me time, and you would have me use that time to run away? With you?"

"You swore an oath to my father." The back of her hand pressed to her wet, bruised lips, wiping away the remnants of his assault. "Your place -- our place, is here. With our people. I have options now, Lucia has assured me such. Do not weaponize her death against me." Her sudden outburst of authority was utterly new for her; the boil-over of weeks of apprehension. She knew this, and soon it began to falter, her breath hitching as her emotions threatened to crumble before him.

"You are my closest friend, Oliver." She began after a small pause, turning her back to him as if to dismiss herself back to her retinue. Her tone was softer now, wavering at the edges. "Do not overstep yourself again."

​

The concept of asphyxiation was alarming, but Lucia offered nothing in retaliation. Where there was fear, there was also acceptance; the cruel understanding of her fate at the hands of her Queen's overarching enemy. She could've writhed, kicked -- but there was nothing. Rather, her legs fell limp as she was raised upward from the floor, her fingers curling tightly into themselves as her airways were squeezed shut by the tyrant's iron grip. Teeth grit, saliva bubbled, and strong eyes rescinded into pale, almost unconscious apparitions. She could feel the pull of sleep and choking call of grisly death, but... death did not came.

The dark retreated as quickly as it had arrived. Her vision blurred back into reality, her lungs pulling in dry and desperate air as his hold on her throat was loosened and the palm of the Wolf's hand met her cheek in a stinging and resounding slap. Her glare held wide and dazed, though her mind remained dreadfully sharp to her situation. A cruel reality befell her; he would not be done with her so quickly.

His seizing of her hair was met by a sharp hiss, her eyes squeezing shut at the pain which seered through her scalp. Her weight rocked awkwardly beneath his puppeteer hold as she was forced into an aching squat. The Captain was rendered void of her title, pushed into kneeling before such a beast.

The Wolf's berating words were met with a venomous glare; one which held wide and unwavering even despite her compromised position. It was a stance which would soon falter, as Lucia was made to behold the leering manifestation of his lust for power. His manhood hung a mere inch from her portrait, and she could feel his heat against the sore flesh of her cheeks.

"Open your mouth."

Like the drop of a coin, her behavior curved sharply. She pulled harshly at his grip, turning her head away as much as she could muster against the pain of his restraint. Legs pushed out from beneath her thighs and kicked out towards her assailant's own lower limbs, aiming for whatever she could possibly get a hit on. Without control over her bound arms, such outbursts were futile, if visibly pathetic. Nevertheless, surrendering was far from her agenda. Eventually, she stilled, her lips slightly parted and panting heavily against her breathless exertion.

"I... I've already sent word that the spire has fallen." Her voice was eerily calm, laced with resentment yet dry with breathlessness. Her eyes had squeezed shut, shying away from the Wolf's monstrous and sadistic arousal. It was a subtle sign that even for a remarkable Captain such as herself, this was an entirely new confrontation of events. In her mind, her body was not her own to give; rather, it belonged to the Queen, and so would serve as sacrifice to preserve the reverence of her heritage. Such was her purpose. "Kill me, in time for my damned funeral!"

​

 

[Chevalier]

​

The Knight gave pause, allowing the Queen's words to settle within his mind. Oliver had never expected his beloved Evelyn to take him on such an offer and yet, he found himself woefully surprised that his advance had been rebuffed so passionately. "Did I not demand to march into battle at your father's side? To lead what banners were left in Lucia's stead? You act as if I would not give you my life - a million times over, just to keep you safe." The Knight's voice hung lower, deeper and more primal. It was clear from the seething that dribbled from each word that the Queen's Lion had been enraged. When she turned to walk away, he reached towards her, forcefully claiming her wrist before pulling her back towards him, "...Weaponizing..." He scoffed, a strong hand suddenly wrapped around her from behind, pulling her petite form closer towards him until her back pressed firmly against his chest. "Don't you dare insult me." His brawny hand delved upwards, capturing her by the neck as calloused appendages began to firmly tighten around her.

The Knight followed his treasonous action by leaning his portrait closer to hers, so that his lips hovered only inches away from her ear. "I swore an oath to protect you." He whispered, holding the Queen like captured prey within his overwhelming grasp. For but a fleeting, transient moment, the hunter thought about never releasing her. "Even if that means protecting you from yourself." Oliver finally released her, allowing the Queen to pull herself away from him.

"Report this, if you wish." The angered Knight shifted past her, moving towards the door ahead of her, "I'm sure that you'll find that you have very few friends within these halls." Indeed, Oliver was confident that none of the remaining household guard would dare to move against him, even if at the new Queen's command. Many of the remaining soldiers held a deep respect for their commander, who had led them across many battlefields. There was a good majority of her Queen's Guard that had been hand selected by Oliver himself. No, Oliver knew that Evelyn's threats were empty, like a tiger cub that had just learned to growl for the very first time. She may have worn the bejeweled crown upon her head, but true power belonged to those underneath.

"I will do my duty, but expect nothing more from me." He bowed, almost in a patronizing manner, "Your Majesty." With that, he opened the door, disappearing through it before slamming it unceremoniously shut on his way out.

When the Queen would finally return to the crowded banquet halls, she would find her closest companion nowhere to be found. Instead, there would be a sea of strange and unfamiliar faces, passing gossip from ear to ear as unsubstantiated rumors already began to spread about the drama that had just transpired between the newly crowned Queen and the only man left that would dare defend her. They were like vultures, watching and waiting for their opportunity to pick what power remained.

"Your Majesty." An unfamiliar voice beckoned for the Queen's attention. Her visage would soon be greeted with the image of a tall man, similar in height to the knight that once stood proudly by her side. He possessed longer, crimson strands which pooled against his shoulders, with a pair of vibrant gemstones that matched his head's fiery hue. Rather than armed men, the mysterious nobleman was flanked by two, rather ostentatiously dressed women, each girl clinging to one of his arms like a pair jewelry for him to wear. "If you could excuse us, ladies. I'd like to have a moment alone." It was clear by the deep accent that possessed his voice that he wasn't from the Capital, or even the same Kingdom. The girls let out a pair of sighs, shooting the Queen a glare before melting into the crowd around them.

"Apologies, your Majesty. I am Prince Tristan Aurelia, Firstborn son of House Aurelia and heir apparent to the Empire." The Prince bowed respectfully before the Queen, "We have never met, but I do hope you remember my name. After all, It was only a year ago that the two of us had been betrothed... an arrangement made by our parents." The Prince spoke softly, but no matter how proper his words were, there lingered a dark aura beneath them. It was as if the Prince was already sizing her up, studying her as if to see if his newest prey would display any signs of weakness.

"Would you like to walk with me? There are many things that I'd like to discuss with you." The Dragon purred, eyes narrowing as they waited for the Queen's answer.

​

Lucia's outburst accomplished nothing but amusement, the Wolf King watching with keen interest as the poor knight threw herself against his feet in a futile attempt to resist him. He allowed her to thrust her weight against him, the towering giant of a man budging not even an inch from her powerful kick. From how little he reacted from the strike, it may have been too far-stretched a compliment to call him a man. He was a monster, an unstoppable beast that dwarfed even the greatest of warriors and the largest of men.

"Death? Death is an honor reserved for men." His uncouth, brawny hands tugged at her scalp once again, forcing her faltering portrait back up against his hot, burgeoning masculinity. "You're a trophy, one that I've rightfully earned."

It wouldn't be long until the defeated woman would find her lips pressed into his sweltering, engorged tip, unable to tear herself away despite how hard she would try. He would continue to force her face against it, until she would have no choice but to purse her plush lips, slowly separating the entrance of her mouth to accommodate the massive slab of meat that demanded to push its way inside. Almost as soon as her lips were parted, the Wolf would violently ram himself into the o-shaped orifice, instantly stretching her jaw further apart as the back of her throat was introduced to its new abuser, its new master.

"No, what you're going to get is something completely different." His objectifying shaft buried itself as far down as it would possibly go, half of its length disappearing into Lucia's mouth as she was made to struggle upon his length. When it seemed like it would go no further, the sadistic warlord pushed down further still, until his tip was met with the pleasurable feeling of her dainty windpipe beginning to gurgle and gag. "Go on, bite down. Make this more interesting for me." He growled, holding her head firmly in place, watching with sadistic rapture as tears began to well within his victim's eyes. She would find that his hot pillar was harder than normal flesh, teeth unable to effectively rend their intruder. It was like biting down upon a hard rock, her jaw undoubtedly tiring itself before any progress would be made. She would be left completely helpless, at the Wolf's mercy as his throbbing length claimed her throat, a mass of writhing veins mapping out her tongue and throat.

"Don't worry, your beloved Queen will meet the same fate soon enough. Until then, let's find a better use of this mouth of yours." He pulled his waist backwards, perhaps giving the knight the passing thought of reprieve as the hot mass began to leave her throat. But mercy was not something that the monster understood. He immediately thrust himself back against her, forcing deeper into her throat and once again delving deep into her mouth. He would do this several more times, submerging her windpipe with his fat muscle as it began to ram repeatedly against the base of her sloppy mouth. Each degrading, throat-swabbing pass would become faster and more vigorous, slops of saliva dribbling from her lips and dangling down between her legs as the beast rewarded the knight's defiant resistance with a brutal, humiliating facefucking.

Each thrust of his obscene, enormous mast would test the knight's gag reflex further and further, brutalizing her soft palate with each, deepening pass until her lips would finally become acquainted with the root. The knight would soon find her portrait buried at crotch level, snuggled deep and with her chin smothered into his scrotum, drowning her vocal cords in constricting masculinity.