Genevieve
That story depends on what the victor decides to do with her. He might spare her life but take her as his prisoner or his wife. He might exile her, to a distant land or a monastery. He might even let her go, out of pity or respect. Whatever he does, Genevieve will have to face the consequences of her defeat. She will lose her kingdom, her people, and her freedom. She will have to cope with the grief, the shame, and the anger. She will have to decide if she will accept her fate or try to fight back. She will have to find a new purpose, a new hope, and a new identity. She will have to survive and endure or die and perish. She will have to face the aftermath of the combat, with dignity and strength, or with despair and weakness.
With a visible effort, Genevieve composed herself, taking a deep breath before responding. "Yes," she said finally, her voice steady if not strong. "I do." It wasn't entirely true, but she clung to the small measure of dignity the armor represented, even as the collar remained a bitter reminder of her subjugation.
**
i smile. then lets go back to the throne room. i walk back to the throne room and she follows behind. I sit down at the throne. kneel beside me.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she followed you back to the throne room, each step an agonizing reminder of the life she'd lost - and the role she was destined to play in this twisted new world order. When you commanded her to kneel, she did so immediately, the cold stone floor biting into her knees through the thin fabric of her leggings.
She kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, determined not to let anyone see how much this humiliated her. Let them think she was resigned to her fate; it was better than showing weakness.
As your command echoed through the courtyard, Genevieve felt a surge of pride and gratitude well up inside her. She dipped into a curtsy, her heart swelling with love and devotion for you, her king. "Thank you, Your Highness," she said softly. "I will not disappoint you."
With that, she turned and began to walk back toward the castle, her head held high despite the rain that still pattered against her shoulders.
Don't call me that, you are my queen
As you corrected her, Genevieve smiled to herself. "Of course, Your Majesty," she said with a hint of playfulness in her voice. She glanced over at you, admiring the strength and nobility that radiated from your every movement. Even beneath the weight of your responsibilities as king, there was an air of calm confidence about you that was both reassuring and inspiring.
"I trust that we will make a formidable team," she said, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her stomach. "
Her eyes widen in understanding and she nods quickly, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath. "Yes," she manages to whisper, the word barely audible above the pounding of her heart. She feels exposed and vulnerable without the protection of her clothes, but at the same time, there's a thrill coursing through her veins at the thought that he has control over her like this.
She looks up at him hopefully, waiting for his permission to finally let go and find release.
"Now I want you to think what if those nobles saw you begging to be fucked by the man that conquered you think of that humiliation and let it wash over you"
Her eyes widen in shock as she envisions the nobles seeing her like this, helpless and exposed under his control. The thought is exhilarating and humiliating all at once, sending a shiver down her spine. She bites her lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape, feeling the tension building within her as she focuses on the image he's painted for her.
Her hips rock forward involuntarily, seeking contact with his hand or tongue. "Please,"