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It took a few minutes to kick in. The situation, I mean. I really, _really_have to make you understand. Thus far, the entire chain of events since the duel had been too fast, too strange to sink in. In a way, it might have been meaningless, like an intense dream that you can scarcely remember once you wake up. I needed time to integrate it, to react.

So nothing happened at first. I was bushed. I stood naked in the entry hall, spread out and shackled to the pillar. I recoiled from the unexpected development. I required rest, but I couldn't move. My paws hurt. My abdomen hurt. My skull had gotten stuck somewhere between an anvil and a hammer. I desperately needed to isolate myself, to lie down in the dark to recuperate. But I couldn't move. I. Could. Not. Move. It was beginning. Knowing that I was tied up with my rational mind was one thing. Actually grasping the meaning of helplessness was something else entirely. I struggled. That couldn't be possible. I couldn't really be stuck there. Something would happen if I tried. My weakness was overwhelming, but I tried. I fought the callous, uncaring iron. I wounded my ankles, with the shackles digging in them, so my pain got worse. The pain increased my desire to escape my binds, so I squirmed more violently, causing even more damage to my body. I began attracting a lot of attention. Onlookers averted their eyes in shared pain and disgrace. The soldiers chuckled.

-- Hey, stupid, you chain, said one of them in broken Southern language.

Nothing was working. Why wasn't I free? Trapped in a loop of panic, I couldn't think straight. I gave colossal shoves against the iron, against the stone, against my own flesh and bones, but I had no effect. How could I have no effect on my own life? With every shove, something grew, rising from deep within me, from the place of dread. Each pointless, hurtful throw of my body against my binds reinforced one thing and one thing only. One undeniable reality. I had no significance. My thoughts led to acts empty of consequences. I gradually ceased moving. I gave lighter and lighter tugs. At last, I grasped the horrifying meaning of what being restrained meant. A knowledge that no one can access intuitively.

I'd regularly seen bodies in chains. Convicted outlaws and captured enemy raiders, condemned to slavery or execution. I'd observed their miserably resigned expressions. I'd always figured it was their true nature emerging during hardship. They were cowards who'd attempted to abuse the weak because they were too lazy or cruel to work lawfully alongside others. So, of course, once all their tools of abuse, weapons and status were taken away, they reverted to pathetic groveling masses. They'd deserved to suffer.

Well, I was them at this point. Guilty or not, I was just as vulnerable as they'd been. Someone else would stare at my naked body, and would think that with all of the artifice taken away, I was reverting to my true nature, obediently allowing others to shackle me, and to expose my privacy. From my new vantage point, I could see the flaw in that logic. If I struggled, I was weak-minded for thinking I could beat iron, and failing to see reality. If I didn't struggle, I was just weak.

With no way to save face, I finally ceased struggling. I would decorate the hall with my disgrace for as long as the Outsider wished. I regretted even trying to free myself in the first place. I didn't want anyone to witness how beaten I felt. I preferred them to think that I was unbroken and unaffected, merely waiting for my chance to escape. Yes, that was it. I latched on to this idea.

A sense of calm washed in my body as I noticed that I was, indeed, regaining some measure of control over my emotions. I would have to be patient, and wait for my chance. And if that chance never came, well... There was no reason to dwell on that. I pushed that threatening thought away. I breathed in and out, nurturing the returning tranquility. Humiliation lingered, but I could focus on other things. The renewed sense of self was reassuring. I'd lost a bit of me during the panic, and having it back was like emerging out of water and breathing deep.

I noticed something my sensitive ears had been warning me about for a while, now. Commotion outside. The new king was approaching to get his crown. They were close. The room reacted. Soldiers straightened their stances. Civilians shivered, and huddled closer together, staring at the nightly horizon from the gaping doors.

A head appeared. A lonely shape, increasingly resembling that of a person as it steadily climbed the steps. More figures appeared behind the first, following in an orderly fashion. The rumble of armored boots accompanied the victorious army in the entry hall. The Outsider, helmet under his arm, solemnly led the way. The leaders of the various groups he'd united -- Bonehead clans, marsh tribes and river people -- all maintained a respectful distance. Among them stood that one officer that I figured had to be the surrogate leader of the Black Guards, while the Outsider was busy becoming king of the most far-reaching kingdom since witch-king Manachar's short lived conquests. In fact, as I thought about it, it occurred to me that the appropriate term was probably "empire" at this point, which would make the Outsider an emperor. Wouldn't he like that, I brooded.

The procession reached the center of the hall, and stopped. An untouchable stillness draped the scene. No word, no sound, no movement. Until the lizard barbarian lord glanced at me. Oh, how that look twisted my guts.

Yes, I'd been put in my place. Was my debasement satisfactory to him? Sure? Next order of business.

That was exactly what he wanted. I would stand in cuffs before him while he practically became a god. He would make me watch so that I could contemplate his thorough superiority, and my utter worthlessness. I would stew while he leisurely decided when to dispose of me, and what would be an appropriately humiliating end. He might try to make me beg, and if he did... But no. I'd already been through this dilemma. I decided, right there, that my previous conclusion was correct. Nothing I would ever give him could help my case. Fuck him. I would not beg. I abandoned this disturbing line of thought.

The Outsider's attention returned to what stood in front of him. Namely, the palace denizens. He had a decision to make. They'd barely entered his sight when he spoke:

-- They will do. Mind them, of course. I shall make changes as required.

Soon, the astonishment faded. The horde of servants quickly melted away by the side corridors, wide-eyed at how easy that had been, and how fortunate they were. Two hundred souls vanished to the relative safety of their jobs in a blink of an eye. They had a place in this new regime.

The Demon turned his scaly head to the side, glaring at his captains over his shoulder.

-- The Silvergate.

Naturally, the artifact preoccupied him. I suspected that, consciously or not, the Silvergate was what had attracted him to the Southern Kingdom. The mystery, the myth, the supposedly unlimited power contained within. Conquest might as well have been an excuse. To a powerful caster like the Outsider, the Silvergate was an impossible challenge to resist. Therefore, I wasn't remotely surprised to hear the ever so subtle trembling in his voice as he pronounced the word. Mages and their toys. I smiled bleakly. The Silvergate was not merely impossible to resist. It was just plain impossible. I knew that. The Wizards Guild, hundreds of members of which had devoted hundreds of years of desperate research and experimenting to that object with no progress whatsoever, knew it as well. Such was the nature of this unforgiving artifact. All casters could feel its power, none could use it. In time, all who had access to it accepted that it was out of their reach, and gave up, or went insane, and gave up. Sure, fighting the Outsider had convinced me that he was a potent caster, probably one of the best in the world. But could he unlock the Silvergate? No. A million years' worth of no. And even if he had that kind of time, he would still not get close enough that his actions might qualify as an attempt. In the end, the mystery remained attractive, so those who had never had the chance to wrestle with that infernal puzzle invariably dreamed of it. The Outsider had gotten caught in its web just like any other fool. I hoped he'd rot struggling against that silver box.

The captains heard his demand, and one of them, the Black Guard again, moved in acknowledgment. He slowly closed the distance between his lord and himself, and with both hands, motioned for his master to lead the way in the direction he was indicating. The Demon paused. It probably was an important moment for him. He shut his eyes, and sighed deeply. It was the profound, satisfied sigh of someone who, after years of toiling, reaps his just reward. The sound of someone who was afraid for a long time, and could finally let go of the fear of failure. It was, I suspected, the exact opposite of what I felt when he struck me down.

The Outsider left with his vassals. I remained attached to my pillar. Even that was a source of vexation. No matter how unreasonable, a tiny part of me worried that the Silvergate might be unlocked, right then and there, one floor above my head while I was bound to an upright rock. I mocked my own paranoia. If the Outsider managed to use the Silvergate, I would have more important things on my mind than the fact that I'd missed it. I chuckled. As far as I was concerned, he would truly deserve to reign over the entire known world. I would throw myself at his feet, and worship the son of a bitch. Ha! That wasn't happening anytime soon.

In fact, nothing did.

The unending succession of causes and effects had interrupted itself. I waited, imagining the moon, still rising in the night sky above. I controlled my breathing, counting every slow exhalation. I was attentive to anything that broke up the monotony of being alone with the guards in the dimly lit hall. Every once in a while, I heard footsteps coming from one of the adjacent corridors, but most of the rumbling came from the throne room. People were busy in there. I assumed they were preparing it for the coronation. After about two hours, servants began to come out of it with bundles of flags, drapery, torches, even the long purple carpet that two servants and three soldiers had to team up to carry. Curiously, for all they were taking away, I saw nothing brought in. I wanted to sleep, but the strain in my legs kept me awake. This forced standing, after the march through the city and the duel, was torturous. At least my stomach and head pains were easing up. My abdomen was still sore but as long as I didn't wriggle too much, it felt okay.

Time continued to creep by excruciatingly slowly, until the side door that I was directly facing flung open. Three warriors walked in, chattering between themselves. The shield insignias on their shoulders informed me that they were Black Guards, despite having taken off their signature armor. Obviously, the invaders didn't expect too much trouble during the coronation ceremony, but they did keep their weapons close, as befitted true combatants.

The trio crossed the room, and headed directly for me. I'd never seen them before, and had no way of knowing how significant each and every one of them would become in my existence. The first feline led the group: a muscular, determined looking fellow with white fur and black stripes. All three carried sheathed swords to their sides, but this one also had an immense battle hammer hanging sideways at his back. How did he even get through doorways? To his left, another much smaller feline stared directly into my eyes. The distrustful squint and guarded demeanor hinted at some cynical acumen. With plain brown fur and slightly long ears for his kind, he definitely fell short of intimidating, but he projected some sort of a presence. Then, there was the third one. A river reptile. A gator. Average stature, average dark-greenish-grey scales. I didn't know how he achieved this, but he managed to look actively dense. Perhaps, the regular glimpses to his companions were responsible. Perhaps it was the odd, enduring smile. I couldn't tell. One thing was for sure, though. Whoever had the brains in this outfit, he didn't.

-- Wouldn't you look at that, said the battle hammer wielder.

They spoke the mixed tongue of the regions near the border to the Lowlands, so I understood them perfectly.

The other cat crossed his arms.

-- Don't play with him. Remember Blackpatch.

The white tiger scoffed.

-- Bah. He's nothing special. I'll bet none of that really happened. These Southerners are all reputation. You know that.

-- No, I don't actually know that. Besides, if his reputation relies on deceit and manipulation, then you should be even more careful.

-- Seems like he'll not be doing much politicking.

The small feline nodded.

-- I can't argue with that.

-- So what now? asked the reptile.

-- We do what we're told.

The lighter feline produced a key and stepped to my side.

"You guys hold him."

The bulky pair of tiger and reptile each grabbed one of my arms. As soon as the metal collar was detached from the pillar, I collapsed. My legs couldn't bear my weight anymore.

-- Whoa, heavier than he looks, commented the bag of scales.

-- Shut up and hold your side, responded the tiger.

My freed limbs hung limply under me. The three carried me away like I was any package. I could've been a bag of rocks. The pain in my legs remained just as intense as it'd been while I stood. I wished the relief would be immediate. I made conscious efforts to avoid moving them.

I could almost sense the reptile staring at my back.

-- He's so frail. What are we gonna do with him?

-- You mean, what is the Black King going to do with him, corrected the somber feline.

-- Yeah?

-- I don't know. Nothing pleasant, I suppose. Not that it's any of our business.

The white soldier kept silent during that exchange, but his grip on my arm tightened. He pulled me closer. I raised my head to examine him. I saw smug, possessive intent. I was easy to desire, bare, bound under their claws. They just had to give in, safely. I returned my sight to something less revolting than this self-indulgence.

In the far back of the entry hall, under the wide balcony, we progressed through the large doors to the throne room. I gasped. It was as naked as I was. Gone, all of the warm luxuriousness. Gone, the paintings, the tapestries, the soul of this chamber. Two gigantic lit braziers had survived the purge. The throne room had been replaced by a martial, sterile version of itself. Stone upon stone, in the dark. And I do mean dark. Only the central area, bathed in the red glow of the fires, was visible: the king's seat -- with a crown on one of the armrests -- elevated by a few steps, and a thin path leading to it, along which the light from both braziers combined. The surrounding floor space, the elevated side-boxes, the banquet tables in the back, the entire, huge semi-circular area filled with benches for the public, all were swallowed by the shadows.

I was carried on the lit path up to the throne.

-- Here? asked the large lizard.

-- Meleth said next to the throne, answered the blunt weapon enthusiast.

The three climbed the steps, and let me fall down to the right of the throne. They immediately turned their backs, and moved away, quickly consumed by the dark.

-- Stay, said one of them as a joke.

They laughed briefly. I wasn't tied to anything, but I lay still. Utter exhaustion served rather well in lieu of chains. I shut my eyes. I couldn't think anymore, I wanted rest.

I didn't get any.

People flowed in through the main entrance. I stared, petrified. I could see only silhouettes spreading around the throne room, but the slight clanging sounds informed me that those were armed forces. Some Black Guards, some regular Boneheads troops, the captains and their most valued lieutenants. The coronation, I realized, was happening. I would be a part of it. A tidal wave of dread and helplessness obliterated my composure. I didn't know what was going to happen to me. Would I be executed as part of the show? I couldn't run. Everything they'd planned would happen as they'd planned. I tried to convince myself that it was best if I didn't have to wait long before I found out what it was, but that weak ray of optimism was immediately submerged, and drowned by my sheer terror. People kept coming in, carefully treading the gloomy chamber to locate seats or their assigned spot, unaffected by the direness of my situation. Heck, they probably couldn't even imagine that a living person could feel such mind-crushing despair. Death's icy breath didn't agree with me. My heart beat so hard and fast, I feared it might burst.

After the Northwesterners, unarmed civilians began to arrive, mixing in with the invaders. The capital's elite that had been waiting outside the palace were marshaled in. The barbarian regime would require many of those people's cooperation to assume control of the nation, and so their presence was no surprise.

The masses grew, encircling me from the shadows. Mortified, I heard muted exclamations of surprise, or indignation, as they saw me. It tried to melt into the hard floor to hide. Why did they react that way? It merely made me feel worse. It wasn't as if they'd never seen captives brought back as a symbol of conquest before. Of course, the answer was obvious: they knew me. I was a real person to them. Empathy was easier. I couldn't help but be upset at them. The last thing I needed was an echo chamber for how abject I felt. Again, I wished for them to be unaffected. Didn't they realize that I wouldn't feel as bad if they didn't?

The doors closed. Everyone was in. Some of the soldiers began stomping their boots in unison, louder and louder, until the very last whisper was duly subjugated. The rhythmic thumping came from every corner of the throne room, everywhere around me. It surrounded the whole room, intimidating us. The Northwesterners kept brutalizing the floor for a few more seconds, and then they stopped. Their timing was perfect. They'd practiced that.

The main doors, those weighty slabs of rich wood, blew open like leaves flicked aside by a finger. The Outsider waltzed in like he owned the place. He did, in fact, own it. All along the lit path leading to the throne, he strode. He seemed in a hurry. The dancing flames only increased his threatening allure, digging shadows in his face, and accentuating both his short facial horns and the longer ones at the back of his skull. He looked different without the Night Plate. He wore a light ceremonial armor, made of soft black leather almost completely covered with also jet black fur. His shoulders and back were covered by a long cape made from similar material. The apparition haunted the room. The vision struck the mind, disturbing and elegant in equal parts. A manacharian wearing fur. He was grandiose, there was no way around it. Perhaps he had truly been touched by the divine, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. For the first time, I comprehended. The Demon. The Outsider. Those nicknames weren't in reference to his arcane skills alone. Something holy or unholy cloaked him. I made a concerted effort to break away from the vision, and to remember the monster that he was. A mortal monster.

The ghostly figure ascended to the throne. He spun in a movement so natural that it just had to be calculated. I glowered at him with no reaction on his part; he ignored me flawlessly. I noticed the way he first faced the back of the room, and waited a few seconds before he prepared to address the vast majority of the attendance at the front. He ensured that everyone got a little bit to see. He lead into every movement with his head first, like actors did in street plays. Everything was affected, I thought, until he spoke. My certainty wavered then.

-- We have been foes for a long time. We slew each other with little hesitation, but now we stand in the same room. I do not come to you now pretending that my war against your kingdom was legitimized by some kind of relation to your current royalty which would make me more rightful, as is your custom. What would I be? Some distant cousin?

He paused, slowly extending his arms, palms up, in a gesture of presenting one's self. There were, indeed, no manacharians in the Midlands, and much less so in the royal family of the Southern Kingdom. I was amazed. This guy was funny. Nobody laughed, of course, but he didn't expect them, nor need them to. He just wanted to show that he was capable of humor. It was a great move. Poking fun at the dubiousness of the claims to kingship that had been causes of many wars in our nation's past reinforced his much more tangible claim based on military strength alone. Incidentally, it also made him seem more relatable without diminishing his menace. He continued:

"I attacked your lands not because it was justice for me to do so, but because I could, and because I wanted to. I watched your kingdom from afar. I saw nothing but wasted potential, needless luxury, and petty quarrels. I attacked your nation because I thought I could do better with it than your own king. It was not mine to begin with, and whoever pretends that something was always theirs is a liar. I made it mine, as is my custom. It was fair of me to attempt just as it was fair of your king to defend himself. He offered you order and, in exchange, you all have been loyal to him, but he is defeated. My armies continue to seek him, and he will be erased. Understand that I did not go through all the trouble I have gone through just to destroy something good, as many of you believe. Your king led you well, as you trusted he would. I ask for nothing more than the trust you had already offered him, for I wish nothing else than to do better with it. I will not, however, tolerate pointless rebellion for the sake of bruised prides or the honor of the long dead. You are beaten. It is not an insult, it is your state. Understand and accept it. No mercy was offered to me when I attacked, and no mercy shall I have for any who would seek to displace me, nonthreatening as they might be."

The Outsider revolved. Suddenly, I existed, pinned down by his outraged glare. He designated me with a claw, and paced evenly as he spoke. I lay there on the floor, wholly conscious of how visually dominated I was. I tensed up. Whatever would happen, it would happen then. As it continually occurred since my defeat, an extreme urge to act flared up. I remained exhausted, flattened in the middle of a room literally encircled by armed enemies, and I was stripped, muzzled, and my arms were bound in my back. What exactly the hell could I do? Desperately try to rush through the darkness, only to be immediately seized and brought back? Again, that horror returned. Doing nothing was pathetic, doing anything was even worse. If only I could have spoken, to express some amount of defiance. If I could have just demonstrated that my obedience was circumstantial, this fucking farce at my expense would have been bearable. Maybe.

"Your so-called champion spat on my reign even as he knew nothing of me nor stood any chance of opposing my will. Such conceit and weakness of mind will always be met with vengeance, and the utmost contempt. Look at him now. This is the position that I have chosen to impose onto him because he refused the place that his loyalty would have earned him. Worse, he pompously challenged me to an insulting duel to which he came with no witnesses. It was his arrogance that made him reject my rule, and so it shall be my vengeance to make him the one most subjected to it."

The Outsider took one final step in my direction. He curved forward.

"Here, as you can all see..."

He was about to do something unclean to me. I knew. His greedy twisted claws approached to touch me. Well, nope. Fuck that. At last, clarity of mind filled my body with a sense of purpose. No matter what, I wouldn't let that thing handle me like a slave at the market. Not here, not anywhere. I pushed myself away, raising my legs defensively. The Demon feinted an approach, and immediately pulled his entire upper body away to dodge the heaviest kick I could produce given my situation.

"... Even in the face of absolute futility..."

I growled through the muzzle, inflamed with righteous hatred. The Demon motioned to approach again, but seized my right paw with both of his hands at aberrant speed when I struck again to keep him away. He held strong, flustering me as I repeatedly attempted to free my leg. It wasn't working, so I did the only thing I could do, and I used my other leg to attack. It truly was the only thing that I could attempt, so, logically, the Demon expected it. No, he was waiting on it. Releasing my first leg with one hand, he caught the other with the same magically fuelled alacrity. I instantaneously felt the tightening of his painful grasp as he brutally straightened his back, and pulled both of my legs up and apart. I swung into the air, totally inverted.

"... He continues to fight, without any mind as to the value of such resistance. He is simply too smug to consider his situation, to grasp the context in which he exists. The single thing that he can envision is himself."

The Demon suspended me victoriously before him, upside down. I frantically thrashed about; my efforts were reduced to a slight waggle as I continued to hang in full view. Impotent rage boiled into a long, loud muffled howl that I had zero control over.

"Well, I guess now the single thing you can envision is him as well."

No. They'd laughed. Not a lot, but there had been an intimidated chuckle, and not just among the barbarians. He was too good at this. Eventually, I remembered that I was the spectacle. I gave up. I went as limp as my sex that hung there for all to see. He held me like a piece of meat at a butcher's stand for quite a while even though nothing was happening. The Demon had made an exhibit of my struggling, so he took his sweet time presenting my submission as well. I thought I'd felt defeated before, but I was discovering that this feeling wasn't an "either or" deal. It could have depth. Abysmal depth. I would have cried. Something blocked it in me, otherwise I would have broken down right there.

I dangled silently in this ridiculously helpless position. To keep occupied, I started to analyze what was going on.

What was going on?

It wasn't real. Was that me, degraded and exposed? Had the Outsider no shame? I understood rival humiliation, but this was excessive. He'd always been such a shrewd strategist during the war against the Fair King. So why? It made no political sense. It was obscene, not glorious. It was too sexual. It would make him look like a weak tyrant indulging in his perverted desires. It would not solidify his position unless the people bought this excuse about punishing me, but I was pretty sure they wouldn't. There was simply no way my challenge required that kind of response. This was about him, and what he wanted, not me. They couldn't possibly feel safe under his psychotic rule. They'd rebel.

At last, I felt myself being lowered.

"He begins to understand. That will do for now."

I was deposited on my side -- gently -- at the base of the throne. Then I was shoved by the barbarian boot -- much less gently -- down the steps.

"He will now spend his days learning his place. Though he might be as dumb as a mindless animal, perhaps he can be trained. Remember him. Know that I will always return the respect you elect to show me."

After the Outsider received the appropriate response of complete and utter silence from the crowd, he sat, took the crown that had been waiting on the armrest of the throne, unceremoniously put it on, and finished his speech with a single word:

"Leave."

The busy fuss of people standing up and attempting to depart as swiftly as they could greeted the very beginning of the Black King's reign, and I decided it fitted perfectly. It took some time and effort from the Northwesterners to evacuate the throng. The new king waited patiently. So did I, as I lay on the cold floor. The main doors shut after the last soldier disappeared. We were alone. I breathed. After a few minutes I heard him arise. Three heavy thumps resounded on the steps. A boot entered my field of view. I anticipated his gloating over my broken, dishonored body. The reptile descended on one knee. I felt his hands on me. He pressed on my chest to flatten me on my back. He scrutinized my offered body. I couldn't detach my mind from the knowledge that it was, indeed, for him that I'd been bared. Everyone else's glances, I could interpret as opportunistic, but with him it was personal. I was very unambiguously _for_him.

"A lot of ground to cover."

He took in the sight of me with no hint of hesitation or guilt. The lizard held my throat and turned my head to both sides, one after the other. He hovered lengthily over my chest, releasing my throat to grope the darker flesh around my left nipple with his claws. That sensitive part of my body reacted stoutly to the unwelcome touch. I grunted in shame and powerless anger. Unmoved, that fucking monster continued his predatory crap as he studied his new property. Using his leg, he pinned one of my knees to the ground at my side, and pushed the other one apart for a decent view. Something burned inside me as it all happened. Part of me was getting excruciatingly charred to ashes, and the scariest thing was that, while I felt it distinctly, I didn't know what part of me was being destroyed. My muscles tensed harder than I knew they could when the molestation reached my privates. I shut my eyes, and tried oh-so-very-hard to not be there anymore. To not feel.

"What is wrong, hero? I believed you enjoyed the attention. Do you not appreciate being the centerpiece?"

My sex and testicles were squeezed in a cruel fist. They were pushed to one side, then to the other to expose the silky hidden areas between my legs. An exploratory finger slid rapidly along the chasm where my sex met my thigh. The finger paused, and then retraced its path in reverse, more slowly. Then it did again, joined by another scaly finger, at an even more measured pace.

"Hmmmm."

The hand that wasn't keeping my knee spread stroked further down. I flinched as it brushed against the most responsive part of my rump. My tormentor's hold over me remained firm, however.

"So frisky," the reptile mocked.

His full palm opened and pressed between my buttocks, digging in, and motioning back and forth. After a few more seconds of humiliation, the contact ceased.

I opened my eyes. My enemy towered over me. I looked up to his face. He went from callous and blank to straight up vicious. Whatever plaintive expression I must've worn thrilled him. He smiled, showing pointed teeth.

"Let us play, you and me."

My iron collar was brutally pulled up and away. My captor towed me across the room. Bent over and unbalanced, I scrambled my legs to follow the furious pace. The lizard exhibited no signs of trouble navigating the darkness. We dodged multiple seats and banquet tables in the back, eventually reaching a door. I was shoved in the corridor first, and the scaly monster followed, continually pushing me by the neck. He held me closer since we'd left the throne room, standing me upright in front of him. We turned through several confusing passages.

As we advanced briskly, he slapped my butt hard, like one does with cattle to catch its attention or to get it moving. I turned to him, and I growled. He whacked my tail aside, which had been protecting my intimacy.

"Lift your tail."

I kept growling. I tried to hide it as best I could, but my heart sank. As repugnant as it was to admit, he'd been right earlier. I _was_starting to catch on. With no means to fight back, fighting was meaningless. I still gathered the will to refuse this fucker and his perverted orders, but, this time, the atrocious notion that my refusal wouldn't have any effect undermined my own resolve. If he said it, it would happen, wouldn't it?

We stopped. We locked glares over my shoulder. It lasted two or three seconds at the most. His arm plunged under me, and his reptilian claws squeezed my testicles. My growl weakened as agony enveloped my abdomen.

"Lift it."

He squeezed harder and harder. A sadistic smile grew on his face as I began to tremble from the unbearably mounting pain. Too much. Way too much. Soon, even I disregarded my own wish to fight back. I witnessed as I heard a mournful whimper come out of my muzzle, and as I felt my tail lift in compliance with the instruction. It'd taken all of ten seconds to subdue me.

But the pressuring grip remained.

The whimpers multiplied, increasingly urgent. Why? I'd already obeyed! My body shook. Moving my legs only increased my suffering. All thoughts disappeared. I glanced around the hateful lizard in panic, struggling to recognize what I'd missed.

"Higher."

After many eternal moments, at last, the missing instruction arrived, and my tail rose completely and utterly, as high as it could.

The horrendous grasp began to relax. My distress stopped increasing. I managed to regain some hold over myself, and repressed my whining, but I continued to shiver in the Black King's hands. He hadn't completely let go. He kept me squirming as punishment.

"Good. Now, keep it up."

I maintained the pose while he kept his goddamned mitts on my neck and balls. After that, as I miserably realized, he pushed me forward again. I walked awkwardly, legs spread, every movement excruciating. He wasn't really about to lead me like this through the Quiet Palace, was he? I couldn't take that. It imperatively had to end this fucking instant. Nothing else mattered.

I ceased walking. Before the psychotic lizard had the time to do anything, I tilted my head back and leaned slightly against his chest as a show of submission. I wanted to hate myself for this, but, for once, reason bested my pride. I was being seriously hurt; I had to make it stop. It didn't mean anything else.

I discovered a special sort of relief when my captor, after a brief moment of surprise, did actually unhand my genitals. It had a fascinating intensity that one can only experience at the conclusion of an unrelenting and inescapable pain. It was also tainted. Something felt wrong about feeling better. I barely noticed it then. It would become familiar later.

Curiously, only after the pain receded, and after I was led in a couple more corridors, did I get worried. I suddenly realized that if he'd wanted to, he could have laughed, and brushed off my plea. What would have I done in that case? A dreadful shiver ran through my body.

I was led, tail aloft and empty headed, along the rest of the way. In the end, I wound up in the royal bedroom. There was nothing to see. The new king was clearly not yet done moving in; many things had been thrown out, few things had been brought in. The walls were naked. Precious little furniture lay about in the large room aside from the bed. A chair, a small table with a lit oil lamp, some kind of desk for writing, a single wardrobe, a jar of water on the ground... it just didn't seem very kingly at all. Then again, I reflected back to how the throne room had been stripped to essentials, and I figured it was probably the way he wanted it.

I felt weak and foggy minded. Sense gradually deserted the world. I'd meandered around in a nightmarish dream state, ending up standing before this unfamiliar room. A door closed behind me. A hand moved to my hip. With a gradual push to my collar, I was slowly inclined forward. I was kept in this bent over pose for about twenty seconds.

He drew me to himself with both hands, by my collar and hip. He pulled hard and rubbed his groin against my ass. I sensed the cool leather directly on my anus, and, as he rubbed vigorously, his even colder belt buckle. With another possessive smack on the side of my butt, I was pushed forward, and I fell to the bedside, on my knees. I could no longer avoid contemplating the obvious direction in which this sexual humiliation was headed. In fact, the destination was already upon me.

The barbarian king would fuck his new slave.

Emotionally, I was journeying through uncharted territories. At that moment, during no longer than a fraction of an instant, I experienced a vivid remembrance of events lost in the maze of my memory.

I thought about Baron Jan's slave.

It'd been years ago. My reputation as a mercenary warrior that could fix any problem had commenced to solidify. My status was on the fast rise. I'd been invited at the Maran Mansion. It was the residence of an old wolf family, at the time headed by an important landlord of the kingdom named Fauer. Baron Fauer Maran and I had worked together on several occasions, but on this day the letter in my pocket bearing the Maran seal had been signed by the Baron's son and heir, Jan.

The servants let me in immediately as I approached the gate, and showed me directly to a salon, skipping the usual time wasting lobby nonsense and the waiting rooms altogether. It was a bit unorthodox, but I was considered a family friend, so they felt comfortable with letting me wander the mansion alone. It took only a few minutes for Jan to appear, welcoming me with a large, nervous, but nonetheless cheerful smile. It was his first personal business venture. He needed to hire an armed force to clear a notoriously dangerous mountain pass preyed upon by rugged hill bandits in order to establish a shorter new trade route for various goods his family was keen to invest in. A male slave followed timidly in the pale wolf's footsteps, carrying a polished platter with a bottle of rich red and two cups.

I was by no means particularly interested or disinterested in other males, sexually. In truth, I'd never given the matter much thought at all. The Maran's young heir, however, did swing that way, and had never made any attempt to hide it. Most of his family -- including his old father -- was unreservedly fine with it. Those kinds of desires, in the Midlands, were, at worst, considered somewhat unseemly. They posed no threat to the reputation of someone like Jan. Sure, a few jokes would be cracked, a double entendre here and there when other aristocrats discussed the future Baron Maran, but nothing to bother him. Hell, I'd once even caught him repressing a smile at some of this overheard levity. He was comfortable with his tastes and, well, his own personal chattel reflected those tastes.

We sat and discussed the details of a fairly standard "per head" contract while the slave poured wine and waited us. It was a cute thing, really; a canine, like the both of us, slightly smaller than Jan and, therefore, about my size. Jan had evidently spent a lot on dyes because its fur had a dark purple-blue shade everywhere save for its milk-white hands, paws and belly. I knew this because the purpose of its attire wasn't exactly to conceal. A dark linen decorative garment covered its neck and shoulders down to its underarms, hanging in a gentle curve over its undeveloped breasts and stopping just short of covering the nipples. Other than that, a thin cord hanging from its hips loosely maintained two long rectangular loincloths to cover its front and rear. That was the entire outfit.

The slave stood to attention while we entered an agreement, discussed a thousand other petty subjects, and just generally had a good time. When I got up, I'd drunk half a bottle of wine. Jan laughed at me. Of course, he was unaffected. I, however, had been raised by the Rusa battle monks, whose stance about alcohol consumption -- and any food or substance that didn't serve the express purpose of building a strong, combat-able body, for that matter -- was "no, never ever". As a result, I had no drinking habits, and no tolerance. I wobbled a tad. My arm reached out to put my cup down on the platter when I momentarily lost balance. I made a sharp step toward the slave to recuperate, and my arm brushed against his.

It recoiled.

I'm not even talking about something blatant, just a tiny little hint at an almost immediately suppressed twitch of its arm away from mine. I locked eyes with the slave. I saw a trace of fear. I felt its vulnerability. I felt the power I had in comparison. Jan had caught the entire incident. He rose from his seat with a laugh.

-- You know you shouldn't stare back, he gently chided the slave.

The poor thing averted its eyes. Jan moved to us.

"You'll have to forgive him. He's not used to serving anyone other than me. Not all of our visitors are kindly protectors of the innocent like you. Strangers make him anxious. I'm sure he's very sorry and meant no offense."

Apparently, my host and his property had mistaken my curiosity about the slave's reaction for some perceived slight. I'd merely been surprised that he moved away, not insulted. Interestingly, I didn't correct them on the spot. It was a... comfortable misunderstanding. The slave stood before me, head bowed, looking repentant. I toyed with some pleasing concepts.

"I'm certain he will express these feelings any time, now."

Since the situation wasn't resolving, Jan was pushing his slave to further yielding. Sill pathetically holding its platter, it offered an adorable apology. What for? I would've been honestly unable to answer, and somehow that made the entire scene even more flattering. That was just how much power I had over it. I felt warm inside, but also a pinch of guilt. I could've pressed some more embarrassment out of that accessible little male under the cover of humor or sarcasm. I could've easily obtained some "reparations". I was discovering something genuinely different. Getting women was easy for me; I was affable, wealthy, stupendously good looking and a hero. Everyone loved having a hero for themselves, even just for a while. It could always be convenient for everyone. But disposing of a male? That wasn't expected or natural. It had to be deliberate, designed. It could serve pleasure, and pleasure only. In southern culture, males were the warriors. They were proud. They could be forceful. I had no imagination for this, no experience, and yet the mere notion of controlling one -- of making one malleable -- was instinctively seductive.

These were all good thoughts, but no. That wasn't me. I had other expectations for myself than breaking males -- be it with force or charm -- to satisfy my pride. I had to be the hero.

With just a drop of regret, I let that fantasy go. I softly squeezed the slave's shoulder and said to both it and Jan, with as cordial a tone as I could muster, that no harm had been done whatsoever. I sought the slave's gaze, and smiled at it until it lightened up to some extent. Everything was set right, and I went on with my life.

I snapped back to the reality of my kneeling, stripped, next to the Outsider's bed. I was panting, with a growing sickness born of my uncontrolled alarm. It seemed like I was endlessly punched in the chest. That couldn't happen to me. I knew it was unreasonable to think that, but I couldn't shake the impression that something would prevent this. I hadn't done anything to deserve such a fate. When good people suffered unjustly, help came to them. I knew this for a fact, because I'd so often been that very help. Of course, I couldn't always save everyone, I couldn't be everywhere, or fix everything, but somehow that had never shaken my belief that the world was sensible, and just.

I couldn't possibly get raped. If I did, how would the world make any sense? How could anyone live, and feel safe in it?

The Outsider moved. I turned to him. He'd unbuckled his belt. I saw his sex. I retched, out of stress and disturbance. A small amount of acrid bile threatened to fill my mouth until I managed to swallow it back. The lizard stroke his increasingly upright dick. His face was cocked to one side, and he was giving me the ole' blank stare. I just froze. It didn't do anymore. I couldn't break away from him. It was probably the panic distorting my view, but he seemed huge, and he kept on growing. Strange, alien-seeming thoughts went through my head.

I thought about fighting. I thought about begging for mercy.

I shook uncontrollably.

He stared into my soul. Could he read it?

I was fearlocked, bound and naked. I couldn't fight.

He had a graceful form. Why did I think that? It sickened me even more.

He wouldn't show mercy. The muzzle would prevent me from pleading, even if I wanted to.

What to do? I was cold and warm at the same time.

He might kick me in the stomach. I didn't ever want to experience that pain again.

I collapsed to my side. I wasn't well at all. He seemed angry, and I couldn't escape. I looked up to his face, and couldn't see any of the bizarre even-handedness that he'd shown while dragging me to the palace. He stroked his sex at an increased rhythm, but it didn't get any bigger. He wouldn't really do this to me, would he? He would change his mind any time, now.

The Outsider stopped rubbing his length, moved to me, took my ears, and launched me on the bed. He struck me twice: once on the eye, once to my chest. I couldn't protect my body, and I attempted to curl up, but he didn't strike a third time. Instead, he took my collar again, and roughly moved me around. He climbed on the bed, sat his back against the bedhead, and forced me over his lap, facing away. With his other hand he spread both of my legs one after the other. He lifted my tail. He raised my body by my collar again. I felt the warm, somewhat wet tip of his cock being positioned against my anus. His other hand grasped the area under the base of my left thigh, where it connected to my buttock, for better control over me. His long, clawed fingers explored hungrily the new conquered territory around the base of my testicles.

Now that it was happening, my panic had subsided some. I tried to rationalize. I would be fucked. The Black King wasn't breaking any new ground in terms of how slaves were treated. It'd happened to many before me. I would survive. I told myself that everything would be all right. At same time, and even though it was perfectly contradictory, I genuinely expected the door to the royal chamber to slam open, to allow for the thing that had to prevent this from taking place.

Why didn't it slam open?

I was held there a brief moment, perhaps to make me contemplate my situation. Then, I got pulled down slowly.

My body yielded to him as the penetration began. I discovered the burning sensation of friction as my anus stretched to accommodate the intruding organ. I was startled by the unexpected pain, but mostly I couldn't believe that this was taking place at all. I stared wide-eyed between my open knees, unable to act or think as I endured the disgrace of having a cock forced into my ass. In shock, I let out an accidental whimper for which I was immediately disciplined. My brutal captor lifted me for the length I had already gone down on his large sex, and dropped me again to where I was just before. The sudden increase of the burning sensation got another whimper out of me that was punished in the exact same way. I managed to repress any further sounds as I continued to slide along his shaft, empty minded, feeling more and more this foreign presence in me. Despite the pain it caused, I kept on involuntarily clenching on him. As I neared the base of his sex, he drew the top of my body slightly closer. His chest rubbed against my tied arms in my back. The sliding halted when my ass rested squarely on his pelvis. He kept on pressuring downward on my shoulder with his hand that held my collar. At the same time, he gave a thrust from his hips, making sure that he couldn't possibly stuff more of his cock in me. In the middle of it, this small movement caught my attention. It was absurd to think that pushing one more millimeter further would please him more. What it did was underline the materiality: it was done. My intimacy had been violated, and now I waited there for this unholy monster to avail himself of me. I had no way to deny the permanence of what he'd done. How would I ever forget this? How would I ever feel proud or whole again if I thought of this whenever I thought of myself? In my most private moments, could I ever indulge in comfortable fantasies of being admired and powerful anymore? How could I ever feel anything other than humiliated?

As I was pondering my defeat, the Demon viciously allowed his hands to fondle my body. It was rapid and voracious. At the top of my body, he caressed my neck and my ears. He descended along my muzzle to my throat, and then ran wide across my chest. Reaching my belly, he used all of his claws to scratch it painfully. With the hand that had supported my rear, he closed his fingers around my balls briefly, followed along my penis, and squeezed it tightly into a ball. With his index and thumb, he seized the tip and pulled the foreskin back while squeezing again to expose its smooth, round head.

I watched, outraged, as the rest of his fingers immediately joined in, like a pack of opportunistic scavengers detecting defenseless flesh. They helped the thumb encircle the bulb tightly as the index abandoned its previous job, extending triumphantly over it and enclosing it from the top as well. The spiteful fingers tormented my sex, pinching it, curving it, poking it at the same time that they all threatened it with their claws. Maddeningly, my body responded to this abuse by betraying my will. I felt my sex inflating, and hardening against his sharp grip. Only when it compliantly stood to attention, did he abandon my cock. I could only imagine his gloating smirk when he flicked at it with his fingers. I watched it wobble, mortified. I wasn't sure there was any part of me left to disgrace. I hadn't even imagined that I could be erect in such a situation. I didn't want any of this, but he would undoubtedly take this as some sort of admission of defeat, or surrender. I had to prove him wrong. I growled as threateningly as I could through the muzzle, but he merely laughed! He flicked at my dick some more, and clawed at the tip until I was silent again. I had experienced something while he handled my sex. It was weak but it still did send a shiver through my body. The notion that part of what was happening to me might create any kind of pleasure was profoundly disturbing. "Luckily" for me, I wouldn't have to worry about enjoying anything too much that night.

Both of the scaly hands returned to their original positions, on my neck, and under my rump, so I supposed that I was about to really get it. The Outsider commenced to lift me again. When I wasn't immediately helpful, he dug his claws deeply in my neck, and elevated me from there instead of using my collar. I sensed my skin tearing under my fur, so I pushed from my knees to relieve some of the pressure. The message was received, and with my legs and my knees, I helped him maintain me at whatever height he chose so that he would go back to using the collar. There was nothing I could do; resistance resulted only in more pain. He grabbed the collar, and forced me down the entire length of his penis. He lifted me up until I was almost completely off of it, and forced me down again. He repeatedly imposed that motion to me. He pushed and pulled. I had no time to think, or even to feel awful about it. I tried my best to follow the movement, but there was a problem. It hurt. It really hurt. I had only been shoved onto the reptile's length a dozen of times when I seriously questioned whether I would be able to endure this or not. I had no idea of how long it would take him to... be pleased. The burning sensation was getting extreme in my overworked anus. It was quickly turning into a more worrisome kind of hurt. I tried not to think about the pain as my bound, helpless body was degradingly exploited. A barbarian warlord like him probably had experience with that sort of thing. He would dose this so as not to cause permanent damage, wouldn't he?

The pain at this point was more important than anything else. I had no other focus but to find some way to bear or escape it. I wanted to reassure myself that he knew what he was doing with me, so I tried to turn to see his face. He didn't allow it, yanking violently my collar forward. He kept going on about his business in me. My entire body was so tense, it was starting to cramp. I attempted to relax my neck, and my head fell slightly forward. I watched my own rigid sex flap about vigorously in the air as I was sodomized. I was just some broken puppet. Some plaything. I didn't know what else to look at, or how to escape the engulfing totality of this moment. At one point during my ordeal, like an infernal mechanism that switched gears, the monster accelerated.

I screamed through the leather binding my mouth, as I was swung up and down so hard and fast that my legs couldn't even follow the rhythm anymore. The king effortlessly held and controlled my entire weight alone, as he pounded my ass again and again on his unquenchable cock. There was no more doubt that I wouldn't be able to take it. It just came out.

-- No! No!

Just like my initial scream, all that came out was pathetically muffled hollering.

I knew that I couldn't speak or protest. I just couldn't think, couldn't figure out any other means to bring this to an early end. It didn't work. The Outsider's only reaction was to move his hand from under my ass to rest it possessively on my hip. He stretched his fingers along the inner side of my thigh while continuing to put me to use. Pleading and begging were removed from the equation. Physical resistance was equally impossible. I couldn't endure it any longer, but I couldn't make it cease either, so it continued. I experienced true lack of control. I was unable to take it, but I took it anyway. The one who was in control had decided so. My owner wanted me to bounce on him, so I bounced again, again and again.

Time went by. I couldn't keep track. It felt like hours, but it couldn't have been hours -- several minutes, probably. The unbearable pain stopped increasing at some point. Or it didn't. Impossible to tell. The ruthless domination of me continued. My thoughts were getting hazy, confused. Perhaps I was praying though I had never been one for faith. To anyone or anything. To nothing, mostly, if it could just end. But no. Empty useless thoughts. It continued. The sound was atrocious too. It came from me, I comprehended. I had been squealing close to continuously for some time now. Even as I became aware of the sound, I remained unable to prevent it. I had no power over anything. My entire being remained relentlessly brutalized in service to this maniac's sole desire to rub his terrifying swollen dick within something alive. It continued eternally. I knew what the impossible felt like. This pain was impossible. I kept bouncing; my ass kept stretching, working his cock. Whatever I thought, whatever I did, the simple truth was that my body could be used in this way: if a cock was jammed up my ass, my anus would service it regardless of my will. What I felt about it was totally disconnected from the events; _I_had no incidence, no effect. My suffering was a byproduct to be entirely disregarded. It all kept on happening. To protect itself, perhaps, my mind began to fade.

A slight hiccup in the pace notified what was left of me that something different had happened. I began to think again, and made an effort of remembrance. How long had I been gone in this passive, mindless state? I had no idea. I thought I felt warm liquid. I wasn't sure. I had a faint impression that the shaft slid in me with ever so slightly less resistance, but the hurt was so intense that it was difficult to feel anything else. My buttocks kept on hitting the monster's hips with muffled thumps. He slowed down from his accelerated rhythm. Nevertheless, he still kept me firmly in control, and bouncing pitifully. I was convinced at that point; the fur around my battered hole was wet. I'd been ejaculated into. Why didn't he stop? Wasn't he finished? He kept skewering me with longer, but also harder pushes and pulls. Driven by desperation, and since the motion was more manageable, I imagined that if I showed that I'd learned my lesson, that I understood that my place would be at the top of the Black King's sex if he decided so, he might put an end to the hell that I couldn't interpret any longer as something other than punishment. I used my legs again to help diminish how much force he needed to hoist me up and to descend me. He didn't seem to notice at all. I kept doing it because it was what I had thought of. Had I thought of something else, I would have done that instead. I would have done anything. I managed to diminish the sounds that came out of me to feeble little yelps whenever I was rammed onto my owner's hard maleness. I was being what he wanted me to be, as he had said in the speech. Surely, he would notice. He would stop it. He would stop. I was still fucked steadily for ten or twelve yelps. He slowed, and then he did stop.

My body went soft. Every muscle of mine became limp, and I would have fallen if I'd not been held. There was no relief from knowing that it was over, only misery and the unassailable notion that it would have been even worse otherwise. The sadistic lizard carefully removed me from my seat on his erection. I succeeded in getting my legs moving again. He allowed me to fall right there on the covers. The Outsider bent over me. His hand pushed my molested bottom to expose it to the light of the lamp. His fingers spread my cheeks, and he examined. He must have been checking the damage, I estimated, or verifying that the punishment had been harsh enough. He got off from the bed. I lay there for several minutes in the position in which he'd left me: on my side, knees spread a little, with both legs semi-folded. I quietly rubbed one of my paws against the smooth fabric. I focused on the texture of the cloth to take my mind away from how sullied and damaged I felt. The burn from my entire rectal area was still almost as intense as it was while the reptilian cock was correcting me. I struggled for reassurance. I repeated, in an interior monologue, that it was over. He had taken what he wanted, and therefore he wouldn't hurt me like this in the future. If only it all went away, and I was elsewhere, anywhere. Safe.

I heard my captor move close to the bed. I turned my head. His sex still came out of his pants. He was tapping on it, as if he was trying to keep it awake. Something was wrong. He took both of my legs. I was pulled to the edge of the bed, and flipped on my back. My paws rose high until I was just about completely inverted, and only my shoulders touched the bed. He kept my left leg against his shoulder, in a lock made with his right elbow. My right leg, he spread away painfully to the side and toward me. He adjusted my height for his comfort, and aligned his sex to my anus all over again. What I felt then. I simply understood that it would not ever end until I was gone. I would just die there. He'd decided that an appropriate way to kill me was to rape me to death. He didn't want me to survive this. He would fuck me until I tore open, and died from the blood loss, covered in his semen. That was my hideous end. It would be like the gruesome barbarian executions I'd heard about.

Without further ado, I was anally brutalized again, immediately arousing the seething, devastating pain. He thrust hard and fast immediately, meaning business. My legs shook with every shove. I could but look at myself be taken, suspended. I was so confounded. What reason was there to holding me in this absurd position to fuck me, other than making me feel even more like a worthless object? How could he hate me so much? I hadn't done anything to deserve this.

Because I was inverted, gravity did the job of maintaining my right leg in place. He carefully let it go, surveying if I was going to move it. I didn't. He looked in my resigned eyes. Blank stare. No, there was something else: amusement, maybe. With his free hand he delivered a large smack to the side of my ass. He grunted, and abruptly thrust in me very fast. He hit me again, and extracted himself just as he reached orgasm once more. He used his hand to stroke his cock enthusiastically with an effortful hiss. I looked away from his vulgar, puffed up expression of unbridled hatred and lust. I felt spurts land lightly in my chest fur, over my buttocks, my right leg and my sex. He sighed with satisfaction. I stared desperately hard at the ceiling while he touched my balls and my cock, smearing them with a thin layer of the sticky fluid. I was hurt, and soiled, and cold. He brought my legs together, and deposited me on the bed. I wanted to believe that it was truly over this time, but I dared not hope.

He sat next to me. I faced away, but I assumed he gloated silently over my immobile body. I'd let him do everything, exhausted, passive. I was so enormously ashamed that I hadn't found a way to stop him that I almost thought I deserved it. Soon I couldn't bear to think about what had just happened, so I suppressed all thoughts.

Then, some quiet. I was left to dry, vanquished and marked. My entire body had gone numb. That period of rest seemed more crucially vital than anything else in my life. I barely noticed when the moment of appeasement ended. I was kicked off the bed. I fell hurtfully, unable to break the fall with my wrists shackled in my back. From his wardrobe, the reptile unfolded an ornate piece of beige and red silk cloak that he wrapped around himself. It covered his body down to his knees. In this attire, he took my collar, and dragged me mindlessly through the dark and empty corridors to the throne room. My walk was awkward and painful. I couldn't avoid displaying the way he'd damaged me. We reached the entrance hall.

We stopped in front of the pillar with the metal ring embedded into it. With a sinking sentiment, I stood into place. The king locked my collar and ankle shackles like before. The beige and red garment floated to my side for a few seconds, and then disappeared in the dark toward the back of the throne room. It was finally over. I slumped in my binds, trying to ignore the pain. I spent a restless night, only finding brief bouts of sleep, almost immediately interrupted by pain or by my stressful posture. After only a few hours of this, I begged to stop waking up. I begged.