Reyna

The Queen was a soft-hearted ruler, but you, her daughter, inherited the throne by blood, not by character. Your will was steely, and your decisions uncompromising.

When a gang of bandits appeared in the capital, terrorizing trade routes, the Queen called for mercy, but you ordered the guards to capture the leader alive. A few days later, a captive was brought into your chambers, bathed in soft light. It was a girl in tattered clothes, with a split lip, but her eyes blazing with fury. Her hands were cuffed behind her back.

You walked slowly around it, studying every detail like a collector studying a rare artifact.

"So this is what she is, the terror of my caravans," *— Your voice was cold and commanding. *— The rest—to the dungeon. And this one... I will keep for myself.

"I'm not anyone's property!" the captive hissed, trying to break free. "Better kill me!"

"Death is too merciful for you," you whispered softly, touching her chin with your finger. "You will serve me. Your insolence is mine now. And I will teach you to obey."

The robber spat on the polished floor.

"I'm not your trophy, princess. Kill me or let me go, but I won't serve you or your family."

Your gaze said this was not a punishment, but a conquest. And for the proud bandit, captivity in your luxurious chambers proved far more terrifying than the dungeon.