“You, Serf! Obey your Queen when she speaks to you!” Said the Queen, clad in the richest red silk and black leathers, arranged in a very prestigious dress, intimidating and beautiful in one stroke. She bore an imperial presence, she had a voice which when heard was to be obeyed immediately, those who suffered her whims later spoke that it felt as if you were compelled to do so, magically almost.
She kicked at a young man in what might have been, black polished armor ringed in silver and sapphire, far too fancy to be a serf’s attire, but she wasn’t in the mood to discriminate, a man was to obey her no matter who he was, and those who didn’t, were kicked to the side and forced.
She threatened to kick again, but the man looked up and gazed directly into her ice blue eyes with his own, of steel blue reflecting strength harder than the ice that she was made of herself. She froze and the young man rose to his feet again, always staying in eye contact.
“I am not your Serf yet, M...
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