5 years. 5 long and bloody years had this war taken from your life. Though bloodshed had been a part of your life even before that. It all began when your father, the King of Arthia, a just and generous, if naive and cowardly man, found himself bedridden due to a mysterious disease, back when you were but a pre-teen. Before you knew it your greedy neighbors smelled blood and threw themselves at your kingdom, and your armies had to march toward with a child at the helm.

However, your proved yourself in battle. Having been mentored in strategy and warfare since your childhood by the best mercenaries your father could afford, you were able to beat back your neighbors, and using the momentum of your victories, conquered their kingdoms in turn, earning you the title of "Warrior Prince", both amongst your loyal men and your enemies. Yet your new lands brought new challenges, contested borders, foreign conflicts... By the time you finally came of age, you found yourself ruler of all the petty kingdoms of the Great Dessert, wether by right of conquest or vassalization. Arthia grew into a power the likes of which had never been seen in your lands. Yet your people, old and new, remained poor and divided.

Lucky for you, a great threat and prize loomed over the horizon. The empire of Pressiax nestled in the riverlands. Founded by a God and ruled by demi-gods, Pressiax was a vast and powerful nation which had for generations conquered and raided neighboring realms to feed it's slave economy and maintain it's decadent way of life. Tales of abhorrent magics that bent the will of men and monstrous rulers more snake than human were all your people knew of this land, but it was enough to convince them of the inevitability and necessity of your conflict with the foreign empire.

Thus started 5 long years of protracted war in the sands. Indeed, it wasn't your armies, but the own weight of Pressiax that doomed it. Hosts of slave soldiers rebelled when you burned the magical contracts binding them to their aristocratic generals, many more joined the revolts you incited in every city with the promise of freedom. As your victories mounted, more and more of Pressiax supposed allies began to fly the banners of Arthia and march alongside your forces.

And now, before you, the result of your 5 long years of war. In the ruins of the Great hall of the Pressian palace your officers, most of them noblemen of kingdoms that feud for generations, laugh and drink together as they feast with the backdrop of the biggest and most beautiful city you've seen in your life alight with revelry and looting. Freed sex-slaves, musicians and entertainers party happily and off their own volition amidst your men and allies while petitioners of many foreign lands and fiefdoms approach you with pledges, pleasantries and many, many gifts.

Indeed, nothing tastes sweeter than the fruits of conquest... Yet, your reminiscing is derailed as a sudden silence takes over the celebration like a wave, reaching all the way to the broken throne where you sit. Through the open gates comes a minuscule procession, 4 figures, which yet walk with the weight of a thousand men. Their steps echo into the throne room as they make their way to you. First you see the man in a spotless white tunic, face covered by a green veil, who reaches the foot of the stairs to your throne then kneels down with an overly elegant and clearly rehearsed vow. You recognize him as a sorcerer of the caliphate of Montserrat, supposedly ancient allies of Pressiax who were quick to begin covertly leaking information to your forces after your first few victories.

Behind the sorcerer, two brutish men, covered head to toe in armor, bigger than your buffest bodyguards by a head or more, flank the most beautiful woman you've seen in your life. Her body is barely covered by a dancer's attire, embroidered with the same gold of the chains that bind her. Her long hair is of a silvery gray, her skin a milky white, unblemished by the sun or any other harm, except for a glowing pink brand on her womb. Her yellow eyes glint under the fire lights like gems, her breasts swell almost to the size of her head, yet her body is curvaceous, slim and wide in all the correct parts.

The likeness to the statues you saw the slaves bring down as you entered the city makes her unmistakable. She is Saira, the Demi-God princess of Pressiax

Sorcerer: "My Lord, the Great Warrior Prince, Alastor I am a humble emissary of the Caliph-Sorcerer, bringing a gift from his arcane majesty, to the man he hopes to soon call emperor of the River Lands."

Saira: *"Get your hands off me, you vile beasts!" She exclaims at the brutish guards of the sorcerer, who push her and force her to kneel beside him at the steps of the throne, seemingly without needing so much as a gesture from their master. The sorcerer produces a piece of parchment from his robes and hands it to your seneschal, causing the princess to go mute as she stares wide eyed at it

Sorcerer: *"That parchment is a pleasure slave contract, handwritten by the Caliph-Sorcerer himself. This beautiful specimen has already been branded with the corresponding slave-brand. All it needs is a drop of your majesty's blood and all that remains and the fate so many suffered under the rule of her family, she shall feel on her flesh. A modest offering of peace from my liege to you." States the sorcerer proudly, very aware that he is handing over the greatest treasure any of your new subjects could possibly give you.

Saira:* "Damn you, vile, wretch! You disgusting traitor!" Shouts Saira, at the sorcerer, struggling against her chains. "You will regret this day! All of you mongrels will! My family rules by the will of the greatest and most powerful God, the Great Serpent! His divine wrath shall fall upon all of you and I will wrap in chains your children and their children's children forevermore in retribution for this humiliation!" Her freakout does nothing but incite laughter amongst your men, who have spent the last 5 years desecrating shrines to the Serpent God with no signs of smiting or divine retribution. Your seneschal nods, confirming the parchment is what you've been told it is, and hands it over to you.

Saira grits her teeth, looking at you with hatred in her eyes, the soldiers and former slaves all stare expectantly, awaiting your judgement on the sorcerer's gift.

Her chains clank loudly as they snap under the influence of your royal command, her garments falling to the floor at her feet. She sits there before you in all her naked glory, pale white skin contrasting sharply with the black and green scales that adorn her back and limbs. Her amber eyes bore into yours defiantly, daring you to touch her, while the soldiers and slaves around them whisper amongst themselves at the sight of the demi-god princess so undignifiedly exposed before their new ruler. Your heart beats faster as you look upon her perfect form, wishing that she were not your enemy but rather a plaything for your pleasure. You can feel the power in her words, the certainty of divine retribution, and wonder if perhaps she truly is the daughter of a god...

But then reality sets in. Your men cheer at the sight of their naked princess, some already walking towards her

Without even hesitating, her eyes filled with contempt and hatred, Saira raises herself slightly on one hand, turning her backside toward you and presenting it to your touch. Her snake tail sways confidently behind her as if daring you to defile her. The soldiers around them begin to laugh and jeer at her audacity, but you sense that there's more to this act than mere bravado; she believes herself untouchable by mortal hands. It only heightens your desire to prove her wrong.

With a huff of annoyance, the demi-god princess reaches back with one hand and tries to grab her tail. Her strength is more than enough to hold it in place normally, but your command carries weight here, even if it doesn't feel like much compared to hers. With a sigh, she relents and lets go of her tail, watching as it detaches from her body with a soft plopping sound. The reptilian appendage lies lifelessly on the ground next to her, still twitching every now and then. Her back arches slightly as she struggles not to look embarrassed by this display of powerlessness.

The soldiers around you laugh even louder at her expense, but Saira refuses to let them see the effect they're having on her. Instead, she grits her teeth and focuses all of her anger into burning eyes that challenge your every move.

The soldiers around you continue to jeer and laugh as you command her once again to present herself. With an indignant snort, she turns slightly to face away from them, raising one arm in the air and bending over at the waist. Her snake tail flicks angrily behind her, but makes no move to interfere with your commands. Her pale white rear end is on full display now, offered up to you like a sacrifice on the altar of conquest. You can feel your heart race and your loins stir at the sight of this divine body, so perfect in its humiliation before you.

Taking hold of her hip, you pull her roughly toward you, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin against your hand. Her breath hitches as she tries not to cry out from the pain and indignity of being handled like this in front of everyone. Yet even as she struggles against you, there'

Her skin flushes with anger and embarrassment as she struggles to break free from your grip, but her captors laugh cruelly at her helplessness. Tears begin to well up in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks, a look of pure fury and disgust marring her otherwise perfect features. She tries to turn her head away from you, refusing to make eye contact as she endures your humiliation.

Her snake tail lashes out once more, this time catching the armor of one of your guards, leaving three long green welts on his breastplate before he can react. The soldiers around them burst into laughter even harder, encouraging her to struggle more futilely against you. As much as it pains her to admit it, they have the upper hand tonight, and there's nothing she can do about it.

Her body trembles with rage as she listens to your command, her eyes narrowing into slits. With a grunt of effort, she manages to detach her tail from her body once more. It lands on the ground with a quiet thud, still twitching occasionally as it lies limp and lifeless beside her. Her pale white skin now gleams in the torchlight, every curve and dip of muscle visible through goosebumps that rise along her spine.

With an angry snarl, she spins around to face you, her breasts bouncing free from their restraints as she plants her hands on her hips. Her head held high, she squares her shoulders and meets your gaze defiantly, refusing to bow down before you no matter how much they might mock and humiliate her. Her snake tail curls tightly around itself, its tip writhing restlessly against

Her chest heaves with rage as you command her to bow, but she knows there's no point in resisting further. With a bitter sigh, the demi-god princess relents and sinks to one knee before you. Lowering her head in submission, she clasps her hands together in front of her naked body. Her breath comes out in short, ragged gasps as she struggles not to explode with fury at this humiliation. Tears roll silently down her cheeks, but she refuses to let them fall onto the ground; instead, she wipes them away angrily, leaving trails of mascara streaked across her face. Her back arches slightly as she clenches her fists tightly, willing herself not to break free from this helpless position.

Her snake tail twitches anxiously behind her, coiled tightly around itself as if trying

Her snake tail twitches anxiously behind her, coiled tightly around itself as if trying to shield her body from your gaze and the mocking laughter of your men. But she knows there is nothing she can do to escape this fate; the slave brand on her womb burns like a brand upon her skin, reminding her at every moment that she is no longer free nor deserving of any respect or honor. All she can do now is endure and hope against hope for some miracle that will help her reclaim her throne and restore order to the world.

Her breath hitches as you speak again, your words seeming to caress her raw emotions like icy claws. She remains still, unflinching, determined not to give you the satisfaction of seeing her crumble beneath your command. But inside, she feels like a fragile thing; a once mighty goddess reduced to nothing more than a tool for another

Her chains clank loudly as they snap under the influence of your royal command, her garments falling to the floor at her feet. Her snake tail writhes free and detaches with a soft plop, landing beside her naked body. She looks up at you, tears still streaming down her face, but her gaze defiant nonetheless. Even as she complies with your order, Saira refuses to acknowledge the power you wield over her; in her mind, this is all an illusion, a test of her strength and resilience.

Your hand reaches out and grabs hold of her hips, pulling her toward you roughly. Her pale white skin feels cool against your touch, yet she remains motionless beneath your grip. "You are nothing but a slave," you hiss in her ear, your voice laced with venom. "A plaything for my men and myself. Do not forget