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Queen's Gambit - Part 1
🕑 Added 2024-06-13 01:36:41 +0000 UTCWritten by HikerAngel
Commissioned by Loamlife
Today extracted a heavy toll. It was one thing to be a kingdom in decline—Queen Sonja knew that all too well—but witnessing the king and the prince both be executed in one fell swoop, leaving the throne empty and the established hierarchy in shambles, was another thing entirely. She watched with a solemn face, wrinkles only growing more pronounced from motionless frowning, as the caskets that contained what remained of her family were lowered into the earth. Her eyes were red and raw, but produced no more tears, as there were simply none left to shed.
When the news had broken yesterday, Sonja felt as if her body had started eating itself. Everyone left in her life, taken away in an instant. She didn’t eat, exercise, or even utter another word that day, her insides were simply too choked up to want to function. Somehow she had mustered up the will to attend the funeral today, but her emotions were so thoroughly drained once she arrived that she remained stone-faced and silent through most of it. Her voice during the obituary was hoarse and muted, weakened from the mourning state that had consumed her yesterday.
The ceremony had concluded hours ago, but she still couldn’t bring herself to move any part of her body. Perhaps she knew that if she so much as altered the trajectory of her tired eyes, they would fall upon the head of the royal guard, Gilligan O’Hare, the man who had failed to protect her husband and son in their time of need. Perhaps she also knew that if she made a deliberate attempt to avoid a line of sight between her and O’Hare, then her eyes would fall upon the high priest of the kingdom, His Holiness Cleofas, the man who prophesied that the king would return prosperity to this once great kingdom. A false prophet indeed.
She also knew that it was their duty to see her safely return to her chambers, so they could not leave her to grieve alone. Part of her wished that assassins would put her out of her misery in that very moment, but no such luck befell her. Perhaps it wouldn’t be assassins who saw it fit to depose her, but her own court. A woman had never operated the throne with impunity before, if at all. If there was a precedent, it had long since been erased from the history books.
“My liege, we should—” spoke O’Hare, only for a swift interruption from Sonja to befall him.
“Liegewoman,” she replied, her voice finding its authority even through overwhelming weakness.
“Pardon?”
“I am not your liege. That is improper. I am a liegewoman. You will refer to me as such.” With that, she turned her head and began a trek back to her chambers.
Queen Sonja knew she was being short with O’Hare, that her authority over him was waning. She was always more of a figurehead than a leader. She was sure she didn’t know anything about war, or politics. When she married the king, he had assured her that she’d never have to work a day in her life, that she had the cushiest job a woman could ask for. She was picked not for her smarts or beauty, but for an arranged marriage organized by her father, lord Sojo, to boost his standing, but even what little she had was fading as her age pushed well into the 60s. She was always just a tool for men’s ambitions, why would anyone take her seriously?
She quelled her shaking hand. It had been trembling for months and had only worsened in the past few days. If assassins or a traitorous coup did not do her in, her own failing body certainly would.
“Ah, Queen Sonja. My apologies for missing the reception. You know well that I would try not to miss such an important event, but, alas, your highness would’ve wanted me to prioritize my work to this kingdom over a memorial to his greatness if duty called.”
Speaking of assassins and traitorous coups…
In her attempt to avoid confrontations with both O’Hare and Cleofas, she had stumbled right into the worst of them all—Lord Jedd. A slimy snake, and Sonja was sure that most people were aware of that fact. He expertly maneuvered an air of plausible deniability to any word out of his mouth, but not even a silver tongue could cleanse the unholy smugness of his very existence. Sonja’s lip twitched with disgust at the sheer errantness on display.
She was sure that Jedd’s “work” involved conspiring with neighboring nations. Such bold-faced treason, on a day to remember the man’s legacy no less. If she had a courageous bone in her body she would’ve used what minimal authority she had to lock him away. But as a Lord with fiefdom which rivaled the legacy of the king’s dynasty, she would be sooner seen as the traitorous one. Her husband and son had not trusted him much either, and he had gotten both of them murdered while still remaining within the court.
If there was one thing Sonja had trained herself well in, it was courting her simmering rage. Even in a moment as emotionally vulnerable as this, she did not allow a hint of her animosity towards Lord Jedd expose itself.
“Come, O’Hare. I wish to retreat to my boudoir,” Sonja commanded, walking past Lord Jedd as if he were a transparent apparition, with the lord moving out of her way accordingly.
She remained silent and contemplative as she and O’Hare walked through the silent halls and stairs from the grand garden. Jedd’s presence had thoroughly stirred her, now all she could think of was the latest invasion that the king’s scouts had returned to report yesterday, only to find that their king was not there to receive the report. With O’Hare by her side, she might be able to propose a countermeasure that could buy them some additional time. She knew she could still be useful somehow.
“Leary’s troops in the east. Perhaps we should—“
“Leave the schematics of war to me, my liegewoman. Please, rest.”
Her own subordinate had interrupted her suggestion. That settled it. She was unfit to be queen.
Sonja tossed and turned that night as she ruminated on her fate. Was she doomed alongside her kingdom? …Maybe so. But she had to try something. A certain thought nagged at the back of her head, one she had not recalled in many, many years. She had once read it in a book…
No. Young girls are not to read. It will corrupt your mind with horrid, unwomanly thoughts.
The words of her mother echoed in Sonja’s mind, as did similar sentiments from her brother, husband and even son. She loved sneaking esoteric literature into her schedule of looking pretty, binging long-forgotten texts in the annals of the castle’s grand library that were otherwise lost to time. But every time she was caught, it was always met with the same shame.
Shame from those who thought they knew her place. Shame from those who didn’t know her at all. Shame from those who were dead and buried.
She leapt up from her bed, sleep no longer an option for her mile-a-minute brain. She ran as fast as her underworked legs could carry her, down spiral staircases and corridors alike, until her out-of-shape, aged body nearly collapsed in the doorway of the library. This was no time to rest, her quest was only beginning.
Sonja knew of a way to win the war.
Minutes became hours as she meticulously stripped the legions of knowledge for a specific conjuring, fingers becoming red and raw as papercuts and calluses formed upon them. She knew it was here. It had to be. Her young eyes had fallen upon it many years ago, yet back then she did not think much of the words on the page as she did not understand the potential of ancient magic.
What many of the books spoke of was an ancient race of giants—half-human, half-god. Other, far more sinister books spoke of a way to summon such raw power.
“If I could just find that book and call upon one of those giants… they could lead this kingdom to victory!” she spoke aloud, certain of her plans. After all, Sonja was an old, pathetic queen. This could be her last hurrah of usefulness before she too could pass on into the afterlife.
Tiredness began to overcome her as her search stretched on into the night. But right as she was ready to give up—there it was. Instantly, the memories reformed at the sight of such an unforgettably surreal cover.
She had assumed its shifting leather had merely been her childhood imagination, but she stood looking before it with aged eyes, knowing it to be true. The cover did not grab too much of her attention, as she understood time was of the essence and quickly flipped to the ritual magic of her desire.
Sure enough, there it was. With a wave of resolve overcoming her, she somehow found the energy to seize the moment and recreate the depicted ritual circle with just nearby materials. But the world would not be so kind to Sonja and give the rest to her without a fight.
“She’s got to be around here somewhere!” Spoke an unfamiliar, threatening voice from somewhere nearby within the library.
“Shhh! You bastard!” another voice spoke, ironically louder than the previous speaker. “She could hear us and we’d lose the element of surprise.”
Sonja’s eyes shrunk to pinpricks as she wordlessly backed into a dark corner of a bookshelf. These two were probably assassins, looking to finish the job that they had started yesterday.
“‘Quiet’ my ass. It’s just us and her in here, and we’re far past screaming distance from the nearest guard tower. What, you're afraid of some frail old bitch?”
“Well, it’s just… she almost made this too easy, don’t you think? Why would she sneak out alone to go to the library at a time like this?”
The queen held her breath as she saw two large men in hoods walk past the section she was in. Armed with daggers and crossbows, they didn’t appear to be here for any peaceful negotiations.
Once they walked past, she returned to the book, but the dark corner she had holed herself in made it difficult to parse the words on the page with her aging eyes. She didn’t have a choice. Even if she died trying to summon this half-giant, the kingdom could still be redeemed if she brought it into this world. She hoped that the
The spell required her to recite the words, which she very quietly performed to task. The ritual circle she had set up from memory miraculously began to spark with life, though with arcane magic came the noise accompanying it.
“Hey, did you hear that?”
“Yeah, I did. Sounds like it came from three rows back.”
Not good. Not good at all.
Sonja quickly recited the remainder of the passage but found the spell fading as she flubbed word after word. She was close. So. Close. All she needed to do was the final step, which was to find a…
Well, shit. She was screwed.
“A worthy host vessel,” was written plain on the page, clear as could be. If only her son wasn’t still buried in the garden on the other side of the castle, he would’ve been the perfect choice. Even someone like O’Hare would suffice. But she had no one. No one she could think of, at least.
With no sufficient host provided, the twisting tentacles of magic began to angrily gyrate, demanding to be fed. This only attracted more noise to the area, and as Sonja attempted to quell the commotion with a counter spell, she quickly found that it was too late.
“Holy shit, th-there she is!”
Sonja took a sharp inhale into her lungs as a piercing pain erupted in her chest, quickly followed by another just below it. The assassins may not have been the quietest, but they were efficient killers. Two arrows had struck true upon her chest, trickling streams of warm blood trailing down her torso. The numbness of death overtook her legs and she collapsed face-first into her own failed ritual, one step away from salvation.
“Phew, all in a day’s worth then,” one of the assassins remarked, his voice fading away as Sonja’s life drained from her body.
“Yeah, I almost feel bad. This kingdom’s totally going to get buried even more than it already is without any of the monarchy still around,” the other assassin added…
…Though his voice was remarkably clear to comprehend. While Sonja lay on the floor, presumed to be dying, she could hear everything. The banter of the men, the beating of their hearts, the birds chirping outside signaling the end of the long night. Her hearing wasn’t fading—paradoxically, it was only getting better.
After a long moment where nothing seemed to happen, Sonja was suddenly thrust back onto her feet as if acting in reverse motion, complete with the inherent uncanniness of it all. Her eyes were rolled back in her head, eyelashes fluttering like window shutters in a hurricane. Her body violently slammed against a nearby bookshelf, body faintly quivering.
The two assassins didn’t dare move. In all of their years, they had never witnessed anything like this. They weren’t sure whether or not to shoot her again, or call an exorcist.
Then, her mouth opened, only to coo softly as her breasts bulged from virtually non-existent to small, lemon-sized lumps under her top. She gasped as a second pulse shook her body, causing her ankles to thrust past the hem of her dress, her legs abruptly lengthening. Her lips parted, and she moaned softly, her hands finding motion within them only to run her fingers down her expanding flanks in one long sweep. She was still shuddering from the second pulse when a third rolled through her, the older woman groaning as her hips visibly swelled, bursting her bloomers into shreds. Her corset didn’t stand much of a chance after that, the surges multiplying exponentially as more and more of her form was imbued with the power of ancient giants.
Even with her body undergoing supernatural chemistry, the assassins found their gazes drifting toward her face, her eyes shut tight with what appeared to be an intensive focus. It was rapidly evolving from egg-shaped mediocrity, as if a bust of her face was receiving a glow up thousands of years later when most people forgot what she actually looked like after her legacy had obtained a mythic status. The contours of her face sucked up all the loose skin that had grown saggy with age. Visually, she lost twenty years of age in ten seconds, then twenty more years in the next five.
Another surge and any clothing foolish enough to cling to her perfecting body was instantly eradicated with extreme prejudice. Her height stretching past the six foot mark, yet even such an “unwomanly” height made her blossoming beauty no less enticing. She was out of these assassin’s leagues. She was out of the King’s league. She was out of everyone’s league.
As if her body had waited for her attire’s destruction, Sonja’s form began to add sexy, toned muscle to her entire frame. Her shoulders and arms firmed up, becoming both shapely and defined. As she squirmed and writhed about the library, the assassins caught glimpses of her abs chiseling into visible relief under her smooth, flawless skin. Her mouth opened wide, her cotton candy pink tongue darting in and out like a snake tasting the air. Her legs stretched inches longer, packing on luscious pounds of shapely muscle. Their pupils shrunk as they estimated her total height had increased almost five inches, with her swelling hips stretching the seams of her dress beyond repair.
Then, Sonja came. It was a powerful stimulant—it had to be. Few things could bring such a shrieking climax to the most beautiful woman in the world. In that instant, Sonja knew that nothing could top what she was experiencing. No amount of sexual gratification from others could compare to the sheer brilliance of Sonja existing as herself and experiencing every waking second of her new form.
Thousands of years worth of knowledge exploded into her mind. A lesser being would’ve suffered a migraine or even an imploded cortex from such an overwhelming influx of information, but the well-read Sonja handled it with ease. The arcane wisdom simply slotted in nicely with everything else her mind could handle, completing her transformation into a worldly woman with unrivaled beauty to boot. She opened her eyes, staring down the assassins with fierce, swirling verdant.
Sonja took a step, then another. Her bare feet creaked the wood beneath her like a wooden trunk full of bricks would. With each footfall she left behind a small trail of dissipating magic sigils which resembled small versions of the summoning circle she had attempted prior. Her body was simply brimming with such exuberant amounts of power that it had to expel excess enchantments.
Her gait was effortlessly dominant and pretty. Everything about her was. Sonja wasn’t sure if it was the new body that also brought about an evolved confidence or she was simply calling upon hidden confidence that was there from the start—but did it really matter? She now knew without a shadow of a doubt that her blossoming form could save the very kingdom her royal step-family had failed for generations.
She took a sharp breath in—it was the best gulp of air she had ever ingested in her life. The pains of age had all but vanished, replaced with an ease to all of her motions that almost felt like she was freefalling upwards. Her body simply refused to let gravity restrict its movements.
The best time for the assassins to run had long past, yet their bodies still refused to budge. Her fearsomeness, beauty and otherworldly musculature captivated them beyond reason. Rather quickly, the two fools found themselves brought to the floor, a single finger from each of her hands pinning them in place—any more and she would’ve certainly ended their puny lives right then and there.
“P-please don’t kill us!” spoke the more reserved of the two, suddenly finding himself rather chatty now.
“Kill you?” Sonja laughed, one uncharacteristically devilish and wicked for the woman she once was. “Oh no, when I’m finished with you two, you’ll be begging for death.”
~
“Alright, this will be our last overview before we commit to an action, otherwise our whole kingdom could be compromised by sundown tomorrow,” Gilligan O’Hare spoke objectively, though even a man as stalwart as he could not hide the hopelessness present in his tone.
“The element of surprise is the only advantage we have left!” High knight Sifodias spoke, stating the obvious. A great warrior he was, a strategist he was not.
“Yes. And so we have no choice but to risk that it will bring us to victory. Either we fight valiantly lest the kingdom fall, or alternatively sit on our thumbs and do nothing and the kingdom falls guaranteed,” O’Hare said with somewhat astute observation skills.
“Face it, the kingdom will fall regardless. At least with the latter, we could save a few good men from death!” shouted Sir Garson from across the table, the last man to be personally knighted by the king’s father. “Troop morale is at its lowest, rations for the barracks are slimming… hell, we can’t even agree who the actual leader of the godforsaken kingdom will be after the previous two were murdered!”
“Ah, I most certainly could answer that one for you, dear.” The voice was familiar, though jarringly confident. Every head in the room whisked around for greater context, only to be left more confused and somewhat flustered at the sight.
Sonja’s head nearly grazed the door’s own as she confidently strutted into the room. All of the men simply could not believe what information their eyes were feeding their minds. Who the hell was this gorgeous young woman?
“M-my liegewoman! I-is that really you!?” O’Hare exclaimed in disbelief, thankful that his codpiece hid his body’s rather embarrassing initial reaction to her.
“Could it really be anyone else?” Queen Sonja spoke confidently, her narrowed eyes flashing erotic daggers at each man in the room. She passively brushed a loc of hair off of her shoulder as she walked into the center of the room with no opposition.
“S-surely this is some sort of joke!?” Sir Garson sputtered, his hands developing a nervous spasm at the dizzying experience that was her assault on the senses.
“No time for jokes, sir knight,” she replied with more bluntness in her tone, pausing briefly to curl her bicep into a powerful flex. “If you believe this firm, feminine body to be a joke, I implore you to approach and discover the authenticity of it yourself.” Her reply could’ve been either a coerce or a threat, but Sir Garson felt threatened by either.
“My liegewoman, wh-where are your clothes?” Sifodias sputtered, finally addressing the obvious.
“Such trivialities will be addressed at a later date. For now, we must focus our attention on the redemption of our kingdom.” The stone of the circular battle map creaked and groaned as she hunched over it, even after putting only a fraction of a fraction of her weight upon it. Her eyes darted back and forth only briefly, quickly obtaining a lay of the land. “Ah, child’s play. We will have these invaders groveling at our feet by morning’s come. I will take over as the lead strategist and you all will follow dutifully. Understood?”
Both Sifodias and Sir Garson nodded in agreement, as did the silent men who accompanied them. O’Hare was not so easily swayed.
“M-my liegewoman, with all due respect this is not a situation that a simple change in management will fix.”
“The problem is not this situation, the problem is your inability to rise above it, O’Hare,” she spoke with vitriol in every cubic inch of her breath.
With Gilligan singled out, all of the other men in the room took a step away from his direction as if he were cursed. His face fell pale.
“M-my liegewoman, wh-what are you saying? I’ve served this kingdom dutifully throughout my tenure here! I’ve fought and won more skirmishes than anyone in this room!”
“And yet, you failed to protect the king, failed to protect the prince, you’ve got us backed into a corner and while your claimed prowess is impressive, you have failed to live up to it in the last few years. Age has defeated you.”
O’Hare’s face twitched with anger as if a hidden truth had been released upon the world. “I am not old, nor am I any less sharp than I was back in the day. Outward circumstances have simply… changed.”
“Is that so? Well then, allow me to give you an easy challenge to prove it.” With that, Sonja leapt over the table with a graceful standing forward flip, landing right before O’Hare. He stumbled back so quickly he nearly lost his balance. “If you can defeat me in a fight, I will believe you.”
“M-my liegewoman, that’s preposterous! I’m not going to duel a superior!” the head of the royal guard spoke, though his reasoning sounded more like an fearful excuse.
“And as your superior, I order you to duel me. Use any means necessary, go for killing blows if you have to. It should be easy for a man of your accomplishments. I am an unarmed, unarmored combatant, one nearly twice your age. Here, let me make it even easier for you.”
Sonja held both her hands up, open-palmed, calling attention to them as if they were a step in a magic trick. She then put her arms behind her back, calling them out of the ensuing battle.
“There. Now your opponent cannot use her hands. Shall we begin?”
She waited for O’Hare to draw his sword, which after much deliberation he did. The Queen and her cohort spent many minutes staring each other down, though the naked one who couldn’t even use her arms to attack had a smile on her face the entire time.
Eventually, O’Hare succumbed to the rising tension and closed the distance, raising his sword high and preparing to strike. The cumbersome blade was far too slow, Sonja easily dodging out of the way and countering with a lightning-fast knee to his torso that dented his chest plate on impact.
“Slow. Sloppy. Sad,” Sonja spoke in response to every failed follow-up swing as she effortlessly maneuvered around them.
Through what felt like a sheer miracle, Gilligan had somehow managed to back the queen into a corner, but such limitations were merely excuses for Sonja to express herself. He unleashed a blitz of sword strikes, hoping that one of them would catch and put an end to this conflict. Instead, Sonja leapt into the air, precisely hopping from sword swing to sword swing like a trapeze artist in a hurricane. Her feet spent no more than mere milliseconds atop each blur of the blade, yet it was still enough liftoff to keep her thoroughly airborne and out of O’Hare’s range.
Eventually, the knight got smart and rescinded his blade so Sonja would have no more platforms to dance atop of. Too little too late. She anticipated this overwhelmed response and leapt over his head, pushing off from the last swing. As she fell, she took O’Hare with her, locking her beefy thighs around his neck and bringing him careening to the ground. His sword was knocked clean from his hand, leaving him helpless as his face was smothered within pillowy mounds of his queen’s muscle. If this continued, he would surely suffocate to death—that is, if she somehow didn’t break his neck first.
“Accept my rule. Follow my path to salvation. Reject your manhood.”
She didn’t have to add that last part. Even with what she now understood as the power of Amazons coursing through her, she could simply choose which aspects to grant her cabinet. Her version, however, was far more cathartic. After hundreds of years of foolish, self-centered men running the show and driving the kingdom to a cliff of ruin, she would ensure a new endless reign, one far more feminine in its infinite presentation.
’Assimilate or be destroyed’ was her motto, even if the Amazons of old were perfectly content with coexistence. She also noted that there were none left. She would succeed where they had failed.
“I-I yield, my Liegewoman…” O’Hare spoke through strained breaths. He then took a desperate gulp of oxygen like a whale rising from the depths as she released some of the tension around his head.
“And…?” Sonja said.
“…And I submit to your assertion that I have failed this kingdom. I reject my manhood and await your salvation.”
“Good girl.” Her voice was empowered with a motherly richness as Sonja fully released her grip on her head knight. But he would find that his release would be temporary, as familiar twisting tentacles of magic erupted from Sonja’s skin which engulfed O’Hare whole until the knight’s body was completely engulfed in a transformative light.
Sonja got to her feet without moving a single muscle, her body simply rose to the occasion as if invisible stagehands were carrying her. O’Hare’s body, still cocooned in magic, followed suit, his—no, her body evolving before the rest of the round table. The other knights watched frozen in disbelief as aging, male traits were covered up with youthful, powerful feminine qualities like restoring blemishes of an old, withering artwork with a fresh coat of paint.
At five and a half feet, O’Hare had been considered quite tall for a former male of the time period. All former precedents were thrown out the window, however, as the evolving body before them shot up a full foot of height. This new head knight was still shorter than her queen by design, but to say her presence was any less intimidating as a result would be a gross understatement.
The light faded, unveiling a nude, raven-haired beauty whose every inch of feminine perfection was either laden with sinuous musculature or bestowed with supple flesh that rivaled the assets of Aphrodite. She brushed perfectly-trimmed bangs out of her eyes, wasting no time retrieving the armor that had fallen off of her during the transformation and molding it into a uniform that would better fit her new Queen-bestowed body.
Her larger, yet daintier, fingers twisted and contorted the metal as if it were merely clay, forming it into a two-piece of bikini armor, complete with a chain-mail skirt trailing down to her knees. There was only so much metal to account for her new height and girth, but she managed to look both pretty and fierce, which slotted in with Sonja’s intentions swimmingly.
“Knights, kneel before the reborn head of your order,” Sonja ordered, placing a calm hand on her newest convert’s shoulder like a loving goddess would. Sifodias, Garson and the rest did as they were told, lining up before the two women and bowing in their presence.
“A-and what shall we call you now, head knight? Do you still hail from the people of O’Hare?” Sifodias asked.
“I am no longer Gilligan. You may refer to me as… Tahlia. Just Tahlia. I am no longer tied to my earlier legacy, nay, I have instead blossomed into a brand new chapter of history and I wish my name to reflect such developments.”
“And soon, everyone in this room will see the light. You will all be graced under my new order, blessed with my gifts… but only if you willfully submit,” Sonja added, her eyes looking upon everyone in the room as if they were produce to pick out at a vendor. She could’ve just turned them anyways, the queen didn’t need their explicit consent to do so. But where was the fun in that? All of these men would learn humility on the road to becoming the best women they could be.
A majority of the room immediately jumped forth, including Sifodias, who fell to his hands and knees before Sonja. “Please! My queen! My goddess! You can redeem our kingdom. This, I believe. T-the prospect of womanhood may frighten me somewhat, but if it ensures that I am a greater strategist, then I will submit without question!”
Sir Garson, however, was not so easily swayed, as were many of his men. “Hmm, but must we sacrifice our God-given traits for such power? How will I please the missus without my trusty manhood?”
Sonja giggled. “Oh, worry not, dear. I’ll be happy to provide an example of how to please a woman with womanhood. In fact, I think I will use your wife as the very example, should you decline my gift.”
Sir Garson became flustered at the mental image Sonja provided. He wanted to be angry, lash out at what he believed was a challenge to his ego. But no amount of delusions could blind him from the simple fact that Sonja would win any skirmish against him. If Gilli— no, Tahlia could not land as much as a scratch on her, he would stand no chance in his current form.
Yet Sonja could tell he still had his reservations—this only made her more excited. She had all of these pathetic, past-their-prime men wrapped around her finger. Now all she needed to do was abuse that fact.
“Sifodias, if you do not convince Garson to join my infinite reign, I will reject your call to my blessings.”
Sonja and Tahlia exchanged a sultry, knowing glance amongst themselves as they watched the two men turn on each other, Sifodias bickering at Sir Garson for his selfishness and unwillingness to fight for the betterment of the kingdom. Unfortunately, Garson proved to just barely edge out Sifodias, shoving the Sonja sympathetic onto the floor and messily pinning him. How lame.
A snap of Sonja’s fingers would effectively remedy this situation.
Garson suddenly found his hold on Sifodias loosening as the high knight beneath him began to change. He began to laugh like a maniac, his voice becoming higher and higher pitched with every cackle until it became a cute giggle. He no—she tossed and turned on the floor, her measurements ebbing and cresting like waves in a storm, each orgasm of her new sex leaving her healthier, sexier, better.
Her red hair became silkier and fuller as her beard all but vanished, rescinding into her smoother cheeks and less prominent chin.
“Thank you, my Eternal Queen. I, Delilah, will not fail you again,” spoke the new and improved high knight. Like watching an arm wrestle immediately switch to another’s favor, Delilah simply flicked her finger against Sir Garson’s chest, sending him flying into the air and landing on his back, the wind getting knocked out of him on impact.
Upon opening his eyes, it didn’t take him long to realize he was on the losing side of this battle. Garson swallowed nervously, noticing that his vision had now been overwhelmed with powerful, beautiful women at all angles. It wasn’t simply Sonja, Tahlia and Delilah—he saw many more powerful amazons waltz into frame; many members of Delilah’s army had been converted during their skirmish. “V-very well then, I concede. I-I suppose I’ve always liked the name Blaire, anyways. My wife said it could be our daughter’s name, even though… I shot for a son and won.”
He then chuckled. “I guess my wife won in the end, like she always does.”
Blaire then closed her eyes, accepting her fate as Sonja’s magic blanketed her in its many pleasures.
~
“Your requested outfit for battle, my queen,” spoke the recently-converted blacksmith, Haylee. She bent down on one knee to bestow her nude Goddess with her new dress, one far skimpier than the prudish expectations of old would have allowed.
“Finally, a robe fit for a Queen.” Sonja donned the specially-customized attire, draping it over her hypersexy, athletic torso and leaving her exquisite abs bare. If she were to be leading an army into battle, every aspect of her form would need to be weaponized. While unorthodox, there was historical precedent to using one’s beauty for warfare. It lowered the reaction speed of the opponent and strengthened resolve within one’s own troops.
She walked out of the blacksmith’s, marching through the streets towards the edge of the kingdom—though soon the word “queendom” would enter the public lexicon. The downtrodden peasants watched in awe as their new imposing Queen walked past. With their kingdom thought to be on the decline, they weren’t sure whether or not to view the newest monarch as an omen of good or bad things to come. The lords and Knights had accepted their new titles well, it would only be a matter of time before the lowest rung of the hierarchy was assimilated into infinite womanhood.
Cleofas would still need convincing, and Lord Jedd was suspiciously nowhere to be found—probably because his assassins did not return to him last night. These minor issues would also be addressed in due time. Once she won over the peasant class by defending the Queendom and capturing territory for her own, the rest would slot into place nicely.
Once at the border, Sonja met up with Tahlia, where they readied the recently converted troops for a swift and efficient battle.
“My liegewoman, we should—” Tahlia began, only for a swift interruption from Sonja to befall her.
“Goddess,” she replied, her voice booming with overwhelming authority.
“P-pardon?”
“I am not your liegewoman. That is improper. I am a Goddess. You will refer to me as such.”
“My apologies, Goddess. Forgive me for speaking out of turn. What should our next course of action entail?”
A smile curled up on both ends of Sonja’s lips. “Simple, Delilah and Blaire’s women hold off both armies from the north and west. We show Sir Leary in the east a surprise attack he’ll never forget. And if everything goes according to plan, she’ll turn on her kingdom in no time.”
To be continued…
