Follows from part 1, where the Evil Queen used her magic to teleport Prince Charming to her castle. Right as he was to wake up Snow White from the sleeping curse with his true love kiss, he has to face their worst enemy instead. He immediately charge, eager to end this nightmare and return to his beloved.
Unfazed, The Evil Queen made a subtle motion with her finger, and as the prince advanced with determined steps, a magical aura emerged from the cold stone floor. Without warning, ethereal chains materialized out of thin air, seizing the prince’s wrists. His sword clattered to the ground as he struggled against the magical restraints, futile in his efforts. The chains swiftly wound around his wrists, securing them behind his back. Another magical chain slithered from the locks on his hands, crawling over his back and locking around his neck, pulling him uncomfortably backward. The collar, made of a chilling metal, pressed against his throat, limiting his breath if he kept his head straight, forcing him to bend his neck backwards.
The Queen, undisturbed by his lamentations, walked calmly toward him, the tapping of her heels echoing in the desolate throne room. His heartbeat quickened, a stark contrast to her relaxed demeanor. The vulnerability in his eyes intensified as he realized the stark power imbalance. Like a caged prey, he awaited his inevitable demise, every step of the Queen echoing the approaching finality of his fate.
She halted a few inches from the prince, a sly smile playing on her lips. Unrestrained, she moved well within his reach, her lips almost touching his, fully aware that he was powerless to resist. With instinctive trepidation, he closed his eyes, anticipating the malevolence of her next move. However, her laughter rang out, mocking his fear, as she raised her hand towards him.
Contrary to his expectations, she gently explored his face with her hand, as if appraising the consistency of his facial features or, perhaps, his very soul. Taken aback by this unexpected touch, he forced himself to push his head straight, despite the discomfort caused by the metal collar constricting his throat. His breathing was difficult in that position, but he maintained it in order to not lose sight of her. Though looking into her eyes was beyond him, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, choosing instead to fixate it below her face.
The Queen, draped in her dark elegance, observed him with subtle amusement.
Her regal gown cascaded in deep shades of obsidian, matching the shadows that danced across the cold, stone walls. The dress, adorned with intricate details, bore a dark charm that mirrored the malice within her, but also enhanced the elegance of her undoubtedly pleasant figure.
“What makes me so evil?” she whispered softly, her voice a paradox of gentleness and underlying malevolence. The prince, momentarily confused by the unexpected tenderness in her tone, relaxed for a moment, before swiftly reminding himself not to lower his guard in the presence of this fiendish villain.
His face tightened with severity as he unleashed a torrent of accusations, labelling her as power-hungry demon, a servant of darkness, and a horrid harpy. With his weapon gone, each word was a venomous attempt to pierce her with the sharpness of his anger. Yet, her response remained unfazed. Teasingly and gently, she commented, “Oh, is that so?” while leisurely unbuttoning his doublet, exposing his chest with deliberate intent.
“It seems I am quite evil and dangerous indeed,” she chuckled, her tone laced with amusement, as her nail sharply traced a path across his exposed skin, leaving deep, red marks. He resisted, determined not to grant her the satisfaction of hearing his protest.
“Anything else?” she asked with the provocative innocence of a mischievous young girl. His barrage of insults continued, each met with nothing more than nods and feigned curiosity. Her fingers reached his nipple, and with a sudden, forceful twist, she inflicted a sharp pain. He couldn’t help but release a scream, a sound that only fueled her chuckles, echoing through the desolate throne room.
“You’re a monster, persecuting and cursing Snow White just because she’s prettier than you!” the prince groaned, attempting to shame her with his anger. However, instead of piercing her heart, the comment only piqued her curiosity.
“Oh really? Is that what the silly girl has been telling you?” she chuckled, maintaining an air of measured propriety in every movement.
Confused by her response, the prince found himself speechless as she began to caress his exposed chest, admiring the tapestry of marks left by her nail. In this unexpected situation, he felt a strange blend of shame, powerlessness and… something else. He was exposed, both physically and emotionally, and the Queen reveled in toying with his vulnerability. He grappled with feelings of weakness and helplessness, embarrassment over his exposed torso, and even more… by the undeniable responses to her teasing touches that were beginning to build in his body.
As she continued her calculated caresses and pinches, she asked, “Is that what you think? Is she prettier than me?” Her inquiry forced his eyes back upon her figure, despite the constraint on his breathing from the collar when he attempted to push his head towards her. This was the first time he had seen the Queen up close, and while his initial reaction was to fight, he couldn’t deny the allure she possessed.
He mentally compared her features to Snow White’s. The raven hair was equally black. The skin darker, but exuding a regal warmth and sun-kissed grace. The lips, though not as visibly red, carried a seductive mischievousness. A less obvious but equally tempting invitation. Her eyes, way more penetrating. Although much older than Snow White and even the prince himself, what the former had in innocence and purity the Queen more than matched with elegance. She exuded authority in a way he had never encountered before. Every movement, every gaze, every word seemed crafted to incite intimidation, surrender, and even adoration. Accustomed to meeting people of lower or, at most, equal status, the prince found himself for the first time feeling below somebody else. He felt like a subordinate in front of a rightful superior.
Noticing his expression and easily imagining his thoughts, a surge of power ran through her spine, an electric thrill that made her shiver with delight. With a sinister grin, she observed his inner struggle, feasting in the anticipation of his unavoidable demise. Her eyes carried a predatory delight, a taunting flame that danced on the edge of cruelty, rising and falling with each futile attempt of her prey to resist.
“You’re hesitant,” she teased, pinching his nipple and pulling it forcefully towards her. He groaned loudly, failing at his attempts to keep quiet and withhold from his torturer the satisfaction of hearing his surrender. The pain mingled with the confusion and conflicting emotions swirling within him, leaving him grappling with a newfound vulnerability in the presence of this enigmatic and captivating antagonist.
The Queen’s laughter echoed through the desolate throne room, a banter of malevolence woven into every sound. A chilling symphony, a soundtrack to the intoxicating sensation of complete dominance, the sweet taste of victory coursing through her veins.
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