High up, at the top of a lonely tower, a window opened, a face peered out into the gloomy night. Far below her, Sheena could see movement on the battlements of the castle, torches moving about like fireflies. Something was happening, down below, but the young woman had no idea what.
Sheena turned away from the open window back to the room that had been her home, her prison for so long. It’s well appointed, with a finely carved oak bed, laid with feather mattresses and pillows, and soft linen sheets, colorful tapestries on the wall and soft runs underfoot. The luxury isn’t for her, though, but for the Prince, to make his visits more pleasant and comfortable for himself.
But it had been a long time since he had come to visit her and take his pleasure. No one had come to her tower in days, weeks, save a lone servant, bringing her foot and he did not speak to her, did not even look at her, only sliding the trencher through a flap cut in the locked door.
It was, Sheena guessed, about six months since the Prince had passed through her village while out with a hunting party, and had caught a glimpse of the peasant lass, her eighteenth summer not far behind her. Her long, fair hair, soft green eyes and pretty, heart shaped face had caught his eye. Her young body, not yet a woman full, but nonetheless with the soft curves and budding breasts of one no longer a child had aroused his passions.
No one complained, not even her family, as the Prince ordered his henchmen to seize Sheena, binding her slender wrists and ankles and throwing her over a spare horse, like a sack of grain, for the trek back to the castle. As their liege, he owned all of them, could do with them whatever he wanted. None dared dispute his claim to any pretty peasant lass he wished to amuse himself with.
Still, Sheena had resisted his advances, when first brought to the castle. The Prince had her stripped and thrown in the dungeon, chained naked to a wall, in the hopes that would overcome her reluctance. When, after a few days she still resisted, he’d set his torturers to change her mind. They were only marginally hindered in their torments by his instructions not to do anything that would injure or mar the beauty of his pretty prize. This time, after only a few days of agony, chained up by her wrists, seated atop the sharp point of the horse or locked in the iron gibbet, Sheena had broken, submitting to her Master’s lewd wishes.
Pleased with his new concubine, the Prince brought her to this chamber, locking her inside and visiting her each evening to slake his lust with her pretty body. Sheena endured this night after night, days turning into weeks and then months, always dreaming of escape or rescue, but knew it would not be. When he wasn’t there, the Prince kept the door to the chamber barred and two armed men posted guard at all times. She had no chance of overcoming them and escaping and no knight would bother coming to the rescue of a common concubine of peasant blood.
Now though, things seemed to have changed. One day, about a week, or two weeks ago, she’d seen a large body of men leaving the castle, banners flying. The Prince had mustered his knights and men-at-arms for war. When the Prince didn’t come to her that evening, or the evening after, she assumed he’d ridden off at the head of his host. For those seven days, Sheena had known nothing, waiting for the Prince’s return, dreading how he would “celebrate” his victory with her, or hoping, guiltily, that on the campaign he would capture another pretty maiden or two and forget about her.
In the last few days, though, things had changed. Though her door remained barred, the guards were withdrawn. There was considerable activity about the castle below her. Workmen were on the walls,daily, the ringing of their hammers and chisels, mortar and trowels reaching up to her town as they worked on the stone blocks. The gates were thronged daily, with crowds bringing things into the castle.
Isolated, Sheena had little idea what was going on, but she began to get the idea that this could be an opportunity for her. With all the commotion, the Prince’s plaything had been all but forgotten, save, fortunately, the lone servant tasked with bringing her food and drink, who would have cared little whether the plates he slid under the door were eaten or not. Would anyone notice if she slipped away in the confusion? She had little idea where she would go once she was away, save heading for her village and hoping the Prince had forgotten precisely which tiny hamlet he’d plucked his wayward concubine from, but it was enough for now. Besides, any place would be better then here, surely.
She would have to make her escape out the window, she realized. Though the guards were gone, the door remained barred and Sheena didn’t fancy her chances of sneaking, undetected, the whole length of the castle and out the gate. Fortunately, one corner of her tower jutted from the castle wall. If she made it to the ground, she would be outside of the castle altogether. If she made it…
The linen bed sheets, tapestries from the wall, rugs, even her dress and small clothes; all were torn into strips and tied into a makeshift rope. Sheena reserved only a scrap of linen, which she’d tied around her waist to preserve some shred of modesty. She worked quickly, worrying all the while someone would come up and startle her in the midst of her escape attempt. Hoping she had enough, she tied one end around the foot of the heavy bedframe, and lowered the other out the window of the tower. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Sheena took the rope in hand and climbed out of the tower.
No sooner had she left the shelter of the window then the young woman was caught in the cold night breeze, chilling the half-naked girl awfully. Desperately, Sheena clung to her rope, praying the many knots would hold until she reached the ground and that she would not lose her grip. If either happened, she would be dashed across the ground at the foot of the walls. When a moment passed, without either awful thing happening, she regained some confidence. She forced her hands to let go of the rope, one at a time, and slowly descended, handful by handful.
The night was dark, the moon and stars partly obscured by clouds. The only lights came from the arrow loops cut in the walls. Once, as she descended past, Sheena caught a glimpse of the inside of the castle, where old men and boys were donning ill-fitting armor and squires were busy polishing and sharpening swords and spears grown dull and rusty from long storage in the castle’s armory. Then she was past, descending into the inky void where she hoped the ground was, not too far below. Briefly, she wondered what she would do if she reached the bottom of the rope and the ground wasn’t there. Did she climb back up, or jump, hoping the ground wasn’t so far down and there were no rocks directly underneath her? Was death by falling a kinder fate then facing whatever wrath the prince would surely plan to punish her for such an escape attempt?
Fortunately, Sheena did not have to find out. Sooner than she thought, the peasant lass’ bare feet touched soft grass below her, startling her so much she let go of the rope and fell onto her behind. For a long moment, Sheena hugged her arms around her body, letting relief flow over her now that she had made it and was safe outside the castle. For the first time in months, she was free of the Prince, for however long that would last.
Finally, Sheena rose on shaky legs. She knew she could not stay her long. She could see the torches of watchmen, far to many watchmen, on the walls above her. It wouldn’t be long before someone spotted her and raised the alarm. Slowly, quietly, the maid crept forward, as quickly as she dared. A dozen yards beyond the wall, she came to the moat. It was pitch black in the darkness, only the soft lapping of water against the muddy banks told her it was there. Sheena slipped into the water, shivering at the chill over her naked body and slowly kicked out, aiming towards where she thought the other side of it was. It took her longer then she thought, perhaps she’d swam at an angle, all the while expecting to hear the cry of alarm from the walls, followed by the hiss of arrows into the water around her.
Eventually, though Sheena felt the muddy ground of the other bank beneath her feet and climbed onto land. She shivered, the night remained cold and she was now soaking wet. Still, she forced herself to keep moving, putting the light of the torches on the castle walls at her back and marching forward. She just wanted to put as much distance as possible between her and the castle and any pursuers as she could before dawn. In the light of day, she’d try and figure out where she was and find her way home from there.
Sheena stumbled through woods and underbrush for a few hundred yards, making slow going. Eventually, she stumbled onto a road, winding through the woods and her pace picked up, now she no longer had to worry about tripping over a fallen log or walking into a tree branch unseen in the gloom. The lights of the castle and the fading moon, now and then disappearing behind the clouds, were her only landmarks.
It was another hour, following the winding trail, when Sheena heard horses hoofbeats coming closer. For a moment, Sheena feared her escape had been discovered and riders sent to capture and bring her back. A second later, she realized they were coming, not from the direction of the castle but from further ahead on the trail, from the direction of the open countryside beyond the castle walls.
Still, Sheena guessed she didn’t want to be found, by whoever they were, in her current state: half naked, soaking wet and muddy from her swim across the moat. Hurriedly, she ducked off the path into the underbrush as horsemen came around the bend in the path, light from their torches throwing shadows across the woods. As they came into view, the peasant wench gasped in shock and horror.
It was obvious these men were not from the castle, or from anywhere Sheena knew. They were squat, swarthy men, dressed savagely in furs, augmented here and there by bits of chainmail or disparate pieces of plate armor. They guided their short steppe horses entirely with their legs, holding in their hands torches and cruel-looking sabers.
With mounting horror, Sheena recalled the tales her mother had told the girl of the distant barbarian hordes who occasionally descended from their high steppes onto the civilized lands, sometimes plundering, burning and murdering but mostly, it seemed, creeping around to snatch away little girls who didn’t do their chores or who had been naughty in some other ay.
Trembling, Sheena prayed they would continue on, ride past her, but to her horror, the barbarians reined in their mounts, pausing a moment, looking around. She crouched, rock still, dreadfully aware the slightest movement would disturb the underbrush and reveal her presence to the barbarians. She peered through branches and leaves, wondering what they were doing. The lead rider was leaned over the neck of his mount, torch held up, turning his head this way, then that. Sheena imagined the barbarian had a nose like a dog, and that he could sniff out her hiding place. It took her a second to realize he was actually peering at the ground, where her muddy footprints stood out, new against the older tracks of the path, including where she had run off the road to hide…
This realization came just as the peasant wench was spotted in the bushes by the barbarian. He gave a cry, pointing with his sabre. Sheena gave a cry of her own, one of fear, and fled in the opposite direction from him, directly into the woods. The branches scratched at her bare skin, her skirt was caught on thorns and torn off.
Sheena made it only a few yards in the darkness before she stumbled over a fallen branch, She sprang up, only to trip again on a loose stone. Her pursuers, with their torches, were more sure footed and in no time were upon her. The peasant maid gave a wail of terror as she felt rough hands seize her, lifting her up and dragging her back towards the road. Roughly, she was thrown onto the ground, rolling onto her back, to look up in terror at the barbarian faces surrounding her,
For a moment, Sheena believed in the next moment, her life would be over, run through by half a dozen swords, her carcass tossed to the side of the road, but she quickly realized the men had something else in their minds. In the torchlight, the men could now clearly see their captive and despite the dirt and mud and grime she had picked up during her brief escape, her beauty was still apparent, all the more so given her current nudity.
Rough voices issued a gutteral, barking conversation. In seconds, they had decided on their course. Two men knelt, one grabbing Sheena’s shoulders, pushing her back down to the ground, the other fumbling for her legs, grabbing her ankles and spreading them, while a third fumbled with the wide leather belt holding up his sword scabbard and the dirty, torn leather breeches he wore. Sheena struggled and fought, begging for mercy, but there was nothing she could do...
Caught in the terror of her impending rape,the captive maiden was initially unaware of another man riding up the path. Angry words were barked in the same, strange tongue. After a moment’s exchange between her captors and the newcomer, the hands holding Sheena were released. At that moment, she finally took notice of her rescuer. He was a barbarian, like the others, just as rough and fearsome, but he had the glint of gold and silver about him, in rings and armbands, and jeweled necklaces and decorating the handle of his scimitar. A noble, or at least an important chieftain.
Sheena was hauled, roughly, to her feet. Pointing at her, the chieftain barked another order. Once again, Sheena found herself seized by two of the barbarians. Cords appeared in the hands of the third and the maid was quickly trussed up. Her hands were bound behind her back and her legs lashed together. A few turns of rope between her teeth muffled her frantic sobs.
The maid was lifted up and tossed over the back of one of the horses, like a sack of grain. More rope secured her in place, so she wouldn’t fall off. Around her, the barbarians mounted up. At a command from their leader, they rode, coming back up the road they way they had come, leading the horse with Sheena, squirming, helpless, on top, behind them. She was reminded, awfully, of her original capture, by the Prince and that ride to the palace, the dungeon and eventually to the tower.
Before they’d gone another mile, they passed by more riders, in groups, half a dozen here, a dozen there, a score now, all on the move through the countryside, so to Sheena it seemed a whole nation was on the warpath across the landscape.
At the end of the road atop a high hill, the barbarians had set their encampment in the burnt out ruins of a village that had stood there before their arrival. Amongst the craggy rocks, a palisade wall and stakes ringed the camp. Barbarians on foot with spears guarded an opening. Seeing the man leading Sheena’s captors, they turned aside their blades, raising a fist in salute and giving a shout that frightened the helpless maid.
Just past the gate, a gruesome tableau had been assembled. Tattered, bloody banners, battered armor and shields, broken swords and spears formed a mound in which long pikes had been stuck. Impaled on each was the severed head of a nobleman, each sporting a look of anguish, some so disfigured by their mortal wounds Sheena only recognized them by the shields and banners bearing coats of arms hung below each head, identifying whom they had been taken from. There was no mistaking the Prince’s head, however, placed center most amongst the nobles of his army. He had led his knights against the invading horde and been slain for it.
Now the barbarians prepared to siege his stronghold. Near the gruesome scene, men were hard at work, assembling engines to attack the castle. Sheena saw catapults being constructed and tested. Beyond, two siege towers were starting to rise up. In the distance, a few miles distant, she could see the flickering torches of the watchmen on the walls of the castle, standing defiant for now.
Further inside, more men were readying themselves for battle, sharpening blades, repairing armor. Others were lounging around, drinking from horns, throwing dice for gold rings, still around the severed fingers of previous owners.
As Sheena and her captors rode through the camp, they passed a group of men that were taking turns raping a young woman. The peasant wench, girl really, was stripped, her hands tied behind her back and bent over a wagon wheel, legs lashed to two of the spokes. A burly barbarian stood behind her, thrusting between her splayed legs, his loud grunts mixing with her sobbing yelps in time with each thrust. The men had tied a rope across the girl’s mouth to muffle her anguish squeals. Behind stood two more men, patiently waiting their turn as they passed a drinking horn. Sheena whimpered sympathetically, seeing the fate she herself had only narrowly escaped, if indeed she had escaped it after all.
Closer to the center of the camp, the invaders had built a paddock of sorts, from stakes and cords, but the livestock held here weren’t sheep or cattle or horses, but human chattel. Through the gaps in the pen grimy, miserable faces peered out, eyes haunted with the terror of their circumstances. Near as Sheena could could see, all of the captives were female, young women and girls. The men and the elderly were worthless to the invaders as slaves and so had been slaughtered indiscriminately, while their wives and daughters were rounded up like cattle and brought here by their cruel new masters. Like Sheena, they were bound, hand and foot, and many were gagged with rags or sticks and cords formed into makeshift bridles. The luckiest had a few scraps of cloth still on to cover themselves with. Most had been stripped totally naked. Peasant lass or nobleman’s daughter, now it was all but impossible to tell them apart, what their lives had been like before the horde had arrived and swept them up, toil or privilege. Now all were slaves and a slave’s cruel lot in life awaited them.
Sheena expected to be added to the crowd of penned up women, another portion of the barbarian’s haul of human booty, but to her surprise, confusion and anxious fear, the makeshift procession carrying her continued on, further into the camp. They proceeded towards the camp, passing more scenes of warriors preparing to battle alongside others enjoying the spoils of previous victories.
Eventually, they came to the center of the camp, where a large structure had been set up. It was a ramshackle affair, made up of desperate elements, some barbarian, some looted from every place the horde had traveled, burning and pillaging. Stout wooden beams, that might have supported the house of a well-to-do village headman, now held up screens of a massive tent, a motley assortment of hides and furs of savage beasts, mixed with fine cloth of silk and velvet and embroidered tapestries looted from palaces, hung with the shields and pennants of more defeated knights. At the front, a quartet of burly warriors, wearing the finest arms and armor, stood guard in front of a pair of gilded doors that, from the ornate carvings and jewels, must have been ripped off the front of a Cathedral of the Lady.
The leader of Sheena’s party strode directly up to this group and exchanged words with them in their guttural tongue. He turned, gesturing towards her, speaking more words. As he did, the other barbarians, the ones who had captured her, cut the ropes lashing her to the horse. Her feet were untied, but the ropes on her wrists and the coils between her teeth were left untouched. They lifted the trembling maiden off the horse, setting her down on quivering legs. She cringed, shrinking under their leering inspection of her naked body, wishing she could keep shrinking until she disappeared entirely, but it seemed she passed muster.
The head of the guards gave an order. Setting their weapons aside, the guards grabbed the heavy door panels, two men to each, and lifted them out of the way, revealing an opening into the tent hall. Sheena’s party started through, dragging her along after them.
Sheena stepped through the doorway into a dreamworld, or perhaps a nightmare. The first thing she noticed was the haze, a thick cloud of smoke from burning incense as well as dozens of fine beeswax candles glittering from gold candelabras, all likely looted from churches and temples the horde had sacked. The flickering light glinted off polished metal everywhere, steel armor and weapons on stands, made gold in the candlelight, as well as the real thing: gold and silver treasures, heaped in piles around the space, jeweled bowls and cups, platters and lampstands, chests of coins, ingots and bars, bolts of silver and gold thread cloth. It was more wealth then Sheena had ever seen in her short life.
At the front of the room, seated upon a looted throne, in full barbarian splendor, was a man who could only be the leader of this invading horde.. In his armor and furs, he, like his warriors, was a mix of barbarian and civilized pieces. Beneath a looted, golden crown, he had a sharp, hawkish face with dark eyes and dark hair, cut into a sharp beard and mustache. As the group came in, he fixed his gaze onto Sheena, cruel and hungry.
She, meanwhile, had her attention taken by the other figures crowded around the throne. About half a dozen or so young maidens surrounded the barbarian leader. Some looked to be from Sheena’s people while others had more exotic looks that said they’d been stolen away from far off lands. Some had the pale skin and slender figures of noblewomen, others looked more like peasant stock, but all of them were undoubtedly slaves now.
Like Sheena, they were naked but for their bonds. Some had shackles, of shining bronze or perhaps even gold on their hands and slender ankles. Others had been fitted with gags like the ones husbands occasionally employed on a nagging wife back in Sheena’s old village, presumably as punishment for talking out of turn or disobeying their cruel master. Even those others who were otherwise unbound bore a collar of gold around their slender necks, joined by long chains to a ring at the front of the throne, keeping them at all times in close proximity to their master.
Some of the girls carried platters, with food or drink. One had a long, ivory handled fan of plumed feathers from some exotic bird Sheena had never seen before, to cool her master with. The rest, it seemed, were mere decorations, lounging languorously around the throne, a show of their master’s wealth and power, beautiful maidens captured from across the known world by his fierce fighters and delivered in chains before him. They watched the arrival of Sheena and her captors with expressions a mixture of sadness and boredom, having seen this scene many times before, since it had been their turn to play it out.
Sheena was brought forward to the front of the group. The young maiden was forced to stand up from the stooped, cringing position she’d automatically adopted, hoping in vain to not be noticed. Her lithe, naked body was stretched out, on display for this barbarian lord’s gaze. And gaze he did, leering with obvious pleasure at the way her cheeks flushed red with a shame her time as the Prince’s concubine had not cured her of.
As he studied her bared form, the barbarian lord questioned his men and a brief conversation went back and forth. Though Sheena couldn’t follow their words, she had to assume she was the chief subject as the story of her discovery and capture was relayed. If the barbarians had been surprised at finding a beautiful maiden, hiding in the bushes, nearly naked, in the dead of night, they did not show it to Sheena’s eyes, perhaps content not to question their good fortune in finding such a pretty prize for their chieftain.
For claimed Sheena was. The barbarian lord’s shout of glee, clapping his hands together and the joy this brought the men who had captured Sheena were unmistakable. One of the other slave girls rose from her place at the throne. The long chain, linking her to it, clinked and rattled as she walked over to one of the heaps of treasure. She collected a platter high with gold and silver coins and returned, kneeling before her master, holding it above her bowed head.
Meanwhile, two more young women appeared through a flap in one of the cloth walls. Like the other maids, they were clearly slaves, nude apart from shackles and collars, though unlike the ones chained to the throne, these two had some run of the pavilion, to allow them to perform their duties more freely. They walked over to Sheena. The barbarian’s holding her handed the confused and frightened captive over to the women, who took her with grips no less firm. They pulled insistently, leading her away while behind her, the lord of the horde rewarded his men, grabbing great fistfuls of the coins and throwing them at the feet of the happy warriors.
Through the flap, Sheena found that the pavilion was not one large area, but was divided with silken partitions, almost like the walls of the wealthy man’s house. Like a large house, the rooms had different functions, this one appeared to be a storeroom of sorts, with large barrels and crates of food and drink and other necessities, close at hand so their lord should not have to wait long, after giving the order, to get whatever he wanted.
Beyond was another small chamber. This one was empty, but for a large wooden tub, that might have been stolen from a winery at some point. Sheena was made to get into the tub and kneel down by her escorts, who indicated this with gestures. From their dark hair and complexions, she saw they were strangers to her homeland, and did not speak her language.
While one of the other slave girls watched Sheena, the other disappeared through another flap. Briefly Sheena considered attempting some sort of escape, she was unlikely to be this lightly guarded at any point in the future, but quickly discounted the idea. While the other girl was chained, her hands were in front of her, while Sheena still had hers tied behind her back.
And even if Sheena was able to overpower her and get away, what then? She was still in the middle of the barbarian encampment, with no chance to sneaking her way through without being found and caught again. She shuddered, remembering how the other captives were being treated by their captors. Here, she may have been a captive as well, but it seemed she was to be a well treated captive, the same as she had been by the Prince. Her situation had not changed, but for the name and face of her tormentor.
While Sheena was still mulling this over, the flap opened and the other girl returned, bearing a large clay jar. A few wisps of steam escaped from the top. She knelt by the tub and began pouring hot water into the tub. Sheena yelped, at first, taken by surprise by the temperature. A second jar was fetched, of cold water and with it, the rest of the tub was filled and the temperature adjusted to something more bearable.
Sheena gave a contented sigh, settling into the warm, steaming waters. After the chilling swim in the castle moat, the long walk through the woods in the cold night air and the longer ride to the camp, slung over her captor’s horse, the warm water was an immense relief. She didn’t even mind as her handlers climbed into the tub with her, soap and rags in hand and began to scrub off the dirt and grime coating Sheena’s body from her short but winding journey from the castle tower to this strange barbarian tent palace. Getting clean was a minor relief in and of itself.
She was also untied, one of the dark haired slave’s picking the tight knots with lithe, dexterous fingers. Sheena groaned with relief as the ropes between her teeth were pulled away, allowing her to close her stiff jaw for the first time in hours.
She was less pleased, however, when one of the slaves left and returned, bearing a collar, shackles and chains like the ones she bore, but the peasant maid could see there was no choice. Like it or not, she was now a slave of the barbarian lord and like the rest of his household, she would bear the chains of her slavery. With glum resignation, she held up her hands, so the other girl could snap the cuffs shut around them. She stifled a groan of discomfort as the heavy gilded collar closed around her slender throat. The weight of it pressed down on her shoulders, the chain connecting the shackles was a constant reminder of her position in this place: a slave.
A chain lead was attached to the front of Sheena’s new collar. The other girl tugged, not too hard, on it, the pressure jerking the peasant forward. Obediently, she followed the other two, back the way they had come, through the cloth partitions to the main audience chamber.
It was just as Sheena had left it, save the warriors had left, taken their reward and headed out, perhaps in the hopes of finding another choice maiden, to present to their master or perhaps to keep for themselves. In their place, one of the highborn slaves had moved to the open area in front of the throne and was dancing for her master’s pleasure, her lithe, sensuous movements hampered little by the chains on her hands and feet and the long one still tying her to the throne and her master.
He looked over, grinning with pleasure as Sheena was led before him. At the front of the throne, Sheena was brought to a halt. The other girl tugged on the chain lead, harder this time, but downward. Sheena started, wondering what was expected of her.
“Kneel…” A female voice whispered.
Sheena was so surprised to hear words in her own tongue, words she could understand, she paused for a second, stupefied, until another tug jerked her downward. She sank to her knees. The slave holding the lead stepped forward and held the end of it towards Sheena. Again, Sheena was confused as to what was expected of her.
“Take it and offer it to the master.” The voice whispered again. This time, Sheena was expecting it and saw where it came from. One of the girls on the throne, a tall, regal blonde seated on the right. She must have been from Sheena’s lands as well, or a neighboring land and had learned the language of her neighbors, another recent captive. Much as it distressed Sheena that another of her people had been reduced to slavery like this, another part of her was glad she would not be entirely among strangers in her captivity, but would have at least one other, fellow slave she could talk to.
Following the other slave’s instructions, Sheena took the end of the lead. Head bowed submissively, she extended her hands, offering the chain in them to the frightening barbarian who towered over her. He grinned, leering down at the maiden, and took the chain, eagerly adding it to the collection of identical ones hanging from it.
Keeping a grip on it, he pulled, tugging Sheena forward once more. She stumbled to her feet, shuffling over, head still bowed, until she was pulled all the way onto his lap. As his rough hands settled onto her naked figure, she couldn't help but squirm, but to her relief, he didn’t become angry at her resistance. If anything, her bashfulness seemed to amuse him, encouraging him to paw at her all the more, while the other slave resumed her dance as if nothing had happened.
Sheena closed her eyes, wishing she was back home in her village, or even back in the tower, waiting for the Prince’s return, but wish as she may, she remained chained to the throne, on the lap of her new owner and Master...