(NSFW Warning: Contains 'pony-girl' style bondage, and use of sex toys)

The Queen of Connacht, the Eternal Lady, Queen Medb, was bored. A bored Medb often meant awful things (or great things, or both, depending on one’s perspective) for those around her. Had she been in her own lands, where none could defy her and all revered and feared her, she’d have already found something or someone to do.

But she wasn’t in her own lands. She was in the sterile, labyrinthine halls of humanity’s last bastion, Chaldea, summoned as a Heroic Spirit by a strange redheaded girl to help her and dozens of other heroic spirits restore history. And, to be totally fair (as she always was, of course, being a Queen), that struggle was not itself boring, and she couldn’t help but feel some affection for her Master, although she’d rather be on the receiving end of such a title.

No, Master wasn’t boring. But Chaldea, the waiting, was dreadfully so. And frustrating. She went day to day doing menial maintenance tasks waiting to be called up to combat. There was no shortage of strong men who she’d like nothing more than to ravish, but they were all so ‘principled’, or in some cases just too self absorbed. And she wasn’t in charge, which was doubly frustrating. She was one of many Servants, and though she may be a Queen, Chaldea on the whole recognized no ranks. She needn’t take over the whole operation, but having some people to order around would be befitting her station.

She had been wandering aimlessly without any particular work assigned to her that day (Morning? Afternoon? Who could tell in the windowless underground?), bored out of her wits, when she heard a clash of swords followed by a storm of swearing. The training room was nearby, and Medb elected to peek in and see what the fuss was. Something different to break up the mind numbing routine, perhaps.

The Queen looked into the training room, and found a pair of twins shouting at each other. Or one shouting, the other just looking as neutral as ever, which for her was clear irritation. They weren’t actually twins, of course - Mordred likely would have attempted murder if she’d heard Medb’s thoughts. But if you put her in her “Father”’s armor-dress and tidied up her hair a bit, one would be hard pressed to see a difference. But while they might be nigh on identical in looks, they were polar opposites in demeanor.

The argument itself was largely irrelevant to Medb. Mordred was shouting something about how Artoria was afraid to give her a good spar and that she was just a coward and obviously far weaker than Mordred. Artoria wasn’t really rising to the bait, giving only the tersest of responses as she went through sword drills as if her ‘son’ wasn’t present. Most would have attacked her again by now, or else been discouraged by the lack of reaction, but Mordred seemed utterly fixated on whatever mild slight she deemed Artoria had inflicted.

It wasn’t something interesting after all, Medb thought with a quiet sigh. Mordred and Artoria got along like oil and water, and it was seemingly impossible for them to be in a room together without something triggering a confrontation. It was a near daily occurrence and Medb couldn’t help but wonder how Mordred didn’t simply give up. It was as if her entire identity was defined in relation to Artoria - as if she, in some way she’d never admit, cared what the King of Knights thought. Quite a lot, actually.

Medb’s thoughts idly drifted on the train of logic she’d started to build. Mordred had practically built herself in relation to, and contrast to, Artoria. The two were so closely linked, it was surely written in Mordred’s very soul, her saint’s graph. Not many had that kind of attachment to another. Ideas began to swirl in Medb’s head as Mordred stormed off, not even noticing her presence.

Medb stepped into the room as Mordred left, nodding to Artoria. “Good day. I see you’ve had another argument with Mordred.”

“You say that as if it’s anything specific to today.” Artoria said, continuing to mechanically swing her sword at a dummy. Her form was, of course, perfect - she didn’t really need more training. But evidently, maintaining her combat skills had become a habit even if as a Servant she needn’t worry about slipping.

“Oh? I didn’t realize it was such a frequent occurrence. Do these verbal sparring matches happen often?” Medb said. She knew full well they did, of course, but she wanted to hear Artoria’s end of it.

“Daily. She can’t seem to leave well enough alone.” Artoria said. Her tone remained neutral even as her words expressed frustration.

“I didn’t realize the relationship was as bad as that. There are certainly some in Chaldea who bear their own grudges, but I’d thought most had at least a working relationship.”

“Mordred can’t seem to take a hint. I have no problem with her being in Chaldea - if she can help Master, then that’s fine. If she would leave me alone. It isn’t enough to destroy Camelot in life, to steal Clarent and wield it against me, she has to be so attached as a heroic spirit…” Artoria sliced the dummy’s head off, and sighed as she went to get a replacement.

“Ah yes, her blade. I must admit, it’s hardly as famous as Excalibur,” Medb said, “I imagine many humans had never heard the word. What’s so special about the blade that it could be a Noble Phantasm?”

Artoria grunted with annoyance. “It’s a ruler’s sword, that she has no right to. If given to a real royal, a legitimate successor to the throne, it amplifies their authority and power significantly. It’s still strong, in Mordred’s hand, but a shadow of what it’s meant to be.”

Medb did raise an eyebrow, then. “An impressive weapon, that deserves a proper wielder.”

“To be blunt,” Artoria said, “I imagine just about anyone but Mordred would wield it better. At least, anyone with a legitimate claim to rule.”

Medb smiled and nodded as Artoria spoke, but truly, her mind was already far away. A disliked knight, that none would miss and many would like to see brought down a peg. A knight with a single minded obsession with one person, so deep it’s a part of what makes them who they are. And a knight possessing a treasure that would serve true royalty far better than it did them. Medb could work with this. She could work very, very well with this. She might be able to soon end her indefinite boredom.

“I see. Thank you for speaking with me, King of Knights.” Medb said, nodding respectfully. “I’m sure one day soon, you won’t have to worry so much about that dreadful pretender.”

“I sorely wish. I could focus on my duties and training, then.” Artoria said as she began to practice again, once more sucked into the world of her sword.

-----

Lunch in Chaldea was more “designated social time” than anything, due to the fact Servants didn’t actually need to eat, as much as they could still enjoy food and drink. It was a day or two after the encounter with Artoria, and while Medb usually took lunch in her own room rather than with the lower classes, she had been going to the cafeteria regularly to see if she could run into Mordred while she was eating, and moreover in a scenario she couldn’t easily leave.

As luck would have it, that afternoon Medb finally had her wish granted, as she entered the cafeteria and saw some familiar spikey blonde hair. She made a beeline towards Mordred, who was sitting alone and too busy tearing into a turkey leg to see the oncoming queen until it was too late.

“Sir Mordred!” Medb said with carefully created cheer, “It’s been a while since we’ve talked, no?”

Mordred nearly choked on her food, but upon recovering looked over at Medb suspiciously. “What do you want?” she asked pointedly. Medb knew she had something of a reputation amongst the servants, which could make this a bit more difficult…

“I couldn’t help but overhear your argument with the King of Knights the other day…”

“As if that narrows it down. Listen, I told Master, I told the others, I’ll tell you, I won’t-” Mordred started.

“And I must say, you made some excellent points.” Medb said as if Mordred hadn’t spoken.

“-lay off of- excuse me?” Mordred blinked in surprise.

“You are an impressive knight, truly, and quite worthy. After all, you must be one of the strongest here, if not the strongest on the Throne of Heroes. Everyone else relies on their Noble Phantasms, and you remain quite competitive even with yours in such a weakened state.” Medb continued. That was it. Distract and flatter. She knew Mordred’s type.

Mordred couldn’t help but blush. She cleared her throat. “Is that so? Well, yes, it’s true I’m strong. Not that Father would ever admit to it.”

“More the pity. If she would put aside her petty grudges for a moment, she’d surely see you’ve proven your worth on the field of battle.” Medb said. As Mordred looked away to hide her blush, Medb took the opportunity to withdraw a small flask from her cloak and pour a few drops of its contents into the knight’s drink.

“Finally, someone gets it,” Mordred said, turning back as she managed to recover and taking a swig of her drink, “That’s right! Even with a weakened Noble Phantasm, I’m the equal or better of every servant here! If Clarent was at full power, I’d definitely be the strongest, don’t you think? I’m practically a king already, now if only Father would just accept that!”

“A king indeed,” Medb said, pressing closer and grinning. “True kings like yourself… need queens, don’t they?”

Mordred’s blush returned again, in force. “I, uh, yeah, usually…” she stammered. What was wrong with her? Why was she feeling so hot and bothered all of a sudden?

“That’s right. Now then… as a Queen, why don’t I show my dear King a thing or two in my room later? I’ll be waiting~” Medb stood suddenly and walked off, noting with some pleasure that Mordred was staring at her bottom as she left.

“A-Ah, sure-” Mordred said, before realizing what she was agreeing to.

One drink was all it took.

-----

As Mordred finished her food and drink, she felt like a complete fool for accepting. What had she just agreed to!? Well, it was Medb, so there weren’t that many things it could be. She’d slap herself if she wasn’t in public - what kind of idiot was she?

True, it was nice to be recognized by somebody, but Medb was tricky. There was no way she’d meant a word of it, right? Mordred, armed with this certainty, headed off to train some and blow off steam and try and forget that that conversation had happened.

She was just working up a sweat when she realized she wasn’t alone in the room. Probably the other person who used it as much as she did... “If you want to train, Father, it’ll have to be somewhere-”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Queen Medb said, “I simply wish to observe.”

Mordred turned right back around, doing her best not to look at Medb as she swung her sword at the dummy again and again. Ignore, ignore, ignore, and she might go away. Mordred tried to focus on her training. What was that new move she wanted to try? Maybe Medb would have an idea-

It was no use. As she trained, Mordred’s mind wasn’t on her actions but on the pink-haired woman sitting on a bench, staring at her intensely. She knew that her praise was meaningless. Medb would say whatever she could to get whoever she fancied into bed. But- that did mean she at least liked her enough to want to bed her right? And she wasn’t unattractive, per se. Quite the opposite actually.

Mordred had… never really been one to think of sexuality. It simply had never come up. But all the same, whenever she tried to banish her thoughts of the Irish queen, they came back stronger than ever. Her sensual voice, her nice body, her domineering personality. Mordred didn’t really think she was her type, but she couldn’t stop thinking about her all the same.

She could just… not go to Medb’s room. Call it off. She was right there. It wouldn’t be hard, would it? Just tell her that she had remembered some pressing prior commitments or something like that. Heck, she didn’t even have to say anything - Mordred was her own person, she didn’t have to say a thing to Medb if she decided she’d rather not enjoy the queen’s company. But the idea of breaking a promise she’d made was petrifying, almost painful.

Medb had left shortly before Mordred finished, presumably to go to her room. Mordred found her body starting to walk to Medb’s room without her mind’s conscious direction, still locked in self-deliberation. She didn’t even realize where she was going until she was at the door, and by then, it was too late to turn away. The door swung open without her needing to open it, as a familiar woman stood in the doorway.

“Ah, Mordred, you’re early. I’d expected you an hour later… I appreciate the enthusiasm all the same.” Medb said, stepping aside to allow Mordred into the room.

Despite being nearly an hour early, apparently, Medb was evidently ready for her. There couldn’t have been long between their arrivals, but already the room was prepared; it was lavishly decorated with red coating the wall and a soft-looking carpet, as well as a heart-shaped bed covered in rose petals. It was very obvious what Medb’s “discussion” was meant to be just from looking around - as if it hadn’t been obvious enough from Medb’s own reputation.

Mordred wasn’t sure how she’d prepared so quickly - not only was Mordred early, but there can’t have been more than ten minutes between their arrivals. Did Medb always leave her room like this? Or did she simply work fast when the prospect of… involvement, was on the horizon?

“Of course,” Medb continued, “A good King would be punctual, so it makes sense you would be.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Mordred agreed. “We made an agreement, I wouldn’t insult you by being late.” Despite her flowery and formal tone, Mordred was still internally shouting at herself for being an idiot, and at the moment for lying about being punctual - she’d have rather not arrived.

Medb sat down on a chair and Mordred found herself compelled to sit beside her. “What do you for in your free time, Knight of Treachery? Forgive my curiosity, but it’s only polite to make some small talk before the main event.”

Mordred would rather have stayed silent, but her mouth moved all the same. “Training, mostly. Training, training, sometimes eating, and then training some more.” She puffed out her chest a bit. “Sharpening my skills is the only recreation I need.”

“And maintaining your sword, yes? An excellent piece of craftsmanship, it must take hours a day to keep it in such good condition.”

Mordred shrugged. “Actually, since it’s a Noble Phantasm, I don’t really have to worry about wearing it down. I still sharpen it sometimes. It’s relaxing.”

“I wonder, does it do anything special?” Medb said, leaning in and looking over the blade. “It’s a powerful Noble Phantasm, to be sure…”

Mordred couldn’t bring herself to refuse an answer. “Of course. If it would just recognize me as a ruler, it’d boost my charisma, and my strength and speed. It would give me the authority of a ruler and the power to enforce it.”

“I would like to hold it.” Medb said. While the words formed a request, the tone made her words bounce around Mordred’s head and be taken as a command. Before she could stop herself, she was offering it by the hilt to the Queen.

Medb took it, looking over the blade and admiring it’s quality and craftsmanship. “My, it’s even better in my hand than it was when I saw it. There is a bit of a problem though… I don’t think it’s living up to its full potential with you. If a proper royal were to have it, I think it would be a truly brilliant blade.” Medb’s smile remained sweet as can be even as her words turned venomous. “May I keep it, to… fix, that little issue?”

Of course not, Mordred thought, and “Yes, it’s a gift fit for your beauty,” is what she said instead. Medb’s words seemed to almost seep into her very being, demanding her attention and obedience.

“Excellent.” Medb said. “To tell you the truth, Clarent was the reason you caught my interest. Such a powerful Noble Phantasm even in it’s weakened state, it’s exquisite. I was surprised how quickly you yourself charmed me as well.” Medb slid the blade into a sheath and placed it gently on the ground next to her. “As thanks for offering me this gift, I believe it’s only proper I give you one in return.”

She drew her flask, and offered it to Mordred. “This mead is my Noble Phantasm. I promise you it is the greatest thing you will ever drink, like the finest nectar of the gods.” she smiled. “It will also finish what the few drops you’ve already had have started. It will make you mine, body, mind, and soul. I won’t have to convince you to follow my orders - my every desire will be your demand, my every whim a commandment on your very soul. You’ll want to serve me, and love every moment of it. Would you like a drink? It would be quite rude to refuse a Queen’s gift, after all.”

Mordred tried to resist. She really did. She knew that Medb wasn’t lying, not about this. She wanted to throttle her, to grab Clarent and slice her head from her shoulders. She wanted to run and avoid the fate she saw before her. Her mind resisted, but her body was willing, taking the proffered flask and bringing it to her lips, before tipping it over. The sweet, enchanted mead burned a trail into her body, already beginning to take effect. “I’m not worthy of this, my beloved Queen…” her mouth said without her mental command, but Mordred was hardly in control now.

“I’m impressed, Mordred, how easily you succumbed.” Medb said. “I think Artoria likely would have lasted a bit longer, although she’d still have fallen in time. I think you’ll have a reward… do you want to know what it is?”

Mordred found she did want to hear it, but she also was pissed off. That… lovely lady… had said Artoria would do something better than her? Unforgivable! “Of course…” she said after a bit, unable to stop herself.

“You get to be my new steed. You’ll drive my carriage through the halls of Chaldea - my usual beasts of burden are rather too large, but you’ll do quite nicely.” Medb declared. “It’s quite an honor.”

“It’s a big honor, Mistress!” Mordred agreed externally even as she daughter herself internally. She wasn’t her mistress! She was some… Mordred tried hard to think of a slur, a swear, anything harsh she could apply to Medb. It wasn’t that she couldn’t think profane thoughts - but she couldn’t form a single negative thought directed at Medb, let alone a word. But she couldn’t just… let herself become property. That was bad, right?

Medb then got close, and Mordred felt excited despite herself. Slowly, she removed Mordred’s armor, bit by bit. From the way she licked her lips, it was like Medb saw it the way one would taking a nut out of the shell - plate by plate, piece by piece, more of Mordred’s body was revealed to her. Stepping out of her greaves wasn’t the end of it though, as Medb proceeded to strip off the underclothes that had been between Mordred’s skin and the armor.

The contact of her hand on Mordred’s bare skin sent a lightning bolt through the knight’s body, as pleasure and arousal instantly spiked. She moaned loudly as Medb stroked her hand down the knight’s spine, her mind battered by the effects of the mead. She could no longer remember life without Medb - had she not always been her knight? That seemed wrong, but she could remember no other mistress than the Queen. So what was her objection, part of her argued. The other part replied it would be wrong, that she was a knight, not property. But was a knight not the property of their liege?

Medb guided the struggling knight over to the bed, gently pushing her face down and ass up on it, before turning and rummaged through her cabinets for the tools. “Stay there, steed. I have some more gifts for you, appropriate to your new role.” she instructed as Mordred started to get up, freezing her in place.

Mordred felt something settle over her head. “Some excellent equine ears,” Medb said, the smile audible in her tone despite Mordred looking straight ahead and anywhere but Medb, “They look adorable on you, Mordred~”

“Thank you Mistress! I’ll never take them off!” Mordred said. This was demeaning, ridiculous, lovely and thoughtful… she wasn’t cute! But maybe the Queen would make her cute...

“No need to thank me. I simply state the truth.” Medb said, before Mordred felt the woman’s hands running down her bottom, and then down her legs. She couldn’t help but moan, and Medb giggled. “So excited to find out what I do next… cute~”

“I-I’m… excited…” Mordred said, though her mind wasn’t in it. She wasn’t excited, she thought to herself, trying very hard not to pay attention to her body rather vigorously denying it. She wouldn’t enjoy this, she told herself in spite of the wetness between her thighs.

Medb gently but insistently pulled one of Mordred’s legs up, and the steed in the making felt her slide something over her foot. “Hooves seem far more appropriate for a steed than human feet. It’ll make it easier for you to trek around Chaldea.” Medb said simply.

Well, maybe it would. Medb surely knew what she was talking about, she knew all about animals right? Mordred shook her head, trying to get rid of the thought, but it stayed. She simply couldn’t conceive that Medb could be wrong about anything. “Mistress, you’re so thoughtful,” her mouth said, heedless of her inner turmoil and the losing battle she was waging.

“I do love your compliments so…” Medb sighed, as she put on the other matching boot. Mordred couldn’t see, but she could feel how they locked her feet into a strange posture, and she knew that they made her feet look more like hooves. “But, as a steed, your words are unnecessary.” Something black came over Mordred’s face, and she could feel Medb strap it tight. “You will remain silent until your words are needed, with this.”

Mordred tried to open her mouth to tell her how she’d obey, but the strange contraption Medb had placed over her face kept her mouth shut tight. A muzzle, that’s what it was! Mordred could no longer speak to her Mistress, but she was sure that she was right. It was best to save her voice - and besides, all she’d be using it for was praising Mistress, and she could better do that by serving her, couldn’t she? Something seemed wrong about that sentence, somewhere deep down. But that couldn’t be true - it felt so right.

Mordred started to get up to look to her Mistress, but Mistress gently pushed her back down. “Stay right there. I need to get something special.” With those words, Mordred found herself practically locked in place. She couldn’t move when her Mistress had specifically told her not to do so.

Mistress eventually came back, and Mordred found herself wondering what was up next. She felt Mistress wrapping something around her waist, something cool and heavy. “I want to make sure everyone knows that you’re not your own person.” Mistress says. “They’ll look at you and know you’re someone’s property. And since you’re my property, I need to make sure nobody else can use you without my say-so. Besides, it’s for your own good - with how often you’ll be going into heat, this is the only way to stop you from just jumping someone in the hall.”

Mordred tugged at the tight thing wrapped around her waist, and had a spike of shock as she realized it was a chastity belt. A little lock sat over her womanhood, making sure neither Mordred nor anyone else could relieve the steed unless her Mistress desired it, and Mistress made a show of putting the key on a chain nestled between her breasts. For half a second, Mordred was outraged - but that was drowned out by the excitement. She was owned! Everyone would be able to see that Mistress owned her! She didn’t deserve the honor, to have Mistress care enough to protect her like that. She would have to serve her well in return-

That was wrong, wasn’t it? Something wasn’t right. There wasn’t much of the old Mordred left, but it tried to rally, to break out of the mental fog over her mind as Medb grabbed one last thing from her drawers. Mordred hardly paid attention, until she felt something push up against her butt. “Last, but not least… you’re hardly a horse if you don’t have a tail, are you?”

Fear and anticipation warred within Mordred. She had to get out! She had to escape! She jerked around in place, wanting to move but unable to bring herself to do it. Her body was ready though. Beneath the chastity belt, she was drenched. She found her ass subtly moving to better present itself to Medb. Her hands held tight to the sheets of the bed to help her not move too much when it came. Medb readied herself, and then pushed.

Mordred would have screamed, but the muzzle kept her mouth shut. In a thrust, all of her resistance was blown away, every bit of her old self vanishing in the pain and pleasure as the horse-tail dildo was shoved into her rear end through a well-placed hole in the chastity belt. She wasn’t a knight anymore, she wasn’t a Servant or a Heroic Spirit, she wasn’t even human. She was Mistress’ loyal, loving steed. The steed, were she able to think through the sensations, probably would have noticed that she’d orgasmed - but as it was, all she could do was buck her hips against the thrust, her body trying to push it deeper while her mind lay in pieces. All that was left was a desire to serve and be used by her lovely Mistress, her Queen, Medb.

Medb smiled as she finished off Mordred’s change - she was hers. She wasn’t about to stop thrusting for that - her newly minted steed was still evidently horny, and she deserved a reward for her subservience. But as she used the dildo to plow Mordred’s bottom, she was happy. She could feel that Mordred, and Clarent by extension, had become attached to her Saint’s Graph. The surest sign that Mordred was no more than her property anymore - she was nearer to a noble phantasm than to a Servant.

“Good girl, good girl…” she whispered in her steed’s ear, as she continued to thrust. She thought she’d have a nice outfit to go with Clarent - and the sword would be better on a true ruler like she was than it had ever been on Mordred.

-----

Artoria hadn’t seen Mordred in days. She hadn’t realized that until just recently, simply having an odd feeling as she went about her day without interruption. The ‘without interruption’ bit was the confusing part - normally by now she’d have had a verbal sparring match or two with the traitorous knight. She wondered why for a bit, before remembering what Medb had said. She’d dismissed it at the time, but could she have been serious?

As she was leaving the training room, she heard something strange down the hall. The clop-clop of horse hooves, accompanied by the low whine of carriage wheels. That was odd - the walls of Chaldea were wide, but wide enough for horses?

She couldn’t hide the surprise when the source of the sound turned the corner. Medb was taking a carriage ride, that much was clear - the baffling thing was the one pulling the carriage. A familiar blonde figure.

Medb pulled on the reigns and her steed slowed to a stop in front of Artoria. This gave her a good look at the new Mordred - quite a lot of her, as she was buck naked except for her harness and a… a chastity belt? She didn’t seem embarrassed or concerned at all, or even tired from the load. She just seemed content to wait around for Medb’s next order.

As Medb disembarked, Artoria noticed the sword on her side. She had claimed Clarent, and for all Medb’s faults, she was royalty and the sword clearly recognized that. It had a different feeling to it than it did with Mordred. “Artoria, so nice to see you! What do you think of the new Mordred?”

“What do I… think?” Artoria asked. She didn’t know where to start, let alone what to think.

“Mordred was so charmed by my feminine wiles, she simply had to be mine right then and there. She even offered me Clarent as a gift! I’d never have seen her to be the type, but it seems there is such a thing as love at first sight.” Medb smiled. “Oh, I should let her say hello. I’m sure she wants to.” she said, turning around and taking the muzzle off of Mordred.

Artoria leaned in a bit, observing the ex-knight. “...Hello, Mordred…?” she said, cautiously. There was something off about her - while still physically human, her expression was somehow… dull, vacant, in a way she’d more ascribe to animals than to a Servant.

The comparison was made rather apt when Mordred’s reaction was not to spit and curse at Artoria, but to lick her face.

Artoria staggered back in shock, wiping off the saliva as Medb put the muzzle back on. “Bad girl! Bad girl! You use your words with royalty, not your tongue! I apologize, Artoria, my lovely steed seems to need more discipline. She will certainly receive it back in our room.”

“I can’t imagine what it took to get such a… strong willed individual so docile. It must have been some work.” Artoria said, not honestly sure how to respond.

“It’s not too rough when they bend so easily. I find the more aggressive and uncouth they are, the more they want to be broken, deep down. She certainly wanted nothing more than to serve, somewhere inside. You should come to my room sometime for a demonstration.”

“I… I suppose I could…” Artoria stammered.

“I have some big plans for the future of Chaldea! I hope you’ll be here to see them~” Medb said, before winking at Artoria. Despite herself, Artoria found herself blushing like a schoolgirl as she watched the Queen embark on her carriage again, and set Mordred running down the hall.

Medb smiled. Mordred often drank of her mead, and probably had still had some on her tongue when she licked her former king. She could tell Artoria was already feeling the effects. She’d have to decide what she wanted from the King of Knights when the woman visited her room...