Queen Yavara: Chapter 1

Part One: Metamorphosis

Prologue

Yavara sat upon a black throne. She closed her eyes and savored the discordant symphony of wails and moans, the drone punctuated by the clanking of chains and the cracking of whips. Exhaling contentedly, she opened her eyes. Below her laid a spectacle of depravity, churning masses of flesh oscillating to some unheard cadence, their glistening forms bathed in the crimson torchlight. The prisoners’ eyes were wide with horror, as what was being done to them was horrible, but comingled with that horror was a terrible ecstasy. Oh, but they tried to deny it, as high-elves held dignity over all things, but even they, the noblest of races, could not conceal their fall from grace. And what a fall it was, for they’d spent their lives so very high in the world, assured in their perch of superiority over all living things.

Yavara sighed. Was there anything as beautiful as watching the angelic succumb to the worst of violations? To see the look in their eyes when they realized that they not only enjoyed the abhorrent things being done to them, but they loved them. She often found that the noblest were often prone to the deepest of depravities. She would know that firsthand. They would resist, oh they would, but they would all break eventually. They could not deny themselves, after all. Then Yavara would take off their shackles, and she would not fear their escape, nor their retribution. For the creatures that emerged from Yavara’s dungeon were not the frightened alabaster beauties that had been dragged into it. No, their metamorphosis was complete, and the expressions they gave her were not of terror, but of understanding, and desire. Of hunger. But not yet. No, these poor souls still had to be broken, and the breaking -the fall-, was truly the most alluring part of the process.

Yavara smiled from the corner of her mouth as she savored the sight. Her hair was as black as night, her skin was bronze, her face was structured with high cheekbones and full lips, and her expressive eyes were adorned with blazing orange irises. She wore a thin black corset that ended before her navel, and started just above her areolas, giving the appearance that her large breasts might burst from their constraints at any moment. Her thighs were thick and bare, and her modesty was barely kept by a thin black leather thong that disappeared between her shapely cheeks, the trunks of which ended thigh-high into leather boots. She pushed a strand of hair behind her pointed ear, and adjusted the crown that adorned her head. She was the Dark Queen, monarch of Alkandra, the realm of beasts. When Yavara was younger, her complexion was much different; she had hair so blonde it almost appeared white, skin as pale as porcelain, and eyes like the ocean. She was a high-elf once, a royal daughter of the very people she now forced into perverse subservience. But that was before she was taken by the orc, before he had his way with her beneath the canopy of The Great Forest. Only the creatures of the woods heard her shrieks of terror and pain, and only they witnessed as the shrieks of pain turned to cries of pleasure. Only they witnessed her metamorphosis, her… fall. Yavara’s fingers began to explore herself as she remembered the moment fondly.

Chapter One

YAVARA

I was on route to Castle Thorum, the cool fall wind gently blowing my dress against me, the dry leaves crunching beneath my sandals as I walked down the dirt road. I adjusted the bow that was slung across my shoulder, and pulled a bottle from my satchel. I made my way to a nearby stream to quench my thirst, and soak my aching feet. The stream was still and clear, the afternoon sun shining off it in such a way that the water acted as a perfect mirror. I took a moment to admire my reflection.

My straight blonde hair was pulled up in a ponytail, revealing two pointed ears on the sides of my head. My high cheekbones, full lips, pointed nose and big blue eyes had gotten the attention of many potential suitors in the past, though what distinguished me from my female peers was my body. My lanky teenage frame used to be a point of embarrassment for me, but my mother always told me I would grow into it. Her encouraging words proved to be prophetic, for as my late puberty bloomed within me, my lanky body transformed into the striking form of a woman. The sun beaming on my white dress gave it a translucent appearance, and I could see the pink points of my nipples clearly from the centers of my robust breasts. My bosom was pressed tightly against the fabric of my dress, which narrowed as it ran down my muscular torso before widening at my hips. I narcissistically turned my body to get a look at my best asset. The fabric of my dress creased at the peak of my backside, giving off the hint of posterior cleavage as the dress flowed down and around my thick, perfectly formed cheeks.

You self-absorbed bitch. I thought to myself, smiling. I dipped the bottle in the stream, sending ripples from the point of contact. My distorted reflection stared back at me, my features shimmering ethereally in the near-dusk sunlight. A ripple moved across the reflection of my eye, and for a brief moment my blue irises appeared orange before changing back to blue with the next ripple. The auburn cast of the sun was undoubtedly the cause, and the anomaly was forgotten with the relief of washing my parched throat.

I continued down the path to Castle Thorum, making haste for a campsite before light failed me. It was unusual for a princess of the Highlands to venture alone, but I had proven myself more than capable at dealing with threats. The Noble Court objected to my plans of a solo venture, but my father came to my aid. “Yavara is the most skilled bowman the kingdom has ever seen! I have witnessed her take down a platoon of orcs single handedly, which is more than any of your sons can say. She’s young; give her a chance to explore the world alone before the burdens of age confine her.”

Despite his defense of my choices, Father was curious about why I would not take a traveling companion. I told him that I wanted to test myself -and that was true-, but the real reason I wouldn’t take a squire, was because I did not expect one to remain loyal to me. My father jealously guarded his daughters, and being his second born, my only real value to the monarchy was my virginity; I certainly didn’t need one of Father’s lackies sprinting back to Bentius the moment I laid with a handsome blacksmith, or a rugged stable boy. Leveria had the luxury of inheriting power, but I would have to marry it. Of course, it wasn’t my power I was consolidating with marriage, but Father’s, and in time, Leveria’s. I shuddered to think of the day I would have to call my elder sister, “Your Highness,” for Leveria would make sure I did. I never understood her animosity toward me. Yes, Father doted on me as the son he never had, but in the end, I would still be married-off to some lordling with soft hands. My future was not my own, and that’s why I was taking this journey. This was one last breath of freedom before the shackles of marriage confined me, one chance to find the passion of my youth before it was sold for political favors. Oh, I could prick my finger on my wedding night and leave the evidence of my maidenhood on the bedsheets, but it would have been long spent by then.

I fantasized about my ideal lover while the sun sank behind the Spearhead Mountains. He would be strong, tall, maybe human; good heaven knows Father would die if I laid with a human! Perhaps one of the nomadic dawn-elves, or maybe even a dwarf, if I crossed height from my requirement list. Anything but a high-elf. How could I live a full life without tasting its variety? Such prudes were my people about purity and blood-lines.

I relinquished my pack with a sigh, wiping the sweat from my brow and assessing the campsite. To the west, the Great Forest stretched endlessly, a sea of foliage that turned from coniferous to the perpetual autumn of the Maples. The beasts that resided there marked their territory by geology or fauna, and if I remembered correctly, the Maples were mostly occupied by factious orc tribes. None would be daring enough to venture this close to the Highland border; not like those tribes of the Pines and the Tundra. Still, I kept my keen ears open, and my keener eyes more so.

I was staking my tent when I heard a crack in the woods. My head bolted upright, old instincts telling me that such a sound was not simply the ambiance of the forest. My honed reflexes took control, and I silently dashed behind the cover of a fallen tree, and drew my bow. I raised my head from cover just enough to peer into the darkness, and notch an arrow. Another crack, this time closer. I shifted my footing and looked for the source of the sound. Nothing. Silence. The moon was obstructed by the clouds, blanketing the world from its spotlight. Another crack, this one was only a few yards away. The clouds parted, revealing my target. I smiled to myself.

Fool!

The arrow met its mark in the darkness, followed by the satisfying shriek of a mortal shot. The orc dropped, the thud echoing throughout the forest. I notched another arrow and approached my kill. The arrow was deep in the orc’s neck, black blood flowing from his nose and mouth. His eyes writhed frantically in their sockets before staring vacantly into the night sky. Then he was silent. It was far from the first time I’d killed, and I was long-since numb to the guilt of it. Truth be told, I never did feel the guilt. High-elf babes were taught that beasts are unfeeling, unthinking brutes, and not worthy of elven mercy, but I knew better. They were intelligent and sentient, and that’s what made killing them such a thrill. What that said about my state-of-mind, I didn’t know. I wasn’t a psychopath, for I cared deeply for those close to me. Elena most of all.

I examined the body before me, my mind elsewhere. Elena was my best friend since childhood, my confidant and coconspirator during my cutthroat preteens, and my rock of solace during my uncertain adolescence. If there was anyone I would have taken with me on this journey, it would’ve been her. Elena, who had willingly taken the ultimate vows of the rangers, forgoing the life of comfortable aristocracy she’d been born to. It tore my heart out when she told me, and it enraged her noble mother, but Elena was resolved. It was nearly two years ago to the day when she swore her oath, and I lost my best friend to these woods. I wondered if she thought of me from time to time as she patrolled. I wondered if she was thinking of me this very night.

One less for you, Elena. I thought as I pulled the Nadi haft from the orc’s neck. Elena killed with terrifying proficiency, but she never took joy in it. I guessed that made her the perfect ranger, who played diplomat as much as soldier with the tribes of the Great Forest. Diplomacy. I thought with contempt. Backstabbing and intrigue were Leveria’s proclivities, while I sought to see the face of my problems. It made it incredibly easy for her to manipulate me.

I heard distant yelling, and the squeal of a blown whistle. I grinned to myself. Maybe it was a good thing Leveria was born first; diplomacy was fucking boring. Time to hunt.

I silently packed my gear and slipped into the forest, following the sounds of the boisterous band. It wasn’t long before I was upon them, and set myself to finding a vantage point. I climbed a large tree, my dexterous limbs carrying me silently into the canopy, where I perched against the trunk, my body black against the black maple bark. There were ten of them, all heavily muscled, with the tallest one standing over eight feet high, and the smallest one just under seven. These were no Maple orcs. These were northern beasts, almost big enough to be small trolls. I’d never seen of their like before, and my heart quickened at the challenge.