• Soft whispers of the men in the long, dark corridors of the dungeon brought me around from my afternoon nap. Even softer I heard the sound of foot steps on the worn stone floors, the queen never wears shoes. One of the many men in these cells was going to die in her bed, and I hoped it was me.
    I've been in this cell for only a week, punishment for calling the queen beautiful in a bar. Every other man in here had also complimented the queen in some way. I have only been here a week, others have been here for months, even years smile
    .
    "Konrad," the queen said in her seductively soothing voice, "come with me." she finished, grabbing my hand and pulling me from the rotten smelling, mold covered, stone and iron room.
    Her long stride was nearly impossible for me to keep up with, although I was twice her height and five years her senior. She was the youngest queen that I could remember in my years of roaming country sides. She was also the most beautiful, other than that one golden haired beauty. But even she didn't have the attractive personality of this young lass. Her hair was a fire red, skin as pale as the moon light that streams down to the forest floor.
    As we reached the top of a flight of stairs, a female guard at the top gave me an evil look. I simply winked at her, and continued to be dragged by the queen. She didn't stop once on the long trek to her room, and I was amazed once she opened the door.
    The room was decorated in the palace colors; red and black, and a few silver objects for accents. Red silk sheets on the bed appeared not to be dyed with the color of blood, and the wooden floor beneath shimmered underneath the soft golden glow of the candles.
    "Take off your clothes." She let her dress slide down from her body, revealing scarred skin and disfigured bones. I reeled back in shock. I did notice that she was abnormally thin, but not to this extreme. The scars must be from murdering more athletic men, while the broken bones from stronger men. I fit neither category, being just as thin as she, with no physical attraction. Yet the queen only continued to stare at me, with her bright green eyes, watching as I removed my ragged clothes from my body.
    I, too, had as many scars as her. Mine come from fights with other men, some from vicious women. She pulled up against me, and our disfigured bodies fit together like shattered pieces of pottery, recreating a beautiful picture once lost to all the eyes. I watched her, only for a moment, before she suddenly moved away from me, and made her way to the bed, her nude skin rolling over odd lumps and mounds beneath it. I followed her, politely, and noticed that she had a strap with a dagger attached to her leg.
    "My queen, do you plan to murder me?" I asked, nearly expecting to be killed then and there.
    She smiles kindly, "No, my dear. I plan to have my children with you."
    Those words shocked me, like a fish during a lightning storm. She had always come off as a murderous queen, killing men for the fun and joy of it. But now, she seemed so gentle, so sincere. I watched her body slide onto the bed, and once again I followed suit. We made love on the cloud of radiant red silk and rose petals, a brilliant setting for a brilliant feeling.