“But you can call me Veronica.” The petite woman peeks out the window, then yanks the curtains shut and whips around to face the sun-knight. “I apologize for my curtness; I have little time.”

Eshe smiles apologetically. “My pleasure, Veronica. I am Ser Eshe. Though I don’t believe I’ll be needing your company this evening, as I just shared intimacy in the bathhouse.” They stroll over to the card table and take a seat. “You are gorgeous, make no mistake, but I am spent.” 

A surprised blush spreads across Veronica’s face, one that’s soon overcome by a scowl. “I am not some simple whore!” She attempts to simultaneously cross her arms and legs over her skimpy loincloth and bandeau. It doesn’t do much more than reveal the smooth skin of her delicate limbs. “I mean, I am…rather, it’s…I’m not here for that, alright? Ahem. I come to you as a political dissident and a potential ally bearing useful information. There are some things you should know before you meet with Helena.” 

Eshe frowns. The optimist in them wants to believe she’s offering a few friendly tips for proper conduct in court. The optimist in them is rarely correct. “What sort of ally?”

“One who understands Her Majesty's true nature and what She’s capable of.” Veronica’s face scrunches up at the words, as if speaking them causes her pain. “The stories I’ve read of your Order, Ser knight, all deal with deposing evil tyrants and sorcerers. Queen Helena is both. She wields powerful magic indiscriminately and rules with an iron fist; I should know, for I am one of Her many victims.” She pauses for dramatic effect.

Eshe scratches the back of their neck, feeling far too tired for whatever this is. They briefly mull over the accusations: The charge of tyranny is no surprise; in a disordered land, to rule is to have blood on your hands. Sorcery, however, is far more concerning—such power can spread disorder instead of merely perpetuating it. But while they have heard whisperings about the Queen’s magic in their travels, such rumors are unreliable. For the adept, ‘magic’ refers to the craft of sorcery: understanding, harnessing, and shaping the pure energy of creation. Essentially, to be a sorcerer is to imagine all possible futures, and then to channel energy into the specific circumstance which creates what you desire. However, for the vast majority of folk, the term ‘magic’ is far less specific. Eshe had seen people blame magic for anything from inconvenient rainstorms to a horse living a long life, as well as a whole host of other coincidences and natural phenomena. Thus, they’re used to meeting declarations of ‘magical’ power with skepticism. “What has She done, exactly?” 

“She torments the innocent with Her sorceries, transforming them into pleasure slaves for Her own debauched entertainment. Believe it or not, Ser knight, I was once a noblewoman—the tall and athletic Lady Veronica Tiern, loved and respected by my peers and the people of Arlunn alike. But I could not abide Her Majesty’s wickedness, and so I stood and fought to liberate our kingdom. Our battle was close, with her wielding foul power and I the strength of righteousness, but eventually Her underhanded trickery took the day.” She perches on their bed without asking permission, her feet not quite reaching the floor. “As punishment, She made me small and weak, with wild emotions and insatiable…distractibility. Warped me to suit Her perverse desires, so I might serve as a symbol of Her power.” 

“I…see.” The woman seems more likely to be deranged than bewitched—she broke into their room disheveled and barely dressed, started spouting accusations, and claimed to be a former noblewoman. Not to mention the fact that she seems perpetually on the verge of tears. But therein lies the challenge with mind magic: Derangement cannot prove or disprove its presence. Eshe catches the wonderful scent of the food beside them; it would be easy to write the woman off as delusional, hand her over to the guards, and enjoy their meal while it’s still warm. And yet…Prencipelen ava carne. Tenets before flesh. Sane or not, they have a duty to hear her out. At least chances are good she won’t have any evidence. “Do you have proof?” 

“Yes!” Nevermind. Veronica exhales in relief, bounding up to them and standing on her toes to plant a kiss on their cheek. They try to ignore the shifting fabric of her loincloth and the supple treasures hinted at beneath. Eshe sighs. Of course. Why are the hottest ones always the most neurotic? The little vixen’s face practically begs to be sat on, yet here she is drawing them into some vast conspiracy instead. “Truly you are a kind and just knight, Ser. I can show you plenty of proof, if you’ll just follow me!” She cracks open the door, checks for guards, then beckons them forward. Eshe spares one last longing glance at their dinner, then reluctantly follows. Looks like their full meal will have to wait a bit longer. 

They don’t spend long in the bright marble halls of the royal palace proper. Much to Eshe’s dismay, Veronica pulls them instead into a network of claustrophobic servant passages, passing through countless narrow stone corridors lit only by the occasional candle lantern. Their progress is slow; Veronica stops every time someone passes ahead, pressing herself up against Eshe and putting a finger to her lips.

“It’s just a scullery maid,” they grumble after a particularly long wait, one in which their co-conspirator practically wrapped herself around them in the tight passageway.

“Hush!” She cocks her head to the side, listening carefully. “I know what I’m doing.” They certainly believe that—especially once they catch a whiff of her arousal. 

The stone corridors grow less crowded the further they go, however, and the duo is able to travel faster and much less intimately as a result. In the absence of foot traffic, the cobwebs are larger and the dust thicker. Shifts in direction grow more sharp, sudden, and frequent. Eshe feels as though they’re spiraling into the center of the palace, navigating toward a deeply buried secret. Or rather Veronica is navigating, traversing the labyrinth with absolute confidence while they stand back and watch. 

“You know this place well,” they remark after a particularly complex sequence of turns. 

“I've worked against Helena for a long time.” Veronica swats away a spiderweb, running both hands through her hair to remove any remnants. “Spent gods know how many hours creeping around this place. Euch.” 

Eshe reaches forward and plucks a strand of spider silk from her hair. “Doesn’t seem like a task well suited to a noblewoman.” 

She glances back at them, a confused look on her face. “Of course it is. These tunnels are perfect for all sorts of affairs: dead drops, clandestine meetings, smuggling.” Her face lights up as she begins explaining a topic she’s clearly passionate about. Cute, in an eccentric sort of way. “Best part is, the more Helena expands the palace, the greater portion of this system goes unused. And the mason’s guild can’t be arsed to fill any of it in, especially not since Helena hung half of their leadership. I use these all the time; I came through here today to find you once I heard you’d arrived. Most people don’t even know it goes this far. You can hide a body here and nobody will find it for weeks! Ah. Um. Not that I ever have.” 

Eshe raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like you had quite the operation.” Running around the palace having special secret meetings didn’t quite fit her earlier description of the people’s bold stand against wickedness. 

She shakes her head. “You should have seen it, Eshe. If you had gotten here a few months earlier…” The pair turn one final corner, revealing an unmarked, unpainted wooden door. “Well. No point in dwelling on the past when its outcome is right before us. Go ahead.” She slips behind them. 

They wrap their hand around the doorknob, considering Veronica’s words. Folk in their travels had spoken about a failed coup several months earlier, but Eshe assumed it was nothing more than a petty power struggle. But if the petite dissident beside them is really who she says she is, and if there’s something of genuine concern behind the door, then they’ll have to rethink their understanding of Arlunn—and what they’ll tell the Order upon their return. They turn the handle and pull, spilling light from the hallway into the room beyond. It’s a lounge of some sort, a long, wide space intimate by virtue of its low ceilings and lack of windows. Plush red velvet carpeting lines the floor and walls, reeking of tobacco, sex, and an assortment of perfumes. Clusters of couches circle colorful glass hookahs and carts filled with various bottles of spirits, as well as elaborate devices filled with iron bands and leather straps. The whole room is soaked with stillness and shadow, to the point where they can barely make out the looming silhouettes in the back.

“Just a moment!” Veronica grabs a candle from the hallway, then wanders the room lighting gold-tinted lanterns to reveal the truth within. 

Eshe inhales sharply. “Are they…?”

“Alive?” their companion supplies, slinking back over to stand beside them. “In a sense, yes. They can move and sense their surroundings, but I’ve never seen one eat or sleep.”

“By the Sun…”

Rows of equidistant muscular bodies line the perimeter of the lounge, standing completely still and gazing straight ahead. Shiny skin stretches over perfectly uniform builds, each identical save for minor differences in hair and facial features. Eshe can see no blinking, no drawing of breath, and no errant twitches or spasms from the nude Prometheans. Whether their hearts beat or not, there’s clearly no spark of life within them.

“They’re called automata,” Veronica murmurs respectfully. “And every single one used to be like you or me. Real people with families and lives, snuffed out for Her Majesty’s sick pleasure.”

The two of them stand silently as Eshe processes the sight, taking in the twisted works of art and sorcery. Veronica appears to have been telling the truth—as much as they’d like to, they cannot deny the proof before their eyes. They can hardly imagine the moment these people ceased to be, the moment their minds and bodies were overwritten with a blocky, rigid template. Even more unnerving is the fact that the automata aren’t only a group of living sex toys—they’re also a potential army of completely obedient, impossibly strong soldiers. Dread settles in their stomach.

“How many exist?” They slowly approach a machine with dark hair and feminine features, treading cautiously as if it might awaken.

“Dozens, at least. Maybe hundreds. She usually makes them in batches, the last being three months ago.” Veronica trails behind them, watching their expression carefully. “Most of the ones down here were my allies.”

Her voice fades into the background as Eshe inspects the automata. They lift one of its hands, noting the calluses along its palm and fingers—likely from extended weapon use.

“…made it a public ceremony, changing us in front of the entire court. Made me beg to become Her concubine right there in front of everyone. I had to, you see, because She’s the only one who can make me…um, I mean, because She forced me to. With magic…” 

A series of sharp clacks sound as their knuckles rap against its bicep. They frown, then stab a fingernail into it. Nothing happens. Its skin is hard and firm; they can’t even leave an indent.

“...has me pleasure Her in front of everyone. Makes me get beneath Her skirts in court and eat Her out, and then has me sit there and doesn’t even let me clean my face. Gods, it’s so embarrassing, and I think she’s even influenced my mind to make me like it, and now the smell of Her is enough to—”

“Veronica.” Eshe turns back to face the monologuing woman, who’s clearly miffed at the interruption. “What are the automata used for?” 

“Sex, obviously. Have you seen the damn things?” Veronica brushes her fingers over the nearest machine’s sizable chest. “I don’t use them that way, of course. The thought of riding the hard dicks of my former allies is enough to make me sick. Plus, they can’t get me off anyways. More foul sorcery.” 

Clearly the ex-noblewoman’s ‘distractibility’ is acting up. “Are they ever used for fighting? 

“Why would—“ She looks around at the automata’s powerful bodies, then blinks. “Oh. I never considered that.” 

Clearly a gap in the former lady’s knowledge. But at least they know that if the automata are magically enhanced soldiers, they aren’t used enough to be common knowledge. Yet. “Alright.” The knight sighs, stepping away from the organic statue. “Tell me who they were.”

And so Veronica begins putting names and titles to each, a process far lengthier than Eshe initially expected. Her distraction only grows worse as they continue, with her spending more and more time ogling and gossiping about the nude forms around her.

“Rupert Lannith, a bastard child of the noble house. He had no idea what he was doing or why he was doing it; he just wanted people to like him, the fool,” she continues, eyes trailing down appreciatively to the automata’s cock. While many of the specifics are lost on Eshe, hearing the role of each victim at least helps provide a window into Queen Helena’s intentions—so far, the automata seem to have mostly been mid-level bureaucrats and nobles. People who were important enough that a humiliating punishment would send a strong message, but not so important that said punishment would provoke outright rebellion. Of course, they still don't understand why the people of Arlunn tolerated their ‘beloved’ Lady Veronica being turned into a sex slave, but they’re hesitant to press the clearly sensitive subject.

“Was he one of yours?”

“Hardly. He just stole documents for me because he thought it would get him laid.” She waves her hand dismissively. “And he wanted to free the kingdom, obviously. Gods, is it hot in here?” She tears herself away from ogling ‘Rupert’ and walks toward the next robot.

“Selene Faen, former head archivist. She had the most luscious—“

“Hold on.” Eshe puts their hand on her narrow shoulder and turns her around—as useful as this outing has been, they still have to make their audience with the Queen. “I think I’ve heard enough. Thank you for…”

Eyes full of burning desire look up at them. Veronica’s face and chest are flushed, the latter rising and falling as she pants. They watch as their touch sends a massive shudder throughout her body, one that makes her rub her thighs together and sway back and forth as if caught in a warm breeze. The way she moves is different than it was mere minutes ago—looser, somehow, and more playful. As if all her restraint drained away, leaving a happy, free, and decidedly aroused spirit behind. Eshe can’t help finding it incredibly hot. “Oh, Ser…”

“Veronica?” They move their hand to her cheek, attempting to recapture her focus. She nuzzles it eagerly, closing her eyes and humming in delight. “Everything okay?”

Veronica wraps her hands around the back of their neck and kisses them. It’s a slow, tender embrace, one that melts their initial uncertainty and tension until they’re pressing their lips back harder into hers. The two remain at that comfortable and even pace for some time, basking in each other’s presence, until she pulls away with a throaty moan.

“Mmm…” Perhaps they can stay a bit longer. The adorable little thing before them obviously loves attention, and who are they to deny her? They scratch behind her ears, grinning as she grabs the front of their tunic and whimpers. The smell of arousal is stronger now, and Eshe isn’t entirely sure it’s from Veronica alone; watching her composure and pride melt away at their light touch has ignited a fire within them. “Please…”

“Please what?” Their other hand wraps around her waist, strong fingers roaming over her smooth, bare flesh. The pair begin swaying in tandem, slowly and intimately dancing to a phantom rhythm.

Her whisper is barely audible: “Take me with you.” 

The heat of the moment gives way to the frigid cold realization of their mistake. Eshe pushes Veronica off their hip before she can start grinding on it, holding her at arm’s length and staring into her glassy eyes. “What do you mean?” They got too close. Veronica is clearly unstable, yet they listened to their libido and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to touch her. Foolishness. “What do you mean, Veronica?”

She lets out a frustrated moan, trying and failing to get past their sturdy grip and latch back on to their torso. “Take me with you, Eshe. We can thrive together.” Her fingers pry at their own, but her soft hands and short nails find no purchase. “With my knowledge and the might of the Order, we can take Arlunn! I can finally get away from Her!” 

“Calm down.” This is why they usually stay far away from victims of mind magic. For someone in such a state, gestures are too easily misread, intentions obscured by desires, and emotions run far too hot. But they made an exception, acted on passion alone, and what was a simple kiss to them was likely something much more significant to the poor girl. “Take deep breaths for me, Veronica. Can you do that?”

If anything, her breathing becomes faster and shallower. “We can live happily together! I’ll be yours whenever you like! Don’t leave me alone with Her, please.” She stops trying to get past their arm and holds on tightly to it instead, pressing her face against their sleeve. “Please, please, please…”

They gently lead her over to a nearby plush couch, setting her down and taking the seat opposite her. “…Sol, ein Solieren du accede judgimen. Sol, in your light I accept judgment,” they murmur the prayer for atonement softly, preparing to guide Veronica back from where they misled her. “I apologize. I should not have been so intimate.” 

Veronica’s expression remains neutral, yet somehow the shadows on her face seem to grow longer and darker, like she’s being hollowed out before them. “I thought you liked it. Thought you liked me.”

Eshe’s heart aches in sorrow for the wilting girl before them, but they push the pain aside in the pursuit of complete honesty. “What I like is not at issue. I am in the midst of a complex negotiation with the Queen, Veronica, and you have been affected by Her sorcery.” They stand. “That’s why I can’t go further, or take you with me; I would compromise my position and be taking advantage of you if I did.”

“I see.” Veronica nods, her voice dull and lifeless. “I was fun to play with and touch in the moment, but now the moment’s gone and you’re throwing me away.”

“‘Throwing you away?’ Veronica, I barely know you.” Eshe puts their hands on their hips. “Look, I can promise you this: I will tell the Order of what you showed me here today. Your plight will not go unheard.”

Veronica starts absently running her hands over the soft material of the couch, as if seeking any comfort available. “But I want you. I need you.” Her voice quivers.

There’s little more they can do for her. If anything, their continued presence will only cause her more distress. “No, Veronica. You don’t.” They swear they can almost hear something inside her break. Her face contorts in pain, tears flowing freely, and they turn to leave.

Before they can make their exit, the door at the far end of the lounge bursts open. Four royal guards march through, followed by a tall hawkish blonde in spectacles and Queen Helena Herself. Eshe gapes in awe. The monarch is clad in a seemingly endless coral gown, one which curls and swoops around Her body. She possesses the timeless, ageless beauty of a sorceress unconstrained by physical limits and unburdened by excessive vanity, with a wise face, ample curves, and a gaze of intense purpose. Her green eyes survey the room coolly, landing first on Eshe and then on Her concubine.

“Come.”

Veronica immediately goes limp, collapsing back onto the couch. Then, as if underwater, her small form rises several feet into the air and floats, limbs spread outward and neck parallel with the floor. An invisible current gently pulls her over toward Her Majesty's entourage before depositing her in the arms of the blonde. Eshe watches in fascination, then suddenly remembers themself and bows deeply. 

“Your Majesty, I—“

“Please.” The Queen holds up a hand. “I apologize for the actions of my charge, Ser Eshe. And while I am happy to answer any questions you may have, I do not wish to speak in this place.” They nod and follow Her out of the red velvet nightmare. Behind them, the guards snuff out the lanterns one by one until the automata are plunged once more into darkness. 

The trip back up is shorter and far more conventional, lacking the complex routes and safety precautions of their voyage down. The Queen makes small talk with Eshe—polite questions about their travels and background—while Veronica remains in the blonde’s arms, totally still save for the occasional slow blink of her half-lidded eyes. They stop at one of the palace’s solariums, a glass-walled room with wicker furniture and assorted potted plants, where a small tea tray has been set up for them. The smell of fresh herbs, the white tiled floor, the patterned glass of the ceiling…it’s pristine and comforting, yet Eshe’s nerves are absolutely raw. Did they see too much? Veronica said the Queen was a threat to the Order, was she telling the truth? They know their faith protects them from any unwanted sorcery, but they can imagine many equally nasty mundane fates befalling them. But running isn’t an option, for they have a duty to fulfill. And so they sit stiffly in their chair, sipping tea and making conversation until Her Majesty finally addresses their fears.

“I hope you know you’re perfectly safe, Eshe, and that I harbor no ill will toward you.” 

They almost bow again, even knowing they would slam their head into the table by doing so. The sheer release of tension is enough to make them not care. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness. You’re very merciful.” 

Queen Helena offers the ghost of a smile. “I’ve no reason to be upset with you for Veronica’s misdeeds.” She beckons the blonde—Lady Francine, according to her earlier introduction—who passes Veronica over to Her lap. Her Majesty begins softly stroking the limp girl’s hair. “Speaking of. You no doubt have many questions. I believe I can answer most of them with a story, though, if you will indulge me?” 

Eshe nods, still trying to recollect their wits. Being in the presence of a sorceress Queen is more unnerving than they’d previously imagined. She somehow is greater than the sum of Her titles—Her hidden magic and explicit authority compliment each other to create a truly potent presence, as if reality itself bends to accommodate Her commands. “Right. In the course of my reign, I have come across a great many exceptional individuals; people with unique talents, perspectives, and minds, whom I very much enjoy interacting with. Since age is merely a suggestion for one with our…abilities, such individuals have become some of my most fleeting and therefore most valued treasures.” 

Queen Helena pauses to sip her tea, staring out the window at the streaks of pink and red jutting out from the setting sun. Eshe watches with Her for a moment, grounding themself in the familiar sight. “Regalia rou Sol,” they murmur, and Her Majesty nods appreciatively before returning to Her tale.

“Conflict is inevitable for one in my position, and those who deny this fact either delude themselves or do not remain rulers for long. I make a point of keeping my conflicts brief and spectacular, so I shall not have to make the same point twice.” Veronica mewls softly from the Queen’s lap, and She redoubles Her efforts to pat the former lady’s head. “But when I come into conflict with gifted individuals, I face a dilemma: Either I cut them down and lose someone I value highly, or I let them off easy and set a dangerous precedent. And eventually, after a number of such difficult dilemmas, I decided to try and solve the issue through sorcery.”

“You wanted to keep who they were?” 

She nods. “I recognize that might be hard to believe, given what you saw today. But the automata are the ones who prove themselves incapable or…unworthy of proper transformation. For a long time, every single attempt I made at changing a person ended in an automata or a corpse. I’d take too much away from them in the transformation and they’d become shells of their former selves, or I wouldn’t take enough and they’d lash out until they destroyed themselves. I became quite discouraged after a while, merely going through the motions and making more and more of the poor machines. Not my finest hour.” 

It’s certainly not the justification Eshe was expecting. They assumed Her Majesty would explain Her sorcery by appealing to the safety of the kingdom or the right of the crown, but…this? Compared to the normal excuses of tyrants, Hers almost comes across as an art form. They’re reminded of the precise forms of each and every automata, and of the care She must have put into such a project. The thought makes their spine crawl. They move to change the subject. “Until Veronica?”

Veronica blinks her wide, dumb eyes at them, understanding nothing. “In a sense. Veronica is in some ways a far simpler test, and in other ways a far more difficult one. Did she tell you much about who she used to be?”

“She said she was a noblewoman who opposed you. Made it sound like she led a popular revolt.” 

Queen Helena and Lady Francine share knowing looks and smiles, shaking their heads. “She must have found you quite enticing, to inflate herself so. No, if there was one word that absolutely did not apply to Lady Veronica Tiern, it was ‘popular.’ Francine, might you do the honors of reciting the former lady’s background?”

Lady Francine nods, leaning forward in her chair and pushing her spectacles up higher onto her nose. “Lady Veronica Tiern was one of the fiercest power brokers the court of Arlunn has ever known. She built her power using bribery, blackmail, and espionage, constantly trading favors and manipulating those close to her—and crushing those who got in her way. At every turn she made it absolutely clear that she was only interested in herself and her own goals. Nobody liked her, nobody trusted her, but everyone was afraid of her.” 

Eshe’s eyes go wide. Certainly, Veronica was intense, but they hadn’t imagined the afternoon’s little seductress could have been a ruthless killer. Which was her plan all along, of course. One they fell for. Why are the hottest ones always the most evil?

“Well put.” Queen Helena gestures to a servant, who removes the tea tray; Eshe realizes with a start that they accidentally ate almost everything on it. “And so I found myself with an ideal candidate for transformation: A woman with no existing connections, no loved ones, no morals, and no life outside of the pursuit of power. There’s far less of her I need to remove to change who she is, since she’s already so…well, so empty. And if I can find a way to make her pliable but still entirely herself, then I’ll know my project is not a failure; I’ll no longer have to condemn all my enemies to death or imprisonment, because I’ll know sorcery will suffice. Veronica is, in a sense, a humanitarian experiment.” 

Eshe blinks rapidly, struggling to connect the evidence they saw to the grand language they’re hearing. “What does this have to do with sex?” they blurt out, furrowing their brow. “Ah, no offense, Your Majesty. It’s just that she’s your…well, passion is certainly in her repertoire, so to speak. I could barely keep her off of me.” They throw in the little white lie offhandedly—they did push her away eventually, after all.

As if in response to the question, the Queen presses two fingers against Veronica’s mouth, which she automatically begins to suck. “Call it a theory of moral development. I believe that by learning to love and appreciate an individual—myself, in this case—my dear Veronica can learn to recognize the value of people as a whole. Passion is an important component as a sort of universal language, if you will. She gains or loses pleasure based on her behavior, and has already shown strides in seeking pleasure over her old, prideful hang-ups.” She plunges her fingers deeper into Veronica, who begins rocking back and forth in the rhythm of her sucking. The entire time, her empty eyes stare at Eshe. “I am idealistic, I admit, and after today my project may seem somewhat naive. But she has already made such progress, and I believe she can still improve further. A few more minor edits should suffice, I imagine.”

The knight breaks eye contact with the now-drooling Veronica, looking at her ‘owner’ instead. “And then what, she’ll be a good person?”

“A better person. Or, barring that, a person who cannot hurt anyone else. The changes I’ve made to her have already prevented a great deal of harm.” 

Eshe glances down at Veronica, with her cute little mouth hard at work. Compared to earlier in the afternoon, she seems…they aren’t sure how to put it. Lesser? Happier? Softer? Hollower? The question, quite frankly, is beyond the scope of their experience. And so Eshe defaults back to what they are comfortable with: their duty. In a world of strict hierarchy, there’s no room for conflicting emotion or beautiful, damaged women; there is only the Sun, Its path, and those who follow it. “I appreciate the answers, Your Highness. Now, as to my official capacity here today…”