The world was known as Him-Ambar, meaning "the Cool World" in ancient Elvish. Across this world stretched many continents, but the greatest of them all is called the Central Continent. This vast land, from west to east, was divided into three great regions: Rosenland, Esta, and Tsincho. To the east, Tsincho was steeped in the mysterious aura of the Orient—home to ninja, sword-saints, and the art of papermaking. Esta lay in the sun-scorched, camel-haunted deserts of the central lands: cradle of djinn and other wonders, as well as the birthplace of the human race. In the southwest, a smaller continent, Indica, extended northwest from Esta and northeast toward Tsincho, renowned as the land of yogic ascetics and monks.
To the west sprawled Rosenland—the realm of knights and castles, of swords and magic. Here, one of the mightiest kingdoms was the Knight-Kingdom of Goulens.
Tonight, in a cavern somewhere in Goulens, a goblin merchant waited, fidgeting in the shadows. The sharp clack, clack, clack of high-heeled boots echoed from outside. A tall, shadowy figure, standing nearly one-ninety even before accounting for her heels, strode into the mouth of the cave. She was twenty-eight, and exuded an aura both queenly and cold, her beauty utterly devastating.
She wore a black leather cloak, its hem stitched with luxurious white fur, giving her a sense of noble opulence. The cloak was fastened at her throat, drawing the fur into a regal collar; down the center, the cloak parted just enough to reveal a hint of form-fitting leather within—a clear sign of her fondness for severe, black, body-hugging attire. In fact, beneath the cloak, she wore a full-body, gothic-style, black leather catsuit, paired with over-the-elbow gloves and thigh-high, heeled boots—though these were, for now, hidden by her mantle. Atop it all, the cloak's hood, trimmed with matching fur, shaded her head, obscuring her hair and casting her face into shadow.
Once inside the cave, as if enchanted, the hood smoothly receded, melding back into the cloak, which settled upon her shoulders—revealing a cascade of long, deep-violet waves that danced about her waist. The fringe on one side swept dramatically across her brow, the other left her high, noble forehead and hairline bare, radiating a sense of inviolable aristocracy. Her lips, plump and proud, were painted violet to match the dramatic sweep of her eye-shadow, done in heavy gothic style: narrow and sharp at the inner corners, thick and boldly flared at the outer tips, making her both sensual and imperious.
Her features were all strong planes and shadows—deep-set eyes, a soaring, aristocratic nose, and high cheekbones, all hinting at a fierce, commanding will. Her eyes were long, the inner corners dipping, the outer edges winging upward beneath lush lashes—a natural "queen's gaze." Her brows were thick, arched sharply upward in a heroic shape: low at the bridge, sweeping high at the ends, the brows and eyes set so close together as to give her an almost overbearing aura. Her gaze was pure domination, a storm of majesty and warlike pride that made all who met her eyes bow their heads in submission. Her skin was impossibly pale and delicate, bearing a supernal, inhuman refinement, as if she were a higher being altogether.
Her purple eyeshadow, layered maturely and deliberately, gave her the air of an experienced ruler; within that ring, a narrow black shadow surrounded each eye, creating a double corona of color. Her face appeared twenty-eight, but her makeup lent her an older, deeper power—if you told someone she was a countess or queen who had seen the world's rise and fall, they would believe it. And yet, there wasn't a wrinkle on her face—her skin was as flawless and youthful as a girl's, soft as blown glass.
She wore a pair of ten-centimeter rectangular golden earrings, glinting with each tilt of her head. On closer inspection, every detail of her style—eye makeup, jewelry, attire—was classic gothic, beloved of black magicians and vampires alike.
"Assi, still alive, I see?" the queenly beauty greeted the goblin.
"Lady Dominax, as well as ever," replied the goblin, bowing. Dominax—her surname, known and feared.
"What have you brought me today? Show me," she commanded.
"Of course!" The goblin merchant opened his sack, revealing an array of fine dresses, robes, headscarves, veils, and exquisite jewelry.
Dominax—a vampire family. In this world, vampires existed in three ranks: common vampires, high vampires, and royal vampires. Those "vampires" who burst into flame in sunlight were not true vampires, but thralls—blood-slaves—created when a victim, bitten by a vampire, became infected and transformed by their master's will. These thralls could not resist their master's command.
But if a vampire, after feeding, returned some of their own blood—the ritual "blood kiss"—a true vampire was born. True vampires could not be destroyed by sunlight, but still suffered from its rays. Yet, turning a human required balance: take too much blood and the victim would die; give too much and the vampire would be dangerously weakened, as blood was their life force. This led to a proliferation of weak, diluted vampires in the world.
The more diluted a vampire's blood, the weaker they were—some "vampires" now boasted no physical advantage over humans, yet suffered all the curses of their kind.
But when the "vampire blood" content in one's veins exceeded 50%, sunlight could no longer harm, but only discomfort, them. Their strength, speed, stamina, and senses far outstripped any mortal's. And each lineage conferred special "bloodline powers," shaped by their unique ancestry.
At 100%, they were called Royal Vampires. Royals were not physically mightier than high vampires, but their bloodline powers were supreme; they could stroll the sunlit world freely, suffering only a psychological burden from the old curse.
This Lady Dominax was precisely such a Royal Vampire—the Duchess Sophia von Dominax.
The Dominax family had long been led by men, and lacked artisans skilled in the making of women's finery. Sophia, moreover, deeply disliked most other vampires, so she often relied on traveling goblin merchants to bring her the world's best garments and gems.
Sophia surveyed the contents of Assi's sack. "Not bad, not bad. These are worthy of a high noble." She tossed him a purse. "Fifty gold coins. I'm pleased; keep the change."
"Thank you, Lady!" Assi grinned. Just then, Sophia's supernatural hearing caught something. She smirked wickedly. "So they've come for me, after all. I thought they were off to war."
"Come again, Lady?" the goblin asked, baffled.
"When I arrived, I sensed a force of about a thousand soldiers nearby, with several dangerous figures among them. I thought they were headed to battle, but it seems now they're converging on this cave."
"O-one thousand?!" Assi paled. Vampire hearing was legendary—like bats, they could perceive even ultrasound. And among Royals, this sense was dozens of times sharper. Sophia's senses never lied.
"Don't worry." Sophia's voice dripped with matriarchal authority. "Even ten thousand would be swept aside with a gesture. You have nothing to fear."
"Th-thank you, Lady. I'll find a way out now—" The goblin vanished into the shadows.
"Of course, they aren't here for a goblin, are they?" Sophia shot him a queenly wink as he slipped away.
"Bloodwing, time for a new form," she murmured, and her cloak began to shift. This was no ordinary cloak, but a magical garment. As she had entered the cave, its hood had retracted on its own; now, slits opened at the sleeves, allowing her gloved hands to emerge. The clasp at her throat undid itself and retied at her waist, revealing her leather-clad bust. In an instant, the cumbersome cloak became a fitted, action-ready coat.
The lining of the new coat was as blood-red as before—now, with the front split in an "X," it exposed more of her flawless figure and the royal catsuit beneath. Her catsuit was molded tight to every curve, her bust and hips far larger than the average woman's, her chest alone a monumental 38E—or perhaps even F. Her waist was cinched, her hips high and wide, and her thighs—clad in thigh-high boots—were both sumptuous and endlessly long. Not thin, but shapely, plush, elastic—legs that managed to be both "meaty" and elegant, the kind you could worship for a lifetime.
But none were there to admire her, for Assi had fled, and the enemy had arrived at last.
A group with torches advanced into the cave, where Sophia, already waiting, sat cross-legged atop a rock, her pose at once playful and unconcerned.
"The vampire is here! Capture her alive!"
"Well, well, how odd. No one should have known I was meeting Assi," Sophia remarked, eyes twinkling with the mischief of a wicked girl. "Have you ever heard the name Sophia von Dominax?" she asked, licking her lips with a hint of wickedness.
Before they could answer, one man slashed at her. The sword struck her coat with a heavy thud—"Got her!" he cried—just as a silvery-blue rapier, floating in the air, pierced his chest. He died, never knowing his blow had been stopped by her magical attire.
With a swish, the floating sword beheaded several others, all while Sophia sat calmly atop her rock. "Boring. Let's take this outside." The coat lifted, carrying Sophia into the air. The blade, Moonshine, returned to her hand. Her senses told her: "There are more than thirty inside—too crowded." She swept through the tunnel like a bat, slaughtering as she flew.
Meanwhile, outside the forest, a mage atop a horse turned to the black-cloaked man beside him, who wore a tall, peculiar hat—almost conical, the classic sign of a witch hunter. "Mr. Gass, should we send in more men?"
"No use," Gass replied. "It takes a hundred men to bring down a high vampire, and we're to capture, not kill. The cave holds fifty at best—any more is just throwing away lives." Gass was a professional vampire hunter, with three high vampires to his credit—an elite among less than forty such hunters in Rosenland.
He broke off as a burst of blood erupted from the cave. Out flew a mature gothic queen, sword in hand, two heads tumbling at her feet. "So many guests! This party needs a proper costume," Sophia cried, shrouding herself in shadows. When the darkness faded, she wore a revealing suit of black and gold armor, wickedly ornate—its patterns winged and draconic, its bodice cut like a bunny suit or a competition swimsuit: the "V" leaving the tops of her breasts and the roots of her thighs provocatively exposed. Her long legs were clad in matching black-and-gold armored thigh boots, reaching high up her thighs, but the plush, delicious flesh above the boots was left temptingly bare.
But the soldiers below had no time to ogle her figure. "Is her bloodline power flight?" the mage asked Gass.
"Not necessarily, Master Gael. It could be a spell—if it's true flight, then she's probably from House Julius," Gass answered. Only the Julius clan had inherent flight. Otherwise, anyone could fly by magic.
"If it's a spell, I should sense it," Gael said.
"Then it's a Julius high vampire. The Twelve Great Houses are a different league." According to legend, ten thousand years ago in Esta, the first Undying appeared, ancestor of all vampires. Twelve mighty warriors defeated him and shared his power; thus the Twelve Royal Houses began.
But Gass was confident—he'd bested three high vampires, after all. With Master Gael of the Magic Association, and other experts, even a Royal couldn't—he didn't even finish the thought before Sophia dove down, her sword a storm of silver-blue. In the blink of an eye, dozens were cut down in a crimson tide; bodies and heads rolled as her blade danced. This was swordsmanship beyond the reach of mortals. Gass realized with a shock: this woman's swordplay might be the finest in the world.
"Disrespect the Duchess and die!" Sophia lifted her sword for another strike when, suddenly, a bolt of lightning blasted her, erupting in a thunderous explosion.
"Oh? A real mage! Impressive!" The smoke cleared, Sophia unharmed—her coat having protected her. She hovered above, clapping and laughing, as if watching children play.
"Die, witch!" Gael hurled a two-meter-wide ball of fire, a spell so powerful even a frost dragon would suffer from it. He cast it without a word—a mark of his mastery. But Sophia, without even moving, conjured a fireball twice as large, and sent it flying toward Gael's spell, easily overpowering it.
Gael was shocked: "She can spellcast without words or gesture?" He barely managed to throw up a shield before Sophia's fireball detonated, killing four or five soldiers nearby.
"Is this a joke?" Gael muttered, sweating as he realized Sophia's magical prowess exceeded even the greatest in Goulens.
Gass, desperate, drew his flintlock pistol and fired at Sophia, who didn't even bother to parry. The bullet bounced off her coat.
Furious, Gass whipped out his vampire-slaying whip—a weapon so potent it could kill an ordinary vampire in a stroke. Under cover of Gael's magic, he struck Sophia's unarmored chest, unleashing a burst of holy power.
"Ah—ha, ha, that hurts!" Sophia laughed, rubbing her chest. "No respect for ladies, I see."
A second lash struck her, as a greatsword-wielding swordsman lunged in.
"I'd rather be whipped than cut," Sophia taunted, parrying the sword and, with a flick, killed the swordsman instantly. As the whip struck her again, she grinned, then returned the blow—her rapier transforming into a segmented silver whip, which lashed out and tore Gass in two.
Gael was left pale—most of his elite were dead. A moment ago he'd been plotting how to amuse himself with this woman's exquisite body; now, he was nearly powerless, and the battle lost. Time to run, he decided, as Sophia advanced.
"Not so fast, pervert," Sophia called, reading his mind even through the chaos. In a heartbeat, she was upon him, ending his life.
With Gael dead, the remaining soldiers scattered. Sophia let them go—she had no interest in chasing prey.
"How delightful! More adventures like this, please!" Sophia grinned, a true noble lady who thrived on excitement.
But her ears caught another sound: someone still hid nearby. She strode to a supply wagon, ripped aside the tarp, and found a small, cowering human—only one-seventy-four, dwarfed by Sophia's one-eighty height—curled up in fear. "Don't kill me! Drink my blood, Lady!" he whimpered.
Sophia burst out laughing. "Isaac, get up." She grabbed him by the collar and lifted him like a kitten.
"How do you know my name?" Isaac stammered, not knowing Sophia had already plumbed his mind. He was not a bad man—greedy, lecherous, cowardly, yes, but not evil. And unlike most vampires, the Dominax family had a unique gift: by drinking blood, they could read memories. Evil souls tasted foul.
"I know all your thoughts, Little Zack," Sophia teased. "All of them?" Isaac groaned, realizing she'd seen his lustful fantasies.
Sophia laughed again. "Relax, Little Zack. I'm not going to roast you like that mage—" she gestured at Gael's ashes. "You may be a lecher, but you're not wicked. That one was greedy, corrupt, murderous. His blood would have disgusted me."
Zack gulped. "So the rumors were true—she really can read minds and judge souls!"
"Now, Little Zack, tell me: how did you humans know I'd be here tonight?"
"I… I don't… know… Please, don't kill me—you can read my mind…"
"If you don't want to die, don't stammer," Sophia grinned, giving him a playful wink.
"Yes, Lady!" Isaac yelped.
"You're honest; you have nothing to hide, I see. That mage was only following orders from his master, Clement."
Clement the Archmage? No wonder so many troops had come, Isaac realized.
Sophia smiled at his shifting thoughts. "By the way, that pervert mage was just thinking about how to tie me up with the gear in this wagon. Would you like to be the hero who binds a vampire lady?"
"I, uh, well—" Isaac stammered, but there was no point in hiding—she knew everything anyway.
"Don't worry. I won't kill you, so long as you don't betray me," Sophia said, stretching out her index fingernail—vampires' nails could extend at will for battle—and tapping him on the forehead. "And by betrayal, I mean: don't disobey me."
"Of course, my Lady. I won't betray you," Isaac promised, sweating nervously.
"You're so honest. Want to be my knight?" she teased.
"Do you know how knights work?" Isaac had always dreamed of knighthood, but to serve a vampire was something else.
Sophia laughed. "You're funny. Greedy, lustful, cowardly, but ambitious too—I like pets like you. Of course I know about knighthood. I, Sophia von Dominax, as Duchess of Valhazz, have every right to bestow knighthood."
She was the head of the most mysterious of the Twelve Great Houses! The Dominax, rulers of the land of the dead, the Grand Duchy of Silannia—her reputation was legendary. Compared to other Houses, they were both real and terrifying.
"If you wish, but I won't harm my fellow humans." Isaac found Sophia not at all the monster the legends painted.
"Then kneel," Sophia commanded.
Isaac—humble, nervous, yet feeling the weight of the moment—knelt on one knee before her. Sophia drew her blade, Moonshine, and tapped both his shoulders. "I, Grand Duchess of Silannia, Elector of the Alamanthi Empire, Princess and Duchess of Valhazz, Duchess of Modova, Matriarch of the House of Dominax, Grand Master of the Dracul Knights, member of the Crimson Parliament—Sophia von Dominax—hereby name you my knight. You are obliged to serve me, so long as you do not endanger the human world."
"Yes, my Lady."Isaac had started from the lowest rung—he'd scrubbed stables and mucked latrines. Now, knighted by a true noble, he was almost in disbelief at his luck (even if it wasn't exactly the sort of glory he'd imagined).
"Now, tell me, Little Zack—want to become the hero who binds a vampire duchess?" Sophia's tone grew teasingly wicked, her gaze hungry for excitement.
"I… I want to," Isaac admitted, knowing his thoughts could not be concealed.
"Then fetch the red bag in the wagon—inside are all the tools you'll need. Bind me," Sophia ordered.
Isaac rummaged through the wagon and found a red bag. Inside: a manual on restraining vampires, along with ropes, collars, shackles, a chastity belt and bra, a single-sleeve binder, and several unmistakable metal plugs—all radiating the same silvery-blue glow as Moonshine.
"Well, my Lady—" Isaac hesitated, uncertain how to begin.
"Go ahead and tie me. I want to see the capital, to learn how Clement knew I would be here. This will be quite the adventure!"
"Yes, then—""Right, make it real—make it rough. Make me look truly like your prisoner," Sophia instructed, her tone as imperious as ever. She conjured away her dragonbone armor, then used magic to slip back into her original leather catsuit, the Bloodwing cloak pooling at her feet, leaving herself ready and vulnerable.
Now Isaac saw her in full: her entire form encased in that black, skin-tight leather suit, legs sheathed in thigh-high boots, a tight corset cinched around her already narrow waist and ample bosom. The suit covered her utterly, save for the cuffs, collar, and ankles—her curves left no secrets. In her boots, Sophia towered over Isaac, making him feel utterly dwarfed. The sheer scale of her breasts—those 38F globes—her hips so wide they challenged the width of her shoulders, her thighs impossibly long and plush, every inch of her the stuff of erotic legend.
"My apologies," Isaac murmured, opening the manual. He started with rope, pulling Sophia's gloved wrists behind her back and binding them, then looping a circle below each elbow, pulling them together as tightly as her body allowed. He added more coils above the elbows and upper arms, binding her arms into a rigid Y-shape behind her.
Isaac hesitated at the next step—the manual insisted on binding her chest.
"No problem, do it. And if you want to cop a feel, I don't mind. I prefer honesty in a man's hands," Sophia said, reading Isaac's inner conflict.
Isaac didn't hold back—he wound the rope tightly above and below Sophia's monumental breasts, feeling the weight and heat of them through the leather, then looped the rope through her cleavage, over the top, creating a bold Y-shaped harness that cinched each orb from every angle. With extra rope, he circled her underbust, then crossed back over her shoulders, pulling down to pin the sides of her breasts, before tying it all off behind her. Now, any movement of her arms tugged painfully at her chest, the ropes digging deliciously into her flesh even through the suit.
The ropes themselves radiated a numbing power, even through the leather; Sophia could feel an electric tingle wherever they touched. It was the same as gripping Moonshine's hilt—if an ordinary or lesser vampire had been bound like this, they'd have been burned alive by the holy energy. Isaac, as Sophia had suggested, let his hands wander as he tied her—kneading her vast, resilient breasts, losing himself in the intoxicating, forbidden softness.
He cinched her waist even tighter, binding her breath short, then linked the waist ropes to those at her elbows, so any struggle would squeeze her body more fiercely. With Sophia's permission, he tied more ropes around her hips and bottom, then snaked a rope through her thighs. Sophia obligingly parted her legs, letting the rope pass close against her most sensitive place—then up between her cheeks, and when Isaac pulled tight, she shuddered, overcome by a flood of sensation.
Sophia had been raised with strict chastity, and centuries of vampire intrigue had left her cold to love. Though she'd seen the world's every carnal art, her pride meant she'd never really known pleasure. Now, with the enchanted rope pressed so hard to her flower, Sophia gasped—"Ah—ah!"—momentarily losing all composure.
Isaac froze, afraid he'd angered her.
"Don't stop! Tie me tighter—make me look truly captive!" Sophia gasped. This tiny suffering was nothing for one as mighty as she, and she'd be damned if she'd let herself appear weak before a mere mortal.
Isaac obeyed, tightening the rope until Sophia's eyes glazed over with restraint and arousal. She bit her lip, determined not to show her pleasure, but her breath was ragged. Isaac finished by connecting her wrist bindings to the crotch rope—any attempt to move her arms would now force the rope deeper, stimulating her again and again. He also linked the waist rope to the one anchoring her hips, so that every breath and movement drew the rope tighter against her most sensitive spot. Isaac didn't notice, but Sophia, denied for centuries, had already soaked the inside of her suit.
"My Lady, what next—""Wait!" Sophia, panting slightly, interrupted. She realized the rope suppressed her power—her strength was now that of a mere human. Even if she hadn't been weakened, she suspected the ropes were made of the same material as Moonshine; she would never break them. This was no longer a game—she was truly helpless.
Isaac considered how to bind her legs, but Sophia cut him off, her mind racing: if he tied her legs, she would have no hope of escape, utterly at his mercy. That could not be allowed. "You have no horse. If you tie my legs as well, you won't be able to move me."
"So… no leg binding, then?"
"No, but to make it convincing, put the shackles on my ankles."
"Yes, my Lady." Isaac fetched the matching shackles—glimmering with holy light. He locked them around her ankles. Instantly, Sophia felt the same numbing current—her legs buckled, strength gone, and she collapsed to the floor.
"Lady Dominax, are you all right?" Isaac panicked.
"I'm fine. This just makes me look more like a prisoner. I wanted to try it out first…" Sophia forced herself up with trembling, powerless legs, feigning calm.
"Very well. The book says you must also wear the collar, or we'll both die. So—"
"Of course, put it on me." Sophia knew the collar would seal her powers, perhaps even her magic. Still, she had to appear unfazed.
Isaac locked the silvery-blue collar around Sophia's throat. It snapped shut with a click, forming a seamless ring—no latch, no keyhole, seemingly impossible to remove.
Immediately, Sophia's senses dulled—she could no longer feel Bloodwing, nor control Moonshine. The collar truly was a suppressor.
"Put my cloak back on me," Sophia commanded.
"Yes, my Lady!" Isaac draped Bloodwing over her shoulders, and at the first touch, Sophia felt a whisper of power again—the cloak's magic couldn't be blocked by the collar.
Bloodwing swiftly adjusted itself, covering Sophia's bound body, hiding the ropes and shackles beneath, leaving only the subtle glint of the collar at her throat—easy enough to pass for a necklace. No one would ever guess that beneath the regal cloak, the lady was bound hand and foot.
"My Lady…" Isaac started.
"What is it?" Sophia was startled to realize she could no longer read minds—the collar not only suppressed magic, but her bloodline power as well. She was, for the first time in centuries, truly at someone's mercy.
"Should I gag you as well?"
"Wait. Get my mirror—the goblin's pack, in the cave, there's a vanity mirror." Sophia hadn't forgotten her original purpose tonight: to shop for the things all noble ladies loved.
Isaac fetched the mirror, and Bloodwing opened obligingly to let Sophia see herself. Tightly bound, body shaped and exposed by the ropes, she was, if anything, even more ravishing. "It'll take days to reach the nearest garrison, right?" she asked, recalling what she'd read from Gael's mind.
"Yes, several days on foot."
Sophia considered her options—perhaps she could free herself once they arrived. "Try to untie these ropes," she instructed, her voice taking on a new, husky, dangerous edge.
Isaac tried, but the moment his fingers touched the knot, a bolt of divine energy shocked him hard enough to leave his hand twitching. "No good," he grimaced, showing his spasming hand.
"Cursed humans…" Sophia thought. "Where's the key to the shackles?"
"Gael had it," Isaac replied, gesturing at the pile of ashes on the ground.
Sophia stared at the ashes. "Damn it!" She was well and truly shackled.
"Never mind, this is even more exciting," she declared, forcing a regal smile. "Since it'll take several days to reach the garrison, you can't keep my mouth gagged the whole way—people would notice a noblewoman being marched as a captive."
"That's true…"
"But you can use my veils and scarves to cover the gag," Sophia suggested. Those accessories, bought to shield her from the sun, would now serve another purpose.
"Right away, Lady." Isaac quickly wrapped the gilded white scarf and veil over Sophia's face. Bloodwing shifted helpfully, making it easy for him to dress her.
When he finished, the cloak closed again, leaving only Sophia's fierce, beautiful eyes visible.
"My apologies," Isaac said, picking up the gag. The ball-gag was also holy, glowing with blue light and featuring a locking pin. Realizing there was no key, Isaac left the pin in place, making the gag easy to remove if needed. He slipped it into Sophia's painted lips—click!—and it locked, sending another wave of electric sensation through her lips and tongue, fusing tightly in place.
"Mmmph." Sophia tested her voice—she could not utter a single word, the gag so secure her moans came out muffled and tiny.
Isaac pulled the veil up, covering all but Sophia's eyes, so none could see the sensual, bound beauty beneath. Then, before leaving, he helped himself to the purses of the dead, collecting five more gold coins. In this world, gold was precious—a commoner's wage for a month.
A beauty in tow and gold in his pocket—Isaac wasn't sure if his luck was divine or devilish. Of course, at any moment, the beauty could kill him (or so he thought).
"All right, my Lady, we're ready to go. Let's head to Windleaf Town for rest."
"Mmmph."Sophia, her legs shackled and body bound, lifted her booted, perfect leg and took a delicate step forward. Isaac followed, no longer just a servant, but a true knight at his queen's side.