A Tale of Ties and Binds - Chapter 33

Chapter 33. A Monarch of Madness

It was late morning when the matriarch rode out from the Scylla estate and just past midday when she spotted the plumes of dust kicked up by the Athenian army. At least, what remained of it. The force was significantly smaller than it had been during the battle against the Trojans the night before. The thousands had been cut to just a few hundred. No doubt many were left behind to keep guard over the many prisoners taken in the battle. Smaller armies march faster, after all. Penelope prayed the Celt's barbarian reinforcements hadn't already arrived in the capital city of Larissa.

The battle for the city would be the last for the Athenians, most likely. With Thessaly rescued from the Celt's rule, Athens would safe from a land invasion. Penelope was unsure if her allies would remain to take the fight all the way back to the great walls of Troy herself. She hoped so. Thessaly couldn't do it alone. The Celt had made sure of that over a year ago.

Her return was met with emphatic cheers and whistles. The matriarchal armour of the Household of the Scylla was still as form-fitting as the day she'd lost it to her sister. The bronze bracers and matching greaves shone in the sunlight, her breasts perked in the bust and nearly popping out with every stride in the horse's gait.

She found Daphne riding alongside the column, half-way between the head and the tail. The redhead had exchanged her Trojan whore disguise for her boiled leather bodice and had slung a fishing net over her left shoulder. Daphne bowed as much as her saddle would allow when their eyes met. "Matriarch," she said by way of greeting. "That armour always did make your boobs look great."

Penelope blushed, though she knew it to be true. "You'll have to get it redesigned to fit yours one day. Hopefully not for a long time." She'd only just gotten it back. Penelope reached for the silver serpent-headed five-tailed whip that her sister had favoured. "Oh, this is yours now. I haven't forgotten how much you like shiny things."

"Lydia's whip? Thank you, Matriarch." Daphne rubbed her fingers along the silver serpent head at the base of the whip, fondling the contours and smiling memorably. "Speaking of whom, how is Lydia now?"

Probably still tied to a post with a pack of hounds fighting for the beef I shoved up inside her womanhood. "Regretting her betrayal, I hope. But there'll be plenty of time for details when all is said and done." She scanned the ranks of the soldiers marching nearby, noticing a few familiar faces - the Scylla sisters-in-arms who'd been present at the last battle, forced to fight on the Trojan side under Lydia's command. "Can we trust them?"

"Absolutely," Daphne replied with sound confidence. "I had General Xena interrogate them to learn their allegiance. Under the pressure of a precariously balanced climax, they all swore their loyalty to you as their one true matriarch. They were almost as relieved to learn of your return as they were for the interrogation to end."

That made Penelope quite relieved. "And those who didn't swear? What of Alexis the Binder?"

"Still the playthings of Athenian soldiers, all of them. The Binder claimed she was still loyal to you, but..." the redhead grinned, "I thought her betrayal deserved a much longer interrogation - perhaps one without end."

"Fine by me." Penelope doubted Alexis the Binder had ever truly meant to harm her, but her lack of opposition to Lydia's matriarchy had destroyed what trust had once been between them. "Do you know where I can find the General? There are some things I still need to discuss with her."

"She was riding at the head of the column with Serena but dropped back not long ago. You'll find her escorting the battering ram."

Did I hear that correctly? "We have a ram? Larissa doesn't have walls last I checked."

Daphne threw her head back in laughter. "Go see for yourself."

Indeed, the battering ram was not accurately named. Battering phallus would have been a more apt description. Hanging from a frame roofed with wooden slates was large tree trunk carved into an extremely generous meat, though that was far from the main feature. Tied on her back along its solid shaft was the Trojan princess, arms and legs corded tightly down along the length of the trunk. One of the ropes connecting the shaft to the frame even doubled as a particularly frustrating crotchrope. Every slight bump in the road made the shaft sway, which kept Princess Andromache in a constant state of ecstasy as her opal eyes fluttered with delight, her perfect breasts bounced to and fro, and her impossibly soft lips muttered carnal obscenities around a thickly knotted gag. Penelope was tempted to leap off her horse and ride the princess' tongue all the way to the city, but it seemed the captive was already reserved.

"Eyes off, Thessalian," scolded the General. "The Trojan is my prize." She rode tall in her saddle, rich brown hair and pristine white cape flowing united in the wind behind her. The expression on her face was one of a smug victor, despite not having been responsible for the plan that defeated the Trojan army. The beautiful princess should have, by rights, been Penelope's captive plaything.

"I reclaimed my matriarchy, if you care," Penelope said while showing off her shiny bronze bracers.

Xena made a point of yawning. "I don't recall ever giving you that impression. Now go away."

Penelope had never let Xena's rudeness get the better of her temper and she wasn't about to start. "I thought we might discuss the battle plan."

"What plan?" the General scoffed derisively. "The Trojan army was defeated last night and their soldiers now lie frogtied and gagged between the legs of noble Athenians. What few adversaries escaped the rapine will surely scatter again when they see us approaching for a second round. That's if they haven't done so already."

How did this woman become a general with such little foresight and such a fondness for brashness and pomp? "I'm not sure you understand the Celt like I do, Xena."

"Well then you'd better trot off and give that a good ponder," Xena said, flicking her wrist as though a fly was annoying her. "Now leave me be, Thessalian. The sooner I win this war, the sooner I'll be rid of your whining."

With a heavy sigh, Penelope ignored the General's attitude and proudly rode ahead to lead the column. Larissa was her city, and she'd be damned if it's an Athenian who's first to reach it. She could see the palace looming in the distance, standing tall atop its hill in the centre of the city. Last time she saw that sight was when she was bound naked and humiliated in a cage headed north-west to Histria.

The nostalgia was enhanced by the sight of the golden-haired Serena, who'd been her captor in those days. She was riding alone at the head, at least two-dozen paces before the next soldier. Penelope imagined that was the wiser decision than riding with Daphne and the other Greeks. She had barbarian blood, and everyone would soon be fighting her kin.

The young girl offered a polite nod when she noticed Penelope's improvement in attire. "So, you've reclaimed your household at long last?"

"I have. We'll both be equals soon if everything goes to plan."

"My sister won't give up easily," Serena warned. "Titania will fight to her teeth and nails if she has to."

Good. She'll hopefully be more satisfying than Lydia was. "And I won't rest until your sister lies in bondage under my heel. I've come too far to lose." The passion of that promise was lost as Serena burst out in mocking laughter. "Why is that so funny?" Penelope asked.

Serena shook her head apologetically. "I'm not laughing at what you said - you just reminded me of someone."

"I didn't know I was so good at impersonations."

"Ha! You're not... But now you've made me curious, Penelope. Did you ever meet the phallic slave who fathered you?"

Penelope felt her eye twitch. "No. My mother sold him off before I was born. Why?"

"Do you know what ever happened to him?" The blonde's grin was uncomfortably haunting. "Do you know who bought him or who else he fathered?"

"You'd better not be implying what I think you're implying. You're not my equal yet and it's not too late to shove a gag back in your mouth."

Serena turned to look her directly in the eyes. "Oh, Penelope. Titania used to threaten me just like that."

---

The narrow streets were full of Trojans, writhing trussed and gagged on the cobblestones, subject to the whims and mercies of every bitter Thessalian who found them. It was obvious to Penelope that her countrywomen had not thoroughly enjoyed their time under Trojan occupation. Most of the captives were bruised red from a flurry of slaps, vengeful pinchings and the occasional lash across the rear. It was rare to find a Trojan not being straddled by up to three Thessalians at any given time.

Leading the column amongst it all, Penelope imagined the Trojan garrison had been overwhelmed once news reached the city of the Athenian victory. The Thessalians must have realised they'd soon be free from their foreign mistresses and so decided to take revenge early. It was disheartening for Penelope to note that none of the captives being straddled in the streets were from the Household of the Celtic Knot, however. All of them were Trojan brunettes, not barbarian blondes. The Celt would have all her lot guarding the palace and keeping the throne safe, most likely.

The last time Penelope had rode through these streets was as clear in her memory as though it had only been the day before. She'd been naked then, her hands bound tightly in the small of her back and her ankles tied around a horse's girth while a cruel leather protrusion harassed her womanhood. Crowds of her countrywomen had looked on, pointing and laughing at her. Not that she could see them for the hood over her head. Nor could she reply for the gag between her lips. They branded her a traitor that day and she was completely helpless to resist. They couldn't have been more wrong. If only things had gone differently that morning, all of the Celt's atrocities could have been avoided. Now Penelope returns their saviour, and they're all too busy raping Trojans to care.

When the palace came into view, it was not the same palace Penelope remembered. It was tainted. The Celt had redesigned it as a blend of Greek and Celtic influences. What had once been the epitome of civilisation had become a grotesque chimaera of sophistication and barbarism. Wide stone columns spanned the central length of the sandy courtyard, each chiselled with swivelling Celtic art patterns and topped with dragon heads carved from marble. Sacred groves to foreign deities now stood where once fountains erupted crystal-clear water into shining pools, and ashen fire pits now burned in place of bronze braziers.

A small army of some three-hundred sworn sisters of the Celtic Knot stood guard before the heavy palace doors, clad in dark armour with whips ready in hand. They were always a strange and unnatural sight to Penelope. They were Greeks on the outside with their leathers and speech, but beneath all that finery lurked the blonde barbarians who served a very dangerous woman.

Standing high above it all on the steps was the woman who'd orchestrated nearly all of Penelope's woes. She'd informed the Trojans of the impending attack on their Isle of Mytilene, placed herself primed to take the generalship of the Thessalian Army, framed Penelope with the treasons she herself had committed, and finally deposed Queen Astrid of the throne.

The Celt's hair was shimmering golden silk in the warm Greek sun, her breasts perked up so enticingly that they left phallic slaves drooling in their gags, and her arse so toned to perfection that a sculptor would spend half their life at their trade just to adequately replicate the curvature. The mere sight of her filled Penelope with rage.

"Form up!" Penelope yelled to the army at her back. This is it, she thought. This is where it ends.

The Athenians raced to their positions in a long line on the edge of the courtyard parallel to the Celt's sworn sisters, their white armour almost blinding in the light. The front lines unclipped their whips while those further back prepared a volley of bolas to hurl into the enemy ranks.

Daphne caught up, on foot, backed by the dozen or so Scylla sisters-in-arms. "The wheel on the General's battering ram broke off a few-hundred paces back. She's refusing to leave Andromache unguarded for fear her prize will be stolen."

"Then it would appear I'm in charge," Penelope said, shifting in her saddle

Serena grinned. "So you're not going to wait for her to catch up?" She had a look in her eye that betrayed the innocence of the question.

"No. I've been waiting over a year for this. My patience has worn out." Penelope lifted her fist to the sky and rallied her troops with her loudest shout. "Soldiers! How terrible it must be to face us, brave Greeks, the daughters of Athena and Hera. To those who fall come neither glory nor bedwarmers, so keep your wits in your head and your countrywomen to your flanks. Remember this above all: our Greek goddesses are watching. Make sure they are not ashamed. And at the last, leave their queen to me!" She punched at the air. "CHARGE!"

And so the Athenian line charged with Penelope riding at the vanguard and hundreds of allies by her side. She'd spent years of her military career fighting alongside the Celt and her sworn sisters, but this would be the first time fighting against them. There was no question in her mind, however, that she'd inflict on them every pain they'd dealt to her.

The Celt's battle cry was piercingly loud, reaching the Athenian army from all the way across the courtyard. Without further pause or any indication of fear, she leapt from the highest step to lead her soldiers into battle.

The ground shook as the forces charged, and the world itself nearly split in two as the lines met in thunderous discord. The space above the fray was filled with flocks of bolas flying in every direction, whirling their way to coil around a woman's chest to pin her arms flat against her torso. The sound of cracking whips was almost a constant ringing in those first few moments.

Penelope crashed her horse into the Celtic Knot line, knocking a few blondes to the dust and sending nearly a dozen reeling backwards. It was dangerous to stay mounted for too long, she knew, and leapt down onto a woman at her side. The blonde struggled in the sand as Penelope wrestled her whip from her before being unceremoniously lifted up and tossed deeper into the Athenian ranks. She'd be bound in a hogtie, left to anxiously wait out the battle and pray to the goddesses that her side came out victorious. More Celtic Knots received the same treatment as Penelope batted them away like flies on a summer's day, though they were only mere infantry. Penelope had lost sight of the real prize.

Amongst the mayhem of dishevelled hair and leather, Penelope spotted her redheaded companion overcome with battle-drunk fury. Daphne was perched atop a marble dragon's head, flailing her silver whip down on the Celtic Knots who tread too close. One after another, they fell in a confused heap at the base of the column, all in preparation for Daphne to drop her net. Penelope was glad the redhead was on her side. That nymph was almost demonic in the spirit of battle.

Serena, fighting not too far away, had abandoned her whip as well as her horse. That would normally spell the end for a soldier on the field of battle, but Serena didn't let the probabilities get in the way of her efforts. She grabbed at their armour, their hair, their arms and anything else she could get a hold of and pulled them down to the ground. Penelope understood that Serena likely didn't want to hurt her foes too much - since they would hopefully soon be sworn to her - but the indignity of binding them with their own whips was a strange compromise.

Through the tumult of the battle, Penelope spotted the Celt fighting off half a dozen Athenians. She'd seen the warrioress fight countless times before. It was never any less incredible. The Celt could fluidly dodge any attack coming at her through only the slightest of twists and turns. There was never any fear in her blue eyes, never any hint of a suspicion that she'd lose. Without so much as a single misplaced step or moment's hesitation, she avoided everything that came at her and sent it all back at each attacker in turn, one after the other in quick succession. Before the first Athenian could gather herself off the ground, the sixth had already lost her footing. She'd earned herself some privacy on the battlefield then. Brave Athenians slunk away like frightened kittens when she laid her eyes on them. And rightly so. There was a reason the Celt had never been defeated.

But when the Celt's eyes fell on Penelope, there was nothing but loathing between them. The battle around them seemed to vanish into the depths of unimportance. Nothing else mattered. There was just Titania of the Celtic Knot and Penelope of the Scylla - nemeses until the end. They dodged lash and bola as though it were second nature, pushed aside friend and foe alike, all to come face-to-face for the first time in over a year.

The Celt still wore her matriarchal armour - a tight leather bodice ornamented in polished iron trim which wrapped around her torso in the art style of her household. On her wrists she wore the spotless bronze bracers and matching greaves without a scuff. She'd even had her queen's crown reforged in the Celtic style - bronze and golden strips interwoven with a small red ruby to sit in the crest atop her forehead.

Her grin was more chilling than Penelope had dared to remember. "I must admit, Scylla, I never expected to see you again."

Penelope readied her weapon. "And to think, there's nothing I've wanted more than to see you just one more time."

The Celt replied with a mocking pout. "Do I really mean that much to you?" Her hand was lightning-quick. A lash flew high into the air and swooped down towards Penelope.

The Matriarch of the Scylla tried to move out of the way, but she only narrowly avoided the attack. The leather struck the edge of her shoulder and grazed across the length of her arm, stinging her skin and leaving a bright red mark in its wake. Penelope let loose her whip in an arc to the left, then the right, then from on high and to the left again. Not once did it connect with its target. The Celt leaned and twisted like a tree caught in strong winds, cleanly evading the lash with unbelievable agility. She giggled at the attempt before turning her back and skipping away.

Is she really so confident that she shows me her back during a fight? Penelope let loose her whip, again and again and again, chasing after her rival as women furiously struggled for bondage supremacy all around. Each attack flew through air and hit nothing but dust. The bitch avoided every one with frustrating ease. The Celt paused at the top of the palace steps, allowing Penelope to catch up.

"It's over, Celt!" Penelope roared. "You can't win! The city has fallen! Your allies have abandoned you! Your rule is at an end!"

If the queen was afraid, it never threatened to break her smile. "You've under-estimated me before. I'd hate to see you adopt another foolish habit." She spun on her heel and disappeared through the doors into the sanctuary of the palace.

Penelope followed. She knew the Celt was leading her to some place private. To think elsewise would be utter stupidity. But Penelope couldn't risk her rival getting away. Caution had to be abandoned in order to achieve revenge. She slipped through the doorway, leaving the commotion of battle behind.

The palace halls had been decorated with banners bearing the sigil of the Celtic Knot at every interval between pillars and above every threshold. It made Penelope feel sick to see it. The Celt had made good distance and Penelope had to sprint just to keep track of her. After dozens of corridors and up an exhausting four flights of stairs, Penelope eventually found herself in the queen's throne room.

It had changed dramatically since last she'd seen it. The fur-lined floors had been torn away to reveal the cold stone beneath, the rafters held tangled clumps of chains and ropes like stalactites in an artificial cave, and the large Celtic Knot banner hung behind the hollow leather throne where once Queen Astrid's sigil had been. Even the Doric columns were naked. They'd once held the queen's tributes, one from every Thessalian household. It worried Penelope greatly that there were none present. It would be unlike the Celt to forgo the tributes. Something worrying must have happened.

There was little time to gawk, however, and less time to catch her breath.

"Do you like what I've done with the place?" the Celt said, lying back in her throne with one long leg crossed over the other. "I've picked out a spot for you, right here at the foot of my throne. Imagine how fantastic you'll look with your limbs clasped in unforgiving irons and chained spread-eagled for all my suitors to gaze upon your soft womanhood." Her tone darkened from playful to menacing. "Would you like that? You must be hoping for it, else you wouldn't have been so stubbornly foolish as to return to my queendom."

"It won't be your queendom for long!" Penelope charged across the throne room, flailing her whip through the air. She brought it down where the Celt was sitting.

It missed. The Celt sprung from her throne and cart-wheeled to the side. The speed of her movement was almost unnatural, and Penelope hated herself for admiring it. The Celt's whip came snapping through the air.

Penelope flicked her own up to join it in a tangle, like two snakes locked in amorous embrace. She blocked and parried one blow after the other, each more forceful than the last. It was a careful dance where she couldn't afford to miss a single step. Left, right, back, right, back, left, right, back. Her body was drenched in sweat before long, her breath coming and going in laboured gasps, her arms and legs shaking with exhaustion. That frenzied climb up the stairs earlier was returning to haunt her. Penelope knew she wouldn't be able to hold off much longer. She was beginning to regret her impetuous decision to give chase.

Then the Celt slowed in her advances, but not for fatigue. Her grin sang a different tale. Like a she-wolf pauses before delivering the final bite, Titania the Celt allowed Penelope a moment to consider what would happen next. Her blow was mockingly half-hearted.

It connected around Penelope's left ankle, ripped her off her feet and sent her crashing to the ground with a painful grunt. Her mind raced with anger and distress. How could I let this happen, she asked herself. Why did I have to be so foolhardy?

A sandalled foot kicked her onto her front. The Celt dropped her knee into Penelope's spine and clamped both her wrists into a cross in the small of her back. A loop of rope and a few quick turns had Penelope disarmed and out of the fight. Her struggling was futile and pitiful.

"No!" Penelope screamed. "No! No! No! No! You bitch! You cruel bitch!"

"You've had how long to rehearse this and you couldn't think of anything smarter to say? You're full of disappointments, Scylla." The Celt swiftly bound Penelope's ankles, knees and elbows, then brought them all together into a painfully tight hogtie. It was so strict that it lifted Penelope's bust almost clear off the floor. "No heart-breaking poetry? No tedious soliloquy? No 'Alas! My freedom! How life has dealt me such sorry misgivings'? How utterly boring."

"Bitch!" was all Penelope could think to reply.

The Celt stood up, keeping her feet intimately close to Penelope's face. "On second thought," she said pensively, "I might not keep you for myself. I hear Mesopotamia is quite nice - though for mistresses, not slaves, granted. You can give the-former-queen-Astrid my regards while you're cheek-deep in some Babylonian's womanhood. Or perhaps I'll give you to the Assyrians or the Hittites. The possibilities are endless but the punchline is the same. Wherever you end up, I'm sure you'll be joined by one of the other matriarchs I sold off."

What?! "You sold your own countrywomen into slavery?" Penelope wasn't sure why she was surprised. It was in this very room that the Celt had proposed to sell Penelope to the Histri pirates.

"My countrywomen?" the Celt asked as though it had been an insult. "You all made it perfectly clear I wasn't one of you. Always 'the Celt', never 'the Greek'. I stopped denying it years ago. When I crowned myself queen, I threatened to enslave anyone who opposed me. News of Athens' declaration of war incited the other matriarchs to oppose me, so I defeated and enslaved them. The Celtic Knot has no loose ends, Scylla." She strolled off towards her banner behind the throne and tore a strip of cloth from the corner. "History will speak of me as a harsh mistress. I imagine I'll be known as one who is devious, treacherous and madly insane. But I shall never be known as one to make idle threats and take half-measures. We're not that different in that regard, you and I."

Why does everyone keep saying that? "Don't you dare compare me to you!" Penelope sneered. "We're nothing alike."

The Celt grinned, knotting the cloth in the middle. "Not where it counts."

"We finally agree on somethin-mmph."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a battle to win and a queendom to rule." The Celt picked up Penelope's whip and clipped it to her belt, ignoring the captive matriarch's fruitless attempts to reach the knots of her bondage. But before she could take a further step, the Celt's way was blocked by the arrival of Serena and Daphne bursting into the throne room. Both were covered in sweat, dirt, and red marks where lashes and bolas had struck their skin. "Ah, sister." The Celt made the word a curse. "And you've brought a friend with you."

Though Daphne's attention was focused on her hogtied matriarch, Serena's gaze did not stray from her older sister. "I have plenty more friends down in the courtyard. You'd be surprised how many of your loyal subjects surrendered when they saw me fighting for the Athenians. They practically threw themselves at my feet when the tide of battle started to swing against their favour just to spare themselves from their impending bondage. I found it all so touching that they'd honour me as their new matriarch that I wanted to come share it with you." For perhaps the first time, Penelope was glad to see Serena grin. "So, sister, are you proud?"

The Celt gave Penelope a wry smirk. She'd turned Penelope's sister against her with promises of matriarchy and protection, only to have Penelope and Serena ally for the same motives. Surely she must have had her suspicions. "How the fates do so love spinning their circular threads. Perhaps we're more alike than I gave you credit for."

"Shmm hf!"

The queen took her stolen whip in her offhand and held them both outstretched on either side, the twin lashes sprouting like fountains from her palms. Penelope had never known the Celt to dual wield before. Is this how strongly she regards the skill of her younger sister?

"Here my crown sits," the Celt warned, tilting her head, "and here it shall stay. Take it from me if you dare." Leather snapped through the silence as she flourished, cracking her whips in quick succussion. Her speed would have caught nearly every woman off guard, but not Serena. They'd learned to fight from the same teachers and witnessed each other's techniques for years. Serena matched her sister's agility and checked every blow as it came.

The ever-loyal Daphne kept her distance from the feuding sisters. It was a wise decision and allowed her to avoid being caught in the whirlwind of flying leather. She rushed to Penelope's side to begin untying her. "Are you alright, Matriarch?"

"Mhmm." The knots were dastardly tight. The cruelty of Penelope's hogtie was that she could reach out her fingers to brush the knots but couldn't get the grip to loosen them. Daphne had only just managed to untie the rope maintaining the hogtie when the Celt realised what was happening.

With her back turned to the fight, Daphne didn't see the lash coming. It closed around her neck and pulled her clean off her feet. She lost her balance and fell, hitting her head hard on the floor.

"Dmphn!" Penelope yelled into her gag. Her friend and heiress didn't make a move to reply. Across the room, the briefest of grins flashed across the Celt's lips before she returned to her fight with Serena. Penelope struggled to untie the rest of the knots holding her captive. The sight of Daphne lying motionless on the floor encouraged her to move with forgotten haste. Once her wrists were free, it was short work to release her legs and remove the gag. As soon as she had her freedom, she crawled across the floor on her hands and knees to check on Daphne. The redhead moaned softly at Penelope's touch, soft as a whisper in a gale. It appeared the fall had knocked her out.

Penelope's anger reached new limits. How dare she hurt my friend! She picked up Daphne's serpent-headed whip and offered a mad charge at her nemesis, sending multiple lashes arcing through the air. The pair of blonde sisters were so locked in heated duel that the Celt only just managed to bring a whip up in time to strike Penelope around the neck, and turned ever so slightly in hopes of avoiding the five tails of the Scylla Matriarch's whip.

She dodged the first, second, third, fourth... but not the fifth. It barely closed around her forearm, no doubt scuffing the previously flawless bronze bracer. The queen stared at her wrist, her blue eyes widening in disbelief, her breast heaving in anger, her grin curling with an insane sense of humour. Not only was it the first time the Celt had been struck in battle, but it was also the first time she hesitated.

Serena pounced and tackled her sister to the floor. Penelope joined them. Together they flipped her over onto her front and wrestled her arms behind her back. The Celt put up a furious struggle, tossing and writhing with all her might. She kicked her legs, flicked her golden hair, thrust her entire body from side to side, and even snapped her teeth and tried to scratch just as Serena had warned. But nothing the queen did could prevent the ropes from slithering across her skin, replacing her matriarchal armour as it went, leaving her naked and unprotected. First her wrists, then elbows were bound. More trapped her arms to her side, wrapping above and below her bare breasts, anchoring and knotting as Serena bound her older sister in the art style of their household.

"You think these knots can hold me!?" the Celt screamed, wriggling vigorously against her bondage.

Not for long, Penelope knew. "We'll exchange them for iron chains as we pass by the royal armoury." The notion of what she'd just done was only beginning to appear real. She'd not only defeated a queen, but the Celt - once the most feared warrioress in the Thessalian Army. It still seemed half a dream. She stood the Celt up on her feet, gripping the ropes between her breasts so she couldn't run off. To Serena she said, "Make sure Daphne is alright."

The young blonde didn't need further incentive and rushed to Daphne's side. Penelope didn't fail to note that Serena completely ignored her sister's former matriarchal armour lying discarded on the floor.

"Are you hoping to hear me beg, Scylla?" the Celt sneered defiantly.

Penelope lifted the crown from the Celt's golden mane. Her hands were shaking, she noticed. The crown was heavier than it looked, but flew just as well as she'd expected. As the red jewel shattered upon impact with the stone floor, Penelope realised she'd finally won. "I once promised you that I'd have my vengeance, Titania. You won't have power tonight. You won't have anything. I'll have you ride through the streets, bound naked in the saddle, stripped of armour and title, and all of Thessaly shall point and laugh and say, 'There goes Titania the Celt: the woman who thought she could rule the world.'"

The woman who'd once been a queen simply scoffed in reply, apparently uninterested in learning of her impending punishment.

From the other side of the throne room, Daphne stirred into consciousness with a loud groan. "She'll be fine," Serena said, cradling her lover's head in her lap. "I'll stay with her until she recovers."

"Good," Penelope sighed with relief. She pulled the Celt towards the entrance. An entire city was waiting outside to see what fate had befallen their barbarian queen.

The Celt offered only the hint of a struggle as she was forced down the many flights of stairs and through the corridors - just enough to show that she wasn't going to be co-operative, but not enough to appear pathetic before her captor. How many people, other than Penelope, could attest to the sight of Titania's perky breasts bouncing as she twisted naked in ropes? None, she imagined... for the moment. She could already hear the cheers and merry applause awaiting her in the courtyard.

"You're a fool if you think this is over, Scylla," the Celt threatened mere paces before the heavy palace doors. "Do you expect me to simply lie down and take this? Just you wait. I'll get free, and when I do, I'll teach you the meaning of pain!"

Penelope slipped through the threshold, feeling the sunlight upon her skin. It felt warmer than ever. She pulled the Celt in close to whisper in her ear, fearless. "You're a fool if you think I'll ever let that happen."

The End

(there is an epilogue)

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