The decapitated princess could only watch from her head's admittedly-comfortable perch upon a large pillow as the nude red-haired northerner meandered around the various torture devices in the massive chamber. With severe dread, she anticipated where the foreign beauty was headed, and was all too correct:
...her own naked, decapitated body, chained to a large, heavy, unnaturally-cool table.
Even worse, it seemed as if the cold woman was humming softly to herself as she approached the princess' body. As the foreigner stepped ever closer, the headless body struggled more and more, fighting against the heavy chains securing her wrist and ankle cuffs to the various points on the underside of the heavy tabletop. And, as her body fought the futile battle far across the chamber, the princess' head breathed heavily, loudly, gasping between her futile pleas for the foreign young woman to go away, to leave her headless body alone.
Yet, in the back of her mind, in the deepest recesses of logical thought, she knew that, by the best science known in this world, she should have died long ago from a severe loss of blood. Therefore, the fact that she was still alive – and especially the fact that she was not in any pain from the remarkably-clean break through her neck – was proof that her betrayer indeed held the legendary Sword of Anzul in his possession.
At last, the foreigner stood at one end of the table, between the captive woman's well-secured feet. She gently brushed a single fingertip along the sole of each foot, and the princess gasped as a chilly shudder flashed up each leg, up her torso, out to her hands, and up into her brain to seemingly make her hair stand on end for the briefest of heartbeats.
...yet that should have been logically impossible, given the great distance between her body and her head at the moment.
Slowly, like a wild tigress silently approaching her unsuspecting prey and ready to pounce for the kill, the strange northern woman climbed upon the table and settled between the captive's restrained legs. Knowing that pleading to be left alone was now futile, the princess simply cried, and gave up on trying to fight the bonds. Yet, as horrified as she was at this entire situation, the princess watched – but this time, however, it was not because magic forced her eyes to remain open.
Fear, trepidation, horror, and several hundred similar emotions flashed through the beheaded woman's bewildered mind as she watched the foreigner's mouth slowly lower to the junction of the restrained legs. Then, suddenly, inexplicably, illogically, those cool lips pressed against her, sending another chill through her body and severed head. The cool hands stroked her thighs, sending additional chills coursing throughout her beheaded being. Between her tears, the princess gasped loudly from the cold, and, despite herself, a soft plea escaped her lips.
...only to be replaced by a loud gasp of surprise and shame as a warm tongue slowly licked up the smooth, well-manicured folds. Only the betrayer's very male anatomy and (on very rare occasions) her own fingers had ever entered her here, and, instinctively, the princess knew it was only a matter of time before the tormentor slipped her tongue – or her fingers, or both – between the feminine petals.
