They brought her to the throne room doors, in chains, and not exactly in the mood to meet the pretender who sat on the Ebon throne. But there was no stopping them now. Both the guards were slack-jawed orcs of the elite regiment, and her charms wouldn't work on them.
An pair of slim, pale-skinned elves appeared, their gauze robes doing nothing to hide their nakedness. Despite the semblance of immense weight, they pushed the giant onyx doors open easily and with a flourish; apparently this was the elves' only purpose, as they disappeared without a sound into some secret back chambers, probably some thin slit in hiding in the folds of the rocky walls.
Ra'Shandra paid them little heed. The throne room was, even by her exalted standards, a sight to behold.
Garish lighting came from gas lights in strategic places, softened only somewhat by candles. The roof was a dim shape within a a cloud of mist some seven storeys up. The throne room was a choice cavern at the centre of the Black Keep. Its walls, like the rest of the castle, were hewn out of the living rock; basalt, or something like it, black and rough. A crimson carpet seem to disappear into the distance as it ran the length of the hall. The throne itself was unmistakable; she'd read about it enough times. It was a small mountain, almost a storey tall itself, its peak carved into the Ebon Throne. There sat Morgoth, shrouded in shadow. Lit from below by gas torches, Ra'Shandra could only tell that he was very tall, and that his head was crowned with a set of twisted, foot-long horns. She had never seen him, or even a drawing, just rumours, and they were wrong.
Soldiers stood at attention at intervals, faces grim, but alert. Barons, earls, their attendants and hangers-on filled the huge chamber, reclining on couches, drinking at low tables, and biding their time until the main event. Even some wealthier commoners had been allowed in. Comfort slaves from across the realms served drinks or allowed themselves to be groped, most willingly. The Shadow's Pacts indoctrination methods were notoriously effective. It was the grandest gathering the young princess had every seen.
And it was all for her.
Ra'Shandra, the princess of the Heryn, the last free Kingdom (that mattered), was about to be paraded before Morgoth, Demon-Prince of the Shadow Pact, but at the rate his war machine was going, she'd soon have to call him Emperor of all the Known Realms.
The guards tightened their grip and led her straight towards the throne in mute procession. Somewhere she heard the sound of a drum rumbling a pagan beat through the chamber. With a breath she tried to keep her head up and pointed forward, to stay proud and defiant in the face of this humiliation. She didn't allow her eyes to waver from the throne, and she especially kept her glance from the black walls, lined with the pennants of conquered lands, each lit from below in eerie amber. Too much loss there.
Aides stepped forward and formed two rows on either side of her path bearing arms, pennants, and other ceremonial garb she refused to acknowledge, all of it black, grey, silver, and crimson. None let their eyes linger on her slim, perfect form. Of the highest human breeding, she was almost annoyed that they didn't try to drink her in, in nakedness, without her mantle, cape, or ceremonial armour. The lack of restraints just made it worse: escape was so impossible that her freedom of movement made no difference.
She felt exposed, uncomfortable, but she strode without shame. Like the rest of this charade, it just angered her. In fact, she wanted him to look. She hoped Morgoth would be too busy gushing over his newfound prize to lead his army properly. Even captured, and probably without hope of rescue, she would still fight, still try to distract and hinder Morgoth's progress to her final breath. If it her bought her kingdom another day, it would be worth it.
Finally they came to foot of Morgoth's mountain-throne. The long line of aides took a coordinated step back. Humans, goblins, demonkin, and a half-dozen other types she didn't recognize bowed their heads without utterance to Morgoth. No sound save the for the faint rustle of rich clothing dared disturb the stillness.
Ra'Shandra broke the silence.
"I am Ra' Shandra, she who sits on the Elm throne and who bears the Holly Crown. And I will not tolerate this lack of protocol! Under the treaty of Gilfir I am to be given chambers, refreshment, and chance for parley! I....uh..."
She had really expected him to interrupt her. She'd seen would-be world conquerors before, well, read extensively about them. Didn't they love to jump in and proclaim their magnificence? That resistance was futile?
"And furthermore, no monarch is to be treated as a slave! I have the divine right to speak to you as an equal!"
Silence.
"And I demand you answer me! That you offer terms! I am prepared to negotiate, but not in this place, before these, these, sycophants!"
Morgoth shifted in his chair slightly. Was that a slight smile across his crude lips? If only she could see him better. Puzzle out what he wanted from her. She held a hand across her eyes to block out the light.
Morgoth waved a hand. He must do this often, because swiftly and silently the room cleared. Every one of the hundred or so attendants and nobles and onlookers cleared the room, scuttling into antechambers or striding through the front doors as though they suddenly had important business to attend to. And without so much as a bow! She never would have stood for it in her court.
"I can understand the need for privacy."
She wasn't sure at first the voice had come from Morgoth, but it must have. They were alone with the massive chamber. It was deep, yes, slightly raspy, but not the tortured growl she had expected from the Demon-Prince.
"But I do not recognize your terms."
"The treaty is quite clear!" She wailed, trying to ignore the echo of the place that made her feel so small. "Nobles captured on the field of battle must be -"
"I know what it says!" He gave into stereotype, growling over her tiny voice. "I was there when it was created! But I have not defeated your army on the field of battle. I have extinguished it. I have stormed your keeps, taken your cities, and added your former kingdom to mine. That treaty was to help nations recover from periodic wars, to ensure each side was afforded certain...courtesies. But there is no other side any longer. Only mine. Your kingdom is now a province of the Empire."
As he said this, he stood, and advanced down the steps toward her, punctuating each word with a - by the gods - a stamp of his hooves. He was almost seven feet tall, grey-skinned, broadly-built, and apparently naked. His long black hair hung in a ragged mane about his head. His face was mostly human, but the angular brow ridges and pointed chin made him look carved of stone. Like a gargoyle. His eyes shone, like a cat's, only reflecting red.
He continued, "In fact there is but one thing of yours left for me to take."
