The Queen Transformed

Part 8, and the plot thickens! The resistance finally begins to make its move. What shape will its plans take? What will happen to the royal family? Who is going to have sex with whom and how? All these questions and more . . . well, not all of them will be answered in this installment. But at least some will. :)

I'm not sure how many parts this thing will be when it's done, but it looks like it at least 10. Don't worry, I do plan to answer all the lingering questions that I have been throwing out over the course of the work. I don't plan on leaving my readers unsatisfied!

And once again thanks to my wonderful editor moncrifelle for the excellent editing work.

*****

Gladia stretched and yawned like a cat. There was nothing like a good fucking to clear the mind and relax the body. The resistance had been as good as its word. They had led her to an adjoining chamber from the main hall where several eager slavers and slaves had been waiting to ravage her. And ravage her they did. She had been used thoroughly in each hole until she had orgasmed into blissful slumber. Her itch had been well and fully scratched, and now she was ready to begin to the day's work.

She rolled out of the bed that had thoughtfully been provided, which was nice of them because she had been getting bored of having sex on stone floors, and opened the door leading back to the main hall. Unsurprisingly, another hooded figure was there waiting for her. Gladia walked over to it and waited. Sure enough, it began to speak.

"Good morning, your Highness. We trust your sleep has been restful."

Gladia nodded. She was about to thank the figure for providing the men with which she had sated her urges, but then thought the better of it. Why should she thank them? The men were probably more than happy to have serviced her, and she was probably being used to pay off another unseen debt. There was no point in useless gratitude. So, she simply fixed the figure with a steady gaze and continued to play the waiting game.

The figure spoke again, unaware, or uncaring, of what she was thinking.

"Queen Gladia. We have a task for you that only you can perform."

Something in her snapped, and she found herself spitting out an angry retort before she was even aware of doing so.

"And what would that be? You want me to fuck more of your minions at your command?

Suck off some slavers? You are not content with ordering my children around as you see fit, and now you want me to dance at your heels as well?"

The figure appeared unfazed at her outburst, extending a single gloved hand in an appeasing motion.

"Be at ease, your Majesty. We well understand that how we have treated you and your children could be seen as . . . cavalier. Rest assured that have no intentions other than making the full use of your . . . unique talents. You do have needs that must be attended to, and we have only tried out best to see to them as readily as possible."

Gladia tamped down on her rage. The more rational part of her realized the truth in the figure's comments. As a former ruler herself, she well understood the need to maximize the use of one's resources, and how to best make use of each person's skills and talents. But, there was another part of her that had had enough with being pushed around and treated like a slave, no matter that she actually was at the moment. Despite what she looked now, she WAS the Queen of Erecia, and she would be accorded the respect that she was due!

Except that the reality of the situation was that while the resistance recognized her claim to the throne, she was in no position to order anyone around, and she knew it. So, she let her indignation simmer down gently and motioned for the figure to continue, which it did.

"There is someone that we would like you to meet. A mage of some power and skill, who will be essentially in our efforts to overthrow Rampillion. You are to convince him to join our cause."

Gladia arched one dark eyebrow. "Why do you need me to do this? Why not simply ask him yourself?" Her anger had faded somewhat, but not vanished entirely.

"Queen Gladia, we are in an alliance, are we not? Each of us must do our part to overthrow the usurper. We can marshal forces that you presently cannot. But you have skills that we do not possess. Namely, that of negotiation and parley. Therefore, we must beg your aid in this manner."

Whether it was just an act, or an honest appraisal of her talents, Gladia allowed herself to be appeased. It had been some time before anyone had noticed her talents in other areas besides sucking and fucking (not that she had not become good at those, too) and it was a good feeling to hear some kind words, whether stemming from artifice or genuine emotion.

"Where is this mage you speak of?

"His location is secret. The only reason we are even able to find him is that he owes one of our number a favor. We will teleport you to his lair, and there you must do your utmost to persuade him to join our cause."

Here the figure paused, as if uncertain of what to say. After a moment's hesitation, it continued.

"Queen Gladia, we will be frank. If you are to convince the Mad Mage Malgos, for that is his name, to aid us, you will need to use more than just your words. Though not of your own will, you are currently in the possession of a body that many may consider very attractive."

Here Gladia smiled a little inward smile. Apparently, her outburst had convinced the figure to choose its words more carefully.

"You may need to use that in your dealings with Malgos."

"You want me to prostitute myself to him."

"Nothing so crass as that. Merely entice him with your . . . charms so that he is receptive to your offer. We have already promised him a magical treasure that is to be his if he aids us, but he is proving recalcitrant. Hence why we have enlisted your help."

She could see the wisdom in the resistance's train of thought. If this mage was as powerful as they said, it made sense to try their hardest to get him on their side. And if she had to use her potion-granted body to do so, then so be it.

Gladia nodded to show that she understood. Once again as was so common in dealing with the mysterious resistance, she had no real recourse but to accede. Whether she and her children were merely puppets dancing to an unseen tune, there was no way to know, but also no way to move but forwards.

The hooded figure spent some time detailing their plans—what form the eventual assault on the capital would take, what forces they would expect, and everything that one would need to know to plan a successful siege. When she had committed as much as possible to memory, Gladia indicated that she was would like to begin the next stage of their plans.

"Whenever you are ready, then." Gladia closed her eyes and steeled herself for the sensation of teleportation. Her daughter had teleported her before, but there was always something that she found deeply disturbing and unnatural about the whole process.

People did not just suddenly disappear from one place and appear in the next. Mages did, but not normal people. However, she had little recourse this time but to accept her fate.

The figure gestured, and the world spun and rearranged itself in the span of a second.

--

When she came to, Gladia found herself in a mountain fastness that was situated high above a vast expanse of forest. Shaking her head to clear it from the post-teleport haze, the queen allowed herself a moment's respite to gaze upon the emerald canopy below her.

It was, in a word, breathtaking. The trees spread out far beyond where the eye could see, a lush carpet of greenery that fairly shone in the light of the morning sun. Gladia felt a smile come unbidden to her lips. The beauty of nature always had a way of transporting her away from her current worries and fears. She had lost count of the amount of times that, on trips to faraway lands on state business, she had paused to take in a sunset or sunrise. She owned, or used to own, a fair share of jewels and trinkets, but none of them could compare to what nature wrought daily.

After a minute or so spent in reverie, Gladia tore herself away. Her kingdom would not save itself, and she must not keep Malgos waiting. She knew nothing about him except what the resistance had told her, but it did not make sense to keep someone whose help they needed waiting overlong. Looking around, Gladia noticed a path leading up from where she stood. Something told her that it would take her to the sorcerer's lair, and so she started off.

As she walked onwards, Gladia allowed herself to muse on some of what had just happened to her and her children. Events had happened so fast that she had had no time to really put things together. They were against all odds reunited, but changed. Perthias and Daphnia seemed to be coping with their transformations as best as they could, which was to some degree only what she expected. They were her children, after all, and heirs to the throne of Erecia.

But the urges that raced through their bodies limited their options somewhat. They had been practically forced into alliance with the resistance, which still was not showing them all the cards it held. Gladia could only hope that Perthias's brashness would not be his undoing, and that Daphnia's intelligence would help her figure some way out of the situation they found themselves in.

The resistance . . . how much did they know about this organization, anyway? Gladia marveled again at how powerful they seemed to be. One wave of the hand and she had been transported to someplace far, far away. She was no stranger to travel in her time as the queen of Erecia, but she did not recognize any of the scenery where she found herself, beautiful though it was. Even Daphnia, a powerful mage herself, had to have the assistance of a summoning circle and various crystals to affect a long-distance teleport. For them to be able to send her such a vast distance and so easily, bespoke volumes of the magical might at their disposal.

And yet, they were wary of facing Rampillion—wary enough to have her enlist the aid of this man Malgos. The usurper must be even more powerful than she had surmised. Thinking about that did make Gladia feel a little better about what had happened to them. The coup was sudden, so sudden that they had been taken completely unaware.

The climb to the top of the mountain was long, and it gave Gladia ample time to muse on the events and circumstances that had brought them all to this point. Freed from the necessity of incessant copulation for a while at least, the queen's keen mind sorted through facts, names and people, attempting to make some sense of the conspiracies and intrigue that she and had children had found themselves ensnared by.

Rampillion, the resistance, and the mysterious alchemist who had brewed the potion that had turned her into a sex slave were all related, she was sure of it. A supremely powerful mage who had wrested her kingdom from her, an organization apparently dedicated to opposing him which had resources ranging from armies to slavers, and a long-dead brewer of potions—what connected all of them? There was a thread running through them all, the queen was sure of it. But what was it?

The queen was nothing if not a logical thinker, and so she forced herself out of the realm of speculation and into what was known. There was more than one hooded figure, that much was for certain. They all looked alike, but it was unthinkable that any one of them possessed enough power to do everything that the resistance had done so far. She would bet her lost kingdom on it.

Besides that—transformation. That seemed to be the one thing that connected both Rampillion and the alchemist. Both could bend the body to their will, and they both used their powers to sexualize and eroticize the human form beyond its limits. The former in particular seemed to delight in debauchery and bacchanalian excess. Gladia did not recall her kingdom ever having either slave pens or the sex slaves that stocked them.

And the resistance either did not know how to reverse the transformation magics, or chose not to. The thought had crossed Gladia's mind more than once that it would be a powerful bargaining chip to use against her children and her. They had already all given their word to assist in Rampillion's overthrow (and to an Erecian noble, a word once given was an unbreakable bond) and of course, they all wanted their kingdom back, but the resistance seemed to want to leave nothing to chance.

In the end though, Gladia was forced to admit that there was still too little that she knew to come to any sort of reasonable conclusion. She would have to continue to wait and see, as well as focus on the task at hand. By the time her deliberations had worn down, a fortress loomed ahead of her. Malgos's domicile, she presumed.

Her long trek had made her weary, and more than a little irked. Couldn't they just have teleported her directly to the fortress? Her daughter was nowhere around to ask, but Daphnia would have probably replied that the fortress was shielded against magical intervention or some such. Mages—who knew with them? The queen sighed, and knocked once on the huge, twin steel doors in front of her. They swung open, and she stepped inside.

A vast great hall spread out in front of her—bigger than even she had expected from the outside. Gladia suspected some kind of space-altering sorcery at work, but had no way to tell. She cast her eyes around the room, trying to spot servants or something similar.

Instead all she found was a broom. And not just any broom—one that seemed to walk lightly on straw feet towards her, wooden body swinging jauntily to and fro. Gladia blinked once, then blinked again. A broom . . . a strange choice for a familiar. But then again, mages were not the most normal of people. The broom inclined itself towards her, then spun away in an altogether different direction. Its message was clear—follow me. Gladia did as she was instructed, smiling bemusedly at being escorted through a magical fortress by a walking broom. They passed antechambers, drawing rooms, and a kitchen before arriving at their destination—a well-appointed and lush guest chamber.

Gladia nodded politely to the broom, which whisked itself away readily enough. In the room there was a bed, a large cupboard and—thank the gods—a bathtub filled to the brim with cold, clean water. Exhausted from her long trek, the queen took it upon herself to sponge herself off, and then relaxed in the tub for as long as it took to regain some of her strength.

Feeling a little bit more human, Gladia rose from the tub and peeked into the cupboards. There was not a shred of clothing in them, which made sense, in a manner of speaking. What did a slave need with clothes? And if she were to seduce Malgos with her feminine charms, clothes would only get in the way.

Gladia laid down on the bed, only intending to shut her eyes for a second, but drifted off into a deep slumber and was only awoken by a sharp rapping. She rolled out of bed and opened the door to see the same broom that had brought her to the room waggling impatiently (if a broom can be said to be impatient) from side to side. She had barely put a foot out of the door when it had circled to her back and swapped her on the rump.

The queen's eyes bugged out in surprise. What cheek! She reached out to strip the straw from her assailant, but it was too quick for her, scooting away from her outstretched hands before she could seize it. Gladia started after it, and the broom led her on a merry chase down and up several flights of stairs and more than a few rooms, until before she knew it she was standing before two doors of roughly-hewn oak, decorated with runes and sigils—Malgos's quarters, no doubt. No time like the present, she took in a deep breath and knocked once on the doors. They swung open without a sound, and she stepped in.

The Mad Mage Malgos did not look at all like what his name would have suggested. Wild black hair, a trimmed goatee and an average build, but remarkably lucid eyes. He was dressed in the robes that all mages seem to wear—in his case, slightly overlarge dark brown ones. He was waiting for her while sitting in a large thronelike chair, and his eyes narrowed slightly at her entry.

"Well, well, well. What have we here? A naked slave sent to plead a useless case, no doubt."

"The resistance sends its regards, Master Malgos." Gladia curtsied before the man. She guessed that "Master" was probably the right term of address, in the non-sexual sense of the word. She decided to err on the side of politeness—they did indeed need his help.

"If you would vouchsafe me a few words?"

"Fine, get on with it." Malgos waved his hand dismissively.

Gladia bit back her irritation (it was altogether possible that he did not know she was a queen) and began her speech. She detailed the resistance's plans and his possible role in it. When she mentioned the subject of a reward, a glimmer of interest flickered in his eyes. So, the resistance was right. There was some interest on his part.

It was imperative that she convince him to join their cause. Her daughter was a powerful spellcaster herself, but Rampillion was even stronger. And there was no guarantee that even if the resistance managed to restore her powers as they had promised, that they would be equal to the task of taking on the usurper. She believed in the strength of Daphnia's magic, but decades of statecraft had taught Gladia to hedge her bets as well as she was able. Something told her that their assault would be doomed to fail if she failed to recruit the Mad Mage.

So, she used every trick she had learned in her time of being a slave. She spoke half the time, and cooed half of the other, batting her eyelashes at him and smiling at his every word. She noticed that his eyes followed her nipple piercings as she swayed from side to side, so she made it a point to bounce ever so slightly on the tips of her heels, making them clink and tinkle, and was gratified to see him swallow nervously.

The negotiations continued apace. They discussed troop movements, supply routes and most importantly, how the assault would actually take place.

First, they would storm the gates, then a decoy force would draw away any reinforcements that appeared. The key point here was when and how Malgos would make his appearance. They both agreed that it would be most effective to keep him lying in wait until Rampillion showed. There was no point in showing your hand too early to the enemy, and the Mad Mage was a strong enough card that it made sense to keep him hidden away until he would be of the most use.

As they talked, Gladia brought her other weapons to bear as well. She licked her lips as she directed heated stares at the man, shifted from side to side sensuously, and most of all, made it a point to jiggle her chest so that her giant breasts swayed seductively. It was half seduction and half negotiation, a strange mix of conversation and foreplay that Gladia found both entertaining and downright ridiculous at the same time. She was accustomed to tense meetings held around a round table, not parading her body and flattering a man's ego. But still, the queen was nothing if not pragmatic, and if displaying herself like a cheap whore would get the resistance the assistance they needed, then she would not shirk from her duty.

It was halfway through a thoroughly banal conversation about what infantry they could expect to face that she saw a look of utter and complete lust come over Malgos's face and that was when Gladia knew . . . she had him. She knew it. Inwardly the queen smiled a secret smile. In the end, the Mad Mage Malgos was a man, after all, and like most men, he thought with his penis at least some of the time. It was a foregone conclusion from the moment that she had noticed his eyes latch on to her endowments.