Seven Sinful Crowns

Griesha

Griesha had taken her carriage home. She never understood why some of her sisters insisted on riding atop their beasts when there were perfectly good coaches to carry them through the stone streets of their kingdoms. If she were to have a beast between her legs, she mused to herself as she glanced out the window to her guards, she knew where to find a more appropriate one.

Over the shoulder of the closest man upon horseback, she could just make out the peaks of her castle towers, piercing the fog like the flags of her ships. Queen Griesha was known across the realm to command the most elite navy this world knew, and if didn't hurt that she herself was a water witch, able to feel the sea, and then to command it. Lucky it was, then, that she also loved it. After a lifetime on land, locked within stone walls to secure the safety of her sisters and herself, and thus, their father, the freedom she found on the water was unimaginable. And the fact that her sisters were seldom there didn't hurt. On the waters she did not have to watch her back...or her throat. The waters were hers; they wouldn't dare take her on within the raging sea. But if they did...she thought with a sly grin...they would join her most recent captors in the dungeons.

When they had finally crossed the castle gates, Griesha sucked in the ocean air and sighed with relief. Home. As the carriage wobbled its way across the stones, guards scattered in every direction, mages lighting the seastone from their posts and illuminating her path. Her castle was tall, build of seastone and at the base, shells carried in with the tide, and forged along the plummeting mountain side, with the only entrances being through the gates to the front, or the sea to the back, and of course, those waters were enchanted by Griesha herself. No one would cross them, for the ocean knew her soul and her command, and it did her bidding.

"Your Majesty," the broad man cloaked in heavy armor said, his hand out for her descend. She took it in her own and stepped down, only letting go when her feet held firm to the ground.

"Yearick. How are the captors?" Griesha asked, childish joy in her voice, as if she had a new toy to play with, and of course, she had.

"They've yet to speak, but they live. Seven; 4 men, 3 women. One possibly still a girl."

"Wonderful. Bring them to me," Griesha said as she made her way through the castle doors, the long heels of her stilettos echoing off the ground as she went.

Yearick watched her go, her hips swaying in a way unlike any mans, and perhaps, any woman's, aside from the famous Lilith, and her pale, shimmering hair billowed out around her with each step. In his head, he recalled the last time she had called her to her rooms, insisting he bring new wood for her fire, but that wasn't all she had wanted. She had wanted him to lead her fleets East to the starsea, where rumors spread of treasures beyond anything they had ever seen. Yearick was hesitant, but Griesha knew how to get what she wanted, and she did. Over and over. And by morning he was gathering crews to lead East on the next dawn.

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Griesha sat on her throne, running her hands along the smooth mother of pearl surface, pearls and shells covering the sides in cascading waves, and waited. She had not yet seen her captors, though she'd have loved to go on the voyage herself, she had promised her father tonight's meeting, and she did not break her promises. She was a queen, after all.

It didn't take long before she heard the footsteps growing louder as they made their way closer and closer to her open doors, and when next she saw the marvelous armored beast, Yearick, he had seven sleepy captors in tow. They were worn and tired, hungry, no doubt, and Grisha smiled.