Chapter Text
Rosavelle had always been a kingdom ruled by queens. For nearly four centuries, the throne passed from mother to daughter, creating a long line of monarchs who governed the silver rivers and fortified coastal cities that made the nation prosperous. Despite having its ups and downs, Rosavelle was a stable fixture across the continent, known for its stability.
This all changed when Queen Maria died unexpectedly.
Her only heir, Princess Layla, was barely twenty and inexperienced. The court agreed she would inherit the throne soon, but until her coronation the kingdom would be guided by its council and protected by the Royal Army. Its Commander, Alyssa, would serve as her advisor.
Alyssa was a phenomenon. Alyssa had risen through the military faster than anyone in Rosavelle’s history—not because she was particularly brilliant in strategy or exceptional in battle, but because she seemed to have everyone in the palm of her hands. Soldiers who met her just once swore loyalty towards her, rival officers who once opposed her soon found themselves supporting her every endeavor, and nobles who initially distrusted the commander often changed their tone after a single private conversation.
She’d obtain the title of Commander in record time. Then, Queen Maria passed away.
The sudden loss of the monarch threw the court into uncertainty, but its nothing the kingdom of Rosavelle has never seen before… or so the court thought. By the time they realized what was happening, Alyssa’s soldiers were already swarming inside the palace halls.
And by dawn, Alyssa’s title was now Queen.
Many expected Alyssa’s rule to collapse quickly. She had taken the throne through force, after all, and the nobles believed the kingdom would never accept such an obvious usurper that broke the chain of inheritance that lasted for centuries. Yet the opposite happened. Under Alyssa’s rule, taxes were reorganised, policies completely rewritten, the army strengthened, and pesky bandits that once plagued the countryside utterly vanished under ruthless military campaigns. Rosavelle prospered. In almost every measurable way, Alyssa ruled effectively.
Almost.
For all the prosperity she brought, and all the goodwill that she earned, it was all undermined by her whims.
It didn’t matter who you were. A decorated general could suddenly find herself stripped before Alyssa as she was forced to lick the sweat from the soles of the Queen’s heels. The grand court where nobles debated policy and delivered counsel would turn into her makeshift sex chamber as the Queen claims whichever woman caught her eye that day. Civilians were dragged from the streets, stripped of their clothes, and marched to the palace to stand in humiliating lines of living furnitures they wait to be selected as the queen’s next chair, footstool, or carpet.
Whispers of resentment spread like wildfire. In no time, a network of hatred began to form. A rebellion, taking shape in the shadows, seeking to return their humiliation tenfold back at the tyrant.