Rex didn't move toward her with lust yet; he moved with the cold, calculated precision of a craftsman preparing his tools. The air in the room began to hum with a low frequency vibration, the kind that made the teeth ache and the stomach turn.
Purple light began to coalesce between his palms, swirling like malevolent smoke, condensing into something solid.
"A queen requires a crown to command," Rex said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper that cut through Helena's sobbing. "But a slave... a slave requires something far more honest."
The violet energy solidified. In his hands sat a collar thick, forged from a dark, obsidian-like material that pulsed with the same sickly purple light. It wasn't just jewelry; it radiated a raw, domineering magical aura that seemed to drink the light from the room.
"Kneel," he commanded.
Helena's legs buckled, but she tried to stand her ground, her pride offering one last, pathetic resistance. "I will... I will never..."
WHACK.
