The Queen carried him to a chamber.
Literally carried him. He couldn't resist. Her strength was absolute.
The room was luxurious. A massive bed with silk sheets. Gold decorations on every surface. A window overlooking the demon kingdom below. It was more opulent than anything Pinky had ever seen.
The Queen set him down on the bed and stepped back, smiling.
"This will be your room from now on," she said. "Our room. You'll be happy here. I'll make sure of it."
Pinky moved toward the door.
It was sealed. Magic. He could feel it pulsing against his palm when he touched the wood.
The window was the same. The walls. Every possible exit was blocked.
He was trapped.
"Don't worry," the Queen said, watching him. "You'll get used to it. We have forever together, after all."
She left. The door opened for her, closed behind her, and sealed again.
Pinky sat on the bed.
What had happened? How had everything gone so wrong so fast?
He thought about Lyriel, locked in a dungeon somewhere below. She was annoying. Delusional. Had caused him nothing but trouble since they met.
But she had also healed him. Hundreds of times. Stayed with him through months of defeats. Never abandoned him, even when any sane person would have run away.
He owed her.
He had to find a way out.
But exhaustion pulled at him. His body was still recovering from the latest defeat. The soft bed called to him, promising rest.
He lay down, just for a moment.
He was asleep within seconds.
***
Morning came with the Queen.
She entered the room carrying a tray of food. Fruits. Bread. Some kind of meat. She set it on the bedside table and sat beside him.
"Good morning, my love," she said brightly. "I made you breakfast."
Pinky eyed the food. Poison? Some kind of drug? He kept his mouth firmly shut.
The Queen picked up a piece of fruit and held it to his lips.
"Say 'aah'."
He turned his head away.
She tried again. He refused again.
Her expression fell. Disappointment. Sadness. For a moment, she looked almost... hurt.
But she didn't force him. She set the fruit down and smiled.
"That's okay. You're just shy. You'll open up eventually."
She reached for his mask.
Pinky's hands shot up, grabbing her wrists. His entire body tensed. Every muscle screaming in protest.
The mask. His mask. The symbol of everything he was. His honor. His identity. His promise.
If she took it, he would be nothing.
The Queen frowned. "Why are you resisting? I just want to see your face."
He shook his head violently.
She pulled harder. He held on with everything he had.
"Stop being difficult."
She could have overpowered him easily. They both knew it. But something in his desperation made her pause.
She released his wrists and stood.
"Fine," she said, pouting. "Keep your mask. For now."
She left.
Pinky lay there, hands still pressed against his mask, heart pounding.
He had won that battle.
But how many more could he win?
***