Rona is determined to destroy the evil emperor, but must learn that evil can only be destroyed by the power of love.
“What is your name?” she asked.
The emperor looked up from eating.
“To you it’s Master, until I find you worthy,” he said.
Rona giggled, “Alright, Master.”
He looked at her and smiled back at her.
“Slave,” he said. “I am finished.”
Rona leaned her head upon her fist as she watched the woman clear the table. When she left the emperor stood and stretched. She watched him walk to one of the book shelves, placing his hands behind his back as he studied the books before him. After a long moment of silence he turned toward her.
“Can you read?” He asked.
“No,” Rona answered. “Are you going to teach me?”
“Slaves are not worthy of the written word.” He answered.
“I was not always a slave,” she argued. “You made me a slave when you took me from my mother.”
“Destiny made you a slave, sweetheart,” the emperor instructed. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Why am I here, anyway?” Rona asked. “What do you want with me?”
The emperor gazed at her silently with a grin. “You will find out tonight,” he said.
“Come here.”
Rona rolled her eyes as she did as he commanded.
“No more wine for you,” he said as she stood before him. “It makes you too bold.”
“I like it,” she said. “I don’t like being afraid of you.”
The emperor laughed. “I am the emperor of Heled,” he replied. “You are suppose to fear me.”
He forced her up against him. She defiantly stared him down.
“Kiss me,” he commanded.
“No,” she said. It felt good to tell him no. She could tell by the anger in his eyes that he was not use to being told no.
He pushed her away, then backhanded her. Expecting it, she caught herself and stayed upon her feet. She refused to put her hand upon her cheek. Instead she looked up at him. Not with fear, but with anger. This infuriated him even more and he hit her again. The force caused her to lose her balance and she fell against a nearby table. He picked her up by her hair.
“You will learn not to tell me no, bitch,” he said, he face close to hers. He straddled her and pinned her arms above her head then kissed her, gagging her with his tongue. When he was finally finished he looked into her eyes. She could not stop the tears from falling from them. He stood then walked away. She heard the door slam shut behind him.
Ouch! Poor Rona! There’s something about the way you write that reminds me of my writing style, leaving aside the profanity (although my fifteen-year-old protagonist would’ve thrown the anonymous emperor through his own bookcase long before then, especially in defense of a pretty young lady!). Could it be that we both have some issues to work through in our psyches, and that writing fantasy is how we deal with them? 
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