Satoru was nothing but a patient man.

Laying down, waiting for his time, for his moment to seize all that there is to be seized.

A throne. Power and riches And the wife. The fiercest woman he's ever known. The woman who has been holding him off, him and 107 other men from her soft form, from her bedroom. The woman still chasing the ghost of a man who's long gone.

For twenty long years, his fellow suitors and him had been feasting on the reserves of the palace, partying, abusing the xenia offered by the Spartan queen, seeing her fists tremble with barely contained rage, her face staying even and graceful...Satoru loved it, it always got him going.

But that fun was starting to get dull after two decades.

All the challenges she gave them, all the ways she sabotaged them sneakily, making them pass as fools.

They were getting older And she was getting bolder in her deflections.

Satoru could still remember the day he and the others arrived to the Palace all these years ago, how he got struck by her beauty, intelligence and strength. Her straight, martial posture, graceful but unyielding as she led them in, offering them customary hospitality while she was longing for the return of her King, the man she loved.

Satoru wanted to be that man for her.

The old king is probably dead by now.

But she was not old, not to him, age had blessed her with a softness and femininity that her youthful vigor had never let through, the small crow feet at the corner of her eyes, her big eyes sometimes squinting at things far away. And her body...

Soft, attractive, and...

Having never carried a child.

The old king was an idiot, leaving his young wife without child before going to war, without anything anchoring her to him in a material way.

Satoru wouldn't make that mistake once he got his hands on her, all over her.

"Whoever can string my husband's bow and shoot through twelve axes cleanly" Her melodious voice rang in the hall, and then, the vixen dared to take the unstrung bow, turn her back to them, making them unable to see the process of her stringing it. Before aiming calmly, her toned muscles bulged slightly as she fired, answering her challenge.

"Just like this, whoever can do it will be my husband and the new king." Unstringing it again, she put it down carefully, affection in her eyes as she stared at her husband's possession.

They all thought it was an easy win, that her resolve to stay loyal to her husband had eroded and that her last "challenge" was just a perfunctory way to give an easy win to one of them...not

30 hours later, all the suitors are still there, defeated, in shock. She could do it, but none of them could string it.

"Where is he? Where is the man who can string this bow?" But while they were lamenting themselves, Satoru was fuming, chest heaving up in fury, hands raw from trying to string that hellish bow. He grabbed it once again, tried, and failed to understand how the damned weapon was supposed to be handled.

That wench purposefully turned her back to them to leave them in the dark. He remembered her small smile, and that face made him feel violent and full of lust at the same time, his loins tightening at the confusing mix of emotion.

Throwing away the bow, the noise silencing the hundred men present, he walked silently to the main table and, once standing tall and proud on it, he uttered.

"Screw this competition...why have we been obeying this unruly woman for years?! Where's our pride and our rage?!" The other men gawked at him, stunned by the sudden raging rant.

"You fools keep fighting each other, keep trying to string that unstringable bow. Tonight, no door, no guard, no subterfuge will keep her flesh from mine. Her love, and all that she is, are mine for the taking." The hall was dead silent as the other men observed with a growing unease their leader slowly slip from frustration into insanity.

And as the night fell, Satoru made good on his declaration, walking toward the royal chambers with a cold detachment, sword in hand. Behind him was a trail of dead bodies, guards thinking they could keep their dear queen away from him for a second longer.

Panting slightly from the slaughter, he put his face against the door, as if trying to feel the woman behind them, the woman unaware that she was now his. He could imagine her tending to her hair, or massaging lotion onto her skin, thinking that once her husband came back, she'd greet him at the top of her form.

But this is all for me now.

"My queen, open the door." This was a statement, not a question. "Or I'll open it for you, I'll open it and your legs in the same breath. Well I'll open your legs whether you comply or not.