Under the pale moonlight, four figures were seen that night, approaching the abandoned barn.

Those who saw them noted that they looked like ghosts due to the eerie movement of their cloaks in the breeze. Like a strange tribal dance, they swayed back and forth, occasionally revealing the humanoid shapes underneath them.

What happened that night was told by mothers to misbehaving children every night at bedtime. It became a legend over the decades, one so outlandish people refused to believe it ever happened, despite an absurd amount of proof coming to light...

* * * * *

No matter how hard she strained her arms, Boudicca couldn't wring them free of the ropes that bound her to the wooden pole.

Her long hair fell over her face, undone in the struggle between her and her kidnappers.

She had finally come to just this morning, and by noon these vile men had taken her away. Stolen her from her children.

The sticky white substance that ran down her face was a dark reminder of the cruel fate that she had to endure all those years ago. She had hoped Tierra Dorada would have been a pathway to escape it all.

But fate was not so easy to escape.

The laughter and drunk singing that surrounded her made her even sicker than she already was. It wasn't just men either. There were a couple of women there as well.

"So you're the infamous "Queen" that cheated on the King, aren't you?" Here was one of those two. She stunk of alcohol, and snaked her arm around Boudicca's chest. She glared at her, only for the bitch to tighten her grip.

"Aww, whatsat face, Queeny? You're so intimidating! Even with all that cum running down your face you still wanna stare at people like that? Huuuuh?"

If she didn't have a filthy ball of cloth stuffed into her mouth, she would have said several things at her by now.

The woman looked behind Boudicca, presumably at the Spanish spy in charge of the operation. "Heeeeyyyy, mister! Can I tear her clothes up? I wanna grab her tits!" She yelled, waving her hand at him to catch his attention.

The man was in his thirties, and was slightly plump for his age. With his face decorated by a stubble and a hint of gray in the hair underneath his wide-brimmed hat, he looked much older than he really was. His name was Giovanni Tello, one of the Júniors who undertook the mission.

"You can't. Not on my watch." He looked around at the people laughing and jeering at the former princess. Though she was officially known as the princess, almost everyone referred to her as Queen, since she had become the lover of King Ferdinand just before he became the successor of King Philip.

It had been about twelve years since the previous king had fallen ill. His son, then Prince Fernando, had taken over almost everything there was to control in the kingdom, therefore earning the title of King by the public before his father's death. When Boudicca became his lover, naturally she was nicknamed the Queen.

Of course he had heard the stories about her. Too many, perhaps. Every single one had varying levels of drama and details, and some were extremely unconvincing.

And now that he could look straight into her eyes as he helped in tying her up, he had thought he'd see those wild, primal emotions he had seen in several other whores and prostitutes he had met in them. But instead, he was faced with a pair of eyes filled with sadness and regret.

Regret for what? He wondered. What secrets did she have to hide?

Maybe he was just going crazy.

He walked up to Boudicca, and kicked the slut rubbing herself against her out of the way. Ignoring her pained yelp, he materialized a small handkerchief and wiped the filth off Boudicca's face. "Forgive me, but it has to be this way. I cannot control these people, and we need their help to take you out of the picture."

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

She began to pull against her restraints, and tried to speak through the cloth in her mouth. With a pained expression on his face, he turned away.

Through the various kinds of scummy lowlifes drinking and smoking, Tello spotted his superior, Señor Dracul in conversation with two members of the bandits. When he approached, he quickly shooed them away.

"Señor, is all of this necessary? These people are disgraceful and animalistic. Surely we need not expose ourselves to such villainy to complete our task at hand?"

Dracul, a gaunt and older man aged 60, was one of the most established spies in the army, completing over sixty missions throughout a forty year career. Or at least, that was how it seemed. Tello had recently discovered that this man was in reality nothing more than a coward, relying on the Júniores to carry out missions and almost always completing extremely easy, low-risk tasks.

Despite this, his friendship with several noble families in Spain meant he had gained quite a massive reputation fueled by nothing more than rumors and bribery.

Now he addressed Tello, his tone underlining his displeasure. "You speak of villainy, while contributing massively to the task of kidnapping and selling the former princess. We are spies, Júnior Tello. It is unwise to question your Señores about such nonsense."

"And besides, I yearn to take part in the celebrations to come later on tonight. That's why I am forcing myself to remain sober. The former princess has a fabulous body indeed."

Hmph. He's just as inhumane as they are. Take off that indigo dress shirt, and he fits in with all the rest.

Although he said nothing further on the subject, Dracul noticed the sour look on Tello's face. "You are still dwelling on this?"

Slowly, he nodded.

Dracul sighed, and placed his arm around Tello's shoulders. "Listen here. We tried to poison her, and it failed. She forced herself to keep living. It was she who brought this fate upon herself. And I am showing her mercy by simply selling her off somewhere instead of killing her."

Tello's eyes widened in shock. "Are you telling me that you decided to sell her without informing the higher ups?"

"Tello, my boy, listen. We earn a measly amount for all the resources and time we wasted on this one helpless woman."

"We can sell her off for half a million gold considering her former status and her stupendous body. Instead of simply killing her, this is far more productive. I cannot let such a massive profit slip by! And not to mention I can examine the product myself tonight as well! Surely you understand as a fellow man?"

With a slight nod, he walked away from Dracul, now filled with more doubts than ever. The whole thing was idiotic in his opinion. He yearned to be back home, with his family instead of all the way out here in this dump. But thanks to his Señor, the mission had now been unnecessarily extended, and he was stuck.

As he stationed himself in front of Boudicca, he thought he heard someone moving around outside. The door to the barn was locked and made of iron, so nobody was going to simply walk in. There were a few armed guards stationed outside as well, so there would be gunshots if someone was causing trouble.

Besides, nobody was coming to save her. Though most of the spies had been rather careless monitoring her, he had seen enough to know nobody had any close relations with her apart from a local farmer and one of her elderly relatives.

He stood there between Boudicca and the massive sliding door, his senses focused for any sign of movement outside. It was near impossible to hear anything with the racket from the bandits.

Despite his mental preparation, he didn't expect what happened next.

CLAAAAAAANK.

The huge door slid to the right and slammed into the wall. The chains, each link no less than five inches long, shattered and fell as though they were made of clay.

The rush of wind into the barn put out quite a bit of the lanterns, causing all inside to go silent as partial darkness washed over them.

In the pale moonlight that spilled into the barn were four cloaked figures, all of them with hoods pulled over their heads. Tello could make out the two guards collapsed on the grass, small pools of blood forming near their necks. They must have slit their throats.

Without hesitation, he pointed his pistol at the leader, the one who had pulled the door open. "Whatever it is you're looking for, it's not here. I suggest you move along."

Despite his unwavering voice, he was fully aware how dangerous the situation was. It had taken two men a few minutes to fully tug the door wide open like that, and this person had just brushed it aside while it had been locked by chains.

"Ah, then that is good. It means this is exactly the place we were looking for."

The voice belonged to a man. And though Tello couldn't make out any anger in it, something made a shiver run down his spine.

He steadied his shaking hand. "What the hell are you talking a-"

Before he could finish, he spotted the slightest of movement underneath the man's cloak, and fired.

The flash illuminated the man's face. All Tello saw was an indescribable anger planted on his face.

Now the figure stood behind him, his hand replacing the cutlass he had swung back in it's scabbard. Huh? I didn't get him?

He began falling over. But he wasn't falling, he was sure of it. His legs were still firmly planted to the ground. Even if there was blood dripping all over the floorboards, even if the ground was rising to meet his face, his feet were still firmly planted to the floor.

But then, he saw a thick, reddish mass of rope-like flesh spill from his stomach. It had been shredded in two with immaculate precision. That was the last thing Giovanni Tello ever saw.

Oh. I died.