This chapter is for the anon from "Primitive" who reminded me that I was going to write this story. It had honestly slipped my mind!

I'm also on Twitter now - my username is skalicethomas. You can follow me and I'll be tweeting about what I'm working on, when I've uploaded something and you can send me questions or prompts or whatever :)

"Ye'd best 'urry now, love."

The sturdy innkeeper's booming voice startles Quinn from her daydream. She swallows and smiles uneasily. She nods, looking down at her lap shyly and takes a deep breath.

"Thank you for your hospitality," she says politely. "I will always be indebted to you. If I had any money on me whatsoever, I would pay you for your food and drinks."

The innkeeper studies her delicate features. "Don't worry 'bout it, love. Don't want me 'ead chopped off, if ye know what I mean." Quinn doesn't know what he means and it must be as good as written on her face, because he continues: "I'm thinkin' Queen Santana won't be too 'appy if she 'ears a pretty girl like ye'self was denied anythin'. Yer exactly 'er type, you."

Quinn blushes. She's heard before about her beauty - people keep telling her, as if it's all there is to her - but to think that her beauty could be enough to warrant another person's death makes her uncomfortable. "I have seen portraits of Rachel, the Queen-lady," Quinn says as she stands up from her seat. "I look nothing like her, so I think I'd hardly be the Queen's type."

"Oh, all of us down 'ere so close to the palace know that the Queen-lady ain't much loved by the Queen. The guards an' the servants come 'ere to have a drink at night an' if we 'ave to believe their stories, Queen Santana is repulsed by her wife's very face! She's got it more for the blondes, like the late lady-Queen. I 'ear Queen Santana's blonde maids are never quite safe! We all know that Queen-lady Annabelle was the Queen's true love."

Quinn closes her eyes and takes another deep breath. She forces herself to keep her cool - this is good news. This is exactly the news she needs. If their plan is to succeed, she needs the Queen to want her.

"Right, doll, off you go now. The palace closes soon an' you know what Queen Santana does to people who 'aven't offered their presents."

Quinn nods. It's exactly the reason that she left her home and family, her world as she knows it, her life as she knows it. She has no choice but to do this if she wants her family to live. She knows that if their plan succeeds, she can never return to her daily tasks, her daily life, her little brother, their animals. She is her parents' only hope.

She thanks the innkeeper and goes on her way, every step on the hardened road resounding in her ears. The mountains surrounding her provide a beautiful vista, but she's too focused to notice. A tear rolls down her cheek and she forces herself to accept the reality as it is. There is no home now, there are no animals. And she, along with her family, is only alive because of the market held that day. Had the fire burned their home from roof to dirty floor at any other time, they would have burned along with it. Their misfortune was double as this has only happened a week before the Queen's birthday, leaving them with nothing to offer her as a present. Nothing but their own daughter. Blonde, fair-skinned, young. Scared. She thinks of her little brother, about the life he is yet to build. If she offers herself to the Queen, his life is saved. She thinks about that other little blonde, the one she never sees but always loves.

An hour later, she finally reaches the Queen's palace. She has never seen it before and is awed. She blinks her eyes for a second, convinced that the exquisite architecture in front of her eyes is nothing but a figment of her imagination. It must be true then, she thinks to herself. King Niroklios has gathered architects from every corner of the world. She never knew whether to believe the stories about the Queen's ancestor and his love for art and power, but now she has no choice. The building is eclectic to say the least. She can see domes, arches - pointed, semi-circular, equilateral and many kinds of which she doesn't know the name - windows with flamboyant tracery, mosaics... she can't imagine what she will find inside.

She feels utterly humiliated in her rough, shapeless dress. She used to have finer clothing than that, for several occasions, but all had been lost in the fire. This is a gift, given out of pity and with a kind heart, but it's utterly worthless.

Her heart is pounding and her mouth is dry as she enters through the immense oak gate. She smiles weakly at the guard, who is sporting a mohawk she thinks looks kind of ridiculous. Her stomach turns when he gives her a sleazy wink. "You here for the Queen, I presume?"

She nods. "I'm here to offer my present for Her Majesty's twenty-seventh birthday."

"Bit late, aren't we?" he smirks. "Bit empty-handed, aren't we?"

Quinn thinks back to the innkeeper's words. Don't want me 'ead chopped off, if ye know what I mean. I'm thinkin' Queen Santana won't be too 'appy if she 'ears a pretty girl like ye'self was denied anythin'.

"I'd be careful, if I were you," Quinn says icily, not knowing where this bravado suddenly comes from. "The Queen won't be too happy if she takes a liking to me and hears of your misconduct toward me."

The man looks at her, estimating her.

"Oy, BLAINE," he finally shouts at the top of his lungs. Quinn isn't sure whether that's appropriate, but nobody seems to be around anyway. A shot curly-haired boy comes running around the corner. Panting heavily, he comes to a halt. "Master Puck?"

Quinn frowns. A mere guard is being called 'Master'? Strange.

"Bring this pretty lady here to the Queen. She's got a present for her."

"Yes, Master. Follow me, miss."

She nods to Puck and follows this Blaine. They round the corner he came from and she finally speaks. "Why did you call him Master? Aren't you higher in rank than he is?"

Blaine grimaces. "Yes, but he's stronger than I am. If I don't call him Master, he beats me up at night. But you can't tell anyone. The Queen doesn't take kindly to lads not standing up for themselves."

"I won't say a word," Quinn smiles. "Do you think the Queen is in a good mood?"

"It's her birthday," Blaine smiles. "She loves presents. She's had nothing but all day. I believe she is very happy indeed. Relaxed, at least."

Quinn feels at ease and decides to ask more question. This guy looks harmless enough. "Is the Queen as beautiful as they say?"

"No."

Quinn's stomach sinks. She had held onto that as the bright light in this very dark tunnel - that at least the woman she'd be giving herself to was of an exquisite beauty.

"She's far more stunning than words could ever hope to describe," Blaine continues. "You'll see for yourself in a minute. I also hear that she has the largest penis in the realm, but I'm not sure whether that's her own pride or the truth. Don't tell her I said that, by the way."

She doesn't have the time to take in the awe-inspiring architecture around her as she is led through corridors, some half-open, others inside with depressed arches supporting fan vaulting. Finally, they hold still in front of another immense oak gate. Blaine raps his knuckles on the door. A minute later, it opens from the inside. They enter a semi-circular hall almost as big as her entire village. She's even more nervous now, so close to the Queen, so close to seeing her with her own eyes.

The soft light of the late afternoon filters through the clerestory windows. She holds her head up high and follows Blaine to the throne, her eyes roaming the life-size statues of the seventy-six kings and queens before Santana. The entire Lopez dynasty.

"The last present of the day, Your Highness," he says, bowing for her.

Quinn curtseys for the Queen. The Queen is talking to one of her servants, a cup of wine in her left hand. As Quinn looks up, the Queen turns her head and their eyes meet. A spark seems to light the air. Quinn's breath is momentarily cut off. Wow. The Queen herself seems startled, but Quinn has no idea why she would be and attributes it to her imagination.

Queen Santana clears her throat and her melodious, husky voice echoes through the enormous hall. "Name?"

"Q-Q-Quinn," Quinn stammers, lost in the Queen's eyes, - and her lips, and her eyelashes, and her cheekbones, and -

"Quinn?"

Quinn takes a deep breath. "Quinn Fabray of Benningwood. I come to present my family's present for Your Majesty's birthday."

Queen Santana frowns. "Well, show it to me."

"I... my family... we..." Quinn closes her eyes and regains her composure. "Our present is my virginity," she finally utters.

When she opens her eyes, the Queen is smirking in delight, her eyes glistening. She's leaning forward slightly, her chin resting on her joined fingertips. "Hm. Take off your dress."

"Here?" Quinn asks, startled.

"Don't worry. Nobody is going to touch you. You're my present and mine alone."

Quinn's hands are shaking when she brings them to the hem of the dress. She knows that she has no choice. She tugs at a few strings and then pulls the dress over her head. She loosens her undergarments, takes a deep breath and takes them off. The air brushes past her nipples and she feels them stiffen. Her dress is pooled at her feet. She blushes under all the eyes gazing at her, but especially at the Queen's intense stare.

"Come closer," the Queen says, her voice soft now. "Come stand in front of me."

Quinn steps out of the dress and walks forward, ascending the stairs until she stands before the Queen's throne. Her entire body is trembling. She has rarely felt so alone in her life.

She jumps up slightly when Queen Santana cups her cheek and turns her head to look up at her. The Queen licks her lips and Quinn can't stop herself from following her tongue with her eyes. Santana tucks a strand of hair behind Quinn's ear, her fingers trailing from her ear to her chin, then her lips. Santana's fingers are strong, but delicate. She lowers her hand, touches Quinn's neck and then moves even lower. Incredibly carefully, she traces her fingertip around Quinn's nipple and then cups her breast, softly carressing with her thumb. Quinn bans all thoughts of that other hand that once touched her there. This hand is different - so very different that she finds it hard to believe.

"My god, you look just like her," Santana mutters.

She slides her hand across her abdomen and moves to her legs, ass, inner thigh. Slowly and softly, she caresses her entire body before taking Quinn's hand and leading it to her crotch. Quinn blushes when she feels Santana's hardness against the palm of her hand. She feels exceptionally large, larger than - Santana surprises her by drawing her on her lap. She buries her nose in Quinn's neck and takes in her smell. Quinn hisses in surprise when she feels Santana's soft, plump lips on her pulse point, the soft flick of her tongue.

Santana leans back and Quinn can't pinpoint the look in Santana's eyes. She can see surprise, intrigue, wonder and softness. If any of the stories told about the seventy-seventh sovereign of this realm are true, these emotions are unknown to the Queen. She is known as being hard, ruthless, merciless, pitiless.

"I accept the Fabrays' present," she says to her servant, her eyes still fixed on Quinn, who doesn't know where to look. "Send word to the family. See if every family has presented their gift today and send the Hangmen to those who have not. They know the protocol."

Her servant bows and leaves. Quinn's heartrate speeds up. She hopes every family has presented a gift, because everyone knows what happens to those who don't - they are forced to choose one of their family members who will then be executioned in public. It seems so irrationally cruel to Quinn, but she dares not speak a word.

"Bring Quinn to a guestchamber," she orders Blaine. "Give her some of Anna's dresses. She will have a meal from my personal kitchen, but shall not dine with me. Bring her to my bedchambers as soon as the Queen-lady has retreated to her quarters."

She then turns to Quinn. "I look forward to... seeing you tonight," she smiles lustfully, licking her lips. "Put on that rag you came with. Blaine will give you new clothing, more suitable for your beauty."

Quinn nods. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

She gets off her lap, curtseys (awkwardly, since she is naked) and walks over to her undergarments and dress, putting them back on. She knows how much it means that she is to wear Annabelle's dresses. Annabelle was the first Queen-lady and the love of Queen Santana's life. The Queen was depressed, impossible, vile and aggressive for years after her death in childbirth. Eduardo, their son, means the world to the Queen.

She is walking with Blaine to these guestchambers. He's looking at her with interest evident in his eyes. She raises an eyebrow in question.

"The Queen is right," Blaine finally speaks. "You are the spitting image of Queen-lady Annabelle. If my instinct is right, you will never see your family again. The Queen will want to keep you. And what the Queen wants, the Queen gets."