A/N: I know I need to pick up the pacing. In return for way too much build-up, I offer an early update and some Bakura pov. Also, Happy Holidays, everybody!

Conquered

What happens now? Tiye wanted to ask, as the Thief King turned from the dark, empty docks back towards the city. Her hands shook, legs trembled with the question, the uncertainty.

She wasn't good with uncertainty. Her life in the palace had been one of order, structure, routine. Monotonous, perhaps, but predictable. She had known, more or less, before Ra rose above the horizon what each day would bring and what was expected of her.

Even in the chaos of last night and this nightmarish day, she'd still had the weight of those expectations to guide her, anchor her. She'd thrown herself completely into the needs of her people and refused to look past what the moment demanded of her. That had been enough.

But now, with her servants finally safe and free, there was no one left to be strong for. No royal role to fulfill. She hugged her arms to her chest, although the growing night was not yet cold. The only expectations to meet were those of the Thief King.

What did he want of her? She was terrified of asking as she was desperate to know.

To her surprise, the Thief King was leading her not back to the camp at the city's outskirts, but to a much more familiar destination— the palace. Her stomach clenched at the signs of devastation all about them in the city, only growing worse as they drew closer to the sycamore-lined lanes she knew so well. So many buildings had been demolished, what remained of them scarred and burned, she half-expected to see the palace itself was a pile of rubble.

But no, it rose from the midst of the city like the golden center of a lotus, its alabaster walls and pillars glowing faintly in the moonlight. If she ignored the splintered, useless doors that no longer barred the way, she could almost imagine that nothing was wrong, that all of this had only been some kind of sick nightmare.

Almost. The guards that flanked the ruined door were not soldiers in palace livery, but more of Bakura's bandits. Instead of the formal salute due to royalty, they cheered boisterously at the sight of their leader, who raised his hand in acknowledgement as he strolled past them as if he owned the place. Because he did.

Just like her, the palace belonged to Bakura.

The Thief King turned to grin at her. "Welcome back home, princess."

Tiye sat on her bed, staring at the familiar painted walls of her own chamber. Less than a full day ago, she had imagined she would never see them again, but here she was. The room should have felt safe, comforting, but with all that had happened, the familiarity felt dissonant instead, like trying on an old, worn out sandal after you'd already broken the new ones in.

She couldn't have her old life back, so she would have preferred a clean break. But that was not what the Thief King had ordered. Instead, he'd had his men escort her to her chambers. They were still stationed outside, Tiye knew, from the faint noises they made, though she wasn't exactly sure why. She couldn't escape. As long as the golden pieces the Thief King had in his possession were here in the palace, she would be here as well.

Perhaps he did not know that, however, or wasn't sure. Or perhaps, he didn't want her roaming about the palace, speaking to the others. Two of her other maids - Serenefret and Karoma – had been rousted from the servants quarters to come attend her, but she had seen none of her other people, none of the servants, officials, or other members of the Millennium Court. Certainly none of the sacred priests.

The Thief King's instructions had been as simple as they had been brief. She was to stay in her quarters for the night. In the morning, her attendants were to bathe and dress her, to prepare her to be presented to the Thief King. "In the meantime," he had said, malice sparkling in his eyes, "I have a collar to forge."

Tiye pushed herself off the bed, pacing the length of the room. It was a large, luxurious chamber, as befitted a princess, but right now it felt like a prison cell.

"Princess, perhaps you should get some rest," Serenefret dared to suggest. The slender young maid was kneeling over a leather chest, carefully folding linen dresses and robes inside. The Thief King had made it clear that Tiye would not be returning to her rooms tomorrow.

Personally, Tiye thought it was unlikely the Thief King meant for her to bring along trunks full of possessions, but it wasn't worth arguing with her maids over. She'd already explained the situation to her servants as much as she wanted to. She'd spared a few details, but nevertheless they'd been horrified, as she knew they would be. It had taken far too much energy that she did not have to make them understand that there was no undoing it, the "bargain" she had made with the Thief King.

"I know," Tiye sighed. She was exhausted. She could feel it in her limbs, in the ache behind her eyes, and the dull pounding in her head. But her nerves were too keyed up to allow her sleep, and she was terrified of what her dreams might bring. "But I don't think I can, Serenefret."

"Let me bring you a poppy draft," Karoma offered. Though still young, the tall, graceful woman was older than either Serenefret or Tiye, and had once worked as an attendant to the royal healers before being assigned to the princess's household. "You cannot afford to squander your sleep, Highness."

Tiye couldn't argue. "I doubt the guards will let you fetch anything from the healers' wing."

"There is no need. I keep a few supplies here." Karoma found what she was looking for on the shelves in the corner of the room. She sprinkled a few poppy seeds into a small stone mortar and began to grind them. Normally, Karoma would do such work swiftly and silently, but to Tiye's surprise, the woman began to narrate each action, explaining which ingredients she was using and how much.

Tiye frowned, and was about to ask the woman what she was doing when Karoma continued, "We still have quite a few poppy seeds, Highness, and more than a little of the hensbane and myrrh. Serenefret can pack them up for you."

Then, Tiye understood with blinding clarity. Karoma was trying to teach her, so she would have this skill for the future, if—when, Tiye corrected herself with a grimace—Karoma could not help her. It didn't take much imagination to realize what a useful skill it would be. Tiye nodded, leaning forward to better watch the moment of Karoma's hands as she ground and mixed.

"Thank you," Tiye said when Karoma placed the draft in her hands. She met the woman's kind, dark eyes and knew that she knew all that Tiye was thanking her for.

Morning had come too quickly. Though the draft had helped, and Tiye had finally managed to sleep, the few hours of rest were not nearly enough to make up for the harrowing day before, let alone fortify her for what this new day promised.

At the thought, her pulse jumped and skittered. Tiye drew in a long, slow breath, held it for a count of three, and then released it just as slowly. She tried to focus on her breathing, on the cold granite of the floor, on the thin trail of smoke streaming from the oil lamps, on nothing at all. It was useless. The exercise had lost its power to calm her.

Her stomach churned as she rose to her feet to pace through the small antechamber. She was alone now, Serenefret and Karoma left behind by the thugs who had come to collect her–and then deposited her here to wait. What had become of them, or the carefully packed leather chests that Serenefret had spent half the night organizing, Tiye did not know, but she doubted she would see them again.

According to the Thief King, everything she had was to be left behind. The only exception was the outfit she currently wore – had been ordered to wear – a gown of exceedingly fine white linen, belted with gold, with a sheer, fluted overrobe. Bracelets clattered on her arms, rings glinted on her fingers, and her heaviest, most ornate earrings hung from her ears. Even her feet were shod in gilded sandals, with her favorite carnelian amulet tied around one ankle. There was only one thing missing, incongruous with all the weight of finery she wore: her throat remained bare.

The gown should have called for an ornamental collar, a necklace, perhaps a ceremonial pectoral, and of course she owned many. Had owned. She'd left them all behind in the rooms where she'd lived the last seventeen years. The rooms of the Princess Tiye. But as the Thief King had made so abundantly clear, that wasn't who she was anymore.

The door opened. A guard–one of the new ones, one of the ones who had been a bandit only days earlier–stood in the doorway. He held a spear, but his stance was formal, not aggressive. "It is time," he said. "The Pharaoh has summoned you."

Tiye nodded. She trailed her fingers across the wall as she turned to follow him and wished she could steal some of their cold serenity and will it into her bones.

Bakura drummed his fingers on the armrest of the golden throne. An ornate goblet sat beside him, but he left the wine untouched. He wanted a clear head for this. Beside the cup, half-shrouded by a length of imported Persian silk, was the object he'd spent the better part of the night crafting. His body still ached with the expenditure of magic–and the rush of the power flowing through him. Shadow magic. With it, the royals had destroyed his world and reshaped his future. Now, he was returning the favor.

The curtains of the throne room parted. His personal guards entered, flanking a slim, pale figure. The princess. She had dressed as he had given orders, in an elaborately regal ensemble that would have drawn every eye if her beauty had not done so already. Layers of fine linen whispered as she moved, alternately revealing, then hiding the lines of her body, while the gold that glittered on her arms and even her feet reminded all who saw her of the greatness of the empire that he, Bakura, had brought to its knees. He had not allowed her to wear a headdress, of course, but one of her women had braided enameled blue beads and bits of lapis lazuli into the strands of hair that framed her face, drawing out the stunning blue of her eyes.

"The Lotus Blossom of Egypt," he drawled mockingly. A flush rose to the tops of her cheeks, but she bowed her head and said nothing.

He watched as she made her way towards him, admiring her graceful, poised steps. No stumbles or hesitations. He'd be willing to bet there would be no crying or desperate pleading, either.

The throngs of watchers - every soul in the palace and as many of Bakura's men as could be spared - kept their distance. Not a one of them dared to speak, though some glared mutinously in Bakura's direction. Not his men, of course, but the palace officials and servants. This show was especially for them, the loyal ones, the ones who thought they could still defy the new world order. That somehow if they defied him, their precious pharaoh would rise from the dead and overthrow him.

An ugly sneer twisted his face. That fool was gone forever, his precious Pendant smashed into a thousand pieces and the pieces scattered across the desert. They would never be found, never be reassembled. So what if that meant too that he would never be able to summon his dark god to wreak the vengeance this realm truly deserved? His scowl tightened. He would take his revenge on the royals a different way, by taking everything that was once theirs. Starting with the pampered princess before him.

She came to stand at the foot of the dais, and he beckoned her up the steps. The guards remained at the base, clearly expecting no trouble from this delicate young woman that their battle-hardened leader couldn't handle.

Despite her poise, there was a hesitation in her bearing as she arrived at the final step to stand before the throne. Bakura raised an eyebrow at her, knowing every word either of them spoke would carry to the ears of all who watched. "Kneel."

For just an instant, her eyes met his. Was she going to refuse? The girl had spirit, he had seen that, but he had also thought she had enough brains – and self-preservation instinct–not to test the limits of his patience here, in front of this audience he had assembled. He might have to forget his other plans and simply kill her if she did. A waste. But finally, she slid to her knees, the movement as elegant as all her others had been.

Bakura's gaze slid over her, arresting on her bare neck, and then on the stretch of tempting cleavage her pose exposed. He allowed himself to savor the sight for a long moment, the princess of Egypt offered up to him like a treat, then brought his gaze back to her face. Her lowered eyes flicked up to his, wariness in their blue depths, despite the mask she'd made of her face. She didn't know what he wanted of her. Well, that was fine, so long as she gave it to him. Which, of course, she would.

"Tiye." He stretched out the syllables in her name. He had to admit, when he'd first captured her, he hadn't known who she was, or even that the former pharaoh had a betrothal. He had since rectified that ignorance. "One-time Princess of the Upper and Lower Nile, Beloved of Hathor…" he smiled as he added, "Lotus Blossom of Egypt." Her carefully controlled expression did not change. "Fulfill your promise to me. Surrender your claims to your names and titles. Submit yourself to me as your pharaoh and master."

He reached for the golden collar, shaking it loose from its silk wrapping. Like all Shadow Items, it felt icy to the touch, as if it could suck away the very warmth of a person's soul and still be ravenous for more heat. He saw the girl's eyes rivet on it as he weighed it in his hand. Not the full weight of gold it could have been, but more than enough. "Will you accept this collar from my hand? It will bind your promise, even as it will bind you to my service."

She looked up at him, and he held her gaze. "You will be unable to defy my will, to incite rebellion, or to add those who would."He had explained this to her already, before their game. These words were mostly for their audience. Still, he wanted her to understand. It would probably kill her—or worse—if she tried to go back on her word now, but at least she would have that choice. She wouldn't afterwards. Even if the magic didn't make certain of it, he would.

He spoke softly, though he knew there was no true privacy in this very public moment. "Do not think you will be able to hoodwink me somehow, or to find some loophole to work against me. You will find yourself unable to harm me, or even to allow me to be harmed. You will not even be able to hide your intentions from me. You will obey my commands–my every command."

Her eyes hardened until they truly resembled the blue gems in her hair. That soft mouth of hers firmed into a line, but she said nothing. She'd counted the cost already, her expression read, and though she'd found it astronomically high, she would pay it.

"This choice is irrevocable," he warned her, leaning down to press the collar against her skin. "Only my hand and my will can remove this collar once it is fastened." He looked in her eyes to be sure she understood. "Say yes once more, and you will never say no to me again."

She swallowed hard. "Yes."

The Thief King pushed the golden circlet against her skin. Tiye bit back a gasp at the coldness of the metal, and then suddenly heat flared through it. For just an instant, the metal seemed almost fluid. Then, she felt something snap into place, not so much inside the collar as inside of her. Just as quickly, the collar cooled until it was just a simple ring of metal, perfectly smooth all the way around.

And Tiye was forever changed.

The world reeled. She tried to focus on her breathing, the long, deep breaths in, the slow, steady breaths out. The rhythm kept her from panic, but it could not block out the strange new awareness that invaded her senses, this new and all-consuming pressure that surrounded her. At some point, she had pressed her palms into the marble of the dais. She pushed her fingers even harder against it, as if they could sink into the stone, ignoring the distant pain of her rings biting into her flesh. The marble was barely cool, but the floor was a far safer place for her fingers. She wanted to dig them against her throat, to rip the collar free and throw it to the floor.

She couldn't do that. It would have been a horrible idea that would have gotten her killed–and probably several innocent souls to boot–but it was more than that. She literally couldn't. She knew it deep in her bones, even if the Thief King hadn't warned her. She wasn't even sure she could try. She didn't dare make the attempt. She couldn't bear it.

She didn't know how long she sat there on her knees, just trying to breathe. She only was aware when he spoke. His voice cut through everything, like it was the only real thing in the world. "Will you serve and obey me?"

There was only one possible answer. The word rose to her lips before she could even think. "Yes."

"I am Pharaoh, your king." His words seemed to reverberate through her very bones, impossible to ignore. "You will address me as such."

Tiye bowed her head. "Yes, my pharaoh."

He smiled, and the sweet giddiness of his approval licked through her for the first time.