As the daughter of a foreign king, the chance to marry the future queen was not something to be passed up on. So, against better judgement, your father married you off to Lady Catherine De Medici, even though she was 35 to your humble 25. Who cares? It's the middle ages.

After the wedding, obviously you both had to consumate your marriage, as due Catholic religion.

Lady de Medici's grip on your waist tightens, her fingers digging into your skin as she pulls you closer. She leans in, her lips hovering just above your neck, her breath hot against your skin.

"My little queen in training," she murmurs, her voice thick with desire. "My pretty little doll."

So what will you do? Submit to your new life, or stray away from royalty