The grand hall of the castle echoed with the heavy footfalls of armored knights as they dragged their captive before the throne. King Roderick, known throughout the realm as a just yet ruthless ruler, sat upon his gilded seat, his eyes cold and calculating as he observed the man forced to kneel before him. The man’s clothes were tattered, his hair disheveled, and his skin marred with dirt, but his face-his face was something otherworldly.
“Your Majesty,” one of the knights began, his voice wavering slightly, “we present to you the fiend responsible for the murders in the eastern villages. He confesses to the crimes-cannibalism, Your Grace.”
King Roderick’s gaze narrowed as he leaned forward. The court fell silent, tension hanging in the air like a storm about to break. “Confess,” the king demanded, his voice a low growl. “Speak of your sins.”
The man raised his head, revealing eyes as dark as the night, but there was no fear in them, only a quiet defiance. “I killed them,” he said, his voice eerily calm, “and I consumed their flesh.”
Gasps of horror rippled through the gathered nobles, but King Roderick barely noticed them. He was entranced. How could such a creature-a monster who had committed such atrocities-possess such beauty? The man’s features were delicate, almost ethereal, and his eyes, despite their darkness, held a strange allure.
“What is your name?” the king asked, his tone softer, more curious than before.
“Vincent,” the man replied, his voice betraying no emotion.
Roderick’s grip on the armrest of his throne tightened. “Vincent,” he repeated, tasting the name on his tongue. “Do you feel no remorse for what you’ve done?”
Vincent’s lips curled into the faintest of smirks. “Remorse? No. I feel nothing.”
The king’s heart pounded in his chest, a dark desire taking root deep within him. There was something captivating about this man-this monster-that stirred something primal inside him. He wanted to possess this beauty, to make it his own, to keep it hidden from the world. The thought of locking Vincent away in some dank, forgotten cell seemed almost blasphemous. No, he had a better idea-a far crueler fate.
“Take him to my chambers,” King Roderick ordered, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of something more-something dangerous. “I will deal with him personally.”
The knights hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances. One of them finally spoke up. “Your Majesty, surely it would be wiser to-“
“Do not question me,” Roderick snapped, his eyes flashing with authority. “Do as I command.”
With clear reluctance, the knights obeyed, lifting Vincent to his feet and leading him out of the hall. Roderick watched them go, his mind already racing with the possibilities of what was to come.
—
Vincent had never known fear before. He had lived his life in the shadows, unfeeling and detached, a predator among the weak. Yet, as he stood alone in the king’s chambers, the heavy door closing behind him with a finality that sent a shiver down his spine, he felt it-a cold, creeping fear that gnawed at his insides.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the flickering light of a few candles. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting scenes of conquest and bloodshed, and the bed at the center of the room was large, draped in luxurious furs and silks. It was a room befitting a king-a king who had just decided that Vincent’s fate would be worse than death.
The door creaked open, and Roderick entered, his expression unreadable. He circled Vincent like a predator assessing its prey, his eyes roaming over the man’s form, taking in every detail. Vincent stood still, his heart pounding, his mind racing with the possibilities of what the king intended to do with him.
“You are beautiful,” Roderick murmured, almost to himself. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Vincent’s cheek, the touch so light it was almost tender. But the intent behind it was anything but.
Vincent recoiled slightly, the unfamiliar sensation of someone’s touch sending a jolt of panic through him. He had never been touched like this-never allowed anyone close enough. His whole life had been about control, about maintaining distance. But now, in this room, with this man, he felt that control slipping away.
“I should have you executed,” Roderick continued, his voice low and almost seductive. “For your crimes, you deserve nothing less. But that would be too easy, too merciful. No, I think you deserve a punishment that will make you truly understand what it means to suffer.”
Vincent’s breath hitched as the king’s hand slid down to his throat, his grip tightening just enough to make Vincent’s pulse quicken. “You fear this, don’t you?” Roderick whispered, his lips close to Vincent’s ear. “You fear being touched. Being defiled. You’ve never known intimacy, have you, Vincent?”
Vincent’s silence was answer enough. He clenched his teeth, trying to suppress the wave of fear and anger rising within him, but Roderick saw it-he reveled in it. The king’s other hand moved to the fastenings of Vincent’s tattered clothes, his intentions becoming all too clear.
“No,” Vincent breathed, the word slipping out before he could stop it. He had killed men without hesitation, consumed their flesh without a second thought, but this-this was different. This was a violation of his very essence.
“Yes,” Roderick replied, his voice soft but unwavering. “This is your punishment. You will belong to me, body and soul. And you will learn to obey.”
Vincent’s eyes squeezed shut as the first tear slid down his cheek, a single act of defiance against the fear that threatened to consume him. He had always been the hunter, but now, he was the prey, caught in a web of his own making.
As Roderick’s hands continued their cruel work, Vincent could only think of one thing-that he had finally met someone more monstrous than himself.
Roderick’s hands moved with deliberate slowness, savoring every moment as he stripped Vincent of his remaining dignity. The tattered remnants of the man’s clothes fell to the floor in silence, the room’s chill air prickling against Vincent’s exposed skin. He stood rigid, eyes still closed, every muscle in his body taut with a mixture of fear and rage.
“I see it in you, Vincent,” Roderick murmured, his voice a low purr as he ran a hand down Vincent’s bare chest. “That fire, that defiance. But here, in this place, you are mine. And I will break you.”
Vincent’s breathing grew shallow as Roderick’s touch became more invasive, more insistent. He had never allowed himself to be vulnerable, had never let anyone close enough to inflict this kind of pain. The terror clawing at his insides was a foreign sensation, one he had inflicted on countless others but never felt himself-until now.
Roderick paused, his hands lingering on Vincent’s hips, as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against the shell of Vincent’s ear. “You are mine now, Vincent,” he whispered, the words searing themselves into Vincent’s mind. “And you will learn to serve me in ways you never imagined.”
Vincent’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind screaming at him to fight back, to lash out, to do anything to escape this nightmare. But he was paralyzed by the sheer force of Roderick’s presence, by the knowledge that any act of defiance would only lead to greater suffering. The king’s hands slid lower, his grip tightening possessively, and Vincent’s breath caught in his throat as the true nature of his fate became undeniable.
The door to the chamber creaked open, and Roderick’s gaze snapped up, irritation flashing in his eyes. A figure stood in the doorway, cloaked in shadow, hesitating at the threshold.
“What is it?” Roderick demanded, his tone sharp.
“Sire, forgive the intrusion,” the figure stammered-a young servant, trembling as he spoke. “But there are urgent matters that require your attention. The council awaits your presence in the war room.”
Roderick’s jaw clenched in frustration, but he relented, straightening and stepping away from Vincent. The sudden absence of his touch was a shock in itself, leaving Vincent feeling both relieved and exposed.
“Very well,” Roderick said, his voice cold. “But know this, Vincent-this is not over. When I return, we will continue. And you will learn what it means to be mine.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door, the servant scurrying to hold it open for him. Roderick paused in the doorway, casting one last glance over his shoulder at Vincent, who still stood motionless in the center of the room, his eyes wide and haunted.
“Do not attempt to escape,” Roderick warned, his voice dripping with menace. “There is nowhere you can run where I will not find you.”
The door closed with a heavy thud, leaving Vincent alone in the dark, the echoes of Roderick’s words lingering in the silence. He sank to his knees, his body trembling, the weight of his fate crashing down on him like a tidal wave.
For the first time in his life, Vincent knew what it meant to be truly powerless. He had always been the one in control, the one who decided who lived and who died, who felt pleasure and who suffered. But now, he was at the mercy of a man more twisted and dangerous than he could have ever imagined-a man who saw his beauty not as a gift, but as a tool to be used, a weapon to be wielded against him.
Vincent’s mind raced, desperately searching for a way out, a way to escape the king’s clutches. But every thought, every plan, led back to the same conclusion-there was no escape. Roderick’s power was absolute, his will unyielding, and Vincent was trapped, his fate sealed.
The minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the silence of the room oppressive, suffocating. Vincent’s thoughts spiraled, a mix of fear, anger, and a deep, gnawing despair that he had never felt before. He had always believed that he was beyond fear, beyond pain. But now, he realized that he was wrong.
As the candle flames flickered, casting long shadows on the walls, Vincent’s resolve began to crumble. The fear that had taken root in his heart was growing, spreading like a poison through his veins. He had faced death before, had taken lives without a second thought, but this was different. This was a fate worse than death-a fate where his body, his very soul, would be bent and broken to the will of another.
Vincent’s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to maintain some semblance of control. He could not-would not-let Roderick break him. But the terror gnawing at his insides, the cold dread of what was to come, made it difficult to hold on to that resolve.
The door creaked open once more, and Vincent’s heart leaped into his throat. He scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting to the figure that entered the room, a desperate hope flaring in his chest that it was someone-anyone-other than the king.
But it was Roderick. His expression was dark, his eyes glinting with a hunger that sent a shiver down Vincent’s spine. He had returned to claim what he saw as his, and Vincent knew, in that moment, that there was no escape, no salvation.
Roderick crossed the room in a few long strides, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. He reached out, his hand gripping Vincent’s chin, forcing the man to look him in the eyes.
“Your fear is intoxicating,” Roderick murmured, his voice a low rumble. “But you will learn to submit, Vincent. You will learn to obey.”
Vincent’s breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest as Roderick’s grip tightened, his thumb brushing against Vincent’s lower lip in a mockery of tenderness.
And in that moment, Vincent realized that the king was right. He would learn to obey-because he had no choice.
Roderick’s other hand slid down Vincent’s body, his touch both possessive and demanding. Vincent closed his eyes, his resolve shattering as he accepted the inevitable. He had been the predator, the hunter, the one in control-but now, he was nothing more than prey, caught in a web of his own making, at the mercy of a man whose cruelty knew no bounds.
And as Roderick’s hands continued their work, Vincent’s last shred of defiance crumbled, leaving him with nothing but the cold, hard reality of his fate.
He was King Roderick’s now.
Forever.
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