I looked down at the battered woman sprawled below me, her body trembling as I slowly withdrew my length from her mouth. Her broken tooth scraped lightly against my skin, leaving a faint sting as she looked up at me in a haze, her tear-streaked face a picture of exhaustion and pain. Tears rolled freely down her swollen cheeks, mingling with the thick strands of saliva dripping from her chin, pooling on the bloodstained sheets. Her gaze—foggy, pleading, utterly broken—met mine, and it only fueled my rising satisfaction.
I stood beside the bed, her ragged breath and palpitating flesh of her tore breast punctuating the silence. The silver ropes binding breasts shimmered faintly before disintegrating into silver dust, releasing her. As the restraints vanished, blood surged into her purple, swollen breast, grotesque in its size, while the other lay limp—merely torn flesh, palpitating faintly as the fresh rush of blood spurred a spasm through her body. The abrupt sensation made her whimper, a pitiful sound that dissolved into quiet sobs. Her body convulsed, curling into itself as if to shield against further torment.
"Good girl," I murmured, the edge of my voice both soothing and mocking as I reached down, stroking her matted hair. My fingers, stained with the blood and pulp of what once was her breast, tangled in the muddy strands. She flinched at my touch, though her gaze never wavered. The broken creature before me was as much art as she was a tool, and yet, as satisfying as her suffering was, it had grown... routine. My tastes demanded more—something inventive, something maddening.
As a flicker of inspiration twisted my lips into a grin, I leaned down, my voice soft as silk. "I'll give you a gift next time," I whispered, letting the promise linger like a poison in the air. Her tear-glazed eyes widened slightly, glinting with a flicker of manic terror. The sight was intoxicating. I let out a low laugh as I straightened, noting the involuntary twitch of her exposed asshole as I turned away. Her body betrayed her even in her suffering, and that thought alone made me shiver with pleasure.
Without sparing her another glance, I strode out of the room.
My chamber was dimly lit, the faint glow of enchanted sconces casting elongated shadows across the white marble walls. I sat heavily on the bed, the weight of my thoughts mingling with the lingering satisfaction of the night's cruelty.
The door creaked open, and Mother stepped into the room with an effortless grace that belied her imposing figure. The soft glow of the candlelight caressed her thick, curvaceous frame, amplifying her presence with an aura that was both maternal and magnetic. Her sheer, semi-transparent nightgown, stitched with delicate silver embroidery, clung to her body as though it worshipped her form. The fabric hinted at her ample, heavy breasts, which strained against the delicate material, their weight evident even beneath the thin fabric. Her inverted nipples pressed faintly against the translucent surface, a teasing glimpse that both concealed and revealed.
Her hips swayed with a slow, deliberate rhythm, her thick thighs brushing against each other with each step. The sound was almost imperceptible, but it carried with it an air of intimacy, as though every movement was designed to command attention. The milky, sweet scent that always clung to her filled the room, soft and intoxicating, like the warmth of a meadow in spring. It was a scent that lingered, clinging to the senses long after she had left, as unforgettable as her presence.
Her silver hair tumbled in loose waves down her back, the strands catching the faintest glimmers of light, framing her soft yet regal face. A faint flush graced her pale cheeks, a contrast to the icy white of her eyes, which radiated a serenity that veiled the undercurrent of control and dominance she wielded but which turned to utter submission in my presence. Her full, pillowy lips, slightly parted, were the color of crushed roses, and they glistened faintly, as though inviting a kiss or a command to be uttered.
Her thick thighs moved with an effortless power as she lowered herself to her knees beside the bed, the fabric of her nightgown pooling around her in a cascade of white. The motion made her curves more pronounced—her hips wide and firm, her breasts settling heavily with the shift. Despite the sheer volume of her body, she moved with a liquid smoothness, a testament to her control over every inch of her being.
"How are you, my love?" she asked, her voice like velvet as she approached, the faint scent of lilacs trailing her.
"I'm fine," I replied, my tone clipped but laced with an undercurrent of possessive pride. She lowered herself gracefully to her knees beside the bed, her pale hair tumbling over her shoulders as her nightgown shifted to reveal the soft, supple lines of her body. Her presence was a constant, steadying force,yet she always knew her place—beneath me and I could see in her eyes that would not want it any other way..
"Gunnar has begun his operation," she informed me, her voice hushed but efficient. "The Llewelyn's have been given their funds and are preparing their caravan to bring back the armor."
Her pale eyes flicked toward my hands, still stained with blood and gore. I watched as something flickered in her gaze—a glimmer of reverence, perhaps even hunger. She leaned forward instinctively, her lips parting slightly, but I withdrew my hands, making her hesitate. She froze in place, her posture rigid, the tension in her body a perfect balance of submission and restraint.
"So," I said, the corner of my mouth curling, "Gunnar will now need reserve armor to load onto the wagons and start the journey." She nodded, obediently waiting for me to grant her permission to continue.
Her demeanor reminded me of a domesticated animal, bound to its master by instinct and discipline. And yet, as much as she was mine, there was always a fire within her—a defiant glimmer beneath her submission. It made her all the more enticing.
I played with her for a time, teasing her, pulling her strings as she fought against her primal need to obey. Each time she edged closer, I pushed her back, savoring her struggle. Finally, I allowed her the privilege she craved. I extended my hand, bloodied and raw, and she eagerly pressed her lips to my fingers. Her warm tongue traced over the blood and flesh, working methodically to clean every trace. My other hand stroked her silver hair, coaxing her further into the role of the obedient pet she so perfectly embodied.
The moment was electric. A silver leash materialized in my hand, and I looped it around her neck, tightening it just enough to feel the pulse beneath her pale skin. Her white eyes fluttered closed, her lips still fixed on my fingers, as the tension of the leash heightened her pleasure. I tugged harder, watching her body shudder in contentment as she continued to lap at my hands. It was perfection. Pure, unbridled control.
The following days blurred together—a haze of pleasure, training, and planning. Mother's presence and Elara's care filled the void between my tasks, grounding me as I refined my body and mind. Gunnar returned after a day to request permission to access the reserve armor in the armory. I allowed it under Lucian's supervision, though Gunnar's stoic façade couldn't entirely mask his lingering discomfort. His anger simmered just beneath the surface, and I found it amusing how he struggled to suppress it.
Lucian, ever dutiful, reminded me again to meet Elina for the measurements she required to complete the gift she was crafting. It had slipped my mind, but I assured him I would handle it soon enough.
Later, Father summoned me. In his study, the air was thick with the scent of parchment and ink. He stood by the bookshelf, his expression as inscrutable as ever.
"Things are in motion?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied simply.
"I've decided to assign additional Astral Knights for our security," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Lucian does well, but I want someone dedicated to your protection at all times."
I acknowledged his concern, agreeing to his request but stipulating that only one guard would suffice alongside Lucian. He relented, and together we accessed the Inner Sanctum—a hidden chamber revealed through the bookshelf. The sanctum's immense, ancient doors loomed over us, the air humming faintly with their magical energy.
As we stepped inside, Eryndor emerged from the Elder's chamber. His white hair and crystalline eyes shimmered with ethereal clarity, a living embodiment of the sanctum's authority.
"Welcome, Prince," he said, bowing slightly.
"Eryndor," I greeted. "How fare things?"
He wasted no time. "We've selected candidates for your personal Astral Knight. The finest among them will be yours to command."
Figures emerged from the shadows—twenty in total, their forms draped in darkness. Their silver masks glinted faintly, the hollow eyeholes concealing whatever monstrosities lay beneath. Each stood motionless, radiating lethal precision.
Eryndor gestured toward one of them. "In my opinion, Arion Hawthorne is the most suitable for this role."
The figure stepped forward, his presence heavy, palpable. I regarded him coldly, testing his composure. Without warning, a silver arrow shot through the air, hurtling toward him with lethal speed. He caught it effortlessly, his movements precise and calculated. But I was faster, appearing behind him in an instant, my silver blade slicing down toward his head.
He reacted as if with practiced precision, ducking low and parrying with the arrow, which he fused with his dark silver sword in a seamless motion. The clash of blades sent sparks flying, his weapon glowing faintly with runes. But jus as the swords met the silver runes shone with a blinding silver slight as silver thin lines spread through the dark silver blade of the sword in his hand and I felt the drain as his blade siphoned my essence, forcing me to disintegrate my sword and drive my foot into his stomach. He barely stumbled, a testament to his strength.
"Interesting," I remarked, stepping back into position. "He'll do."
As I left the sanctum, Arion's figure disappeared behind me after bowing to father and Eryndor.