Author's Note
This is a high fantasy, taboo, dark romance with themes of enslavement, bondage, humiliation, and dub/non-consent.
Blurb
Yarian
In the war-torn realm where the dark fae reigns supreme, I find myself a captive, taken by Lorcan, a ruthless and powerful fairy warlord who has conquered my father's kingdom.
But this is no ordinary captivity; I am now his personal bed-chamber slave, subjected to his cruel whims as he seeks to humiliate me through acts of sexual domination. Yet I am no mere plaything.
Beneath my socalled delicate beauty lies a fierce intelligence and an unyielding spirit that refuses to be broken, even in the face of Lorcan's cruelty. As he subjects me to degrading punishments and carnal demands, my hatred for him burns bright, and I vow to make him pay for the atrocities he has inflicted upon me and my people.
But my defiance only seems to stoke the flames of his obsession.
Lorcan
Though I have seduced countless women, none have captivated me like this infuriatingly alluring princess. Against my will, I am drawn to her sharp mind and indomitable spirit—qualities I have always valued in battle but never expected to admire in a bedmate.
I will never allow my cruel intentions towards her to soften into something dangerously akin to affection.
Yarian
Day 1. The Shadow Fortress.
I blink my stinging eyes, glad that at least the suffocating head cover has been removed. Even if my body is not free, at least my vision and ability to breathe are restored. I watch as the carriage approaches the towering structure of blackened stone. The Obsidian Keep looms ominously against a perpetually stormy sky. Its spires reach out like skeletal fingers, shrouded in mist that clings to the air with an almost sentient chill. It's pouring hard, and just as I lower my silver cloak over my head, two men grab hold of each arm, ushering me inside. A faint blue glow surrounds the big castle doors, and I know that there will be no easy escape once I cross over. For this is the dark fae realm of old Transylvania. Few return sane or living. Undead, maybe, but not alive.
The two riders are replaced by an old, grim-faced woman whose eyes widen with approval as she examines me.
I am dressed in the traveling attire of a princess: fine leather boots and fitted pants, a silk blouse, and a silk, boned corset topped with a silvery-lavender velvet cloak.
"This way, m-lady."
Surely, I'm to be a captive here, but the woman speaks to me with proper etiquette, as is expected.
Torchlight flickers weakly along the narrow corridors, casting long shadows that dance eerily on the walls adorned with faded tapestries depicting scenes of ancient battles and dark fae rituals. The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves permeates every corner, mingling with the faint metallic tang of old blood. Or am I just imagining it? Here, centuries of macabre rituals surely have left a lingering odor. But what do I know about it? My people are skilled in nature arts, not alchemical blood science.
"Where are you taking me?"
"To your bed chamber, m-lady."
The castle is cold, dark, and empty compared to my home. Echoes of distant whispers and ghostly footsteps seem to follow us through the labyrinthine hallways, creating an atmosphere thick with dread and foreboding.
How in the hell did I get here? I sigh raggedly, mentally reenacting the scene of my abduction, as if I can go back in time and find away out of this. Yes, denial. But still, I must think back and figure out where things went wrong...
The encampment where I was found was considered safe enough. Perched on a slight rise overlooking a strategic battlefield that offers a panoramic view of the ongoing conflict below, it is situated near a dense forest whose treeline marks the border between contested territories. Due to its exposed position, the area is both a vantage point for observing troop movements and also a potential vulnerability.
A few of the best soldiers guarded the Royal Encampment, a cluster of opulent tents adorned with regal banners and family crests, starkly contrasting the muddy, war-torn surrounding landscape. I had just arrived on the eve of certain victory. The air was thick with the scent of freshly turned earth and the acrid smoke of distant fires. I remember thinking how, inside the main canopy, plush rugs and velvet cushions created this unsettling illusion of comfort amidst chaos.
I hadn't even removed my cloak when I felt a dark energy amongst the soft murmur of conversations and the clatter of armor and weapons from nearby soldiers. A sense of unease permeated the atmosphere, punctuated by sudden gusts of wind that rattled the tent flaps and sent shivers down my spine.
I slipped outside unnoticed and looked up at the darkening sky, analyzing the direction of the storm. But the dark energy wasn't coming from there. No, it was coming from...the woods. Something was off. I didn't think I was stupid enough to fall into a trap when I took a well-known path. I only wanted to follow my senses far enough to try to ascertain anything unusual. But I misjudged, and I didn't get far.
Shrouded by dark magic protection, they seemed to come from the trees above. Strong men grabbed hold of me, quickly covering my head with thick, suffocating fabric while securing my kicking legs and flying fists. They hauled me through the forest, where they tossed me inside a locked carriage.
But how could this happen? How did they get so close? Did a traitor amongst us sell the royal family out?
"The Master's chamber is through there," she says before taking me down a winding flight of stairs.
Down and down we go into the bowels of the fortress, making me certain that my bed chamber isn't a chamber at all but a prison several levels beneath Lord Lorcan's.
The woman opens a heavy door, motioning me inside. Tears come to my eyes as I enter the soul-sucking cell, confirming my fears. The space is small and windowless, with walls of cold, unyielding stone that seem to absorb any warmth. A single iron-bound door is the only entrance and exit; its heavy lock ensures captivity. The air is damp and carries a faint, musty odor, mingling with the scent of old wood from the sparse furnishings.
A narrow bed with a thin mattress and rough blankets sits in one corner, while a wooden stool and a small table hold a tarnished metal pitcher and basin for washing. Flickering candlelight casts long shadows that dance eerily across the room, creating an atmosphere of isolation and despair. Surely, the surrounding stone walls swallow any sounds from within these quarters. If I scream, nobody will hear or care. It wasn't supposed to end like this for me.
"What does Lord Lorcan want with me?" I ask, wiping tears from my eyes.
The woman brings her hand to my arm. "There, there, m-lady. I will return shortly with supper. Please make yourself as comfortable as you can. There is bread and water."
"But you didn't answer my question! Surely, you must have overheard something. Anything you can tell me would be helpful. Do you know who I am? I am Princess Yarnia Tabian of the Rosewood Realm.
"Yes, m-lady. We've been expecting you."
"Is that so? Well, I have not received a proper welcome. According to custom for royal prisoners of war, I am to be treated as a proper guest until negotiations are finalized! The King and Queen will not be so generous otherwise."
She shakes her head. "I'm so sorry, m-lady. But you are no guest, I'm afraid."
I stare at her downcast eyes for meaning. She brings her wrinkled hands together and shakes her head.
"What do you mean by saying that I am no guest?" I insist.
"I only know that...Master Lorcan says you are to be his own. Oh, but you aren't the only one," she says with a gleam of hope in her shadowed eyes.
"His own?" I mutter with furrowed brows.
"You'll have your turn in his bed chamber, m'lady, like the others. I will bring your supper now," she says, shutting the door. There is no handle on the inside of the door for me to grab in resistance as she shuts me in, followed by the clank of metal--the cold, hard sound of captivity. To be one of his. Enslaved by the dark Lord.