I never wanted a slave who could unmake me.
But there she was, dragged onto that sun-scorched auction block, sweat tracing paths down her defiant curves, eyes blazing like they could summon a sandstorm. An outsider, collared and bared for bids, yet she lifted her chin as if the desert bowed to her. My voice cut through the crowd. She became mine.
Palace shadows hide what daylight denies. I cage her in silk-draped rooms, strip her resistance with hands that know no mercy, take her against cool marble until she shudders and whispers curses that sound like pleas. Her sarcasm lashes out, a wildcat's claws raking my control, forcing confessions from this brooding king who thought himself untouchable. Jealousy twists in me when she turns away, clumsy walls I build crumbling under her fire.
She's no willing prize. Her body yields in starlit nights, trembling vulnerability blooming where hatred once ruled, but her soul fights for freedom, self-respect, some shadowed mission that could topple thrones. Every collision of sweat-slicked skin blurs my possession into something ruinous, her obsession mirroring mine. She devours the man beneath the crown, leaves me raw and wanting.
I could break her. Remake her. Or let her shatter me first.
What devours us - her defiance or this forbidden salvation we chase?
