CHAPTER 2

They stared at each other, the malice between them apparent. Only King Draven’s wasn’t just hate—it was loathing. Full raw hatred and rage. There was no warmth in his eyes. His face would have been handsome, but a thick scar ran over one cheek, giving him a savage look.

He stalked closer to her, bent down and reached his hand toward her face. Seraphine lifted her chin, too stubborn to allow him to get the reaction he desperately craved from her.

He ran his finger down her cheek, almost gently, but she would not be deceived by his touch, not when all she saw was hatred in his eyes.

King Draven’s lips tugged into a cruel smile as he pushed her hair behind her ear and twirled her blonde hair around his index finger. He tilted his head to the side, observing her for a second.

“So foolish. You of all people should know how to address a king,”

he sneered before tugging on the hair curled around his finger.

Seraphine jerked forward with a gasp, and pain slivered across her scalp. She internally cursed herself for showing such weakness, and he relished it.

He ran his hand through her blonde—almost white—long hair, then gripped it tightly and yanked hard, forcing her head back so she had to stare into the ocean that was his eyes. Pain seared her.

“When I come in here, you’ll address me. You don’t just sit down like a coward staring at me, or I’ll punish you for it.” His eyes flashed red. “I would love nothing more than to punish you.”

Seraphine found herself nodding. Yes, she hated this man—her captor—but she had a deep aversion to pain. She didn’t like pain at all and would do anything to avoid it if she could.

“Yes, my king,” she murmured, hating how weak her own voice sounded. Her father would be disgusted. Had she acted like this in front of him, she would surely be punished.

Disgust flashed in his eyes. His hand lowered and rested on her barely-covered breast. He circled her nipple through her clothing, and then pinched Seraphine so hard she cried out as thick waves of pain reverberated through her. He still held the nub tight as he looked her in the eyes.

“I am not your king and I will never be your king. I am a king to my people, and you’re not my people. You’re my slave, Seraphine. My property. You are and will always be nothing.”

Seraphine nodded quickly, wishing he’d let go of her hurting nipple.

Instead, he twisted her nipple harder so that her eyes watered.

“Here you have no title but the one I give you. Here you have no followers, no protectors, and no daddy to hide behind. You are no one, your identity now chosen by me.” Tears burned her eyes as his fingers only squeezed tighter.

“Please!” she rasped out, her fingers itchy to grab his wrist and pry it off her.

“Who are you?” King Draven sneered, and Seraphine choked on the pain.

“No one… property… yours,” she gasped out in a harsh wheeze. King Draven tilted his head, eyes holding far too much enjoyment at her pain.

“You will address me as your master, and you will serve me. Just like my servants… only more.” His lips curved into a savage smile filled with so much hatred. “Surely, you know how a slave serves her master. After all, your father taught you well.”

“Yes! Yes!” she cried, curling her hands into fists. “Please, just let go!”

He pinched her hard. “Yes… what?”

“Yes, M‑Master.” Angry tears filled her eyes. Seraphine hated that word more than anything because she knew how demeaning it was.

He let go almost immediately and backed away from her, his face devoid of any emotion. Standing up, he ripped her flimsy top to shreds, exposing her naked breasts to his cold, unfeeling eyes. His His eyes roamed over her, and she could still feel the lingering pain of his fingers on her skin. Seraphine dared not to look, knowing she would find bruises left by the monstrous man who now claimed her as his slave.

Tears of humiliation choked Seraphine’s throat. She fisted her wretched skirt in an effort not to give in to the urge to cover herself from him.

His eyes didn’t change as he took in her body. No flash of lust.

Nothing. Instead, he palmed one breast—the one with an aching, red, abused nipple—and caressed it.

“Stand.”

She stood on shaky legs, staring at the ground with blurry eyes.

“Ravik!” he barked.

She froze and tried to get away from him to seek cover for her state of undress, but his hand holding her breast tightened, stopping that movement—unless she wanted to risk more pain.

“Your Highness?” The big man entered, staring at his king.

“Take a good look at this slave, Ravik. Do you like what you see?” King Draven asked. Though his malicious gaze did not leave her, a cruel smile tugged at the corners of his lips.