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Boisterous hollering and cheer died down almost as soon as Lord Alister entered the hall. In dreadful silence, maids in torn clothes were sobbing and whimpering; servant boys grunted while pressed harshly into the floor; a young girl was hugging a dead body, huddled in a corner. The lord's men were breathing heavily, their revelry paused too abruptly and sweat pouring into their eyes.At the farther end of the hall, a man lay on the dais, surrounded by corpses and soaked in blood. A few keen soldiers had already pulled off his princely cloak, and he was shivering in their rough, greedy arms.Not giving another glance to the survivors and the dead strewn around the hall, the lord strode forward until the tip of his armored boots drove into the weak man's ribs. Concerned, the soldiers dropped him and took a few steps back, exchanging glances. Slowly, Lord Alister crouched, taking in the view.The man before him, the now former prince of Plutonia, was a fragile little thing. A lithe body dressed in rich textiles, now tattered and sullied — he was the epitome of fallen royalty, like a nestling with wings violently clipped. His dark hair was clumped, awash with and caked in blood. Lord Alister ordered not to leave anyone behind, but his swords were simple, earthly men. They saw an opportunity to ravish some blue blood before killing it for good, to pass around a broken toy until it bled to death. He would usually look the other way and let them have it, but this time the toy piqued his interest.“Not a finger on him. It's been a while since I'd gotten myself a trophy.”Darian woke up far from home. Blood was pounding in his head, and he had a hard time focusing on anything; his wrists hurt. Through the fog and permeating pain, he could only barely figure that his wrists and ankles were shackled, and there was not a bit of cloth on his body. Someone spoke in an unfamiliar tongue and tried to push something wet at his mouth — maybe water. He could sense annoyance in their words but couldn’t control his body enough to open his mouth and swallow. It didn’t take long for him to pass out again.The second time Darian woke up was from a different kind of pain. Shackles were no longer on him, and his vision had cleared up. The room was dim — just a few candelabras spreading a warm-tinted light.A large, muscular man was towering over Darian, moving rhythmically back and forth. Every move felt like Darian’s lower body was being pierced, torn, and cut up by the sharp end of a spear, and for a moment he had to wonder if this was some sort of torture. But they weren’t in a dungeon. The room was warm, didn’t smell of blood, iron, and mold, and Darian’s back was lying against feather-soft bedding. Darian tried to raise his head a little, to see what was really going on, and in that moment the large man noticed his consciousness and immediately grabbed his chin with a steel grip.“Awake, birdie?”The man spoke with an accent, but that made sense. Forced to look up by the hand on his chin, Darian finally saw the man’s features and recognized him by the description he’d heard more than once.Thick red hair spread like flames along broad shoulders. Grooves of age and scars carved into his face. Painful-looking but intricate patterns across his shoulders and the top of his chest — also made of scar tissue, just one that was carefully etched by the hand of a master. Lord Alister looked just as threatening as he was said to be, but — unexpectedly — also captivating. Up close, scarification looked more like artwork and less like mutilation.With another sharp thrust, the lord pulled Darian closer and bit into the side of his mouth, changing the grip to wrap around Darian’s neck and squeeze. Muffled noise filled his ears.On the third time, the shackles were back. Darian was no longer on the bed and there was bright sunlight coming in through the windows, but the room layout seemed similar, or maybe the same, as the night before. His body was clean, free of sweat or blood, and his wounds were steadily healing up.In silence and emptiness, Darian was alone.Memories of what happened came without order or sense. The most prominent was the one of their bodies. Sisters, brothers, the king and queen, and even the loyal servants. Impaled, cut open, broken in half. Some died quickly, some suffered, but all were killed violently and without hesitation. Darian couldn’t understand why he was left to live. He would much rather die with them.As time went on, a maid visited the room twice — to bring him some food and to take the plates away. She didn’t talk but stared daggers at him. Under her gaze, he felt uncomfortably aware of his nudity.Lord Alister returned when the sun started to set. An attendant fussed around him for some time, helping with the clothes and passing along orders. Neither looked at Darian, as if he wasn’t there at all.Finally, the attendant left. The lord walked up to a window and looked peacefully into the distance, before finally meeting Darian’s eyes.“You can call me Alister, birdie.”For all his outward calmness, he sounded arrogant and dismissive. It wasn’t a kind or generous gesture — no, Alister was simply one of those people who forced others to show respect through actions, not titles. Darian nodded meekly. He had already figured what the “torture” he felt last night actually was and wasn’t keen on going through it again. No such luck.“Too scared to talk, hm? That’s fine.”A few wide steps, a couple movements, a clinking sound, and the chains fell off Darian’s limbs. He cautiously rubbed at his wrists, trying not to stare at the man before him. Alister pulled him up effortlessly. Darian was weak and wobbly in his legs, and in a few pushes forward he stumbled and fell onto the bed. From this angle, for a moment, he could see the lord’s cock. It was already hard.“Why?” he shouldn’t have asked.Alister didn’t hold back on the oil, but that was the only grace. Neither some preparation, nor a word of response; he entered Darian’s body roughly, cursing under his breath in a language Darian didn’t understand. Tore him open, merging the dull ache from yesterday with the raw stretch of today. His muscles tightened and spasmed helplessly around Alister’s cock, desperately trying to push the pain away. Every quick and sharp movement felt like it was pushing up all the way to his lungs, making him cough, and gasp for air, and explode with tears.Tears mixed with saliva and dripped down his chin and neck, pooled on the sheets below; and once again Alister bit into his face, as if aroused by the suffering. More, more, more — hips moved faster and their breath felt taken away in the last moments until, with a squelch, Alister filled him with cum.The lord’s face was that of triumph and victory, and genuine exhilaration. Maybe this was over. Maybe the night would end with Darian being just a cocksleeve to use and toss away until next time — he could live with that, at least until tomorrow.Then Alister moved again, a nasty grin crossing his face. Cum bubbled slightly, seeping out of Darian’s hole and being pushed right back in.“Don’t get comfortable too soon, now.”Alister’s slippery hand wrapped around Darian’s limp dick. Even with all the oil smoothing the friction between them, every jerk felt like ground stone. And still, as Alister picked up the pace again, as his hips moved in sync with his hand, Darian felt heat raising and wrapping around his insides.Thinking about this becoming his new routine, Darian wished the enemy soldiers had killed him alongside his family on that day.