Chapter 1: The fire

Three hundred women stood before the crown prince, awaiting his selection for the royal harem.

His mother sat nearby, her sharp gaze appraising each candidate. The perfect breeder was paramount: fair skin, soft features, beauty like snow, elegance like a swan, and talents befitting prosperity.

Most of the women were slaves from conquered kingdoms, only the finest were chosen.

Absent from this gathering were the crown prince's future bride, a princess, and the duchess destined to be his royal concubine.

The prince's duty was clear: produce a fresh lineage of strong, pure-blooded male heirs, healthy and fit. Yet, as he surveyed the delicate figures before him, he felt nothing but frustration.

They'd break, he thought bitterly. If I took them the way I craved, they'd never survive.

Publicly, his role demanded he perform like a dutiful husband: gentle, obedient to the court's rules, consummating his union in the acceptable, restrained manner.

But behind closed doors, his needs were far from gentle. That was why he frequented the hidden brothels, where he could indulge without constraint.

But now, as crown prince, his movements were shackled by duty. The palace had become his prison.

He sighed as the courtiers presented yet another fragile beauty, her frail frame barely supporting the weight of her elaborate gown.

His mind drifted to the thought of bending her over, imagining the inevitable pain his size would cause. The idea was laughable, and frustrating.

He craved someone different. A woman who could meet his intensity, who could challenge him.

Someone who wouldn't cower or obey so easily, woman who would fight back, only to be punished for it. Someone who could take him fully, without breaking.

And then, she appeared.

Her presence disrupted the monotony like a thunderstorm in a desert.

She was unlike the others, standing tall with defiance radiating from her very core.

Her long, thick black waves cascaded like a rebellious waterfall, and her eyes blazed with challenge, hope, and faith.

Faith in what? he wondered with a mocking smile.

Her bronzed skin caught the light like molten gold, and her beauty struck him harder than he expected.

Her full breasts pressed against the confines of her corset, and her wide hips were undeniable, even beneath layers of heavy petticoats. She was raw, untamed, and perfect.

"That one," he said, his voice firm and decisive.

His courtiers hesitated. "Your Highness, she is the daughter of the fallen king your father defeated at war," one whispered.

Ah, so that explained her defiance. No wonder she dared to meet his gaze with such unyielding hatred.

Even better, he thought, a thrill running through him.

"Bring her to me."

The room fell silent as she ascended the steps toward the miniature throne, flanked by his courtiers.

She moved with regal poise, her head held high despite the weight of her circumstances.

When she reached the top, she offered a slight nod of greeting.

"Your Highness," she said, her voice steady, though laced with contempt.

He leaned forward, a sly smile curling his lips. "Princess."

The word hit her like a slap, and he could see the flicker of anger in her eyes.

Was he mocking her? Testing her?

It didn't matter. She was his

now.

And he couldn't wait to break her.