Vardene growled low in his throat as the woman in front of him roughly turned his head to inspect the wound the Guard had inflicted on him earlier that day. He knew it wasn't sympathy that made her examine the seriousness of the injury. Oh, no. Never sympathy. He was to be sold at Raej's slave auction that day and any defect to potential property meant a lower price. Yes, the Guard who had struck him would suffer dearly. Vardene smirked.

"And what is it you find so amusing?"

His cold lifeless eyes looked into those of the cruel woman before him, the taught lines of his body giving away the revulsion and tightly reigned violence he felt towards her.

The bitch flinched. He had known she would.

Not many had met his gaze after he had spent a few years subject to the heartless treatment given a pleasure slave, and now that he had killed, well, hardly any met his gaze at all. Now they knew what a Sapphire-Jewelled Warlord Prince was capable of, Ringed though he was.

Pain shot through his cock, forcing him to his knees. He would not cry out. He would not give the slut the pleasure. More pain. White-hot. He could not think. His head fell back, his face a mask of agony.

"Not so funny now is it?" came the self-satisfied voice.

As he lay there, on the ground and in pain, his life darting in short reels before his eyes, he wondered why he had ever wanted to be between a woman's thighs. How did he come to find himself in this hell of an existence? One thing was for sure, he could not carry on for much longer. Twenty years of being brutalized by Terreille's women was too much. He could take no more. He was not strong enough.

His murder of all those women had proven that. The smirk came to his lips again. His first kill had been near a year ago. The aristo slut had dosed him with saframate and had him tied down. Having no control over his body's needs, he had craved her touch just as much as he had reviled it. And this time he had snapped. Through the sexual haze that had threatened to take away coherent thought, had come the thought, enough. She had been an Opal-Jewelled witch upon entering that bedroom. She had left it whimpering, lost in the Twisted Kingdom. Yes, he had taken from her all that made her Blood. Not a physical kill then, but a kill none-the-less.

They had been wary of him after that. But they had been sure they could keep him from repeating those actions, reluctant as they were to lose a Ringed Warlord Prince wearing the Sapphire Jewel. But his violent nature, so unstable because of the physical and emotional abuse that had already tattered his defences, had risen again leaving three witches dead.

He was not horrified by his actions. He had long lost any of those feelings. No, he found satisfaction in having rid Dorothea SaDiablo of some of the bitches under her influence. Satisfaction in having relieved the Realm of Terrreille of a few of those sluts who preyed on men meant to serve and protect.

He had heard stories of Territories in which Blood males thought it a privilege to serve. They did not fear their Queen, they were not afraid of expectations they had no desire to fill, they did not see their position as distasteful.

Even more outrageous were the stories suggesting that not all Territories had slaves. That had been what finally convinced him the other stories must have been some dreamed up fantasy slaves had conjured up to comfort themselves in their darkest hours. Every Territory had slaves. Every Territory bought men and women as property. And every Territory's buyers mistreated their acquisitions without conscience.

Thinking otherwise would just lead to desires he could never fulfil. The smirk left his face. And pain once again shot through his cock from the Ring of Obedience.

This time he screamed.