Prologue
I can’t take it anymore…
The air here is thick with the stench of rot and mold, a pungent odor that clings to everything—including me. The cell is dark, its corners swallowed by shadow, and time has long since lost meaning. It feels like I’ve been trapped here for years, though I know it hasn’t been that long. Still, the absence of sunlight has drained the color from my skin, leaving me sickly pale, and the meager scraps of food they toss my way do nothing to soothe the gnawing hunger inside me. Two days—two days since I’ve had anything that could pass as a meal.
I’m covered in rags, barely clothed. A strip of fraying cloth wraps clumsily around my chest, its edges cutting into my skin. The long skirt I once wore hangs in tatters around my legs, stained and torn, more brown than its original white. I lie curled on the cold, grimy floor, blindfolded, wrists bound tightly behind me.
The rusted door screeches open, and I flinch at the sound. Footsteps approach—measured, heavy. I whimper, instinctively shrinking into myself, but I can’t move far. A rough hand grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me up. I cry out. The fingers aren’t familiar—this isn’t the breeder shop’s owner. This touch is colder, more deliberate. A thumb brushes along my jawline, unsettlingly calm.
"Are you taking her today, Your Highness?" the owner’s voice breaks the silence.
My heart freezes.
Your Highness?
That means… he’s the king. The one who led the massacre. The one who ordered my father's death.
A violent shiver runs through me as dread coils in my chest.
Where is he taking me?
And why?
Another pair of hand grabbed my jaw harshly. There are more that one people as much as I can assumed. He cupped my breast in a painful hold and squeezed it, causing me to hiss in pain.
"So ripe," he chuckled, "we can fuck the life out of you right now but we won't, not right now."
I shifted, disoriented, panic rising in my chest. My head throbbed, and the blindfold dug into my skin. Suddenly, I was lifted, hoisted over a broad shoulder like a sack of grain. My breath caught in my throat, and the ropes around my wrists burned with every jolt of his stride. I couldn’t see where we were headed, only feel the sway of motion and the scent of leather, sweat, and steel.
The air changed. I was inside something—moving. A carriage? A cart? The floor beneath me vibrated. I whimpered into the gag as bile clawed up my throat. My limbs thrashed, and I struggled against the binds, but they held fast.
Then, hands. Unfamiliar, invasive hands.
They slid over the tattered cloth wrapped around my body, pressing against me with no regard for my trembling form. I tried to twist away, to sink into myself, to disappear. A sharp squeak escaped my throat when one of them pulled me onto his lap, an arm like iron tightening around my waist.
My mind screamed louder than my mouth could.
Where are they taking me? Who are they?
And most terrifying of all: Why me?
"Shut up you slut," In no time, a stinging slap burned across my cheek, jarring my head to the side. I barely had time to react before rough hands pinned me down against the cold leather of the carriage seat. One yanked my tied wrists above my head, another gripped my ankles, and a heavy hand pressed into my throat, stealing what little breath I had left. I tried to scream, but the gag turned my cry into a muffled sob.
Tears welled in my eyes as I felt the last remnants of the fabric shielding my body being torn away. Not because of the exposure—but because of the sheer powerlessness of it. Every moment, every touch, felt like another layer of my dignity being stripped from me. I wanted to disappear. My mind screamed for escape, but my body—weak, trembling, and broken—could do nothing but endure.
I felt the cold breeze on my exposed skin when I lied their helplessly with my body completely exposed to some strangers.
"Amazing," one of a raspy voice whispered, "I'll fucking ruin her."
He dug his face in my crook and sniffed in my smell, suddenly biting onto my skin of my neck. I whimpered when another pair of hands roamed over my thighs, parting my legs. When I tried to close, he slapped my inner thigh and suddenly I could feel hot breath fanning over my clit. I curled my toes and let out a moan through my gag.
They pinched my nipples and flickered them. A finger of nausea poked my stomach. I was held up by a feeling of dizzying suspension, like the one I have in dreams where I can fly.
Few months ago I was a princess of my kingdom, living with my family and now I was on the verge of getting raped where men were groping me, touching me against my will.
I felt two lips on my nipples and then their teeth came into contact with the delicate skin. I let out a cry and begged but they sucked and sucked, sucked the life out of me.
"You will be breeding our children," he said, "and you will be producing enough milk for our babies and us, you little cum dump."
Breeding!
I had heard stories of Volsavy—the kind whispered in fear, in places where voices dropped low and eyes darted to be sure no one else was listening. They said women were taken, used, traded like currency. That once you entered the breeding shops, your fate was sealed.
I never imagined I would be one of them.
Now, lying in this cold, dim cell, I feel the weight of that truth crushing me from all sides. The air smells of rust and damp stone, and the silence is so thick it presses against my skin. My clothes are nothing but rags, barely clinging to my bruised body, and each breath feels heavier than the last.
That thought echoes in my mind again and again. I’m not ready. I was supposed to learn to live, to love, to dream. But all that’s been taken from me. Here, I am something else. A vessel. A name scratched off the pages of her own life and replaced with a number.
They say I will bear children for them. Over and over again, until there’s nothing left of me.
I close my eyes. It’s the only place they can’t reach. Somewhere deep within me, I hold onto the image of a sunset over the hills of Zavery—warm, gold, and free. My father's laughter, my mother’s lullabies. I wrap those memories around me like armor, even if it’s thin and fraying.
I don't know how much more I can endure, but I do know this—I am not broken. Not yet.
