CHAPTER FOUR

[POV: Veronica]

The heavy oak doors of the King's suite swung open as Bridget entered. “She is secured in her new room, Your Highness, and I have—”

“Spare me the insignificant details, Bridget,” Leonidas’s baritone cut cleanly through her report. He didn’t glance up from his writing, systematically drafting trade routes on a massive parchment.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Bridget dipped her head immediately.

“How is Rosalie recovering?”

Bridget’s stern features softened, genuine pain flickering in her eyes. “She manages, Your Majesty. Her hearing remains irreparably damaged from the beatings, but she manages.”

Leonidas paused. He lowered his fierce gaze to the mahogany desk. Rosalie was merely fifteen. A child who had been repeatedly violated in the Mercer sulphur camps, the trauma permanently etching a hollow void in her eyes. It was a sin Leonidas intended to exact a thousandfold toll for.

“I am pleased. Send me Veronica,” he commanded smoothly.

“Shall I instruct her to arrive... prepared?” Bridget asked, recognizing the subtle tension rigid across his broad shoulders.

“Yes.”

Bridget turned and swiftly departed.

When the door clicked shut, Leonidas leaned back in the heavy chair, gazing down at the painfully rigid bulge aggressively straining against his linen trousers. He had not sought his release with the Mercer princess. Not because he lacked the sheer physical drive, but because he knew it was utterly impossible. Daphne possessed neither the endurance nor the anatomical resilience to provide him the violent friction he required to cross the precipice.

King Conrad had meticulously ensured it. Over a decade of torture, Conrad had not merely whipped Leonidas’s back; he had systematically used hot irons to inflict agonizing burns directly onto Leonidas’s male anatomy. The searing metal had permanently fried the delicate nerve endings. Thick, jagged scar tissue now lined his phallus, rendering gentle caresses or standard coupling entirely numb and profoundly painful.

To achieve any semblance of climax, Leonidas had to relentlessly plunge into a partner with savage, bone-crushing brutality. The more violently his scars stretched and tore, the closer he edged toward satisfaction. Daphne would have bled to death beneath him if he had pursued his release.

Only Veronica could withstand the beast. Only the woman who had watched her own brother bleed out in the sulphur pits beside him could match his darkness.

Ten minutes later, the door swung open. Instead of a filthy slave tunic, Veronica practically sauntered into the golden chamber wearing an exquisite, deep plum gown. The other palace slaves whispered that Veronica carried herself like a queen. They weren't incorrect in their assumption. She relished the immense power of being the sole woman who could tame the Wolf of Sterling.

“Bypass the bed,” Leonidas ordered gruffly as she moved toward the massive four-poster.

Veronica paused, a sly smile curving her dark, painted lips. “Yes, my King.” She pivoted sharply, strutting over to the heavy mahogany desk and bracing her palms against it, arching her spine.

He rose from the chair like a tidal wave. He possessed a ruthless efficiency when his blood ran hot. He didn't bother with romantic preambles. He shoved the heavy silk of her gown up around her waist, exposing her smooth skin to the chilly air. He pushed two rough fingers inside her, testing.

She was already profusely wet, anticipating the impending storm. He issued a short, guttural grunt of approval.

With one continuous motion, he sank his thick, scarred cock directly into her tight sheath from behind.

Veronica bit down viciously on her own lip, swallowing the sharp wince that clawed at her throat as his massive frame pounded against her. He wasted no time on a gentle buildup. He gripped a thick handful of her dark hair, yanking her head backward as he drove his hips forward with animalistic, jarring force.

The heavy mahogany desk groaned and rattled under the relentless impact. The pain was sharp, electric, bleeding seamlessly into a dizzying euphoria. He grabbed her breast and pinched the sensitive nipple with a bruising grip. The intensity of the sensation extracted a loud, ragged moan from her lips. He didn’t stop pounding into her, the brutal rhythm pushing her dangerously close to the edge. The sound of raw flesh slapping together echoed like thunder off the stone walls.

Then, he abruptly withdrew. He harshly grabbed her hipbones, forcing her to spread significantly wider, and shoved into her tighter back door with a guttural roar.

Veronica screamed, her perfectly manicured nails frantic, clawing parallel grooves into the pristine mahogany wood. Her body jerked rhythmically, the sensory overload pushing her toward a precipice. The pain morphed into a wave of euphoric heat as he pounded his scarred length in and out, the rough friction extracting his own low, desperate groans.

He leaned heavily forward, his crushing weight pinning her to the desk, and delivered a barrage of short, fast, hyper-aggressive plunges. He roughly slapped her sensitive clit from the front, a sudden jolt of electricity launching Veronica straight over the explosive edge of a climax.

He ripped a clump of hair from her scalp as he gave a final roar, his immense body shivering as he finally emptied himself inside her.

For a long minute, neither of them moved.

Leonidas finally retreated, adjusting his trousers without a shred of lingering intimacy. “Leave.”

Veronica slowly adjusted her gown, ignoring the stinging ache in her scalp. “The new slave, my King,” she purred, testing the waters.

His eyes immediately darkened into storm clouds. “What of her, Veronica?”

The craving to inflict pain upon the delicate little princess—the offspring of the monster who had murdered Veronica's family—was overwhelming.

“Might I acquire a session with her?” she requested demurely, masking her malicious intent. “Just to... acquaint myself. Nothing heavy, I promise.”

Leonidas stared at her. He understood the venomous undercurrents of the Sterling slaves. He gave a single, dismissive nod. “Leave my chambers.”

Veronica sashayed out of the room, a triumphant, wicked smirk blooming across her painted lips. *Oh, Princess. Your descent into absolute hell has barely begun.*