CHAPTER THREE

[POV: Daphne]

The ringing in Daphne's ears drowned out the crackle of the hearth. The monstrous weight of her father’s sins crushed her spirit. Why did he have to be an absolute tyrant? Why had he bathed the continent in so much innocent blood?

Her hands trembled as she stood naked before the giant of a man. Tonight, she would lose her virginity not to a tender prince beneath the moonlight, but to a hardened, emotionally dead warlord seeking to butcher her father's legacy through her flesh.

She dragged a breath into her lungs. She had been born a princess of Mercer. Trained in eloquence, trained to carry the weight of a crown without a single tremor. She raised her chin, desperately clinging to the invisible tiara she still wore.

“Face down. Spread your legs.” The command lacked any inflection, devoid of desire. It was military.

Daphne climbed onto the massive, silk-draped mattress. Pressing her face into the soft linen, she obeyed the command, separating her thighs against every biological instinct screaming at her to run. She closed her eyes tight, her entire body shaking like a leaf.

She felt the mattress dip steeply behind her. The heavy, calloused hands of the King clamped down on her delicate hips, his fingers digging brutally into her soft skin. Without any gentleness, without any preparation or lubricant, she felt the blunt, massive head of his phallus push against her untouched opening.

Her eyes snapped open, a sharp gasp tearing from her lips. She had sneaked glimpses of slaves in the Mercer courtyards, but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer girth and heat pressing against her tightest core.

Leonidas shifted his knees against the mattress. Then, he pulled back slightly, aiming.

He lunged forward.

Daphne sucked in a sharp, startled breath as the thick tip breached her tight barrier. It burned like concentrated acid. The short, testing thrusts were excruciating, the lack of moisture tearing at her delicate tissues. She locked her jaw, deciding she would rather die than give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

Then, Leonidas exhaled a heavy, ragged breath. He gripped her hips like a vice, pulled all the way back, and delivered one long, brutal plunge, tearing straight through her maidenhead and bottoming out violently deep inside her womb.

A high, agonizing shriek ripped out of Daphne’s throat, shattering her resolve. The torment was blinding, a white-hot knife twisting relentlessly in her lower abdomen. She bit into the silk pillows until she tasted the metallic tang of her own blood.

He went still inside her, letting the agony of her stretched anatomy settle. Daphne released a tear-soaked whimper, unable to control the violent shaking of her limbs. The pain was astronomical.

Then, he ripped out and slammed back into her again.

Daphne buried her face in the bedbox, screaming openly as she instinctively tried to twist her body away from the savage, mechanical violation. But his massive hands were unyielding restraints. He caged her under his vast weight, pinning her shoulders to the bed. He began to repeatedly plunge into her, his driving thrusts pushing her deeper into the mattress with bone-jarring impact.

There was no rhythm of passion. There were no moans of pleasure. The golden chamber echoed only with the wet slap of flesh hitting flesh and her breathless, tortured wails. He remained silent, an enormous beast methodically destroying its prey.

Yet, as he pummeled her from behind, a terrifying thought flickered through the agonizing haze in Daphne's mind. He was taking her like a rabid animal, but she could clearly feel the tension in his forearms. He was visibly pulling his punches. *He’s holding back,* she realized with sheer horror. If he unleashed his true strength, he would literally tear her fragile internal organs apart.

The fierce, painful pounding dragged on for what felt like an eternity.

Then, abruptly, he stopped. He pulled out of her, stepping away from the bed.

Daphne lay paralyzed, broken, sobbing uncontrollably into the silk sheets, unable to move her bruised, trembling legs.

“Get out of my room.”

She heard the heavy oak door open and slam shut. He was gone.

He didn't finish. Why did he abandon the act before releasing? But the question vanished beneath the crushing weight of her immediate reality. For the first time since her father's decapitation, true, visceral pain ripped through her mind. She wept openly, her fantasy of a romantic, tender wedding night obliterated by the violation of a man who intended to break her mind alongside her body.

Dragging herself from the bed, blood trailing down her inner thighs to stain the pristine marble floor, she found her discarded robe. Wrapping it tightly around her battered form, she staggered blindly through the quiet palace corridors, arriving back at her freezing dungeon cell.

Daphne collapsed onto the rotting cot, stifling her pathetic whimpers. *I will survive this,* she chanted silently, digging her nails into her palms. *I am Daphne. He will not shatter me.*

The heavy cell door screeched open. Bridget the maid stepped inside. “The king requests your extraction.”

Daphne’s blood ran colder than ice. “W-What? Again?” she stammered, panic shooting through her veins. “What does that monster want with me now?!” she screamed, her facade breaking entirely. “He can rot in the deepest pit! Go away!”

Bridget simply stared at the raging princess with a flickering trace of pity. “You must cast off that arrogance if you intend to survive this life, girl. King Leonidas is not the monster you believe. You have no concept of what he endured.”

Bridget’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He is severely holding back. If he genuinely intended to pay you back for your father's atrocities, he would have started by cauterizing your feminine organs with a branding iron.”

Daphne stopped breathing. “W-What?”

“Follow me,” Bridget interrupted, turning away.

Daphne limped out of the cell, disoriented. Bridget didn't lead her back to the King's opulent suite. Instead, she brought her to a modest, exceptionally clean servant's room containing an actual bed and fresh linens.

“What is this?” Daphne asked numbly.

“Your new quarters. Clean yourself and sleep. The King will call for you on the morrow.” Bridget shut the door firmly, leaving Daphne alone with a dizzying cocktail of exhausting pain and confusion.

*What did Bridget mean, cauterizing my organs?* she thought wildly, before the sheer physical exhaustion dragged her into the merciful abyss of unconsciousness.