Rory (Slave) POV
This hellhole is not worth living in. Having to serve royalty that treats you like garbage, barely looks at you, and questions everything you do. I have witnessed His Royal Highness turn slaves into charcoal for just looking at him the wrong way. I only got this job because the prince dropped a fire nuke on my home village, and this is how he chose to make amends.
While being selected as the prince's personal "attendant" is an honour in itself, it is a crippling reminder that the death of my family, friends, and everything I knew and loved was all at the hands of the ever-dazzling Prince of Flames, to whom I am now at his beck and call.
"Rory, fetch me my dancing skirt!" he growled as he stood before the courtyard filled with aristocrats who ruled the great kingdom of Pyra, adorned with gold ornaments and full bellies.
By "dancing skirt," he meant his worn, torn battle armor. The full set had been obliterated, leaving only the lower half intact, turning it into something resembling a skirt.
I quickly rushed back to the courtyard, tossing the armor into the air as His Royal Highness chucked a fireball at it. It burst into flames instantly. Vuur, in a blink of an eye, put on the skirt and took down the aristocrats before landing in a ring of flames of his own creation.
Looking upon Prince Vuur, it was clear he was consumed by a void filled with violence. He was brought up that way—all of that rage stemming from the day known as Laathetvuur. The day his heart was closed to the world, as his mother choked to death on her own blood, impaled upon the blazing hand of his father, the Imperial Lord Vonk.
Now here he stood, choosing to reshape society at his father's expense, not caring about the consequences, and much less his own fate. With no hesitation, he blasted off into the sky, creating a sonic boom that threw the dead aristocrats from the floor onto the walls. And with his trajectory, it was clear where he was headed.
Pyran culture was savage, without remorse. By ten years old, you were a warrior. They believed that if a child did not make it back from war, he or she was not worthy of their flame. But such a life meant so many dead offspring—which is why they acted like ravenous beasts, wherever, whenever. The term Prima Nocta was just another fancy way of saying that if you live in this kingdom, the king reserves the right to take your wife.
Vuur understood his role as prince, as well as his duty to be a life giver—bedding women and men if he so desired. But whenever he needed to blow off steam, there was only one person he would turn to.
The Elektan, Umbane—a bastard to the Lord of Keraunoa in the south, a vast empire that held its own against Pyra. While lightning and fire do not mix, Umbane was the only known warrior capable of tanking Vuur's strikes at full force.
A decade before, there was a truce between the two kingdoms. The young princes were the only two left on the battlefield, duking it out with lightning strikes and explosions. Though Umbane is superior in terms of speed and resilience, Vuur is tactical and battle-ready for anything—except when he chooses to forsake all that and attack with overwhelming force. So far, that still proves effective, though not efficient.
I just hope he doesn't blow up part of their kingdom just so he can have a 1v1 with Umbane like last time.
There's a knock at the door, I'm convinced whoever it is might actually be expecting Vuur to not be around, I calmly walk to the door opening it to reveal head tilted to the side staring at the guest who wanted no audience with Vuur.
"Is he here" she asked in a delightful squeal that made me slightly irritated.
Salia was one of Vuur's whores, she was incredibly well versed in bed and though I speak from experience I pray to the gods Vuur never finds out or another slave will be sweeping away my ashes.
"No he's not, you can come back after sundown, bye" trying to shut the door in her face but she pried it open, she was surprisingly strong and she knew it
"Oh come on you said we'd do again but you've been avoiding me,lord of my feelings"
"It was a mistake, you thought I was Vuur I was too drunk to even know what was going on, if this entire situation doesn't scream death by executioner's flames I don't know what is, please let it go!" I cried in protest
I balanced myself by the edge of the table, hyperventilating my mind away, she walked closer to me, her body bathed in vanilla as her thin veil cloaked her voluptuous body , she placed her soft right hand on my chest, a smile on her face, I figured she'd be scared too but she was quite calm, staring into my eyes not saying anything, but her gaze seemed to say "I know it's scary but we're going to be fine"
I trusted that look for some reason I couldn't explain, I mistakenly caught a glimpse of her tanned breasts as she came closer, her head tilted closely coming in for a kiss, I turned to the right to avoid it but she stopped, I figured the danger was over but she reached in my rags and groped my cock, i winced as I tried to get my little guy out of her bear paws, the worse part was realizing this made me hard, she knew I liked and she was going for the kill, she got down on her knees, cock now engorged still in hand.
Her grey eyes were disarming, and even though I was struggling with her I wanted it.