Captive Prince, Volume 1
C. S. Pacat
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This was Vere, voluptous and decadent, country of honeyed poison.”
Damen is a warrior hero to his people, and the rightful heir to the throne of Akielos, but when his half brother seizes power, Damen is captured, stripped of his identity, and sent to serve the prince of an enemy nation as a pleasure slave.
Beautiful, manipulative and deadly, his new master Prince Laurent epitomizes the worst of the court at Vere. But in the lethal political web of the Verethian court, nothing is at it seems, and when Damen finds himself caught up in a play for the throne, he must work together with Laurent to survive and save his country.
For Damen, there is just one rule: never, ever reveal his true identity. Because the one man Damen needs is the one man who has more reasons to hate him than anyone else...
he was the King, or did you like it? You really,’ said Laurent, ‘have no idea how happy that idea makes me. It’s perfect: a man who holds you down while he fucks you, with a cock like a bottle, and a beard like my uncle’s.’ Damen realised he had physically drawn back—the chain had pulled taut. There was something obscene about someone with a face like that speaking those words in a conversational voice. Further unpleasantness was prevented by the approach of a select group of courtiers, to
have knelt and bared her own throat for the stroke. She was not given a chance to obey or resist. She folded soundlessly, her pale limbs lying quite still on the white marble. Beneath her, blood began slowly to spread out over the marble floor. ‘Seize him!’ said one of the soldiers that poured into the room, a man with lank brown hair. Damen might have allowed it simply out of shock, but it was in that instant that two of the soldiers lay hands on Lykaios and cut her down. At the end of the
he was unrestrained, and that they were alone together. Laurent reclined against the tiled wall, settling his shoulders flat against it. He regarded Damen with a familiar expression of goldenlashed dislike. ‘So my slave is bashful in the arena. Don’t you fuck boys in Akielos?’ ‘I’m quite cultured. Before I rape anyone I first check to see if their voice has broken,’ said Damen. Laurent smiled. ‘Did you fight at Marlas?’ Damen did not react to the smile, which was not authentic. The
set into the floor. Damen’s stomach twisted. His gaze swung back to the courtiers in the stands. Not just courtiers. Among the more soberly dressed lords and ladies were exotic creatures in brightly coloured silks, showing glimpses of flesh, their beautiful faces daubed with paint. Here was a young woman wearing almost more gold than Damen, two long, circling armbands, shaped like snakes. Here, a stunning red-haired youth with a coronet of emeralds and a delicate chain around his waist of
his collar yanked him forward. One step. Another. Better to walk than be dragged by the neck. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disturbed when he was not taken directly to the ring, but was instead flung down in front of a seat draped with blue silk and bearing that familiar starburst pattern in gold, mark of the Crown Prince. His chain was cinched to a link in the floor. His view, as he looked up, was of an elegant bootclad leg. If Laurent had been drinking to excess last night, nothing