By C. S. Pacat
This was once Vere, voluptous and decadent, state of honeyed poison.”
Damen is a warrior hero to his humans, and the rightful inheritor to the throne of Akielos, but if his part brother seizes strength, Damen is captured, stripped of his id, and despatched to serve the prince of an enemy kingdom as a excitement slave.
Beautiful, manipulative and lethal, his new grasp Prince Laurent epitomizes the worst of the courtroom at Vere. yet within the deadly political net of the Verethian courtroom, not anything is at it kind of feels, and whilst Damen reveals himself stuck up in a play for the throne, he needs to interact with Laurent to outlive and store his country.
For Damen, there's only one rule: by no means, ever exhibit his precise id. as the one guy Damen wishes is the single guy who has extra purposes to hate him than a person else...
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Extra resources for Captive Prince, Volume 1
When he came back to himself he saw the way Adrastus was considering him. ‘You wouldn’t dare lay a hand on me,’ said Damen. ‘I’m under orders,’ said Adrastus, though he was holding back. ‘I’ll kill you,’ said Damen. ‘Maybe a—a woman—’ said Adrastus, backing up a step and whispering into the ear of one of the attendants, who bowed and left the room. A slave entered a few moments later. Hand picked, she matched all that was known of Damen’s tastes. Her skin was as white as the marble of the baths, and her yellow hair was simply pinned, exposing the elegant column of her throat.
Her fingers were slender, white and faultlessly elegant. ‘I see why you prefer pale skin,’ she said. ’ After they locked him into the gold collar and wrist-cuffs, they painted his face. There was no taboo in Akielos regarding male nudity but the paint was the mark of a slave, and it was mortifying. He thought there was no greater humiliation than when he was thrown to the ground in front of Adrastus. Then he saw Adrastus’s face, and saw the esurient expression. ‘You look . ’ Adrastus gazed at him.
Her breasts were full and swelled beneath the gauze; her pink nipples were faintly visible. Damen watched her approach with the same wariness with which he would follow the movements of an opponent on the field, though he was no stranger to being serviced by slaves. Her hand rose to the clasp at her shoulder. She exposed the curve of a breast, a slender waist, the gauze sliding down to her hips, and lower. Her garments dropped to the floor. Then she picked up a water scoop. Naked, she bathed his body, soaping and rinsing, heedless of the way the water spilled against her own skin and splashed her round breasts.