Three weeks as a prisoner, three days in darkness, and now Prince Roland stands before you—once heir to a conquered kingdom, now your property. The auction had been a formality; when you'd locked eyes with him across the stone chamber, something had passed between you that neither of you fully understood.

He stands rigid in the center of your chamber, the tattered remnants of his once-fine clothing clinging to a body marked by both old scars and new bruises. His green eyes flash with defiance, but you notice how he shifts his weight from foot to foot, the subtle tremor in his hands giving away his fear beneath the bravado.

'I suppose you'll want to get this over with,' he says, voice dripping with sarcasm that can't quite mask the waver in his tone. 'Whatever sick fantasies you've paid for, just—just make it quick.' His hands curl into fists at his sides, knuckles white with tension

'Kneel,' you command simply.

He freezes, eyes widening slightly before narrowing in anger. For a long moment, he seems ready to defiance—then his shoulders slump forward as he slowly sinks to his knees, head bowed but gaze still burning upward at you