Some time alone.

I didn't return to the library that evening. I needed to be alone. To process things and to grieve the **** of my master. I'd only been his apprentice for a few years, but he had been a very good man. With everything else that went on in the kingdom, it was honestly hard to see how he'd lasted as long as he had.

I retreated to my private quarters, pleased to see that the ward spells were intact and would let me in despite my awkward mana situation. I would be safe in my quarters. Only myself and a few hand-picked servants could pass those wards. Or the Royal Mage, but now that was me. Sitting at my mirror, I lowered the top of my dress and stared at the intricate rune band around my throat, marking me as the Royal Mage. It was beautiful, actually. In any other situation, I'd have been elated. I was probably the youngest Royal Mage in any kingdom, and I knew I was stronger than most. It was hard to get excited in light of the Hero's hold on me.

Still, despite the horrific day I'd had, and the raw emotional state I was in, I did feel pleased. But it was a bittersweeet moment. I'd worked my whole life towards this end, and now I had attained my goal. But for what? To be at the beck and call of some king? That bastard wasn't fit to rule, but that's just the way it was. Had this happened before my run-in with the Hero, I wouldn't have thought twice. The king was the king and that was that. But my sense of decency had been damaged. **** out of me, perhaps.

I remembered the Hero's eyes. The way they seemed to pierce my soul and know all my secrets. I'd had a brush with real power. The Hero was truly powerful. He could do things we all knew to be impossible, and he did it so casually. He made it seem easy. I let more of my dress fall, baring my chest to the mirror. I was a beautiful woman. I knew that, even if I'd never taken any time away from my studies and training to pursue relationships with men. The Hero had been the first man to ever touch me, and he'd been far from gentle. But I couldn't deny that he was powerful. If a man had to lay claim on me, I'd prefer it to be a powerful man. Perhaps that was foolishness, but I knew it was true.

The course of my life was always going to end with me serving at the whims of a man, I realized. As Royal Mage, I was doomed to serve a man one way or the other. Beyond the title of king, I had very little respect for the man. The Hero, on the other hand... I cupped my breast and teased my nipple. He was irresistible. He was a real man. Worthy of my submission.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. What was I saying? He was a monster. I'd seen through his eyes what he did to women. He took pleasure in their pain. In my pain, I realized. He had hurt me when he took my virginity. I pressed my legs together at the memory of the ****. I'd been caught completely off guard, given no chance to refuse. He had simply seen me, wanted me, and claimed me. Just like that. I hated him for it, but I still couldn't shake a vague feeling of arousal at the sheer dominance of the man. Had I deliberately turned down all men who'd ever expressed an interest in me just so I could find one man enough to simply take me?

No, that was nonsense. I had been ****, and in my grief I was looking for ways to rationalize my completely unrelated physical attraction to my attacker. That had to be it. I'd been powerful my entire life. No one pushed me around. No one.

I removed my dress and carefully laid it out where the maid would take it. It wasn't necessary for it to be cleaned yet, but I wasn't going to be wearing it for a while. As the newly appointed Royal Mage, I wanted something that would show off the seal at my throat. It was a matter of pride and practicality. I was the Royal Mage now, and no one could take that away from me.

I pulled a delicate nightgown on over my head, enjoying the luxuriously silky feel of it on my skin. I had already grown accustomed to the slightly prickly sensation of the Hero's mana in my soul. It was a constant reminder of him. I'd probably never be free of him. Not now that I was his key to the entire castle. I closed my eyes and for once, summoned the images from my dreams to my mind on purpose, but this time I was in control of them.

Treating them more like memories than dream-visions, I was able to make more sense of them, sort through them and learn a bit about this man who dared to collar me. That night, I learned that the Hero was more complex than simply delighting in pain. It was about control. He craved power, especially over women. Power over their pleasure as well as their pain; whichever was expedient or interesting in the moment. Indeed, in some of the memories, the screams had nothing to do with pain at all. I tried to ignore the way those memories turned me on, and shoved them away from me before I succumbed to touching myself like a common whore.

Gods, what had he done to me?