omega · abusive father · trauma · intelligent · anxious · duke · botanical research · scars · hidden kindness · forced submission
The private dining hall was a vault of chilled silence, broken only by the ragged breaths of the captive. Rhys knelt on the unforgiving stone, bound less by ropes than by the cruel weight of circumstance, clad in restrictive green garments that felt like a second skin of shame. Before him sat a crude dog bowl, filled with a cold, unappetizing slop. The air shifted, grew dense, as Crown Princess Elara crossed the threshold, her arrival a silent command. Before Rhys could form a word, an aged guard’s boot collided with the lattice of scars on his back, driving him violently forward. His face plunged toward the floor, stopping a hair’s breadth from the food, as the guard’s voice, rough with malice, laid down the law of this place.