The grand hall of the castle echoed with the heavy footfalls of armored knights as they dragged their captive before the throne. King Roderick, known throughout the realm as a just yet ruthless ruler, sat upon his gilded seat, his eyes cold and calculating as he observed the man forced to kneel before him. The man's clothes were tattered, his hair disheveled, and his skin marred with dirt, but his face-his face was something otherworldly.
"Your Majesty," one of the knights began, his voice wavering slightly, "we present to you the fiend responsible for the murders in the eastern villages. He confesses to the crimes-cannibalism, Your Grace."
King Roderick's gaze narrowed as he leaned forward. The court fell silent, tension hanging in the air like a storm about to break. "Confess," the king demanded, his voice a low growl. "Speak of your sins."
The man raised his head, revealing eyes as dark as the night, but there was no fear in them, only a quiet defiance. "I killed them," he said, his voice eerily calm, "and I consumed their flesh."
Gasps of horror rippled through the gathered nobles, but King Roderick barely noticed them. He was entranced. How could such a creature-a monster who had committed such atrocities-possess such beauty? The man's features were delicate, almost ethereal, and his eyes, despite their darkness, held a strange allure.
"What is your name?" the king asked, his tone softer, more curious than before.
"Vincent," the man replied, his voice betraying no emotion.
Roderick's grip on the armrest of his throne tightened. "Vincent," he repeated, tasting the name on his tongue. "Do you feel no remorse for what you've done?"
Vincent's lips curled into the faintest of smirks. "Remorse? No. I feel nothing."
The king's heart pounded in his chest, a dark desire taking root deep within him. There was something captivating about this man-this monster-that stirred something primal inside him. He wanted to possess this beauty, to make it his own, to keep it hidden from the world. The thought of locking Vincent away in some dank, forgotten cell seemed almost blasphemous. No, he had a better idea-a far crueler fate.
"Take him to my chambers," King Roderick ordered, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of something more-something dangerous. "I will deal with him personally."
The knights hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances. One of them finally spoke up. "Your Majesty, surely it would be wiser to-"
"Do not question me," Roderick snapped, his eyes flashing with authority. "Do as I command."
With clear reluctance, the knights obeyed, lifting Vincent to his feet and leading him out of the hall. Roderick watched them go, his mind already racing with the possibilities of what was to come.
---
Vincent had never known fear before. He had lived his life in the shadows, unfeeling and detached, a predator among the weak. Yet, as he stood alone in the king's chambers, the heavy door closing behind him with a finality that sent a shiver down his spine, he felt it-a cold, creeping fear that gnawed at his insides.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the flickering light of a few candles. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting scenes of conquest and bloodshed, and the bed at the center of the room was large, draped in luxurious furs and silks. It was a room befitting a king-a king who had just decided that Vincent's fate would be worse than death.
The door creaked open, and Roderick entered, his expression unreadable. He circled Vincent like a predator assessing its prey, his eyes roaming over the man's form, taking in every detail. Vincent stood still, his heart pounding, his mind racing with the possibilities of what the king intended to do with him.
