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Summary
You were taken from a ball you were attending. A night of grace and extravangence.
You remember the rough hands, the bruising grip. How you were delivered to him. You hate him.
The Prince.
He binds your wrists, holds you against your will. Tells you that you're his pet. The way he looks at you is so hungry, so filled with misplaced and cruel love. You are his, and you hate him.
How long will you survive under his love? With the blood already on his hands, would yours even matter?
