The moment Caydrick opened his eyes, he jerked his body sideways and hurled; Hurled for all he was. Which did not feel like much.

He felt sick. Sicker than he had ever felt before. He felt tainted. The thought of her against his body, that she had touched his body, his...

He jolted again, another wave of sloppy, thin vomit rushing up his throat.

He was shivering. Not from cold or fright, but from disgust. Being in his own body had him repulsed. How could he possibly live with himself after this? How could he ever face another person, look them in the eye and know what had happened?

Where exactly is here? A part of him wondered.

Lifting himself up onto his elbows, then groaning from pain, he looked around in a very dark room. He was lying on a pallet. A thin pallet that was not his own. The only light supply was from a ridiculously small square hole in the wall that did nothing to brighten the room. The hole was too small to escape through and too small to produce any light. No doubt he was put here to sulk in his own misery. He did not even bother looking for a candle. He knew he would not find any.

Fighting his nausia, he climbed to his feet, shakily holding himself up by support of the stonewall. The floor was cold, hard stone, and judging by the coolness of the wall, he was just under ground level. Just so much that the light could peak in through the square hole.

There was also his dresser, his nightstand and a single door. The reason why he knew this was his stuff was because he recognized the cut-off corner on his nightstand and his dresser that had a noticable stain of blood. Wherever he was, this was his new home. His new slave home.

An emendous wave of rage powered through him, and bellowing, he fell to the floor and punched his knuckles sore to get rid of his frustration.

Why was this happening to him? Why him?

He was so angry. Angry with her, angry with himself, angry with God...

"What have I ever done to deserve this?!" He roared into the room. "Have I not always done my duty?! Have I not always been a fateful servant and slave?! Why!"

His knuckles made an uncomfortable crack as it hit the stone again. He did not care.

"Why are you doing this to me?!" He screamed and finally submitted to the pathetic tears that had been threatning in the corners of his eyes.

He did not know who he was talking to; Himself, her, God... Anyone who had done this to him.

Sulking, he laid on his knees, shaking from anger and desperation. Nothing could make him feel worse. Nothing...

Don't lose it.

A tiny, almost incoherent voice talked to him. It did not sound like his own, even though it came from his head.

Do not give up.

Why not? He hopelessly asked the voice that had to be his insanity going on a limp.

Because nothing can make you feel worse.

As if the thought pertained magic, he stopped sulking. He stopped shaking. He stopped.

When you are at the bottom, nothing can bring you down. Nothing can harm you. There is nowhere to go but up. Nothing can make you feel worse.

If nothing could make him feel more pain, he was unbreakable. If nothing could harm his heart, he was immortal. If nothing could get to him, he was invincible.

On a calm, controlled breath, he rose to his feet and walked towards the dresser. His hands were steady as he opened the drawer and pulled out a pair of breeches.

Nothing can make you feel worse.

When you had experienced the worst, nothing could ever hurt you again.

Pulling on the breeches, he felt a bitter smile form on his lips. If his life was not worth living, he would make sure the Queen's was not, either. He would drive her crazy. She was used to having her way; People kissing on her hands and feet, and have her every order fulfilled to the finest. It would drive her mad if he disobeyed her over and over again. And before she could kill him, he would already have killed her.

His smile grew wider with the wicket thought of her neck being snapped, twisted in a grusome angle, by his hand. Many murderous scenarios started to form in his head; of how he would kill her, how he could torture her the most. He could draw every last drop of her blood. He could wrench out her eyeballs with his thumbs. He could cut out her black heart and make her eat it.

It was probably his murderous mind that distracted him from hearing a key wrestling in the door lock, and when he finally did, it was too late.

A squad of five soldiers outnumbered him and forced him down onto the ground. There was no fight; Caydrick was drained of energy, and any he had left, he had thrown up that morning.

Chest down, they locked his hands in a deadlock behind his back, despite his struggling. "Just relax, slave... Breeaath."

Someone pressed a cloth over his nose and mouth, and a foul smell seeped through his nostrils before he could think.

The chloroform made him drowsy and for the second time, he lost consciousness, unable to fight it.

~*~

It was a strange sensation to feed from his misery, Caydrick realized. How the pain made him stronger, how his angony kept him fighting. It was just strange, yet immensely satisfying at the same time.

Kneeling on his knees, he was tied at the ankles with thick, metal shackles. His wrists were uncomfortably linked together with cuffs as well, risen above his head, hanging from a hook in the ceiling. This way he was kneeling on his knees and officially disarmed in every way.

- And Yridessa could get to him much better.

Holding himself limp on his knees, pretending to still be unconscious, he explored his surroundings with his ears. He could hear muffled voices outside the door. There was also questioning about where he was; The floors felt extremely clean, suggesting they were cleaned more often than others.

Of course, Caydrick thought. Where else but her own chambers did Yridessa feel certain that no one would interrupt them?

A door opened and closed and was followed by the characteristic sound of heels meeting marble floor. Caydrick kept his eyes closed as he heard the Queen pour wine into a goblet and drink.

By now he had already figured out that today was not about sex. He knew she had be jaded as well, not to mention the way he was shackled made it physically impossible. No, today she just wanted to make him suffer.

"Why?"

His consciousness clearly startled the Queen. Her footsteps stopped, and even with his eyes still closed, he could sense she was looking at him.

"Why?" The Queen repeated. "Hmm... Because I like you. You intrigue me."

He scoffed and slightly bended his numb fingers. "Your conception of like is twisted, Yridessa."

"How dare you address me that way?" She snapped. Caydrick heard the goblet being put down and her fast footsteps approach. "I am the Queen of Verona and Venice City! You will address me as you have been taught, slave!"

"I will address you such way when you start behaving like a Queen, Yridessa." Caydrick replied in the same calm, controlled voice.

The next thing he felt was a sharp slash across his back. The feel of a whip cut into the skin of his back and made him jolt. The air sung with the silence that fell after the whip fell still.

Gritting his teeth, Caydrick spoke, "Is that suppose to make me cry?"

Another lash hit him, which was followed by an angry hiss from the Queen.

The lash felt like knives cutting into his skin, but Caydrick kept himself coolheaded as he continued, "You insult me Yridessa, you really do. It has been a long time since the lash of whip made me whimper. You said it yourself; I was a slave. My only pay was the sting of a lash." He reminded her.

"And a slave you shall be again, dear Caydrick." Her voice had the same innocent sound it had when she felt most vicious. Caydrick did not allow himself to look at her as she continued. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes; Why."

A silence fell while she resumed sipping her goblet. Caydrick spent a long time evaluating if escaping could be a possibility. He knew he could be a smooth talker, but even Yridessa was not dumb enough to uncuff him. The only way of possibly escaping was in his cell where he might be able to force the door open.

Caydrick sat still on his knees while the Queen set her goblet down once more and started to speak again. "You know, the first time I saw you, I saw potential in you," She calmly begun. "Blond hair, fair skin... the greenest eyes I have ever seen. I thought God had blessed me with an angel," She chuckled to herself while Caydrick swallowed a sour mouthful of resentment in his mouth. "I kept my eyes on you ever since that day. You worked hard - efficiently. You always seemed to do your very best, even when you got punished as repayment."

"One of us had to work," Caydrick gritted. "And since you did not..."

Another lash hit his back and he could feel his own blood running down his spine.

"Do not interrupt me when I am speaking, slave."

"Do not speak when I am interrupting."

Another lash.

"Now..." The Queen said, and Caydrick could hear her walk around him, now standing in front of him, "Look at me and tell me; Why did you continue working if you knew you would get punished either way?"

A nasty grin spread across Caydrick's lips as he kept his eyes on the ground and replied, "The same reason I am talking back now." He waited a dramatic moment to tease her before giving the answer; "I have nothing to lose."

"You could lose your life," The Queen casually reminded him while pulling up a chair.

"To lose my life would only be a gain."

The Queen laughed, the high vocals of her voice reaching a pitch that made Caydricks stomach turn. "Oh you amuse me, Caydrick. You never cease to surprise me."

"Enough with the games, Yridessa." Caydrick bit. Their little prattle had went on for long enough. "I'll tell you what you want to know if you tell me what I want to know."

Even with his eyes fixated on the ground, he could tell she was brushing her chin, thinking of whether or not to agree. When she did not reply, he slowly continued to make sure she did not clam up. "The invitation you sent out for the feast; You only sent it out to a few from my squad. Why?"

"Hmm..." The Queen sang, and from the top of his vision, he could see her crossing her legs. "I had my eyes on a few of the more... suitable warriors."

"Attractive warriors," Caydrick snarled when she giggled. "The invite was so you had a chance to look at them up close. You were planning to take a slave."

"And you won the contest. You should feel honored," The Queen coldly smiled. "Now let me see those eyes of yours."

"I would rather piss on a cross," Caydrick spat and closed his eyes.

"You disobey me." Yridessa stood up once again. "You will quickly learn that doing so will be unwise. You may say you have nothing to lose, but I say you have plenty. So, I will give you one more chance, soldier. Look. At. Me."

"Make me."

He heard her grab the whip once more and soon enough, it was lashing through the air and colliding with the target that was his back. Caydrick pressed his lips tightly together, even though his throat begged for release.

She swung the whip again and again, until she could not raise her arm.

When she finally let go, all that remained was the thick smell of blood in the air. Caydrick could feel the back of his breeches being smothered in blood and the sensation of it dripping down his legs.

The Queen was panting for air as she stalked up to her door before harshly knocking it twice. "You will regret disobeying me, slave! I promise you that." That was the last thing she said before he heard the door open. The clicks of her heels dissappeared through, and only when he was sure she was gone, he lifted his head and was met by two guards. He knew them both.

The humiliation stung worse than the lashes from the whip. The guards, Hellos and Daggon, did not meet his eyes, only stared at the floor as if he was not worth their gaze. They knew as well as Caydrick did what was going on between the Queen and him. Which meant the rest of the army also knew.

A third man came through the door, a man whose face Caydrick would never forget. He carried a bucket that was held by a thick fabric and in the bucket was a long rod of metal. A metal rod that Caydrick knew had a seal on the end.

Caydrick felt no fear as the man with the bucket approached him, not even when the guards took a grip of his shoulder to keep him still. He did not even feel a tingle of pain when they forced his back straight. The man with the bucket did not look at him either, like the guards. He just placed the bucket on the ground that contain burning hot coal and the rod.

Five years ago, the same man had burnmarked Caydrick a slave, and here he was again, about to do it one more time. Only this time, the burnmark would not be one of house slave. This time, it would be a mark that had not been seen for centuries.

- The mark of a sexslave.