I glared at them with all the fury I could muster, thrashing wildly to free myself from Elowen's iron grip on my wrist—petite frame twisting desperately in the heavy crimson brocade robes, wide bell sleeves flapping like the wings of a trapped bird, gold dragon embroidery catching the chandelier light in frantic glints.
My heart hammered in raw terror, sceptre clattering forgotten to the marble floor. Why are they bullying me like this? What did I do to deserve their hatred? I'm not OG Caspian—I'm fixing his messes, saving farms, not taxing widows or purging rivals!
Elowen's violet eyes gleamed with cold, dissecting curiosity, his staff humming faintly in his forgotten grip. "Do you even like Jenne, Your Majesty? Or do you prefer men? Is that why you're spreading your legs for your secretary every night?"
"Look at him—there's no way he can do anything manly," Kairos drawled, his crimson gaze slithering over my trembling form like spilled oil, shadows coiling tighter at his booted feet like eager vipers. "That fragile little body? Delicate bones, soft curves—built for taking, not giving. A pretty sheath for real swords."
"Maybe he likes both," Darius grunted low, silver eyes dark with disgust, his massive arms still crossed like iron bands but his jaw clenched so tight I heard teeth grind.
"Nah, he just likes it in his ass—deep and desperate," Kairos laughed, voice husky and cruel. "Jenne's probably just a cover—a pretty lie to hide what a desperate slut he is for cock."
"But look at his face," Elowen sneered, his free hand shooting up to tilt my chin roughly, thumb digging into my jawline. "Is he really a man? Those pouty, cock-sucking lips... that porcelain skin, those long lashes fluttering like a maiden's."
"His height's too damn small too," Darius rumbled, stepping closer until his towering bulk eclipsed the light—cedar-and-steel scent overwhelming as he leaned in, sniffing my golden hair audibly, hot breath ghosting my ear. "Smells like flowers and fresh sin. Whore's perfume."
"Too fucking good," Kairos agreed, smirking wickedly from the side. His pale, scarred hand shot out without warning, groping my ass through the brocade—fingers kneading the sash-cinched curve with a firm, possessive squeeze that ripped a sharp yelp from my throat. "Touch his ass, boys—soft as a high-end whore's, plush and begging."
Darius and Elowen's hands followed without a second's hesitation, palming my cheeks roughly through layers of silk and brocade—fingers digging deep into the yielding flesh, fabric bunching obscenely under their mauling.
"I'm sure Jenne's got a better ass than his," Elowen mocked, squeezing until I whimpered, nails pricking even through cloth. "Tighter, riper—womanly. This one's just a boy-cunt pretending."
"Let me go! Stop touching me!" I cried, voice breaking into a sob, tears welling hotter as I kicked futilely with my polished black leather boots, heels scraping the dais uselessly.
Kairos grabbed a fistful of my golden chignon then, yanking my head back sharply—pearl pins scattering across the cold marble like spilled jewels, half my hair tumbling loose in a golden cascade.
"Your Majesty, you should be glad we're keeping you as emperor. Without our armies, our magic, our guilds propping up your throne, you're nothing—a pretty figurehead we could crush."
"We should replace him entirely," Darius growled, voice like grinding gravel, his huge hand flexing as if imagining my throat. "Send the pretty thing to a brothel in the lower districts—let him earn his keep on his back, taking coin and cock till he breaks."
"There's nothing good about him except that face and ass," Elowen added coldly, twisting my captured wrist until fresh pain lanced white-hot up my arm, drawing a strangled whimper. "No strength, no spine—just a hole with a crown."
"Well, the people call him a tyrant," Kairos chuckled darkly, tugging my hair harder to arch my neck painfully. "But what specialty does he have? Whining prettily? Spreading easy?"
"He looks anything but a tyrant," Darius scoffed, breath hot on my exposed throat. "More like a plaything for real men—a fragile toy we could snap without effort."
"People obey him because of the nominal position—the crown's the only muscle he's got," Elowen finished, his free hand fisting the collar of my brocade robe, silk rasping harshly.
With a cruel, deliberate yank, Elowen dragged the outer robe down my shoulders—sable-fur mantle pooling at my elbows like shed skin, white silk inner robe gaping wide to bare my flat chest and pink nipples, pebbled tight from the chill air and spiking fear.
"Look at these—perky little tits, begging for a pinch," he taunted, mage-callused thumb flicking one roughly, sending a humiliating jolt through me.
I broke then, crying openly—sobs wracking my slender body, tears streaming in hot rivulets down my flushed cheeks, dripping onto the dishevelled silk.
The holds hurt too much, their combined auras crushing down like a vice, terrified of these monsters wearing the faces of male leads who should be good people.
"Hey! Don't cry, little Emperor," Kairos mocked, loosening his hair grip just enough to let strands stick to my wet face. "Save the tears for when you're properly fucked."
"Are you a girl or something?!" Darius barked, surprise flashing in his eyes despite the venom, his groping hand stilling on my ass.
"Keep quiet—he's just being dramatic, putting on a show," Elowen snapped at them both, but even his voice wavered slightly at my raw sobs, eyes flickering with something like discomfort.
Abruptly, he released my wrist with a rough shove; I crumpled straight to my knees on the cold dais, cradling my bruised, throbbing arm against my chest, robes dishevelled and half-open, golden hair a tangled mess framing my tear-streaked face as hiccupping sobs shook me.
"Your Majesty, we were just joking with you—don't cry like that," Elowen said abruptly, his voice losing some of its edge, eyes widening as he stepped back, staff stilling in his grip. The sudden shift felt insincere, but his hands hovered awkwardly now, no longer gripping.
"Look, we won't hurt you—promise," Darius rumbled low, gaze flickering with something like guilt, his massive frame shifting uncomfortably as he rubbed the back of his neck. Kairos released my hair fully, smirking fading into an unreadable expression, shadows receding slightly at his feet.
I stayed crumpled on the dais, knees pressed to cold marble, cradling my bruised wrist—sobs hitching quieter now, tears carving paths through the makeup on my cheeks, dishevelled robes gaping to expose flushed skin.
Joking? After groping me, yanking my hair, calling me a brothel slut? These male leads are psychopaths. Sniffing hard, I glared up through wet lashes, golden strands sticking to my face.
"J-joking? You humiliated me... bruised me. Get out."