Prologue

PROLOGUE

S ophia

" Mesdames et messieurs… "

The auctioneer's voice, silky and dripping with a malice cloaked in elegance, echoed through the grand opera house.

" La prochaine lot est une jeune putain ravissante nommée Sophia. "

I had won the school prize for French at my high school. It had made me well-suited for this mission, but just now, I wished I couldn't understand the auctioneer so well.

The next lot is a ravishing young whore by name of Sophia.

I couldn't help but find the irony bitterly amusing, given how I had begged Malleus to take my virginity not more then thirty-six hours ago, only for him to refuse me with ruthless finality. My thoughts swirled like a tempest within me as the spotlight found my cage, casting a harsh, unforgiving light upon my bare skin. I fought to calm myself, to quell the rising tide of panic and humiliation.

Appear innocent at all times.

Malleus' stern command whispered from the recesses of my memory. My heart pounded, each beat resonating with the weight of the expectations of the Pretorian Guard. I took a deep breath, striving to project a fa?ade of na?veté and purity, despite the degrading circumstances. I definitely didn't have to feign the blush on my cheeks, at least. To stand naked in a cage, on the stage of an opera house, with a crowd of well-dressed people watching in the audience would have mortified me even if I had been the experienced prostitute the auctioneer had mentioned.

"We'll begin the bids at five million euros," the auctioneer announced, my mind absorbing the French so perfectly, I didn't need to translate it for myself. I heard the murmur of the crowd shift into an eager hum.

"Look at that lovely mouth, capable of giving so much pleasure," he crooned, his tone somehow both lewd and reverential. "Her little breasts, firm and perfect." Each remark felt like a knife twisting in my gut.

"I have five million," the auctioneer said. "May I have five million, five hundred thousand?"

For a moment, I steeled myself, instinctively trying not to let my composure crack. I did everything I could to push away the mixture of revulsion and strange, shameful vanity at the attention being lavished upon my body, my most intimate parts dissected verbally before this assembly of depraved elites.

Then I remembered that high above my head, over the proscenium arch, a huge screen showed every inch of me. I felt my eyes go upward, my head turning to see. Despite the terrible viewing angle, I could see the image of my face, my neck craning and my head twisted. I saw the blush on my cheek, and I remembered that I had to play a role, that I had to show how innocent a fuck toy I would be, for the man who must buy me—if I were to save the world, anyway.

"Look at us, you little slut," called a voice from the audience, the words in beautifully accented French. "Not at yourself!"

"Ah," said the auctioneer, whose back was to me. He turned around and looked at me, his long face stern. He spoke in heavily accented English. "Little whores must not look up like zat, girl. Shall I zummon ze man with ze cane?"

My hands balled into fists as I fought to keep myself from covering my breasts and my smooth, bare pussy. Before the auction, all of the girls on stage, each in her own separate cage, had been instructed by the auctioneer not to do that on pain of whipping. He had left out the part about not looking up.

I had a real fear of the cane, that terrifying implement I had never felt across my backside. Malleus had used a very firm hand with me during my training, but the cane had always remained on the rack. I gave myself over to the fear, intentionally: I bit my lip and felt my forehead crease hard, and I shook my head anxiously to show the auctioneer I would try to obey—just the way a young woman who had been abducted for sale at the secret auction of Legeria City, but not trained as a honeypot by the Pretorian Guard, might.

The auctioneer gave me a final glare, and then he turned around. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, I suspect whoever purchases her will have the great pleasure of whipping her frequently. Let's recommence at five million, five hundred thousand. Who'll give me that, for the privilege of giving young Sophia the discipline she needs, in whatever way you see fit?"

That sum was bid, and the bids rose rapidly from there, punctuated by the auctioneer's explicit commentary.

"Her tight little cunt, such a hidden treasure," he continued, making me wish I had never learned the naughty French words that slid like poison into my ears. "And that anus, so ready to be explored."

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms as I struggled to suppress the turmoil inside me. How could I feel anything other than disgust? And yet, as the numbers climbed higher—five million, six million—I couldn't deny a flicker of perverse pride that such a value was being placed on me. It was a grotesque validation, one that made my stomach churn with self-loathing.

"Seven million," came a voice from the crowd.

I thought of that huge image of my own face, projected on the enormous screen above. I wondered about the man who had seen my wide eyes staring into the audience and decided to offer that much money. Was it Delacroix? Had he bid yet? Would he? Malleus and his colleagues had felt certain Delacroix would have eyes only for my auburn hair, my little breasts, my slim hips, and the tender cleft between my thighs.

"Seven million two hundred thousand," the auctioneer declared, his voice triumphant. The bidding war raged on, each number further cementing my fate. A part of me wished desperately to be anywhere else, while another, darker part reveled in the attention as well as the magnitude of the stakes involved.

"She's magnificent, isn't she?" the auctioneer purred. "She's worth every centime for her unexplored potential. Think of opening that virgin flower on your cock, gentlemen. She comes with a certification that only her mouth has been used by the penis. May I have seven million five hundred thousand?"

A pause followed, and I wondered whether my fate had been decided. Had Delacroix placed that last bid? Malleus had said that in the event anyone else purchased me, the Guard would extract me quickly. I would go back to headquarters, probably to work as an analyst—and Malleus would take me as his nupta . I wouldn't save the world, but I also wouldn't have to risk my life, or give my body up for a villainous magnate's depraved, degrading sexual pleasure. A spark of hope mingled with the terror of the unknown.

"Ah," the auctioneer said suddenly. "Monsieur Delacroix. I had a feeling you would not remain silent. Seven million five hundred thousand. Thank you."

Another pause.

"Going once," the auctioneer said, the flat tone of his voice suggesting that he didn't expect another bid. "Going twice."

I swallowed hard. I peered out into the audience, not having to feign my panicked wish to make out Delacroix's face. Malleus had refused to let me see a picture, even.

"Sophia," he had said in his gravelly voice, "we must do everything we can to make your reactions authentic."

The auctioneer spoke again, the word that made my tummy flip. "Sold to Monsieur Anton Delacroix. I hope you enjoy breaking in this lovely young whore, monsieur."

A round of appreciative applause rippled through the audience. Heat rose into my scalp at the thought of all of them imagining a rich man deflowering me, ripping through the virgin barrier of my pussy as I cried out under his hard, thrusting manhood.

I knew I should focus on the specifics of the mission, on the minute training Malleus had drilled into me. But it seemed impossible not to feel the gravity of my situation, not to fear that the duality of my existence might be laid bare for all to witness. As the spotlight shifted away and the auctioneer moved on to the next girl, I exhaled slowly, trying to regain some semblance of control over my roiling emotions.

The room grew quieter, the hum of anticipation settling as the next lot was introduced. I remained in my cage, waiting for the inevitable, my mind a storm of conflicted thoughts, my body still trembling from the intensity of the experience.

Five minutes after the last girl was sold—for a mere six million euros, I noted—the cage door swung open with a grating creak, startling me. I had fixed my attention on the left wing, from which other successful bidders had emerged to claim their new human property. The man who had opened the cage door, though, must have come from the right.

I instinctively drew back, my heart pounding in my chest, sure it must be Delacroix. It wasn't, though: I had never seen Delacroix, but I recognized the man who greeted my gaze. The towering figure who loomed before me was miles Marcus Blackthorne. The unexpectedness of his presence sent a jolt through me, mingling surprise with a thrill of something else, perhaps the interest I had felt about Marcus. Malleus had told me to look out for him, the Guard field agent who had been in deep cover in Delacroix's chateau for more than a year.

"Come," he commanded in English, his voice a low rumble that resonated through my very bones.

Struggling to maintain composure, I stepped forward hesitantly, feeling the weight of his piercing blue eyes upon me. His image had been etched into my memory, a constant reminder of the web of intrigue that surrounded us.

"Remember, Sophia," Malleus had cautioned, his tone both stern and protective, "Marcus is our man inside. Trust him, but never forget your mission. And remember that you will both be under constant surveillance. You cannot tell him who you really are."

"Step outside," Marcus instructed, breaking through my reverie. His words carried an undeniable authority, yet there was a subtle softness in his tone that belied the harshness of our surroundings.

I obeyed, feeling the cool air flow over my bare skin as I exited the cage. My senses seemed heightened, every sound and scent registering with vivid intensity. The auctioneer's lewd commentary still echoed faintly in the background of my mind, a grotesque reminder of the world I now inhabited.

"Monsieur Delacroix will be expecting you at his chateau," Marcus continued, his gaze unwavering. "As his head of security, it's my duty to oversee the preparation of all new acquisitions."

"Preparation?" I repeated, struggling to keep my voice steady. The implications of his words sent a shiver down my spine.

"Discipline and readiness for your master's bed," Marcus elaborated, his eyes darkening with intent. "Your obedience will be tested; your submission, refined. It falls upon me to ensure you are adequately prepared for your owner's desires."

Despite my training, despite the ironclad control I had honed under Malleus' tutelage, I felt a surge of conflicting emotions —fear, anticipation, and an undeniable attraction to the man standing before me. His presence was magnetic, drawing me in even as I fought to maintain my equilibrium.

"Understand this, Sophia," Marcus said, stepping closer until his breath mingled with mine. "You must submit entirely to Delacroix's will. In every way imaginable. Your… success depends on it."

My eyes went wide, just as a true innocent's would have. I felt certain Marcus had almost said life rather than success.

" Oui , Monsieur ," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. The proximity of his body, the intensity of his gaze, stirred something deep within me—a tumultuous blend of desire and dread.

"Good girl," he murmured, a flicker of approval in his eyes. I watched with unfeigned trepidation, eyes wide, as he reached into the inside breast pocket of his black suit coat. He pulled his hand out, and I heard a soft clinking just before I saw that he held a black leather collar and a matching leash. The metal fixtures glinted slightly in the low remaining light on the stage—gilt, at least, or perhaps even solid gold.

As he reached the collar towards me, I shied away—this time intentionally, as an attempt to hide my strong reaction to Marcus' physical presence with play-acted innocence.

"A bit skittish, are we?" Marcus asked, his voice ironic but also stern. "Come here, you naughty little slut. If you have trouble with your collar, you're going to need a good deal of preparation for the night Monsieur fucks your ass for the first time."

That shocked me, for real. I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I felt the color mount to the roots of my hair. With my knees wobbling under me, I took a step forward, into range of Marcus' long, muscular arms.

"Turn around," Marcus commanded, and I did, with a deep shudder. "Chin up."

He had the collar in his left hand. I saw it at the bottom of my vision just before he settled it into place at the front of my neck. Then his right hand brushed against my cheek, a fleeting touch that left my skin tingling with electricity. I couldn't tell whether he had done it on purpose, and the uncertainty brought another surge of heat to my face. An instant later, I felt him fasten the clasp on my neck, and then I heard the click of the golden lock. The trembling in my limbs, to know how completely I belonged to Anton Delacroix, came from the true depths of my mind and heart.

"Turn around," Marcus said again.

Feeling like I had left my body, I complied.

He had the leash, now, and he clipped it to the ring at the front of the collar.

"Follow me," he commanded, turning abruptly, as if I could do anything else. I trailed behind him, my eyes downcast, fixed on the leash to make certain the slack in it remained, so that the collar wouldn't jerk painfully at my neck. I was terribly conscious of my nakedness as we began to pass through the crowd of gorgeously clad men, whose gazes I felt certain all lingered obscenely on my exposed body.

All the while, my mind raced. Malleus clearly hadn't known how high his miles had risen in Delacroix's ranks. I had my own mission, different from Marcus', more urgent though not more important. How could I possibly navigate this situation, without giving a trained Guard agent any suspicion that I wasn't the innocent, virginal fucking piece Delacroix thought he had just purchased for his bed?