Chapter 1

The accusations were all that remained inside her, making her who she was. Callas was not a real person anymore. She was an ache inside, an angry guilty accusation. All she could hear was that of her best friend's angry voice. "Traitor!"

"I don't know you anymore!" He flailed against the restraints that bound his arms above his head. His legs tried to pull him forward but it was such a strange position that his body merely bent and flipped back into place. "You betray everyone on Chikyuu! Even your own sister! But how could you betray me!"

She said nothing to him as he shouted, angry and hurt, helpless, defenseless. "Broken," she told herself. "He is broken. He's never felt it before."

Callas was broken. That was why she could betray him in a way he thought was so easily done. It ripped her apart inside and killed who she once was so that she was mold-able now. When words like traitor and whore were imprinted upon her ears that was what she became.

A quiet smile slid over her features for his benefit. He could not know how much his words hurt, so she let her eyes sparkle with deviancy at him and turned to leave the prison cell. Her long, crimson hair followed behind her, reminding her of the river of blood that her spirit lived in now. She had always been a little cruel and easy to dismiss life in comparison to him but before she had been taken captive by the Monster Prince she had only killed out of necessity and defense. Nausea filled her insides as it always did when she would visit her once best friend, once [new] lover, and she hurried out of the cell, hearing the guards shove the marble door back into place with a grating ease.

She found her way back to her room alone, no longer required to have guards escort her around the palace as she had proven her loyalty to the crown and her Monster Prince. Most of the inhabitants of the palace knew to leave her be, so she was safe as long as she stayed within the captive walls. Her room was dark and small, but lavish for someone of her status.

"You're just his whore now!" she heard his voice echo in her mind and pushed it away.

The room had one wall opposite the door, made purely of clear stone, much like Chikyuu had glass windows, and she could see the blood red atmosphere of the planet outside her own cell. Everything about her was etched into this planet and she could barely wonder why she fit in so well with these monsters-why she even wanted to be a part of their world, to be one of them. She shuddered and collapsed into the floor, staring at the desolate landscape and yet seeing the indication of life everywhere. Here the trees were purple and red, vibrant with yellow shining from them; the foliage on the ground consisted of various red and violet hues; some plants had blues, some had yellows, and oranges; it was always the lack of green that disturbed her, having lived on a green and blue planet where green meant life force. It was merely an ingrained impulse to believe this, because after living with the Monster Prince she knew that life force was the color of blood and bruises.

Her first week with him she was privileged to watch him torture someone. The red liquid would pour from the poor captives, and the screams scratched at her ears and snaked into her brain. Callas found it strange that she was so easily able to dismiss the pain her Monster Prince would put these people through. She found her fingers touching sticky blood and smearing it along the stone floors. She also found that the Prince was highly curious about her reactions, obviously expecting her to be weak of stomach. This all reminded Callas of something long ago, something she could not quite grasp in her memory.

Digressing, on this planet, the people could fly (which is not to say people could not fly on Chikyuu, because she and Gokuh could and several of their friends, but the work with which it took to learn was intensive and required a discipline that most people had given up long ago) and every so often she would see trails of energy sizzling across the red and pink sky. For lower class citizens, flying into the palace was considered rude and threatening, thus it was not done unless in emergencies and often the mentality of "shoot first, ask questions later" was adopted so these emergencies were generally unheard until the runner got the note in to the proper official. So Callas did not see any fliers up close, though she did not really want to so it mattered little.

A quiet alarm sounded from her door, alerting her that someone was keying in a code for it to open. There were few people with access to her quarters so she could scarcely be surprised at who might walk in. Boots tip-tapped on the granite entryway and then silenced into plush carpet so dark red it was a purple bruise.

"Callas," the voice probed her collapsed form through the air, finding its way into her ears and down her neck and into her aching chest. Rarely did he speak her name, so a part of her relished it while the other part thrashed in human violence at the idea of her enjoyment.

She turned, bowing her frame to the ground, as was once custom for the subservient to do to those above them on her home world. It was a gesture that she brought with her and kept for him as he reaped much pleasure from it; so much, in fact, that he had mandated for all to greet royalty in such a way, mostly in political situations and during high protocol situations, though low-class citizens and slaves had to do it at any point when royalty entered their presence.

"Master," she breathed into the carpet, feeling her body tense into willing betrayal at the thought of his rough hands on her skin.

"You visited Kakarrot."

Callas swallowed. He already knew. She could hear disapproval in his voice.

"Just because I have granted you the power to walk around freely does not mean you may flaunt your station as the prince's slave above the guards to do as you please." A seductive purr ruffled through his voice as he called her his slave and he stepped closer to her. She made no move to rise; she had an amazing sense to read into situations with him and she could smell his arousal at her position on the floor. He would take her soon, down on the ground, on her knees, head shoved into the plush decadence of her floor. The small part of her that hurt from her visit with Gokuh began to waver and wander, joyfully being overtaken by a surge of whorish want and desire. "You know I don't like that you visit him."

Callas was unsure if she felt a slight twinge of jealousy... But no, of course, no. He was behind her now and she felt fingers snake into her long hair as a glove hit the floor next to her and it began. Today was quick; a rough and tumble modeled after two animals viciously devouring whatever they could from one another.

When her Monster was done with her, he flipped her over and shoved hot lips against hers, biting and drawing blood in a way that only he could and make her still want to kiss him more. His dark eyes glared hotly into hers and he smirked handsomely at her.

"Still my favorite," he breathed, causing a pang of jealously to rifle through her. Though she knew she was not his only sex slave (yes, she had to admit that was all she was), it was hard for her to hear him say over and over like he did. He laughed when he saw it hit her eyes. Cupping her chin roughly he shoved his thumb into her mouth and said, "Grey eyes that turn colors-you would think you could hide your emotions better like your chameleon eyes insisted." He only knew what a chameleon was because she had told him about it one night after sex when he actually slept in her bed with her. "One day, you will know I say these things to make you harder. Chikyuuan people are so weak." He remarked and stood up, sliding his form-fitting battle leggings back up.

"Are you off to train?" she asked, lying still on the floor, her simple dress fluttered about her slim form.

"Finally," he grunted. "The past few weeks have been so full of political bullshit the time to really get a good spar in has been seriously lacking." He snatched his glove from the floor and slid it back on. His attire was black and white with the blood red symbol of his family marked on his back. The clothes were tight-fitting but flexible-the under attire for battle garments, before armour was donned. She found she would not object to him taking her again, enjoying the view of his muscles moving powerfully underneath the cloth.

He glanced at her once more and saw the lust in her eyes. A feral grin graced his chiseled features, rough features of a warrior, and he teased, "Perhaps I will be back in your bed tonight, slave." With that he left her listening to his retreating footsteps and the sound of her high-tech door hissing out and into place, locking little latches electronically. She stared at the ceiling of her quarters and enjoyed the fact that she was living in a more luxurious part of the palace as compared to most everyone else, including the other slaves the Monster Prince partook of. More luxury, and yet more security.

She refused to think of it anymore, not wanting to spoil her newly obtained positive mood and started to touch herself. She rubbed and grasped, shoving softer, more delicate fingers into her and moaning with delight. She stopped only when she could bear no more and lay exhausted in front of the window to wait for evening.

The life of a pleasure slave was mind-numbingly easy... when she behaved.