Roan- The King with an ice cold heart (rough draft)

Chapter 1

(I know I use too many commas. Bare with me) 

His hands grasped my wrists, panting heavily, his eyes burning into mine as the only sound audible being our staggering breaths in unison. He slid his hand up across my skin, an involuntary groan pressing from my lips. 

"S-Stop..." I gasped, my words shaky as adrenaline coursed through my body. My heart was pounding harshly in my chest, rapid.  A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, a daring spark in his eyes. 

"Darling, you're mine..." he purred devilishly, " And, I wouldn't want to hurt that pretty face of yours, so just give in..." his tone was a tad forceful, pressing a blade deeper against my jaw.

A knife, to be exact. Ah, the sweet kiss of deception... 

I mean, after a huge struggle and well put up fight, I supposed I should have expected him to pull a knife on me. Being chained to a wall in the middle of a random isolated village right after, however, was not expected. 

I fully raised my gaze to him, heaving. "Bite me." I replied slyly, my tone sickly sweet. My sharp remark earned me a black eye. 

Dropping his knife to the ground, my captor growled under his breath. After he had struck me across the face, he  slid a sharp whip from the loop on his belt. The blond stranger  struck it a few times against the stone floor, getting the feel of it in his hand. My eyes steadied over his dry cracked fingers curling tightly over the rough leather handle. Then he began. 

***

The whip cracked again, the fierce sound pulsating in my ears. The marks on my skin no longer bothered me, the pain so intense it seemed to have become numbing. I didn't mind. 

Being chained to a wall wasn't a problem; not one that I couldn't handle, anyway. The problem was that I was being tortured. Sure, it hurt, but I've grown adjusted to it. My mentality had developed to a point that I'd partially zone out once a beating began, as it was customary. It was just that torture was boring; and wasting precious time. 

My wrists were sore and bruised, with dried crusty blood matting my hair. Flinching, my head hung low on my shoulders, sweat dripping from my chin.  My abductor was hastily landing down laborious blows on my stomach, my shirt ragged and bloodstained. I winced a few times when  the electric jolt of the cool leather whip hit my skin, but other than that I showed no response.  

"You'll have to tell me sooner or later, darling. Why let yourself suffer?" The man hummed, my blood staining his hands. I refused to answer, pursing my lips tightly. "What?" He scoffed, throwing the whip to the ground. "You think you're too good to answer me?" He growled, stepping closer. "You're not even gonna give me one of those, 'you can't break what's already broken,'  clichés?" His hand gripped my hair,  fingers curling around my scalp. The stranger pulled at my long raven locks, forcing me to meet his eyes roughly. "I'm gonna take your soul, and sell it to the devil himself. I'm sure they have a special place reserved just for you in the underworld ." He remarked with a hum. 

"You cannot take what was never there, and yes; they do have a  place reserved for me in hell: the throne." I said smugly with a small smirk tugging at my lips.