The beating wasn't bad. Or not as bad as he thought it would be. She didn't have the temperament for this nor the physical strength, but damn it, it still hurt.
His legs trembled and ached. His back was bruised he was sure of that and he was starved and cold. The punishment for murdering a queen was death…
That didn't seem quite right… but…
His mind felt muzzy. He couldn't think, didn't want to think. His reason to live, to fight was gone. Jaenelle was gone as was his family. Everyone who mattered.
Two men came into the small room. Both looked well-toned and well-muscled. Black hair and from he could see tanned skin and gold eyes. He didn't bother with physic scent. He no longer cared.
They dragged him out of the room. The cellar he later decided. A bed? Was down here. Why would anyone put a bed…
He had enough strength to fight back. So he tried. His feet were numb and didn't grip the stone floor the way that he wanted. His captors had their fingers deep enough in his skin to bruise. No chance to create a shield. Not now.
Pain sharp and strong shot up through the ring and into his body. A scream of anguish poured out of him as his body tried to fold onto itself… tried to protect itself from a pain that wouldn't stop.
Somehow they got him on the bed. He hadn't noticed the rod at the head. His wrists were shacked in cold iron. The rod fitted through a ring between his two wrists. Slowly his arms were pulled toward the ground. The pain in his organ slowly ceased and the pain in his arms started.
Everything moved slowly. He could fight back. He should fight back. But he didn't have the heart to. He had killed Witch. He deserved this.
His legs dangled off the bed at the knees. Those too were then shackled in iron then pulled back until they wouldn't bend any further.
Now secure he was told his fate. Nicole smiled so sweetly. She was his age perhaps a bit older he could see her clearly now. "You are going to "help" a few ladies get through their virgin night, Prince."
No. he gritted his teeth. There was no way in hell he would let that happen. None. "Bitch."
A male's hand clamped down on his throat. His jaw was pried open. Liquid poured down his throat. He choked and coughed. He used craft to try to free himself. Days of no food and no rest had taken its toll. His jewels had been keeping him in the position that this witch had put him. They had been slowly bled somehow. He wasn't sure how. A black widow would know how but the bitch wasn't a black widow neither was the other one. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be.
No control. No way to fight back. If Lucivar was here he would kick his ass for not shielding. The High Lord would scold him for not burning out the web when he had first found it. And Jaenelle would be sooo mad at him by now… and beyond feral if she found out about what they were going to do next…
It was a pity really that none of them were alive to do any of that. Unless…