Page 18 of Bride to the Fiend Prince
The guard cleared her throat again. “Mind how you speak of the Fiend Prince.”
“All right, all right. Don’t get your skivvies in a twist. Strip her down and latch her in over there.” She gestured to a post with manacles attached to it, one of the less frightening-looking stations in the room.
I’d never been in a torture chamber. I knew my father had a few—occasionally he needed information from spies and traitors; but he rarely ordered such torment, and he had never made me set foot in one of those places.
Now I was to bewhipped—I who had never been punished physically in my life, except for on the training ground. And being bruised or battered during a fight was different from the pain that lay ahead of me.
The guard on my left gathered the hem of my shirt in her hands. She looked me in the eyes through the slots of her helmet. “My apologies, Princess,” she whispered.
“You know the Fiend Prince wouldn’t allow this,” I whispered back.
“He wouldn’t have a choice.” Her voice was barely a breath. “None of us do.”
A spark of rebellion flamed inside me. “But maybeallof you do. Together.”
Her hands stilled for a second before she drew my shirt off. I wore a light corset beneath, and she unlaced that as well, removing it carefully, respectfully. She gestured for me to kneel so they could lock my hands into the restraints that hung from the whipping post.
“Your name?” I asked, as she closed the bands around my wrists.
“So you can ask the Fiend Prince to kill me later?”
“No. So I can remember you for your kindness.”
“Betta.”
“Betta,” I repeated. “I’m Amarylla.”
She bent her helmet in acknowledgement and backed away, along with the other guard.
The big woman approached me, trailing a fringe of whipcords across her palm. All the strands were bound to a thick handle.
“All right then, little princess,” said the woman. “Let me introduce you to the Squid.” She dangled it before my face. “Sixteen cute little braids of devil’s reed, woven with razor-sharp shards of crystal. Tickles you real good.”
She chuckled and moved around behind me as I knelt, half-naked, my spine bowed and my skin quivering with terrified expectation.
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At the first blow, I bit my lip until it bled. I had never felt such a widespread burst of pain across my skin.
After the third blow, I gave up trying not to scream, and I shrieked aloud.
“There it is,” said the whip-woman, and she groaned softly with obscene pleasure. “Sweet, sweet sounds. The young voices are always the purest. Come on, love, give me another good one.”
“Damn you—” And then I screamed again as the lash clawed savagely across my back.
The whip-woman began to hum low in her throat while she beat me.
Five.
I yelled, wrenched at the manacles in agonized fury. I was going to kill that horrible woman, first chance I got—
Six.
I was shaking, my breasts quivering loose, my stomach sucking concave with my frantic breaths. My long braid swung and jerked with every blow.
Seven.
When the Fiend Prince returned, I would tell him exactly what I thought of his father—
