Page 69 of The Princess In A 'Prince' Disguise

The binding cloth wrapped around his chest today was exceptionally tight, meant to really flatten his breasts under the single tunic that was not loose-fitting.

Aekeira's hand covered his. He looked at her, finding comfort in her nervous smile. Despite his fear for his sister's well-being, her presence beside him provided solace.

"Let the feast begin!" the voice announced, drawing Emeriel back to the present. Heads nodded in agreement, and applause filled the hall. Things seemed to be going well—so far, no one has summoned any slave. Perhaps it would only get better—

"You, you, and you," a lord's voice boomed, his finger pointing at three slaves simultaneously. "Strip."

The slaves stepped forward and began to undress. Emeriel swallowed his nervousness, his hands squeezing Aekeira's for support.

Another lord joined the chorus of commands. "You there, with the wavy auburn hair. Step forward. Undress." His tone was cruel, his gaze cold and assessing.

The auburn-haired slave obeyed, her steps hesitant but dutiful as she moved into the center of the hall. Her tunic slipped from her shoulders, baring her nakedness to the room.

It didn’t stop. The demands came like a torrent.

"Show me your back."

"Turn around slowly."

"Let me see if you’re worth keeping."

More slaves were called, and more clothing was shed.

Some lords preferred to issue their commands from their seats, watching with calculating eyes. Others rose and prowled like predators, inspecting the slaves as if they were cattle at the market.

Hands reached out, groping flesh, lingering on breasts, gripping backsides. The inspection left no part untouched. If the lords liked what they felt, they commanded the slave to undress.

The hall was soon filled with feasting and "celebration.". Naked bodies knelt before their masters, forced to provide oral pleasure while jeering laughter filled the air. Others were laid bare across the round table, hands roaming over their exposed skin like vultures picking at carrion.

Some were bent over, Lords taking them from behind. A few were ordered onto the podium, their trembling forms commanded to dance to the applause of the crowd.

Emeriel couldn’t look away, though every fiber of his being wanted to. Abhorrent. He clung to Aekeira, so nervous he thought of nothing else.

As the night wore on, the once-crowded group of slaves standing in presentation thinned until only a few remained. Exposed. Nowhere to hide.

And then it happened.

Grand Lord Zaiper’s gaze locked on Emeriel, sharp as a hawk’s. The grand lord’s finger rose, pointing unerringly at him. "The boy. Undress."

Emeriel’s world tilted, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Unlike others who had to raise their voice to be heard, the grand lords spoke their commands in a steady tone, but its weight silenced the hall. Every eye turned toward him.

He couldn’t move. His feet felt like they’d grown roots, anchoring him to the spot. His heart pounded so violently it was a wonder no one could hear it. His gaze darted around the room, searching for a way out, but there was none.

"What are you doing?" hissed the slave beside him. Her voice was sharp, urgent. "Do you want to lose your head? Move forward and undress!" Her whisper felt like a lash, jolting him from his paralysis.

Emeriel didn't want to offer his head on a platter for the lords to feast upon, so his legs found their strength, and he strode forward.

In the open, his trembling fingers reached for the hem of his tunic, and he began to undress.

Chapter twenty-three

AT THE ROUNDTABLE OF LORDS

Before Emeriel could pull the tunic overhead, Aekeira moved in front of him, shielding him from view.

"May I g-go first, Your Highness?" Aekeira stuttered, her voice filled with trepidation.

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