Page 54 of The Princess In A 'Prince' Disguise

Emeriel held in a wince, blinking innocently at the slavemaster. "I have not been assigned to the cellar, Master."

The Urekai ground his teeth in anger, and finally, Master Boris released his grip and stepped back.

"Although the final decision depends on the assigner, slaves are allowed to make suggestions. When you are next assigned, you must suggest the cellar, slave prince. Am I clear?"

Not a chance in hell.

"Yes, Master." Emeriel bowed his head. He was beginning to recognize that look in Master Boris's eyes. The same look Lord Zaiper had when he stared at Aekeira—pure, unadulterated lust.

I would sooner eat from a trash bin than suggest that.

"Good." Slavemaster Boris whirled around and continued on his way.

Standing behind the drying ropes, Emeriel hung numerous wet garments one by one. Murmurs filled the air, followed by the sounds of greetings indicating the approach of an aristocrat.

The long linens obstructed his view, preventing him from seeing who it was. When he emerged from behind the linens, he noticed the other slaves bowing deeply, and followed suit.

The luxurious gown of the aristocrat drew closer and closer until it stood right in front of him.Crack!

His ears rang, pain reverberating through his entire being, from the slap across his face.

"Who do you think you are, that you fail to bow to me?" The venomous voice of the aristocrat was filled with anger.

"Forgive me, mistress. I did not see you in time due to the clothes on the drying ropes—"

Another slap landed on his cheek. "Excuses hold no weight with me. Where is the slavemaster in charge of this place!?" her voice boomed with anger.

"Yes, mistress!" a distant voice responded. The sound of hurried footsteps grew closer, and the slavemaster knelt down. "I apologize for the disrespect, Mistress Sinai."

Mistress Sinai?Wasn't she the same woman with Lord Vladya the other day?

"Give him five lashes of the whip. Now!" she ordered.

What?!Emeriel's heart pounded loudly in his chest. He dropped to his knees, his voice trembling, "F-forgive me, mistress. I have c-committed an offense against you, and I deserve to be punished. But please, show mercy—"

"Silence! Be grateful I am not having you stripped and paraded!"

Emeriel had witnessed slaves being whipped before, and it was a sight one could never forget. And the whips—sturdy and filled with thorns.

Panic gripped him. His mouth opened to plead further…

But in the end, he closed it soundlessly.

She would not listen to his pleas, would she?

Emeriel was all too familiar with aristocrats like her back in Navia. They thrived on the suffering of others, showing no mercy. He was a prince—a princess?whatever—and his pride was all he had left.

"Position your back, slave," the slavemaster ordered.

Emeriel complied, raising his head to get a good look at Mistress Sinai. She appeared entirely satisfied, looking down her haughty nose at Emeriel as if he were dirt. Tremors coursed through his body as he positioned his back. He hadn't fully settled into position when the first lash struck.

White-hot pain surged through him as he cried out, his body bending under the unbearable torture. Before he could fully absorb that excruciating pain, another lash followed. And another.

Emeriel screamed, overwhelmed, his back tearing under the thorns of the whip, blood trickling down.

After the third strike, he may have slipped into shock. The sounds around him faded, the impact of each lash jarring him. It was raw agony... as if his entire body had been submerged in boiling water.

When he regained some awareness of his surroundings, he lay alone on the ground. The slightest move sent waves of pain rippling across his back and throughout his body. Tears streamed down his face as he struggled to get up. Through his blurred vision, he managed to make his way back to the citadel.

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