Page 80 of The Princess and Her Grand King

This youngling, barely one hundred and eighty years old, was his third.

Sinai could imagine the unbearable pain they must have endured, but it didn’t move her enough to intervene.

Not that she could, Zaiper would eat her for breakfast if she tried. In some ways, she actually found this show… entertaining.

Razarr, on the other hand, looked sick to his stomach, as always.

For someone who wouldn’t bat an eyelash at killing, he turned pale whenever his master was ‘at it’ again. He’d excused himself a few times already, slipping out without waiting to be dismissed.

"Razarr, bring her back to the bed," Zaiper ordered, impatient. "I’m ready for another round."

His head soldier hesitated. "She’s nearly passed out, Your Majesty."

"Doesn’t matter. She’s in heat." Zaiper waved a dismissive hand. "Heat doesn’t sleep. Now bring her to me."

Razarr lowered his gaze, obeying, as he pulled the barely conscious girl back to the bed.

“No, n-no…please,” the girl cried weakly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It hurts really b-b-bad.”

Zaiper positioned behind her, proceeding to bury himself deep.

The girl screamed in a distorted, agonized voice, clawing at the bedding.

The grand lord parted her legs even further, slamming into her over and over.

The girl’s fingers dug so fiercely into the sheets, she splintered a nail, leaving streaks of blood across the fabric.

Sinai winced.Poor girl.

Surveying her own nails, she frowned. “I really need to visit the beauty house. This chipped tinctures won't do.”

Razarr excused himself once more, his footsteps echoing as he left the room.

Walking to the vanity, her silken robe trailing behind her, Sinai retrieved a small knife from the drawer. She sat down on the armrest and began scrapping away the polish, the girl’s anguished cries filling the silence.

"You really are an animal, dearest Zaiper," Sinai mumbled, glancing at him.

The grand lord smiled. "We’re all animals, lovely Sinai." Thrust, thrust, thrust. "Besides, beyond the heir, an irritated male needs to work off a little steam every now and then."

"Frustrated about my Daemon’s return?"

Zaiper’s expression darkened. "I don’t know why he refuses to stay dead." His thrusts became sharper, angrier. "Twice now, he’s wrestled with the impossible and won. Who walks through the valleys of death and comes out alive?”

"Perhaps a righteous male," Sinai teased, her lips quirking.

Zaiper shot her a glare. "You’re not funny."

"Apologies, Your Highness," she replied smoothly, arching a brow. "It was only a joke."

"As I said, there’s"—thrust—"nothing"—aggressive thrust—"funny"—thrust—"about it," he punctuated with more brutal thrusts.

The girl screamed, then passed out beneath him.

"Finally, some peace and quiet," he grunted, leaning back to survey her unconscious form with a look of annoyance before thrusting again. "Every time things start going my way, something switches, and I’m back at square one. It’s infuriating."

Pausing, Sinai glared at her nails. "It’s all Emeriel’s fault," she said resentfully. "That little human is a thorn in the flesh. She even saved my Daemon from your assassin, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," Zaiper sneered, venomously.

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