Being thrown to the wolves is a death sentence.
Adalia knows that all too well, since she witnessed her own father being slaughtered in that same unmerciful way.
Living life as a meek slave in a kingdom full of royals, Adalia has no rights and is tr...
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Adalia knew the whip well.
The feeling of its sharp bristles sinking into her soft skin with each lash. The way it rained down on her like a frigid storm, cold and unmerciful as it pelted her flesh.
It painted her skin in an array of serrated wounds, ribbons of flesh hung from her back as the under-layer of muscle was revealed to the eyes of humanity. She could feel her flesh cry its crimson tears out across the surface of her skin, spilling down her spine and dripping onto her thighs, dripping onto the ground.
She never hated the color red more.
The king thought she looked beautiful when she was clothed in the color scarlet, kissed in the mark of his whip and uttering prayers for mercy.
He was the artist and she was his artwork.
She shouted her agony to the clouds which seemed to weep their lamentation out onto the land. The clouds had visibly darkened, becoming swollen with tears that had yet to be shed.
The entire kingdom had gathered around to witness this spectacle - the torture of their kingdom's heir. To some, she was their savior, to others, she was their adversary. An adversary that prowled around like a lion, seeking out its next victim in the cover of darkness.
The kingdom had grown numb to Adalia's pain-filled cries and their hearts had hardened like stone. Years of heartache and pain had desensitized them as they watched the young woman who was barely an adult being tortured.
Adalia clung to the wooden post, feeling the splintery wood being embedded into her hands. Each lash made her push herself into the pole, scraping her forehead and arms. Mud caked her fingers and she was shivering violently.
The top of her dress had been stripped off, leaving her utterly exposed to the elements and prying eyes of sadists that took joy in her pain.
Mud covered most of what had been uncovered, and for a fleeting moment, Adalia found some sort of comfort in the mud, for it clothed her even when she was bare. But that was all quickly forgotten when another lash sunk into her skin like a knife.
Like a knife in the heart of the prince.
Adalia could no longer hold in her cries. Each lash caused her to cry out, her back was equivalent to raw meat, making it excruciating to bear. She tried to protect herself by turning to her side, but the whip simply curled around and bit into the flesh of her belly.
She gasped for air, eyes wide open and panicked. She struggled to breathe, each lash stole her breath away like a greedy thief in the night. Another hit came all too quickly, causing her to release a choked cry into the heavens - if there even was one.
She dug her hands into the mud, trying to cope with the pain that was throbbing throughout her entire body. Tears leaked from her eyes in cold rivers and she was sobbing shamelessly now. She had found in the past that she had never cried from pain, but this was much different.
