Capítulo 26: The Dungeons

Warning: This chapter may contain disturbing descriptions of torture and violence that might be uncomfortable for certain readers. Please read at your own digression.

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The entire cell was dark, save for a single pit of fire burning in the corner. Its flames cast alien shadows against the wall, and the various instruments of torture gleamed dangerously. They were of all sorts and shapes, far beyond Daphne's wildest imaginations. Some looked like they could slice in half, and others felt like they could snap her neck.

The rough outline of a man hung off a wooden stake, a ghostly reflection of the man Daphne had previously seen.

Gleaming metal rods pinned his hands on wooden poles on either side of him, forcing his limp arms to remain permanently outstretched. Patches of crimson spotted his dirty body, and lashes covered his arms and chests, staining his white gown. Beneath his feet rested a bed of shining nails, so if he dared to drop his body, he would immediately be impaled by a thousand sharp points.

Every bit of his flesh was sagging as if the weight of his own body was too much for him to bear.

Despite his overall lifelessness, he squirmed in place.

At first, Daphne didn't see it. But when she had, she could only wish to undo the past.

Firey red ants crawled behind his thin tunic, their tiny but mighty incisors cutting into his flesh as they slowly trampled his wounds.

A group traveled from the floor to his arms and another was busy at work on his chest. Their long lines appeared to be a coursing red river, eroding the banks it flowed through.

Daphne stifled the impulse to throw up, images of Akira's mutilation surfacing in her mind. Was she also taken into a cell such as this one?

She cursed herself for falling for the Northern King's friendly act when he had inflicted such pain upon other people.

"Set him down!"

Hearing her voice, the assassin's eyes opened a small sliver.

"My Princess, are you sure that you don't want to draw an image on him?" The Northern King motioned for a bowl to be brought over. Within the fine china was a pool of honey, and he casually twirled a paintbrush between his fingers. "It can be anything you want. It can be a portrait of me if you wish."

"Let him down!" She repeated, striking the brush from the Northern King's grasp. The rigorous movement sent another pang of pain in her stomach, and she fell back into the chair, gasping for breath.

"His people did this to you, and you're taking pity on him?" The Northern King scoffed, taking a piece of hot iron into his hands. "Your pity will only inflict more pain on yourself."

"Now!" Forcing down the bitter bile from entering her mouth, Daphne commanded.

The Northern King stared down at her, shadows dancing across his stormy expression.

Finally relenting, he commanded for the guards to release the beaten man from the stake.

As they poured a bucket of water over him, steam immediately pooled in the already humid cell. The water was scalding, and the assassin's skin flushed a shade of lobster red as the ants died in the flood. Blisters immediately began to form at his neck, and Daphne wondered whether she had done more bad than good.

"Bring him a chair."

The moment his flesh hit the cold metal, he winced in pain as the entirety of his weight now rested on his body.

"My Princess, I see the beauty of your brains now... You were simply trying to find a way to inflict even more pain." He shook his head. "Perhaps I'll add this to my list of techniques."

She hated how he called torture a technique. She hated how he little he cared about a life. She hated how he treated this entire situation as a mere joke to scoff at.

"Give him a cushion."

The Northern King only glared before ordering for a small one to be fetched.

"Leave us now."

She stared at the Northern King unflinchingly, challenging his authority.

"What cannot be spoken in front of your husband, my princess?"

She feigned a cough, clutching to her chest as if it hurt. "Please, I need to ask him for the antidote, and he won't possibly reveal it when you're still in the room."

What's more, she hated the way the word "please" had easily flowed from her mouth, and it was almost like lies and deception had become the norm.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but seeing her notch her eyebrows in pretend pain, he turned for the cell's entrance.

"I'll give you a quarter's time."

Although the fire was still burning as brightly as before, as he and his group of soldiers left, the cell seemed to turn even colder.

"Are you well enough to talk?" Daphne's voice cracked, all of the confidence from earlier spent.

As much as she did not want to admit it, she was cold and scared. The suffocating walls around her felt like they would swallow her whole, and she could not begin to imagine how the past few days had been for the poor man in front of her.

His eyes glowed a pale orange, and blood began to seep from his cracked lips.

"Princess..." A voice called out from behind her, and she looked around to see that the Northern King had returned.

Clenching her fists, she readied herself to complain about his early return. Instead, he only handed her a cup of water before turning away with a scowl on his face. But nearly immediately, he took the cup back into his own hands and briskly walked toward the prisoner.

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