Chapter 13 Prince
PRINCE
Having had my fun playing with Royce’s fragile mind, it’s now time to focus on the queen cunt, Agatha. That dirty, dumb bitch is going to talk today and tell us a story for the ages. A story which will haunt my pet ever so perfectly. Resentment will build further, breaking her while under my thumb.
Speaking of my pet, I glance over to her and roll my eyes.
Royce is currently collapsed, wallowing in a wave of grief, now that we are back inside.
Snot hangs off her nose, saliva webs across her open lips, and tears sneak out from behind her closed eyes.
Smirking, I enjoy watching Royce in her most fragile state of mind.
Licking my sharp teeth, I watch in amusement, wondering when she will realize the hold I had over her has been released.
And as disappointed as I am that she was able to get out of the cold cellar under the stairs, it all ended up working out.
Walking over to Royce, I kick her pathetic, frail body, and she whimpers in distress.
Her body is just as weak as her mind.
Easily manipulated, moldable by my hands, and a believer when I tell her just how worthless she is. All her self-loathing she thinks I know nothing about, but behind closed doors it is all I envision when stroking my giant cock. To her name.
Leaning over, my fingers intertwine with the base of her scalp, gripping her two-toned locks tightly.
“Get the fuck up,” I spit while dragging her up, yanking her hair forcefully enough that I can feel the roots pulling out of her scalp where they are deeply embedded.
Royce’s dainty hands reach up and wrap around my fist. “No, no. It hurts. Stop.”
Her pleas fall on deaf ears.
Dark makeup streams down her rosy cheeks. And as I yank her across the floor, the shirt I put her in rolls up, exposing her bare bottom and pussy. Her feet kick in another attempt to resist my power, but my control is the only thing keeping her grounded.
Swollen eyes look up at me, but pity will not be given, nor will remorse be felt.
Reaching Agatha, I toss Royce beneath her floating feet, watching as her head bounces off the wall.
Followed by a loud wallow. With no patience for her, I step forward and place my black leather dress shoe on top of her face, applying pressure while looking disapprovingly down at her.
“No tears, or screams, will make this stop.” I pause, smirking down at her while applying more pressure, squeezing her face tighter between my foot and the floor.
Her head has to be killing her, I think, while cackling into the room.
“In fact, it’s only going to make all this more interesting. ”
Stepping on her head harder, I apply more pressure with glee before pushing off of her.
The imprint of my custom leather shoes shines in the bright red against her pale skin.
I step back, and I admire the spectacle before me.
Holding my arms out, my head falls back as I bask in the glory which I have single-handedly created.
Perhaps pride is flooding my ego. It’s not an arrogant ego; it’s an earned and deserved one. Because just fucking look at what I am capable of.
It’s masterful.
My name may be Prince, but I am a fucking king.
“Agatha, slippery and slimy. Your oath to protect those who you take into your care has been broken time and time again,” I taunt, tsking her. And having the knife tease her eyeball, it circles slowly in small, intentional movements.
My body relaxes. The fun is only just beginning.
I unbutton my white dress shirt further before sitting back down in my chair with my legs propped up, crossed at the ankles. My index finger points at her, and my voice commands, “Talk!”
Agatha holds back, her face expressing that she has no fucks to give.
“You will stay up there, hanging, as you starve to death, and as your mouth becomes parched, my piss will be the only thing to quench it.” Pounding my fist down on the armrest, I demand respect and force her mouth to move whilst I shout out of frustration, “SPEAK, YOU FUCKING BITCH, SPEAK! YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO ME THAT NIGHT!” My breath is heavy as I struggle to contain my composure.
Admit it.
With dazed eyes, Agatha’s wrinkled, skinny lips move, and her vocal cords produce her nails-to-a-chalkboard voice.
“A suppression spell. It was a suppression spell, dammit.” The words are spat out like venom, and my gaze stills on Royce to observe her reaction.
And from here on out, Agatha can only speak the truth, so help her Satan.
My sweet foster sister had better be listening.
No movements or hitches in breath; instead, she lies still, while Agatha continues. “The same spell I cast on all your foster siblings. None of you are worthy of your gifts.”
And who made you judge and jury? I want to inquire while knowing all too well how hypocritical the question is, considering my history; therefore, I resist the temptation.
“That ungrateful cunt, laying pathetically on the floor, battered and wallowing in self-pity, snuck into your room that night. I wasn’t done. She interrupted us just as she did when she killed her mothers. She can never keep her nose out of other people’s business.”
Raising a brow, I am intrigued, so I encourage her to continue.
Go on.
“I had one spell left to cast as your body levitated and your light seeped out. With the door opening, it broke my concentration. My eyes made contact with hers, causing your body to drop to your bed, and like a coward, she fled, leaving nothing but despair and disappointment in her path.”
Squinting my eyes, I search my memory, attempting to force myself to remember, as Agatha narrates our stroll down memory lane.
“Au casha, brute casha. Don heir see kata, brame heir se more,” Agatha’s words hushed out,
hissed and spoken with intention.
Enough games. Explain!
“The last step in suppressing your thoughts. To remove your ability to remanence. You would flourish at the memory of your horrific and heinous acts. I was protecting the world from your kind and hers. You are not worthy to live among us. I would have killed you both if the counsel allowed one to get away with it.”
Royce’s hands tremble against the hard floor. And her voice is a barely audible whisper. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I fucking do, and you should be grateful I even took you in. I could have left you for death. Rotting in that filth you visit when you don’t think I’m watching. Everything he has done to you has been deserved.”
Rubbing my palms together, the plot thickens, and excitement slithers through me as I am simply delighted.
“You killed two of the highest-ranking witches in their coven, at the university, and maybe the world. You deserve nothing but pain. A long, drawn-out suffering from my hand to your mind. Happiness was never going to be on the menu for you.” Agatha is on a roll, but perhaps she’s forgotten who I am and what Royce is to me.
I bring her tears. Ignite fear and carve self-hate into her arms.
Interjecting before Agatha attempts to steal my show, I spit, “But the spell was broken, and I reminisced often and held great resentment toward you, old lady. Because I always knew you had something to do with it. With our abilities ceasing to exist as they once did.” Rising to my feet, I clasp my hands together and rejoice.
“And thanks to the powers that be, I am fucking free.”
Agatha scoffs, disgusted. “The white witch who mourns in the graveyard. Her fit has caused havoc upon us.”
The white witch, who is draped from head to toe in white garments and pure white hair, is someone you can go to for aid, along with another witch, who dresses in all black, but they are too unpredictable to be trusted, in my opinion, and often have a high price requested in return for such assistance.
Because several times over the long, aching years under the roof of Agatha’s manor, I would toy with the idea of going to them to help me get back what I rightfully was born with, something that was unrightfully taken.
But I resisted because I knew the price would be unimaginable.
Once they knew what I desired, they would hold it against me and over me until I paid up.
The taunting and teasing would cause the temptation to run rampant, but I remain thankful that I always resisted. And now all those who tormented me while passing the manor as I played outside as a boy will get what they fucking deserve. Our time has come, and it’s too late to run.
A dry cough from Royce brings back my attention to the present, her words softly spoken with purpose. “It’s why your eyes shine bright.”
Nodding, I agree.
The curse has been removed, and now I thrive.
Swiftly, I saunter back to the broken girl lying hopelessly on the ground. Kneeling back down, my fingers adjust Royce’s hair, sweeping it off her face, as I whisper wickedly into her ear, “And when this bitch dies, so does your suppression spell.”
Her eyes open wide, and she is suddenly very alert.
The words I’ve just spoken could be a lie. I have no proof of them being facts. But hope has returned, and if it fails once Agatha falls, Royce’s sorrow will belong to me.
Watch this.
I rise. Stepping back, I slip both hands into my trouser pockets.
Smiling sinfully, I begin.
“Royce! Stand the fuck up.” I kick her side, encouraging her to obey. The tip of my shoe connects with her ribs. The force from the impact forces her body to slide back, and I hear her ribs crack, much to my delight.
She winces, and my cock hardens once more. Tapping my head, I encourage him to calm down. Soon, he will get to play too.
To my dismay, Royce doesn’t rise.
Sweeping my own hair back off my forehead, I force her to join me in witnessing the great fall of Agatha within her manor.