Chapter 40
Forty
Shaye
One eye opens, then the other, finding Bastian in the crowd. He has stripped his armor, dropping each piece on the ground. His white sleeve undershirt and trousers are all he sports as he takes a heavy step forward, hard-set determination in his stormy gaze.
Drogon holds out a hand to the enforcer behind me and smiles at Bastian. It’s all teeth and fangs, simply unnerving. “You wish to trade places with her, mortal?”
“Yes,” Bastian takes another step forward. “Punish me instead.”
Whispers and jeers circulate. It’s clear no one has interrupted a ritual like this before, nor has anyone stood up to their king. But Bastian stands firm.
His eyes meet mine, apologetic and ashamed. But the hope that was dangling in front of me is violently ripped away.
“I think I’ll punish you both."
Drogon clutches what's left of my shirt in his grasp and tears my top off. I’m naked from the waist up.
Shock ricochets through me before humiliation and shame heat my skin.
I try to wiggle free from my bonds to no avail.
Boots behind me send a jolt of fear through me.
He’s going to have me whipped after all.
“No!” Bastian yells, fighting to get to me.
He punches and claws demons rushing to subdue him.
I see it in his eyes. He’s about to shift into his beast form.
But before he transitions, a guttural scream tears through him.
One of the demons has shoved a knife into Bastian’s side.
That one well-placed injury gives the surrounding demons enough time and opportunity to hold Bastian to the ground.
The creature sitting on Bastian’s back grabs his head and turns him to see the platform. He is going to force him to watch what Drogon inflicts on me.
My chest rises and falls in raspy, shallow breaths. There is no hiding my breasts from the mob. And I know my back will be in tatters once my punishment is through.
I'm grateful Nyx isn't awake to witness this.
Drogon shoves his fingers along the waistband of my trousers. There's a twinge of heat from his touch, but I hold steady. His chest presses against my back, and his mouth finds the crook of my neck. The Demon King drags his tongue along my skin. The spot immediately blisters.
As if the humiliation of my breasts being exposed wasn't enough, Drogon yanks my pants down to my ankles.
"Pretty indeed," he murmurs in my ear.
A tear slips down my cheek. My heart thunders against my ribcage. I can sense thousands of evil eyes crawling over every bit of my naked body.
Exposed. Violated. Humiliated. Degraded.
I keep waiting for the physical pain to be added, but instead, I endure Drogon's unwanted, torturous touch. Depending on how long his hand lingers determines the level of burn my skin suffers.
Drogon doesn't forgo one piece of my body. I wince from the sharp pain when he palms my breasts. The crowd laughs, and my body heats in shame.
The Demon King is not in a rush. He is going to make this last.
He drags his hands down my torso, scorching my waist, leaving burn marks everywhere he touches.
I once again try to wrench myself free from my chains. Drogon’s fingers tangle in my hair. He jerks my head back, pressing his lips to my cheek and whispers, “If you try to escape me again, I will drag your unconscious friend from his cage and have him whipped to death. Do you understand?”
A whimpered cry slips through my lips when he kisses my shoulder and leaves another welt.
His hands explore my body, no place off limits. But when he dips his hand between my thighs, I bite my lip to keep from attempting to flee. I won’t let Nyx die.
Drogon spends far too much time in my sensitive areas, leaving handprints burned in my flesh. I hiss from the pain but swallow the screams, unwilling to give him the satisfaction that he is in fact breaking me like he wanted.
Tears stream down my cheeks freely now. I would have preferred the whip than being fondled and groped, especially for an entire kingdom to watch and enjoy.
"Ah, yes," he presses his hardening length against my backside. "You and I will have a lot of fun together, my pet."
Bastian tries again to break free, but each time he moves, he garners another wound. The second one is a slice to his thigh.
My body is sizzling from Drogon’s heated touch.
Blisters and welts cover my skin, and the pain nears unbearable.
Just when I think I can’t take anymore, ready to beg for him to stop, my chain is suddenly unhooked, and I fall to the floor.
I slam against the deck hard enough to wrench a scream from me.
"Tonight,” Drogon addresses the crowd, his voice loud and boisterous, “we feast for our victory is neigh. The mortal realm will soon be ours!"
The crowd erupts in thunderous applause. They’ve gotten their fill of cruel entertainment but with the king’s final words, they disperse to prepare for their celebration.
Drogon kneels beside me. I cross my arms over my breasts, not like everyone in this realm hasn’t already had a good look.
He smiles, lust and malice in his eyes. The tip of his finger draws lazily across my stomach, zig zagging down to the sensitive area between my thighs.
I clench my legs together, my breathing fragmented.
“You are exquisite when you fear me.” He licks his lips and leans over me, hovering just above my face. “I told you I would break you,” he whispers and tears slip down my face and disappear into my hair.
He motions for his minions to, "Put her back in her cage. I will come for her when I am ready." With those last instructions, the Demon King turns and makes his way back to his castle.
Demons grab ahold of me, despite my feeble attempts to fight them off. My body is alit and bursting with pain. They drag me back to my cage naked, not batting eyes when members of the crowd cop a feel as I pass.
Unceremoniously, they toss me inside the small prison where Nyx is still knocked out. But he’s not the only one here. A bleeding Bastian is inside.
I curl into my body, shame heavy.
Bastian tears his shirt off and offers it to me. “Here,” he says softly, broken. “Take my shirt.”
I flinch when his hand extends to me. “Don't touch me!”
His eyes water. “Shaye, I'm so sorry.”
“Don’t talk to me!” I hiss, turning my back to him. I pull my knees tighter to my chest, tears falling like rain.
My heart is so heavy. My spirit broken.
Drogon stole my dignity, robbed me of my modesty. He set out to hurt me, and he did.
“Please,” Bastian drapes his shirt over my shoulders. “You don't have to forgive me. But please take my shirt.”
I want to swing on him, but my body aches from the burns. And my clothes are in tatters on the platform, nothing to be salvaged. Not like a demon would take pity on me and save me from my nakedness by handing me the scraps.
I reluctantly tug Bastian’s shirt around me, covering as much of my body as I can. Then I cry.