Chapter 4: His shoe

I can’t scream. My mouth falls open in a half-gasp, but the pain is too excruciating for any sound to escape.

My body crumples onto the wooden floor with a sickening thud.

For a moment, everything goes black.

My back feels like it’s been split wide open. The searing pain is unbearable, wetness pooling around me as my blood seeps out. Every nerve feels severed, raw and exposed.

A shoe appears in my line of vision. His.

“You are a slave here. I am your master. Disrespect will not be tolerated.” His voice is low, a sinister calm that freezes the air around us. “In fact, don’t speak. Ever. If I hear another word from that mouth, I’ll cut out your tongue myself.”

The threat pierces through my haze of agony, and my eyes flutter closed.

A slave.

“Leave her in a cell for a week after administering ten more lashes,” he orders coldly. “No food. No water.”

“Yes, my King,” Yilu replies with a smirk.

The King plants his boot squarely on my bleeding back, driving it in. A choked gasp escapes me as agony rips through my body anew, and my vision blurs with stars. My ears are ringing in alarm.

“You’re lucky I had a good meal today,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear as he leans over me. “Or you’d have been next.”

I'm in almost too much pain to comment. I want to die. “Fuck.. you..” I manage to breathe out.

The boot presses harder, splitting the wound wider, sending fresh waves of pain shooting through me. I look at his other shoe and see mud staining the sole of it.

Fucking fantastic.

“One week. Bring her up after. Torture her all you like,” the King demands, his eyes on me.

He spits on me.

And the world around me goes pitch black.

--

For an entire week, I'm in a state of delusion. They whip me, spit on me, laugh at me, force poison down my throat. I’m reduced to licking stagnant puddles off the filthy concrete floor, the bitter tang of piss barely masked by the faint taste of rainwater. But my body is so desperate for it that I can't withstand it. The will to survive is carved into my bones.

My body is a battlefield of fire and ache, every nerve screaming for relief. Not a second goes by that I'm not in absolute hell.

I would've thought that my father would've come for me already. Surely, he must know where I am. He's a scientist.

By the end of the week, I’m a husk of myself, sprawled on the floor, staring blankly at the metal bars towering above me. These cells are made to hold dragons. Escape is a pipe dream.

A figure steps into view, blocking the dim light. Slowly, I move my head to the side, my eyes half-open.

At first, I think I’m hallucinating.

The man is pale, impossibly tall, with short, dark hair that contrasts sharply against his alabaster skin.

I lift my head slowly, a frown on my face. My greasy hair is matted to my head, but I don't care. I don't care about anything.

He slides a plate through the bars, the scrape of it on the concrete grating in my ears.

I blink at the slab of meat resting on it, revulsion curling in my stomach.

“I’m vegetarian,” I croak.

The sound of my own voice startles me. It’s raspy, brittle, and foreign after days of silence.

“Eat,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Or else?” I snap, lifting my head weakly to meet his gaze. His black clothes are different than the dragons, and his aura is completely off, as well.

This is no dragon.

“Or else I’ll force it down your throat,” he replies without hesitation. His eyes flicker over me, assessing.

“What are you?” I ask, my attention briefly falling back to the bloody meat. My stomach churns with disgust, but my desperation gnaws away at my resolve.

I can't resist food in my current state.

He holds out a glass of water for me.

I gasp.

I just manage to sit up on my elbows. I'm in a pool of my own blood, and I'm too weak to stand. Slowly, I crawl to him on my hands. With trembling fingers, I reach for the glass in his hand.

“A vampire,” he says flatly. The word lands like a thunderclap.

Vampires are also real?

My hand trembles as I reach for the glass of water he extends. It’s cool, the condensation damp against my fingers, and I gasp softly at the feel of it.

“I might bite you,” he adds, a flicker of amusement in his tone.

But when I look up, his fangs are out, sharp and gleaming. His eyes linger on the blood pooling behind me, hunger flashing across his features.

He’s not joking.

I take the glass from him. “A vampire bite is the least of my concerns.”

He tilts his head at me. “I guess that's true.”

The water is heavenly. It's clean, cold, and full with everything that I need. I have developed a newfound love for plain water.

“Why am I being fed? And given water?” I ask when I wipe a single drop of cold water from my chin.

“Your week of solitary is over,” the vampire informs me, “it's time for you to go to the King.”

My body stiffens.

“I’m not going to the King,” I say fiercely.

“You don’t have a choice, human,” he replies, dangling a key in front of me. With a grating sound, he opens my cell. I stay seated on the concrete floor, dumbfounded, until the vampire walks into the cell with a bucket in his arms.

“What are you-”

Freezing water crashes over me before I can finish.

A scream tears from my throat as the icy shock slams into me. My body seizes, my nerves firing on overdrive as the chill burrows deep into my bones.

“Calm down,” the vampire says, unfazed by my outburst.

I bare my teeth and snap my head up. I'm sprawled over the floor in my dirty underwear, soaking from head to toe. “Calm down?! You—”

“You needed it,” he interrupts, arching an eyebrow.

I lunge at him, ready to fight, but he catches my wrist in an iron grip, his fangs flashing dangerously. “Calm down,” he repeats.

I narrow my eyes. “Never tell a woman to calm down.”

He chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “We’re late. Move,” he says, tugging me along.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I exit the horrible cell. My blood stains the concrete floors, and scars run deep in my skin, scars that weren't here before I entered this torture room.

We walk through the dungeons, past other cells with other prisoners. They all lie on the floor, half-dead.

When we climb the stairs into the castle, I gasp. Comfortable warmth surrounds me the moment the door opens. Fires roar on either side of the hallway, and I nearly run to it to drown in the temperature. My hair leaks cold water droplets on my lower back as I walk, but it dries quickly as we walk further.

I walk forward, leaving behind the bloodstains, the scars, and the horrors of the cell. But each step toward the King feels like walking deeper into hell.