"Is this more than you bargained for yet?"
The bloodied man barely raises his head, arms pulled far out to either side of him as he is kept on his knees. A thin ripple of flesh as he grips the chains that lead to cuffs biting deep into his wrists. The whip whistles down on his flesh again and a ragged scream rips out of his throat. There is no public audience now, only him, the loremaster, and the keeper of the loremaster’s leash.
The shell’s chin is gripped by a black gloved hand and he is forced to meet his captor’s eyes and behind him the blurry green form of the king on his throne with his legs crossed casually is visible. He gasps for air, watery trails stemming from pain running clean lines through the sweat and grime on his face. A question is hummed, cruel and sharp- a repeat of a phrase dropped from fairer and sweet lips in a different prison cell.
Honesty does not prevail this time. In front of her? He will admit it. Perhaps alone with the loremaster he would admit it. But the other presence in the room puts a weight on his shoulder and he will never admit such a thing and give the m o n s t e r that satisfaction.
So he stares, eyes hazy and unfocused, silent. Crying.