The Lycan King's Defiant Surrogate

Quickly,

one of the guards procures a whip and places it into Caleb's outstretched hand.

"M-my King." Veronica says quickly, terror making her voice wobble. "I'm confused. If you intend to honor me by whipping this slave, then why remove me as your favorite...?

Caleb narrows his eyes at Veronica. His grip tightens on the whip

Veronica continues to look up at him from where she's bowing. Does she not see that she is the one in danger here? Has she been favored for so long that she cannot contemplate being treated as harshly as how she treats others? Even as Caleb raises the whip, she looks on.

In a flash, he brings the whip down, cutting through her robes and into the skin of her back. Blood spills out, soaking through the tattered fabric.

She screams, curling into herself. "My King, w-why!!"

Caleb brings the whip down a second time, no less fiercely, tearing into her flesh for a second time.

She whimpers and cries, wailing loudly.

Caleb jurns his nose up in disgust. Turning, he signals to one of his guard, who steps forward. Caleb hands him the whip.

Fifty lashes for each, Caleb says.

My stomach drops down to the ground. I am to be punished as well?

"Slave," Caleb calls, motioned for me to move closer.

I can't run. There are too many people around, too many guards with gun barrels tilted in my direction. If I attempt to escape, I could end up worse than punished - 1 might be killed.

Knowing I have no choice, I walk forward, taking place beside Veronica. I don't kneel though. I keep standing, my head raised high. I've done nothing wrong. I won't cower for it.

Caleb looks at me strangely. Tristan quickly steps forward, "Move behind the King, slave."

"Oh..." I hurry forward, moving past Caleb and into his shadow.

Turning, I can see what he sees now: Veronica, wailing, her make up streaking down her checks. Behind her, guards are removing the weapons and armor from the young guard who assisted Veronica in bringing me here. When he is without weapons, they strip off his shirt and force him to his knees beside Veronica.

The young guard says nothing. He simply grits his teeth and awaits his punishment.

With those to be punished in the proper positions, the guard with the whip begins bringing it down. Another guard beside him starts to count, "One. Two. Three

Blood spills down onto the sand. Veronica screams herself hoarse. The young guard tries not to make a sound, but soon even he is grunting and moaning in pain.

The onlookers continue to watch the gruesome scene. Some seem disturbed, frowning or wincing with each strike. Most seem amused, however, with bloodthirsty grins. The Capital is a terrible place, full of cruel people.

I really want to go home.Belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

Caleb watches for only five strikes more, then he turns and begins to head back inside. Tristan gives me a telling look, so I quickly fall into step behind Caleb. Tristan follows us both.

Inside, even with the door closed behind us, I can still hear the cuck of the whip and the screaming. Other slaves we pass keep their heads down, pretending not to hear. Their pale faces give them away.

When we return to the hall, Caleb glances over me. I'm topless, covering my breasts with my arms, and there's blood dripping down the side of my face.

Caleb looks at Tristan. "Have someone clean this up."

By this, I gather, he means me.

"At once." Tristan gestures for me to follow him, so I do. We don go far, just back out into the hall and into another room a few doors down. It's a small powder room with a large mirror and a sink, with a toilet separated from the rest of the room by a door. Before the mirror, sits a soft padded stool.

"Stay," Tristan says, and leaves me there.

Relieved to be alone, I plop down on the stool and breathe. I can still hear the screaming. I think I'll hear it even after it stops

definitely it will haunt my nightmares tonight.

A moment later, another slave enters the chamber. Her garb is similar to mine, but with an additional halter top under her silken tank top.

Perhaps she is favored to earn more clothing. Or maybe it's the opposite. The King might prefer not to see her flesh. Regardless, she brings me a silken top exactly like the one that was destroyed. As I pull it on, she stops the sink and pours water into the basin. When it's half-filled, she dips a washcloth in it, and then begins cleaning my head wound.

She does not speak me. Nor do I speak to her.

When she's finished, she leaves. Through the open door, Tristan steps through. "It's time to return."

We reunite with Caleb in the hall. Now, he sits on the throne, but he is no longer alone. There's a long line of people wishing to speak to him. Some bear gifts, hoping to curry his favor. Others discuss problems: rats infested their crops, leaving them without food for the winter. Another talks about overcrowding in their town's jail.

Caleb listens and provides solutions to every problem.

Some of his solutions are kind: he will share his personal reserves with the hungry farmers.

Some are significantly less so: kill half the prisoners, and there will be room in the jails.

I watch, helpless and afraid, from the side of the room, standing beside Tristan.

The day slowly passes, and Caleb starts to grow visibly tired, rubbing at his temples.

At this. Tristan whispers to me, "King Caleb suffers from insomnia and paranoia due to not yet having found his mate." I've heard of this. The older a werewolf gets, the more apt the condition becomes. Eventually, it will drive the werewolf to complete madness. His headaches are the result of his lack of sleep," Tristan says.

As Caleb pulls out his phone, one hand scrolling while the other rubs his head, an idea forms

in

my

mind.

001, NUT

If I can get close enough. Maybe I can use that phone to contact Samuel and warn him about the bear attack. The King's headaches might just give me the opportunity I would need. "Has he ever been given a scalp massage before?" I ask.

Tristan glances at me sideways. "The King allows no massages. As you know, the werewolf's neck is a vulnerable spot, even for someone as powerful as the Lycan King" standing, he turns, grips the side

Quickly, Caleb's condition worsens. He blatantly ignores the pleas of the last of the visitors. of his throne, and pushes it so hard, if flies off the platform and collides with the stone ground. Tristan immediately steps forward. "I'm afraid the King is now occupied," he tells the visitors as he ushers them to the door. "You will have to return tomorrow to speak with him."

The visitors, paled by the display of rage, are quick to flee from the room. When they are gone, Tristan closes the door, leaving him, me, and Caleb alone.

Caleb's shoulders heave, he growls with each breath.

Gathering my courage, I walk forward, moving closer to him. "My King. If you would allow me, I may be able to help ease. your pain...

Caleb sharply faces me. His eyes are wild at first, but regain focus as he looks at me. "You?"

"My sister has headaches