Under the vampire Lord's protection-Chapter 544: Show gratitude

Zarah did not forget to bow profoundly in front of the prince before tossing Arabella’s figure at his feet.

An action to which he scoffed, his expression nowhere near a mystery despite the young woman’s eyes laying as far away from his face as it could have.

"Here she is, your highn-"

"Leave, hag," he cut Zarah off at once.

"If such is his Highness’ wish,"

Immediately after those words, the sound of shoes ringing the marble flooring blared, culminating in the creaking then shutting of the door behind which the footsteps vanished.

The prince tugged upwards at her leash, but only teasingly, putting not enough force to yank her body into a different position.

That was before his foot started pressing down her shoulder, gradually grinding her bones while forcing them to meet the ground.

Every breath in her was focused on regulating her voice and tears because surely, screaming wasn’t the right answer.

"Submit to me, whore!" he hissed.

At those words, Arabella put her battered and scratched up knees against the floor, triggering waves of sizzling stings across her body that completely crippled her for a few seconds.

Cedric marched behind her figure only to stand there and stare as her forehead remained glued to the ground.

"Spread those legs further," he demanded. When she obeyed, he added, "At least he used you well," after a short moment of silence, his voice rose again. Only that time around, the words weren’t addressing her, "Come here, Margarette,"

The second pair of steps that resonated throughout the room were shy, full of hesitancy, but they were still real.

As it turned out, he wasn’t alone in there however, Margarette’s presence had been entirely eclipsed as though even breathing was a function she put on hold in order to blend with the backdrop.

When the sound finally stopped, the prince let them hear his repugnant voice anew, "I was told by your mistress that you were very hesitant to condemn our slave here, was she correct in her assessment or did she simply misunderstand you?"

"I... It is...," Margarette stuttered and stammered over her own words.

She should have told him that Zarah had misunderstood her reaction. That was the only right answer right then and there.

Any semblance of pity or clemency towards herself would have been considered nothing if only a level less than treason.

"I couldn’t...,"

Wrong answer!

"What couldn’t you do?" he barked, "Do you need an incentive? What could be a better incentive than the fact that she caused your own sister’s death? Or did you not care for your sister as much as you pretend to?" the hissing through gritted teeth made Arabella think that he uttered all of that right in Maragarette’s ear.

"I did! I cared for my sister!"

"Oh... I see," his tone shifted completely, sounding a lot calmer but pensive as if the man had just made the biggest discovery of the century, "Is it perhaps that you don’t blame her for what happened? Do you perhaps blame me?"

Wherever that conversation was going, it announced nothing bright for both young women in that room.

"No, your highness! I would never!" Margarette cried.

The thud that followed her response was very reminiscent of someone falling to their knees.

"No, of course you wouldn’t!" he said, "You better not for you know it was all this whore’s fault!" the sole of his shoe connected with Arabella’s rear, kicking at it lightly without ever removing his foot, "It was her fault that your sister had to work those long hours in her condition!"

He marched away from them only to near a specific table before picking something that lay on its surface. Something that wrenched a little gasp out of Margarette.

"Why the horror? It is just a whip. You’ve seen many before, have you not?"

"I... Have," her voice remained as shaky as the first syllable she uttered.

"Have you used one on someone before?"

Her breathing quickened, along with some shifting of fabric or something similar.

"Have you had one used on you then?" he asked.

"Yes," Margarette whispered.

"Well, you know what to do," he chuckled, "Simply toe the line and no whip shall crack on your back,"

What amazing advice! As if obeying every order guaranteed anyone safety...

No, not at his mercy. There was no assurance.

"In any case, tonight, you will be given the honor to flip the script and crack it on somebody else’s back for a change. How does that sound?" after a few seconds of silence, his tone contorted to a stiffer and harsher one, "You do not look pleased! Did you hear me wrong? I said you were going to use this whip on the whore that caused the death of your sister! Show me enthusiasm! Show me gratitude!"

"Yes, your highness! I am deeply thankful for the kindness you are showing me!" she practically shrieked.

Forehead against the floor, Arabella had no way of telling the happenings apart. The sound of action slicing the air rose, but as mere murmurs.

It wasn’t until Cedric spoke again that the young woman caught a hint of what was to come.

"Sit straight, slut!" he turned his attention onto her again.

Arabella tucked her feet beneath her ass and straightened her back while facing away from the two other figures in the room.

"Go on, Margarette," he said, "Show me just how grateful you are, and don’t you stop until you make this back of hers bleed,"

"Yes, your highness," there was a lot of sniffling that accompanied the words.

Cedric walked away. Null doubt to exit the area of danger considering Margarette wasn’t used to wielding a whip in her hands.

The first strike did not wrench that big of a scream out of Arabella. Neither did the second or the third.

It was when the blows started to overlap on each other, having run out of space to hit, that the urge to shriek became harder to contain.

Was the air hot or cold on the skin of her back? It had become the hardest to tell after so long at the instrument’s mercy.