Declan, who’d always been ‘the pretty boy’ as the guards liked to call him. They
liked to pick on him, but Lucien had always shielded and protected him. No matter
what he had to do to save him.
Lucien had a lot of weaknesses in captivity because he cared about all his people,
but Declan was his greatest weakness.
Coza was furious; he whipped Declan instead.
Declan’s hoarse shouts filled the air with each stroke of the whip, but he never
moved from Lucien’s back.
Lucien had tried to protect Declan, but he couldn’t move his body. Lucien tried to
protect Declan just as much as Declan tried to protect him.
Declan was no slave; he couldn’t take intense torture. Lucien usually protected
him, but he could not that day. They whipped him badly. Declan was nearly
unconscious when they announced King Cone’s arrival.
Lucien was nearly unconscious, but he heard Cone asking what was happening.
When Coza told him, he’d laughed at ‘Declan’s stupidity’. Then he’d ordered Coza to
whip Declan some more and to rape him.
“Let’s see how the tough prince takes it,” he’d added, laughing maniacally.
That was the last straw for Lucien. His mind was shouting the words ‘NOOO!!’
but he could only gurgle. His body wouldn’t move from the ground, no matter how he
tried.
Coza, who swung both ways, was all too happy with the command. It gave him
greater pleasure because he knew it was a great way to hurt Lucien-to mess with
Lucien. Hurting Declan.
Lucien remembered pleading with Cone for the first time in years. He begged
Cone. It was a mistake because it only gave Cone malicious joy.
“Why don’t you watch?” He leaned closer to his ears and whispered, “Hear his
screams and know that he’s being tortured right in front of you, and you can do
nothing to stop it.”
And his words had been right.
Lucien had laid on the ground, his eyes watching it happen, but he could do
nothing to stop it. It had torn him apart.
It was the first time he could not protect Declan. And that was the day they took
the boy from him. The day they bathed in his blood.
Declan’s howls of pain were ones he never forgot. Not only did Coza rape his
body, but the bloody monster also used his knife to shred his already-bloody back
open even more.
Coza had used his knife to carve Declan’s back to see how much blood could
follow the trail of his knife.
Lucien shot up from the bed, his breathing erratic. Sweat poured from his body.
The memory had his black heart so tight, he gripped his chest with his hand just to
stop the pain. It didn’t work. It was all fresh in his mind, like it had happened
yesterday-like it had happened earlier in the day in his very courtroom.
All the anguish he felt with each howl Declan let out as the pain overcame him
came back to the front of Lucien’s mind, threatening to suffocate him. All the pain he
felt as he watched the life being sucked out of Declan wrapped its invisible hand
around his neck like the collar he had worn for ten years and choked him, cutting off
his breath.
It was too much. It was always too much.
Lucien closed his eyes, and he remembered how they’d taken Declan’s lifeless
body away afterward, and they’d taken a crying Vetta too. Vetta returned three days
later. Declan never came back.
Lucien closed his eyes against the pain, but there was no escaping grief of that
magnitude. Six years hadn’t wiped that pain away.
But the events of that day wiped away the years. It left the pain so raw that it
clawed at his mind.
He hurt. And rage filled him, too. Coza was the first he’d killed when he had the
chance, but Declan was still gone.
It hurt, especially the events of his death-the shouts, the pain, the struggle… the
fact that he died because of him.
The door handle clicked, and his door opened. Lucien’s hand was on his forehead,
and he stared at the door from behind his hand.
Danika stood there, her eyes swollen; her face was wet with tears. There was fear
in her eyes, but there was also pain. The same pain that mirrored in his eyes.
She came to him.
Lucien knew almost immediately why she had the courage to come to his room.
She was obviously breaking apart. She wanted to use one pain to substitute for
another.
It was called trying to escape-survive-by feeling ‘a different kind of pain.’
He knew this because that was him.
She closed the door behind her and stood against it, her breathing erratic, her eyes
swollen.
Silence filled the air. He could only hear the erratic gasping of two people who
breathed the pain from a horror that bruised the soul.
“What are you doing here, Danika?” he asked after some time.
Her legs trembled as she shook her head. She didn’t know how to say it, how to
talk about it. She didn’t know what she wanted, but her body knew what it wanted.
Shaky hands rose and went to her clothes, and she took them off. One layer after
another, she peeled off her clothing until she exposed her skin.
Danika rose to her full height and stared at him. He said nothing, but his eyes held
hers-eyes that mirrored the same pain as hers.
Then she lowered herself to her knees. “Master…” she called tearfully.
He rose from the bed and took measured steps towards her. He stopped without
touching her. His eyes watched her carefully, taking in her visual aspect. The silence
was tense.
“Why are you messing with my head, Danika?” he groaned at last, his voice hard.