The men moved some heavy sounding items in the room, preparing the setting for an ordeal. Princess Kyra got increasingly squirmy. These mean men could really, I mean really, touch my body, my hair, my face. She shivered. Her only escape would be if she told them her prime position in society. Certainly they would apologize and bring her back, to avoid the king's wrath, let alone the ferocity of the queen.
She heard the muffled shriek of one of the girls, either Gwen or Marie, followed by rattling of chains. The girl was moved somewhere else, accompanied by further rattling, metal banging on metal and occasional struggling. The cuffed princess started to panic. She had never witnessed any treatment in the torture chamber of the castle. When they happened, some music instruments were always played in the proximity of the royal family to drown the cries of despair. Kyra's heart missed a few beats when she felt a firm hand grab her arm and raise her into a standing position. Her blindfold was ripped off. Eyes went wide in shock. In front of her, cuffed by wrists and ankles, arms and legs dangling in the air, only the butt resting on a stool, only wearing dirty rags covering breasts and groins, was...
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