Chapter 71: Becoming a toy
A few hours after the horrifying sight of the massacre, Mordred was silently led back to his individual cell. The door closed heavily behind him, leaving the sinister metallic creak of rusty hinges ringing in his ears. He sat slowly on the cold, hard bed, staring into the emptiness, the atrocious images still fresh in his mind.
The hours stretched on slowly, each minute weighing heavily on his shoulders, when suddenly the door to his cell opened once more. Mordred looked up sharply, his dark eyes shining with suspicion and anger that was hard to contain.
The princess’s steward, as impeccable as ever, calmly entered. His cold gaze fell on Mordred, and with a precise, authoritative nod, he ordered:
- Stand up. The princess awaits you at the Palace of the Burning Fangs. You must come immediately.
Mordred frowned, surprised and irritated by this new, unexpected order. Yet, aware of his helplessness, he rose slowly and followed the steward in silence, without asking any questions. Once outside, he was stunned to find a luxurious carriage waiting for them, pulled by two huge Wyverns with powerful, scaly wings.
Mordred recoiled instinctively at these impressive beasts, which waved nervously, their yellow eyes watching him predatorily. The steward sighed, clearly annoyed:
- Hop in, human. They’re not going to eat you... well, not yet," he added with a cold smile.
Mordred climbed silently into the carriage, settling himself carefully on the black leather seat, carefully avoiding the contemptuous gaze of the steward who took his place opposite him. As soon as they were settled, the Wyverns let out a loud cry and spread their broad wings, lifting the carriage into the air with disconcerting ease.
Mordred felt his stomach clench under the effect of the rapid ascent, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to show the slightest weakness in front of his interlocutor. As the dark, rugged landscape passed beneath them, the steward finally broke the heavy silence:
- Listen to me carefully, human. Tonight, at the Palace of the Burning Fangs, you will be officially presented as the Princess’s personal plaything. You must be impeccable. Your current attire is shabby, your hygiene deplorable, and your hairstyle worthy of a stray dog. It’s not at all befitting a property of the princess.
Mordred clenched his fists, anger flaring abruptly in his eyes: