A fat tear runs down my cheek, but I don't bother to rub it away. The cry that was about to lunge out of my mouth is wrangled down with herculean effort, leaving my throat aching. I still let out a wince, the air seeping out from my clenched teeth. The empress does not just want to harm me, she wants to cripple me permanently.
In the hand I just extended, specifically my chubby little thumb, an unsightly view that would otherwise make my gorge rise awaits me. The needle I thought the empress was about to hand me is buried deep in the finger, the nail painfully separating flesh from fingernail as it delves deeper and deeper into my thumb.
It's not that I didn't expect the empress to get physical with me, I just uncreatively assumed I would get spanked or something. I had thought that my newly discovered royal identity would serve as a shield and save me from most forms of physical harm.
