This chapter contains graphic violence, readers' discretion is advised.
With those words, Yuraon moved the blade of his sword like a skillful butcher, cutting off one of Valon's hands.
The air was instantly filled with the sickening metallic smell of blood that was dripping heavily from the fresh large wound, marring the pristine white surface of the snow with its bizarre crimson ornaments. Valon's desperate and loud cries echoed around the cold castle walls, his pained groans and gasps for air resembled those of a trapped, wounded animal.
Reveling in the prince's continuous anguish, the young king seized his other wrist and looked back at Aideen, whose glowing dragon eyes were firmly fixed on Valon's suffering grimace.
"My Lady," Yuraon finally asked again, "What will be the punishment befitting the crime of emotional torture and physical abuse?"
