Margaret's hands were bound behind her, and a black cloth was tied over her eyes.
She was roughly shoved, not knowing how far she had walked before coming to a stop. The air was filled with a damp odor and a faint hint of blood.
Someone pushed her to the ground and ripped the cloth from her eyes. Margaret blinked her sore eyes and took in the surroundings.
It was an underground interrogation room separated by floor-to-ceiling glass. The overhead lamp swayed precariously, emitting a grating creak. Behind the glass, there was an iron chair, and a young man in military attire was locked in the chair. His usually neatly combed black hair was now disheveled, covering his smooth forehead.
He had a pair of intense and icy eyes, much like the black diamond around Margaret's neck.
Margaret subconsciously opened her mouth and called out, "Douglas..."
"Douglas Brandt." Another cynical male voice preemptively uttered the prisoner's last name, "Eastern Holy Land's first prince is really unlucky, being attacked and captured while patrolling the border with his fiancée."
Margaret turned her head, unable to clearly see the man behind her. Before she could, he grabbed her by the roots of her hair. A hard military boot pressed on her lower back, as if intending to crush her abdomen and squeeze her organs into pulp.
Under the man's malicious pull, Margaret had to lift her head, exposing her vulnerable swan-like neck.
"Look at your fiancée, how pitiful." He chuckled, breathing hot and humid air into Margaret's ear, intimate and mocking. "This is the rumored Flower of the Eastern Holy Land, praised for her beauty by all wandering poets, and every filthy and despicable man wants to taste her. Douglas, what do you think if I throw her into the military camp? Outside this interrogation room, it's all Tusso people. In the past three months, they haven't touched a woman and are so desperate that they can make love to their own scabbards."
Douglas, sitting in the iron chair, only raised his eyes at the words.
The first prince of the Eastern Holy Land was a cold and arrogant man. Even as a prisoner, he maintained a straight posture, his face expressionless. The bruise on the corner of his mouth only indicated the violence he had suffered before.
"What do you want?" he asked.
The man behind Margaret chuckled, forcefully lifting her chin and inserting a finger between her lips, stirring it around. This action was particularly brutal, almost tearing the corners of Margaret's mouth. She tried to avoid it, but the other party intensified, grabbing her restless tongue directly and simulating thrusting.
"Uh... let go..." Margaret spoke unclearly, her alabaster-like cheeks flushing with shame. Saliva uncontrollably overflowed, dripping onto her chest.
"I want the territory of Frostbite Mountain and Seagate City." The man who humiliated her casually said, "It's not much. If His Highness hands them over to me, I'll naturally let you return to your country safely."
Margaret's entire body tensed. She certainly knew that these areas were crucial border checkpoints, and if given away, the neighboring country, Ceragon, could advance and devour vast lands and people of the Eastern Holy Land. However, if Douglas didn't agree, she would fall into the most miserable situation. Humiliated, abused, and devoured with nothing left—
Then she heard Douglas's calm and indifferent words.
"Impossible. Dermat, you won't get anything from me."
Margaret's breath stopped. She felt the temperature of her limbs continuously dropping, and her abdomen, under heavy pressure, spasmed with pain. Laughter filled the interrogation room. Dermat, the man who had been tormenting Margaret's tongue, withdrew his fingers and no longer played with her tongue. Instead, he forcefully tore apart her garment.
The fabric covering her chest was thin and fragile. Once torn, the delicate and soft breast tissue was exposed to the chilly air, the rosy nipples trembling and looking pitiful.
Margaret let out a low cry, attempting to cover her exposed chest. However, her hands were still bound behind her back.
"Don't... don't do this..." Her voice trembled uncontrollably. In the interrogation room, there were only two people—her fiancé Douglas, locked to the chair, and Dermat, who was inflicting violence.
She couldn't see Dermat's face, only feeling the blade of the knife cutting her dress into tatters. Meanwhile, her fiancé behind the glass window maintained a gaze that was consistently calm and indifferent.
"Douglas, Douglas!" Margaret trembled all over. "Save..."
She managed only one syllable and couldn't form complete words anymore. Dermat behind her separated her legs, putting her in a kneeling position. The sharp and cold blade of the knife slid along the seam of her indecent clothing, gently flicking, and the pitiful few pieces of fabric vanished.
The intense light above swayed, illuminating the scene between Margaret's thighs. The tender and plump flower lips were slightly parted, the darker flesh inside shrinking as if greatly startled.
"Ah, so cute," Dermat insincerely praised, the knife handle sliding over her tense rear opening, parting the trembling pink lips and forcefully penetrating the entrance.
A tearing pain shot through the core of her legs. Margaret couldn't catch her breath, her teeth grinding: "Douglas..."
She didn't even know why she called her fiancé's name. It had no meaning. The person inside had abandoned her, watching her being insulted and desecrated.
"Tsk." Dermat cursed something vulgar. "She's still a virgin."
He withdrew the knife handle that had only been halfway inserted, undid his belt, and his thick and long member pulsated, slapping against Margaret's thighs.
At this moment, Douglas, seated on the iron chair, finally tightened the corners of his lips, remaining motionless as he watched the brutality outside the glass window. His fiancée had a pure and beautiful appearance, like a white rose. Her platinum-colored long curls were always meticulously arranged into a bun, and she wore a sky-blue silk gown. The neckline and collarbone, sculpted like marble, adorned with a black diamond bordered in silver.
Because the black diamond matched his eye color.
Now, her hair was torn into disarray, her chest and breasts pitifully pressed against the ground, her posture resembling the cheapest of prostitutes. The intricate frilled skirt was piled on her slender waist, and Dermat held her white, smooth thighs, unable to close them completely.
Under the stark white light, he could clearly see the cruel excitement on the face of the enemy kingdom's heir. Dermat was the Crown Prince of the Ceragon Empire, possessing handsome features and golden hair. Renowned for his outstanding martial prowess, he was hailed as the empire's lion.
Now, this lion was about to violate his fiancée.
With his thick, vein-covered, terrifying member, inch by inch, Dermat thrust into Margaret's untouched entrance.