Margaret gradually cried out.
She shouldn't have cried because tears symbolized weakness, a plea for mercy and helpless cries. But, in truth, no one cared whether she cried or not. Even if the physiological tears covered her face, her throat was sore, and her head felt swollen and chaotic, her disheveled appearance did nothing to diminish Dermat's interest.
He even started to be more brutal in his thrusts, sometimes deep, sometimes shallow, deliberately slamming into her violently when she cried out, shattering her voice into gasping moans.
This violation probably lasted for an hour. In the long time, Dermat occasionally leaned down, biting Margaret's small, swollen nipples with his teeth, grinding them repeatedly. Occasionally, he nibbled on her blushing ears and neck, like a true beast mating with a female.
The military uniform with stiff fabric had no warmth, and the hard golden buttons rubbed against the soft cherry-red nipples, stimulating Margaret to arch her waist continuously.
Her violated flower lips were pitifully exposed, with soft inner lips casually spread open. Cloudy fluids mixed with some transparent liquid overflowed sticky and messy. Some dripped onto the floor, some stained Dermat's clothes and waist.
He remained dressed neatly, only undoing one or two buttons at the collar, and his lower body wasn't exposed much. Meanwhile, Margaret's torn skirt had long been thrown somewhere in a corner.
It's unclear how much time passed, but Dermat finally increased the pace, making Margaret cry out in sorrow. The bulging organ, with twisted veins, bounced a few times, injecting thick semen deep into the warm passage.
"Ha..."
Dermat pressed against Margaret, his chin resting on her shoulder, smiling satisfied at the prisoner inside.
He withdrew his organ, and the white liquid flowed out. Margaret, without support, slid to the ground instantly. Her muddy and violated passage kept contracting, tainted with semen.
"Well done, the Flower of Eastern Holy Land." Dermat adjusted his pants, smoothed his wet hair back, revealing his forehead and well-defined eyebrows. He lazily looked at Douglas, not sparing any words to continue teasing, "I've tasted the experience for you. Now, perhaps it's time to let her walk around naked."
Margaret's pupils dilated and then contracted. She quietly curled up on the ground, biting her cheek.
In the suffocating silence, Douglas spoke.
"You don't need to provoke me," he said emotionlessly. "Margaret is the daughter of Duke Carter, the future queen. If you dare treat her like this, today's events won't be a secret anymore, Dermat. Are you ready to declare war on the entire Eastern Holy Land?"
Dermat laughed, "I thought I already declared war?"
"You're just venting," Douglas's gaze passed indifferently over Margaret's curled-up body. "You failed in negotiations with me. If you must take something away, so this raid doesn't leave empty-handed, as you wish, I will remember this day and repay you doubly in the future."
Dermat shrugged, maliciously and arrogantly smiling, "It's up to you. While I don't have any women around, the palace is full of whores. They would be happy to compensate you."
He intentionally twisted Douglas's words.
Douglas remained silent, his expression as calm as a marble sculpture.
"Alright, you have fifteen minutes to get ready. Today's events will indeed remain a secret, provided your little wife doesn't talk too much," Dermat pulled out a shiny little object from his pocket, bent down, grabbed one of Margaret's legs, and quickly inserted it into her moist passage. He lightly patted her wet face, "Miss Margaret, you can go rescue your fiancé now."
Margaret, with misty eyes, watched the satisfied beast leave the room.
She struggled several times before managing to stand up, moving her trembling legs to push the glass door of the interrogation room, which was set in the corner. It wasn't locked at all, and it swung open with a push.
The iron chair that imprisoned the captive was placed in the center of the open space. Despite the short distance of five or six steps, Margaret walked with pain and discomfort. She recalled a childhood fairy tale about mermaids, where the unloved little princess endured the pain of a knife's cut to approach her beloved. At that time, she had cried in the arms of a maid, saying how pitiful the mermaid was, unable to obtain the love of the prince.
Now she was not much better than a mermaid.
Margaret walked up to Douglas, and with a soft foot, she knelt down in front of him. Her knees hit the ground with a thud, causing a sharp pain.
"I... I'll help you undo it..."
Douglas's hands were both locked with iron shackles on the armrests of the chair. Margaret fumbled for a while but could only find two keyholes, and she didn't have the keys. In the process, her swollen and broken nipples brushed against the man's legs.
A fleeting sensation of warmth and softness.
Douglas gripped the armrests tightly, his nails turning pale. He looked at the naked woman kneeling in front of him, and a familiar scent permeated the air.
— It was the scent of Dermat's semen.
His archenemy, the madman heralded as the Lion of the Ceragon Empire by the people, had triumphantly declared victory by injecting his filthy semen into Margaret's body.
Margaret noticed his reaction. Despite the chaos in her mind and the pain throughout her body, she glimpsed the pale nails of Douglas.
Her thoughts stalled for a moment, and then she realized what Dermat had inserted into her body just now.
Margaret's hands trembled. She reached for her flower bud, and with two fingers, she fumbled to find the wet and sticky entrance, gritting her teeth as she slowly inserted them. The object Dermat had pushed inside was deep, forcing her to spread her legs wider to allow her fingers to continue probing.
With her movements, the remnants of semen in the passage flowed out, quickly forming a small puddle on the ground.
When Margaret clamped onto the small, hard key, her forehead was already oozing new sweat. The embarrassing heat enveloped her face, and the blood vessels in her neck throbbed.
As she took out the key, which was only a finger joint long with a dark silver metallic surface tainted by viscous fluids, Margaret didn't want to dwell on what kind of substance it might be.
She tightly held the slippery key and unlocked Douglas. The first lock went smoothly, but when she inserted the key into the right lock, her pinkie accidentally touched his cold hand.
Once again, unfamiliar words surfaced in the void.
[Douglas is the first prince of Eastern Holy Land, possessing exceptional governance skills. He is naturally cold, emotionally deprived, and suffers from severe cleanliness issues.]
[Before meeting Charlotte he faithfully fulfilled his duties and did not give up on his chaste fiancée. However, after meeting Charlotte and experiencing numerous beautiful encounters, he finally realized that marriage did not necessarily equate to love.]
"What's wrong?" Douglas's voice sounded.
Margaret snapped back to reality, stared at his handsome face for a few seconds, then lowered her eyes without saying a word. With stiff fingers, she pressed the key and turned it forcefully, unlocking the iron shackles.
Douglas rubbed his bruised wrists and stood up. He looked at Margaret, who was still kneeling on the ground, and his brow subtly furrowed. He then unbuttoned his coat and draped it over her naked shoulders.
It wasn't an act of care but merely a gesture of politeness.
Margaret, holding onto the collar, managed to stand with a wince. Douglas, tall and upright, covered her legs with his clothing, concealing the reddened thighs.
The two walked out, one after the other, into the narrow and dark corridor. Margaret, lacking any other support, extended her fingers and grabbed the hem of her fiancé's shirt to prevent herself from stumbling on the uneven steps.
Douglas paused for a moment and then continued at a slower pace.
Near the exit of the corridor, a faint light became visible. On the ground were two sets of clothes, one for a man and one for a woman. Douglas seemed reluctant to touch them, but to maintain a semblance of normalcy, he picked up the replacement garments.
Margaret sighed in relief. She endured the pain of the fabric rubbing against her skin and fumbled to put on a long dress. It was an ostentatious pink and white tight-fitting gown with an exaggerated opening at the chest, adorned with numerous roses along the waist and skirt.
Once dressed, Margaret found herself tightly constrained, struggling to breathe. The small and firm breasts were squeezed into deep crevices.
She didn't spare a glance for Douglas as she combed through her disheveled hair. Unable to find a proper hairband, she used her necklace to tie it into a makeshift braid.
During this hurried dressing process, her fiancé stood in silence. Finally, he asked, "Is it done?"
Perhaps he didn't mean to sound impatient, but the brief question felt like a restrained and courteous urging.
Margaret wasn't sure what expression she had on her face. She should have worn her usual reserved and gentle smile. The ordeal was over, her body functioned as usual, and even without the owner's will, she could still produce a perfect response.
Half a minute later, they returned to the surface.
It was a desolate ruin near the border. In the distance, rolling hills were visible, and the black Seagate City resembled a giant sword thrusting into the sky.
Yesterday, before this, Douglas had come to patrol near the border, venturing a bit farther than usual. Then he was ambushed by Dermat, resulting in the complete annihilation of the escort guards. Margaret, accompanying him, was naturally captured.
She had studied royal etiquette and bride courses in advance. She knew that a queen must serve the country and make sacrifices when necessary.
But was it really necessary for her to endure such a sacrifice?
Margaret was engulfed in immense confusion.
The distant sunset resembled a gradually melting egg yolk, pouring onto the blue snow-capped mountains. The cavalry of Eastern Holy Land wandered in the wilderness, searching for the missing prince and his fiancée.
Before long, they would find this well-dressed couple.
Douglas would craft a plausible story, concealing everything that happened in the interrogation room. No one would know what Margaret had gone through; they would only see the gentle and beautiful Eastern Holy Land flower.
Even if underneath her dress, she had nothing on, her violated flesh was red and swollen, and the sticky semen continued to flow down her legs.