The room buzzed with tension as the noblemen continued their heated debate, their voices rising as they argued over her fate. But as she stood there, frozen, the meaning behind their words slipped through her grasp. The terms—spy, Drachen—were foreign to her, their weight lost in the fog of confusion clouding her thoughts. Her mind raced, trying to piece together what they were accusing her of, but it was useless. Their anger, the suspicion in their eyes, made her feel like a trapped animal.
The weight of their stares pressed down, heavy with judgement. She tried to remain calm, but her exhaustion and bewilderment overwhelmed her more. It seemed they were speaking in a dialect she only partially understood, catching fragments of meaning but never the whole picture. Whatever they were discussing, it was clear that her life was teetering on the edge.
"I've had enough of this," one of the noblemen growled. He stormed toward her, his hand shooting out to grab her wrist. His grip was harsh, bruising, as he yanked her closer. "Are you a spy sent by that mad king?! Answer me!"
She winced in pain, trying to pull away, but she was too weak. "Lam adzh..." It hurts, she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her words were soft, desperate, but the man only tightened his grip, his face twisting with impatience.
"Stop mumbling and answer the question!" he shouted, shaking her violently.
"Nir!" No! she cried out, trying to protest, the word slipping from her lips in a language she only understood.
"How dare a mere slave raise her voice at me," the man sneered. His hand came down swiftly, slapping her across the face with brutal force. The sharp sting echoed in her ears, her vision blurring from the impact.
With a vicious yank, the nobleman tore at her camisole, ripping the fabric down to her torso. She was left half exposed, trembling in a mix of shame and pain. Her heart pounded in her chest, panic surging through her veins as she tried to remain conscious. Her body, bruised and weakened, had no strength left to resist. She clutched the torn fabric, trying to cover herself as best she could, and collapsed to her knees, the agony overwhelming her.
The nobleman sneered down at her, his voice dripping with cruel mockery. "Maybe if you spread your legs, our Majesty might spare you."
Her eyes burned with rage, defiance igniting within her despite her broken state. "Lam nay shidbihar," I'm not for sale, she spat through gritted teeth, her voice trembling but filled with contempt.
The nobleman's face twisted in fury. "How dare you look at me like that!" he snarled, his hand flashing out again, striking her across the face. The force of the blow nearly sent her to the floor. "Speaking rubbish that I don't understand."
Before the man could strike her again, another voice cut through the tension. "If you had half a brain, you'd know she's speaking Götter."
The nobleman paused, turning toward the speaker. It was the man who had visited her in the cell earlier, his voice calm yet cold as he watched the scene unfold. She blinked, her vision blurry, but she recognized the disgust in his eyes.