In mere minutes, Donovan lay crumpled and unconscious on the cold stone floor.
The gaolers who brought him forward had unleashed their full wrath upon him, obeying their future king's command without restraint.
His body was left battered and broken, and his skin was marred with vivid bruises and deep whip marks that criss crossed his bare back. Fresh blood seeped from the raw wounds, painting a gruesome picture of the brutality he just experienced, but when Lennox was starting to feel satisfied, the boy he assumed was unconscious suddenly chuckled.
It came out low, only to heighten with each passing second. The fear in Lennox's eyes wasn't hidden, despite being overshadowed by rage.
"Hang him on the post," Lennox ordered without delay, his voice cold and commanding as he rose from the throne. "Let the mad boy dangle there until sunrise. If he refuses to die, it's far more gratifying to see him suffer a bit more. He has the energy to open his filthy mouth and laugh at my face."
