"Go Isabelle. Run!" Deja vu hit her with a familiar intensity that had her body responding before her brain as her legs carried her down the hall.

The last thing she saw were two figures colliding in a fury of black and brown. Snarls echoing down the vast halls.

What if the king killed him? Isabelle paused at the top of the stairs. Should she get help? Should she run back to help?

Perhaps, the guards could break up the fight? She thought back to Maurice, his gutted scaly flesh ripped open on the floor and her stomach flipped. She paused, vomiting in the stairwell before continuing her descent to the throne room where she was sure Horace still remained.

"Please. Help!" she cried out, her voice bouncing off the grand foyer.

Horace and another guard ran up to her from out of the greenhouse.

"Please. You must stop them. It's the king-" Isabelle paused, bending over to catch her breath. "The king and the prince," She paused for another breath, "the third floor."

The guards exchanged an uneasy look before dashing up the stairs, and Isabelle took a moment to calm the burning in her labored lungs before making the climb back up.

She prayed, silent and sweat covered, as she climbed the spiral stairs that Adam would be okay. He had to be okay.

When she reached the top the guards were already in between the two. One holding a spear to Adams face the other pleading the king to calm his fury. The king's shoulders heaved heavy breaths as he backed up on his hind legs, examining a gash on his arm that Adam had no doubt given him.

Adam was equally out of breath but alive, and Isabelle's heart released a sigh of relief. That is, until she saw the amount of blood pooling at his feet.

A large pawed hand clutched at his abdomen as blood seeped in between his fingers, dripping into a puddle pooling in between his feet. Deep, large claw marks ran across his chest down to his stomach where he held it. Several more gashes covered his arms. He swayed on his feet, reaching one hand to the wall to steady himself leaving a bloodied paw print.

"Adam!" Isabelle spoke before she could stop herself and all eyes turned on her.

Fury ignited the storms of blue as Henry's gaze trained on her, edges bleeding red once more.

"Isabelle. I told you to run." Adam wheezed through labored breaths. He was in bad shape.

"He needs a doctor!" Isabelle's plea fell on deaf ears. The king's eyes slid to his brother only for a moment before turning back on his prey.

"Get that filth out of my sight," he ordered Horace, spitting a bit of blood on the floor before wiping his mouth. That's when Isabelle noticed that Adam must have gotten in a few good blows too. The king was missing one of his teeth and gashes ran down his left shoulder and arms, though not nearly as deep.

"You've saved me the trouble of hunting you down," The king grinned through his missing tooth, which somehow made him look even more frightful than before.

"Brother, please," Adam begged as Horace prodded his spear towards Adam's chest, driving him back like cattle toward his chamber.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill her..." the king waved a paw, then winced as his shoulder squeezed fresh blood. "That little mouse would chatter my ear off. Still..." His stare holding a cold calculation. "She needs to be punished. I shall give you a chance to earn your freedom."

"No! She is my blood maid you can not have her," Adam roared, the tip of the spear digging into his chest as he pushed back with a grunt.

"You will participate in the Sabbot."

The Sabbot? It was the festival she had heard whispered throughout the palace walls. The Festival for the creatures. Adams' face twisted with rage and fear giving rise to Isabelle's own.

Just what kind of festival was it for him to react so?

"Keep her in the dungeons till the day of the festival, twenty lashes should teach her to hold her tongue," Henry ordered with a smugness that curled all the way to his whiskers. Her eyes burned hot rebellious fire at him. No wonder Anna had said there was no hope. This man was a true monster.

The other guard, with quick steps, was by Isabelle's side in seconds. She shuffled back a weak escape attempt, but a clammy scaled hand wrapped crushingly around her boney wrist, dragging her back toward the stairs. She wiggled and struggled, leaning her weight back. But her feet slid on the smooth stone and the strength of the lizard pulled her like a stubborn lamb off to slaughter.

"Wait," Henry commanded, and the tugging paused, but the lizard guard's grip remained firm.

The king walked up to Isabelle, a clawed hand grabbing her by the chin. His jaws parted and her stomach twisted. This was it, he was going to kill her, devour her whole. Instead, a large pink tongue snaked out, sliding roughly across the side of her throat and cheek like wet sand.

"Ah. A virgin." he purred in her ear and nausea rolled heavy in her stomach.

"Please brother," She could hear Adam faint begging through the ringing of rage in her ears.

"We do need a pure little lamb to help start the festival. I think I shall have you as the star of the show," he sniffed, inhaling her scent like a predator remembering the smell of its prey and with a final nod to the guard she was yanked off, down the stairs and toward a place she had never been before. The dungeons.

🌙

"Ah!" Isabelle screamed as searing white fire tore across her back. She had bit her lip raw and the metallic tang of blood coated her tongue. She whimpered as another lash came down, peeling the flesh from her back.

Fifteen, she counted, as her vision spotted yellow and brown. Just five more. She just had to hang on a bit longer.

The lizard had dragged her down into the bowels of the castle. Through the main foyer and down a long hall to a door, she had never been through that led down deeper into a cold clammy darkness only meant for the dead to rest in. Torches ran along the hall, spaced out too far to provide any constant light, just glowing patches between the darkness.

"No. No!" Isabelle struggled against the iron clawed grip of her captor. "Where are you taking me? Let me go!"

Her body prickled with fear as the guard dragged her into a chamber that seemed to be where nightmares were birthed. Chains hung from the walls of the dim torch lit room. Its solid gray sides trapped her with the creature as the door shut behind them. There was a wooden box filled with spikes that ran inward like jagged teeth. Rows of sharp looking objects were scattered on a long table. And shelves lined the back of the room, holding grime covered jars, concealing the contents.

A worn table to the left held leather straps at both ends meant to bind hands and feet. He shoved her harshly against the wood, knocking the air from her stomach as she fell over onto the rough wood. Hands grabbed her once more, dragging her up before she had time to catch her breath and strapping a wrist in and then the other. She tried to thrash and kick her feet out, but he held her limbs down firm, with a practiced swiftness.

She twisted her head to the left at the squeak of a door, cheek scraping against the rough wood.

"What's with the blood maid?" A bored voice asked, accompanied by heavy footfalls. Isabelle tried to crane her neck, but all she could make out was the long shadow that stretched up the wall to her right and the footsteps that came up behind her. It looked oddly human.

"Twenty lashes. King's orders," the other voice hissed, sounding like it came from the scaly thing that had dragged her here in the first place.

"Seems like it takes less and less these days to rile him. Poor thing," the stranger's voice sighed audibly. It was deeply male, horse almost, like he had spent the night coughing or yelling...or both.

"The king wants her alive for the Sabbot,'' the creature warned before she heard footsteps disappearing down the hall.

"How am I supposed to do that? The voice mumbled, coming up to the left and into her line of vision. "She is nothing but a bag of bones."

It was a man. A human man! The light was dim, but she could still make out his lean frame and the back of a dark brown mop that flickered shades of auburn from the torch, casting dancing light across the room. He wore a pair of baggy tan trousers that seemed ill fitted and a loose black tunic that was frayed at the edges. A commoner. And maybe an ally?

"Please, can you help me?" Isabelle whispered roughly, hoping it was loud enough to grab his attention but not the guards.

The man ignored her. Or perhaps hadn't heard, as he rummaged through various torture tools on the long table to the right before picking up a long whip with, what looked like, tiny barbs on the end. Isabelle's mouth went dry.

He would be the one to carry out her torment. It made sense. Creatures went mad over the smell of blood. She would be nothing but a tasty meal in the hands of that lizard.

"Please. You don't have to do this!" She squirmed and wiggled desperately, furiously. The man turned, and for the first time, she caught a glimpse of those coal-black eyes. They held a tired weight, dragged down by heavy bags and filled with misery of his own. His mouth twisted into a pitying frown. "How could you?" tears pricked her vision.

The man shrugged, "I got a family to feed. If I don't whip you good, it's my neck on the line. Sorry, love." And with that, he raised the whip in his hand, driving down the first lash.

Isabelle screamed as sharp, burning pain tore through her dress, searing her flesh with a snap. And like an animal caught in the jaws of a predator, she went limp, giving into the torturous agony until it finally, inevitably ended.

Barely conscious, the man carried Isabelle down the dark hall slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. His shoulder was boney and it dug uncomfortably into her stomach with every step. She wanted to puke. To faint. But most of all she wanted to wake up from this nightmare. To find herself by the warm fire in the kitchen. To see John and Anna's smiling faces.

The sound of a door squeaked open and Isabelle was deposited roughly on a dirt floor.

She sat against the hard dirt and cold stone, head lulling to the side as she surveyed her surroundings. It was a small cell with damp stone walls covered in dark green moss that creeped up along the edges, the only color that stood out against a pallet of grim gray and brown.

At least the cold helped to sooth her throbbing torn flesh.

A barred window lined the left of her cell and she heard a rustle and rasping cough from the other side. At least she was not alone. It was the final comforting thought before the man shut the steel door behind her, encasing her in her living tomb of darkness. Exhaustion sunk heavy into her limbs and the pain numbed as sleep claimed her.

YOU'VE UNLOCK ANOTHER PATH CHOICE PROCEED TO CHAPTER 20 (A)