The Witch's Cursed Daughter

46. The Chamber

As the decomposing carriage pulled into a monotonous grey prison building, strong scents of sweat and iron filled Julian's lungs. The pungent smell overwhelmed him as he repressed his fear deep within. He noticed that Romile's hands were clenched into white fists against the bench he was sitting on, his expression dark and drawn. The further they travelled into the dreary structure, the more Julian noticed the lines of cells barely visible in the unlit passage. By the time they arrived in an open space surrounded by guards, Julian had seen and heard the aftermath of those who had been similarly punished that morning.

Stepping down from the transport, Romile stayed close to Julian's side, his instinct as a Guard over-ruling his understanding of their destination. Julian felt a wash of relief having Romile with him, although he detested the thought that he would suffer double the lashes.

While the carriage disappeared without any instruction, a large man stepped forward, whip already in hand. Much like its surroundings, the whip was dark in colour and was textured like a rough wall. Evidence from earlier use remained visible as bloody, shining streaks glowed in the dim light from a hole left in the ceiling to ventilate the soiled prison.

The man spoke, "I am the Jailer, Abner Faris. Although you are royalty, during the period you are undergoing your sentence, I have been informed to treat you as if you were any other prisoner."

"I understand," Julian nodded.

"Alright, though I don't have a say when it comes to who receives lashes, it does twist my stomach to hit a young boy. I would like the two of you to decide as to who will go first."

"I'll go first," Julian replied firmly.

"Absolutely not, Your Highness," Romile exclaimed, gripping onto the second prince's shoulders as if he was a naïve child, "I must suffer twice the amount of lashings that you are to receive..."

"Exactly, if I go first, all I need to do is bear with the pain until you are done. On the other hand, the damage caused by one hundred lashes will leave you on the brink of consciousness, if not death; it would be better to get you back to the palace immediately after. Or do you no longer wish to be my Guard?"

Romile stood with his mouth open, unable to think of a response; he turned his head away, "Of course, Your Highness."

Sighing lightly, Julian looked at the Jailer, "I am first."

"I see, please follow me to The Chamber," the burly man dispassionately instructed, "Be advised that there will be many onlookers."

The Jailer led the way into an adjacent room; as soon as Julian crossed the threshold, a reeking wall of nausea brought his senses to their max. The room was quite big but only comprised of an iron pillar in the centre of the room with heavy shackles hanging unnervingly on either side. The ground was covered in sand, soft and welcoming, which greatly juxtaposed the rest of the room. The same sinister shades of shadow and smoke as the rest of the prison collected in the room; it invited pain and delirium as the darkness grew.

The far wall allowed light to trail in, one large piece of glass creating the onlookers' site, which had given The Chamber its name. Already villagers and merchants were watching, waiting for the show to begin. The muffled sounds of their excited chatter leaked through the glass, which made Julian smile as his body tensed painfully in advance of the lashes.

His knees began to quiver as he watched Romile be guided towards the corner and The Chamber doors shut, signalling that the punishment had begun. Bile rose in Julian's throat as he looked at the pillar; refusing to let his expression change, he walked over with all the royal dignity he possessed, placing his hands by the shackles.

As the Jailer clamped them in place, the cold metal brought the reality crashing down. Julian stood there clutching the pillar, eyes closed, his breath racing as he struggled to control his panic.

His ears prickled as large man's voice sounded deeply behind him, "Let's begin."