Riches // l.s.

Chapter 6

"Yeah, I'm obviously going to take the word of two men who are currently torturing me. Sounds promising," Louis's tone remained humorous despite his unfortunate situation.

"If you don't want to tell us, then we'll get it out of you," the short one spoke with gritted teeth, irritated by Louis's unwillingness to cooperate. Another whip bit into his skin, thrashing at his already tender back. Sounds of the knights' whips cracking against Louis's raw skin littered the air.

Louis bit his lip, trying to contain his cries. He succeeded until the taller knight changed the angle, cutting through his other wounds.

A deafening scream left Louis's lips causing the knights to pause their actions. Louis's head lolled once he decided to give up on fighting back.

"It's not fun when he gives up," the shorter knight said in a low voice to his friend.

"You're right. We have however long we want with this one. We'll let him reflect and come to his senses alone, for now." The tall knight reached for Louis's arms. He released Louis's bound hands, tossing his tortured body to a corner of the bare cell.

The knights exited the dungeon, making sure to lock Louis's cell and admire the agony they caused the young boy.

Louis remained with his body folded over on the stone ground, unable to move in fear of accidentally inflicting more pain. He sat, awake, also unable to sleep or cry. Louis wished he had been in enough pain to pass out so he could at least have some peace.

***

HARRY

Harry wallowed in self-pity, regretting being so ignorant and blind purely out of choice. He eventually hit his limit for self-pity and decided to apologize to the pretty dungeon boy.

Harry gathered himself, wiping at his wrinkled clothes. He walked out of his room, careful to keep an eye out for an undoubtedly raging King. Luckily on his way to the dungeon, there were no signs of King Aaron.

Turning into the hall that leads to the doorway of the dungeon, Harry spotted two guards carrying whips. Harry moved to go behind the corner of another hallway, hoping they would walk in a different direction.

Harry let go of a breath he didn't know he was holding just as they passed in a separate hallway. Harry watched them leave and focused on the whips they were carrying. He squinted his eyes and almost gasped. A crimson red was shining on the leather the two men carried.

Where did the blood come from? Harry asked himself before thinking back to where they were walking away from. The prisoner.

Harry hurried to the dungeon door, swinging it open. He rushed down the steps to the prisoner's cell. Harry stepped closer to the cell looking for the snarky boy. His hand flew to his mouth at the sight before him.

The boy was curled over, exposing his beaten back. His shirt was terribly torn, further displaying the destroyed skin.

"I- Oh my God. I'll get help," Harry said with an uneasy voice. He had only read about torture in books, but never actually been a witness.

"No, please, they won't help," the boy groaned. Harry didn't know if he could fully trust the prisoner but concluded that this was no time to put someone's well-being on the line.