Chapter 152

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comment as you read ;) but don't go overboard because i have a feeling you guys will this chapter lol... have funnnn

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Walking through the Royal Dungeon’s dark, loud and frightening corridors wasn’t fun. But the thought of being able to see Harry in a few moments made it bearable. The cries of its prisoners made Evelyn shudder.

As they made their way towards Harry’s cells, Evelyn heard Jonah hissed something into a mobile device in another language. She frowned, and wondered how the heck was he getting signal this far below ground. 

There were guards, dressed in black, hidden in the shadows of the dungeon. 

Evelyn wanted to ask Jonah if these men will end up reporting what they were doing to Zayn, but she trusted Jonah’s intelligence. Jonah was older than her, much smarter than her and he obviously cared a great deal for Harry. 

Jonah would be more than happy to get her into trouble, so he could watch her suffer, but not Harry. And if Harry was going to be fine, then Evelyn was willing to take any sorts of punishments. 

Harry was being kept in a cell, larger than the ones that sandwiched him. 

Jonah was the head of the Royal Guards, and he was the man who controlled the dungeon. Jonah had made sure Harry was located in one of the quieter parts of the dungeon, and he had done everything in his power to ensure Harry’s stay as comfortable—as comfortable as one could get while undergoing tremendous tortures. Jonah didn’t know whether Zayn had failed to acknowledge Harry’s special treatments or simply didn’t care. 

Zayn still cared for Harry, Jonah was sure. 

There were other four men in Harry’s cell. They were some of the special guards, all four were intensely trained in the art of affliction. They made no hesitations of mocking, and taunting Harry over Harry’s former glory. 

Some of the things they said, were hurtful. 

No, the insults directed to Harry were not the ones that tore at his heart. No matter what sort of vulgar names they called Harry, he didn’t care. Insults brushed past his ears like gentle spring breezes, but the remarks of his betrayal? They struck Harry like a butcher’s knives, and he was the pig on the slaughter table. 

It killed Harry, listening to them, reminding him of Zayn’s kindness, how Zayn had saved him, and how Harry had betrayed it all for a girl. 

The remarks regarding Zayn, they were much more painful to endure than the beating, than the bullets, than the Dreyan Water that they forced down his throat. Physical pain were only skin deep, and words were torments of the mind. Physical wounds healed over time. Mental wounds were not as easy to recover from. 

His hands clenched in fists above his head. The horrendous scent of blood, sweat and urine was pungent in the dungeon. He guessed they were right, this was a change of scenery comparing to his usual fancy penthouses, mansions with beautiful women, on their knees and between his legs. 

I deserve this, Harry told himself. I deserve this. I did the unthinkable. I betrayed Zayn,  my maker, and my King, all out of lust. I deserve this pain, and more. I am a traitor and a coward. I should have resisted. I shouldn’t have given into my feelings. I am weak… I deserve pain. He looked up and glanced around the cell. Harry hoped Zayn would keep him in there, for centuries after centuries. 

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