"52.. 53.."

As the lashes from the whip relentlessly strike your back, you clench your fists, your knuckles white with the effort to endure the pain. The laughter of the other concubines echoes in your ears, a cruel symphony to accompany each agonizing blow.

You're among King Azrael's concubines, like them, untouched by the tyrant's hands. But the concubines envy the softness in the King's gaze towards you. And today, with King Azrael absent, tending to diplomatic affairs, you find yourself the target of their malice.

At the 75th lash, the onslaught ceases abruptly, leaving you trembling. Summoning every ounce of courage, you dare to glance behind you. There, sprawled on the ground, lies Verena, the very hand that wielded the whip, her head severed from her body.

And behind her stands King Azrael, his countenance unreadable, his hands stained crimson with the blood of his concubine. His voice cuts through the stunned silence, chilling in its icy tone.

"Who dares to disrupt the peace of my kingdom?"