Chapter 3 - Dungeons And Corpses

"A princess without shame.

A soldier without mercy.

And a shirt that’s about to strangle a man to death.

Welcome to the palace."

-Nest Of Serpests

by E.S.Mare

----------------------------------------

The crack of whips echoed in my ears, punctuated now and then by the sound of dripping water.

A sharp pain carved through my back, and I trembled violently. Each spike of agony only deepened my shivers. A film of sweat clung to my forehead, the drops sliding down my temples and into my eyes, stinging as they slipped beneath my lids.

My body couldn’t decide—

One moment I was shaking from a biting chill, the next, burning alive.

I tried to open my eyes. It was almost impossible. Every twitch of my body ignited new waves of pain, followed by a sharp voice.

"Stop moving! You’re making it worse—if that’s even possible."

“Vilas…” I murmured—not like a snake, but with the languid smugness of a spoiled cat.

Cats always seemed harmless, deceptively cute little things. But they were descended from lions. I didn’t like lions. Neither did any member of the Snake clan. Still, at least cats didn’t throw themselves into stupid brawls like the lizards. Cats knew better. They understood the lions' superiority. Lizards, on the other hand, were a race on the brink of extinction—one wrong step closer to the Snakes and they'd be gone.

"I told you not to move!" he snapped and pressed another soaked cloth against my back. I groaned at the sting.

The last thing I remembered of his face was the fury in his breath as he gripped the bars of that foul dungeon. I thought they had brought him to my side to clean and dress my wounds after I lost consciousness.

"How long..." I gritted my teeth through another surge of pain, then gave a weak smile. "How long did I last?"

"You're an idiot!" he spat, his voice like the hiss of a serpent.

When I finally managed to pry my eyes open, I couldn’t see him. He was behind me. My shirt was shredded, soaked in sweat, but still clung to my chest.

“You didn’t look at my breasts, did you?”

“Assra!” he hissed, so venomously I might’ve believed it was a real snake if I hadn’t known it was him.

“If you did, I’ll have you hanged,” I croaked. My throat was so dry it felt lined with dust. “Or maybe… I’ll marry you. That would be punishment enough. Brave of you, to peek at a lady.”

“What is wrong with you!” he burst out. As he leaned over me, I could smell the smoke of his rage. It danced in his eyes. “Do you even know what your back looks like? You should be grateful there’ll be no scars.”

“Did they give you snake grass?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. “Praise be to our King.”

Snake grass was sacred to us—a healer’s miracle. But from the pungent, acidic stench in the air, I could tell they’d given him a cream distilled from it rather than the herb itself. No amount of snake grass could undo the damage those whips had done. All it could do was speed the healing.

Again, I heard the whips. This time they were close. And in that moment, there were screams.

Vilas took a deep breath, and the heat of it seemed to ignite the fever in my skin. He shifted my body, just slightly. Then he pulled the remnants of my shirt away and tossed it aside. I didn’t bother to cover myself. I knew Vilas wasn’t looking at me with desire. His fury alone could’ve flayed my back.

His hands were careful, barely brushing my skin as he began to wrap the bandages. “I’m going to tell your mother,” he said at last, breaking the silence.

“No, you’re not,” I replied, but he ignored me. The wrapping continued, his hands still gentle.

“Going to have me whipped again? You’re cruel.”

“You’re the one making reckless plans,” he shot back. “If your mother finds out, we'll be out of that prison fast. She’ll protect you.”

But who would protect you?

“My mother will not find out!” My voice cracked like dried bark.

When he finished, he stepped in front of me. The fury in his eyes no longer burned—it stared, direct and demanding. “The King may not love any of his children except Prince Drassa, but you’re the only one the Queen cares about, Assra. I get your hatred for the King—but why your mother? That’s what I’ve never understood.”

I was the second child of the White Snake King and Queen. Born half an hour after Drassa, or so my mother claimed. Second—that’s what I’d always been. A princess by name, but in truth… I was nothing.

The moment I was born, I was cursed.

Lymph. The snake’s kiss of death.

I had carried the disease for years. It devoured flesh, peeled skin, seared nerves—but it didn’t kill me. Not in two years. Not in five. I remembered nothing from that time, but I knew this: no one ever told the people I’d recovered.

My father still looked at me like I was contagious. Disgust, pure and seeping. Some believed the disease was a punishment from the Sovereign of the Soil, Lesster—a mark on the sinful. But how could a newborn sin? So I was paying for someone else’s crimes.

My mother. My father.

Teressa was my father’s daughter by a prostitute. Probably one of many. But unlike me, he brought her into the palace. Perhaps he didn’t love her any more than the others, but he didn’t kill her. She was shown to the public. I wasn’t.

My mother once said I was being punished for my father’s sins. But the people heard another tale.

Teressa was the product of a scandal rebranded—a child born before the royal marriage, nothing more. The people forgot. My mother forgave. Somehow. I never understood how she could accept it. Yet in the eyes of the people, she too was guilty. Because of me.

That belief made me my father's most hated child.

Still, he clung to public favor like a leech. Claimed repentance. Held ceremonies to appease Lesster. Urged his people to pray for me. When I didn’t die, it was their miracle. A divine answer. Some believed it. Others didn’t. But for nineteen years, I lived—and for nineteen years, my father used it as a symbol.

There were days I wished the disease had taken me.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Because for as long as I could remember… I had never been anything but a prisoner.

When I escaped the palace, I’d speak with the villagers. Never long—Vilas always found me quickly—but long enough to hear what they thought.

Some pitied me.

A few—too few—called me a cursed freak.

Some whispered that the Queen kept me hidden because I was hideous. But if they’d seen me… they’d have sworn I was Lesster herself.

And the strangest part? Some believed I’d be Queen of the White Snakes one day. More powerful even than Queen Kalissia. The disease, they said, was a trial—and I would overcome it.

It sounded ridiculous.

But my mother…

She believed it too.

I hesitated before answering Vilas’s question, then finally murmured, “I don’t hate her.”

But of course I did.

I loved my mother—but she was part of my prison. She had let my father do what he did, never once standing in his way. If she’d been weak, maybe I wouldn’t have blamed her. But she wasn’t.

She was the strongest, most fearsome woman I had ever known. I’d heard her stand up to my father before. I’d seen her become someone terrifying when he punished me.

Not that the punishments stopped. But after that day, she turned her face away. She didn't know about most of them anymore.

She had the strength to face him—even to frighten him—yet she never pulled me out of the chains. She let him use me, shape me into a tool for power. At some point, it became clear that the unity of the kingdom meant more to her than my suffering.

And for that, I could never forgive her.

“When you lie, your scales dim,” Vilas said, raising an eyebrow. He leaned back against the damp, crumbling wall. The stench was foul... but still not as bad as the ointment he had smeared on my back. That smell alone was enough to drive a dagger through my skull.

I touched the edges of my cheekbones. The scales there—shared by all of our kind—were pale on some, radiant on others. Vilas’s only shimmered from time to time. Mine, though... mine sparkled as if stardust had been cast across my skin.

While most Snakes bore scales on no more than three regions of their bodies, mine had spread wider. Vilas once teased me about having them on my scalp—until I sent three serpents hissing after him. He hadn’t made that joke again.

“Liar!” I snapped, and a sharp pain cut through my back. I gasped. “My scales always shine like stars!”

“Then tell me the truth,” he said, calm and relentless. “I’m your friend.”

“No friend stares at another’s breasts.”

He scowled. “Don’t take it personally, but you haven’t got any.”

My hands flew to the bandages across my chest—and a hiss of pain escaped my lips. “Snake dung! That hurt!”

“If I were flat-chested too, I might be offended.”

“I am not flat!”

He tilted his head, smirking. “True. But the two together barely count as one.”

I grabbed a small stone and hurled it at him. The motion made my back scream in protest. “You breast-obsessed lunatic!”

He puckered his lips. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll share another painful truth.”

“What is it?”

“Will you talk?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“Wait, wait!” I gasped. “Fine. I’m ready. Tell me!”

“You have scales on your buttocks. They're glowing. You can even see them through your clothes.”

“You looked at my backside?!” My eyes widened. “You really are a pervert!”

“We used to swim naked as children.”

“You looked back then, too? You were a pervert even as a boy!”

He almost laughed. Almost. But Vilas was never one to laugh easily. He was a soldier, a loyal one. A good man. A true friend. But never a pervert.

I had undressed next to him a hundred times during training. He always looked away, grumbling.

For a while, I even thought maybe my body simply wasn't worth looking at. At times, I wondered if he even liked women at all.

But then—

I caught him with a woman in his room.

That memory was still clawing at my brain, begging to be scrubbed clean.

“When I get out of here, I’ll set my snakes on you!”

He leaned forward with that grim expression I hated. Fingers steepled, brows furrowed. “Fine. If you tell me the truth, I won’t tell your mother what happened today.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Want to bet?”

I frowned. “Fine. But tell me—how long did I last?”

His glare turned fierce. “I’ve met few people more foolish than you. And I’m sure they’d say the same about you.”

I grinned and waited.

“Twelve lashes,” he said flatly. “You endured twelve.”

“Twelve?” I echoed, disappointed. Two more than last time. “At least I didn’t faint.”

“You were stuck to the ground like a slug. I nearly had to scrape you off.”

I shot him a wounded look. “I didn’t cry. What do you say to that?”

“Cry? Do you even know what that is?”

“I cried when my favorite snake died.”

My poor darling. Killed by that cursed King Siles.

One day, I would avenge him.

“You were six,” Vilas muttered, narrowing his eyes.

I had cried since then. He didn’t need to know that.

“I was a fool back then.”

“You were a child,” he said with a grimace.

“So… a fool.”

“Nice try,” he growled. “But I won’t be distracted. Answer the question.”

He was right, in a way—I had tried to change the subject. But teasing him was too much fun to resist.

Then I heard it—footsteps approaching. They tore my attention from him, though only for a moment. A White Snake soldier stepped into view behind the rusted bars.

Someone screamed in the corridor. The whip had fallen silent. Maybe they were trying something else now.

The soldiers stared at us. One came forward, slid a key into the lock, and pushed open the gate. The creak echoed like a threat.

“We’re taking you to the palace,” the soldier said. Then, with a sneer, added, “Princess.”

So the punishment was over.

Well, it couldn’t go on much longer, could it? If I disappeared for too long, my mother would grow suspicious—

...wouldn’t she?

My father couldn’t afford that.

And besides—

I might’ve been about to kill the soldier.

A minor detail.

Vilas sprang to his feet. I thought he was going to lift me, but instead he peeled off his gray shirt. Leaning close, he hissed, “Raise your arms.”

I looked at him. Then at the soldiers. Then at myself. The bandages barely covered my body, and they didn’t do a thing to stop the way the soldiers stared.

Not even a prince would look at a princess like that—

But that wretched king had reduced me to this.

I didn’t raise my arms, but I took the shirt from Vilas’s hand. His eyes narrowed—he was clearly displeased that I hadn’t obeyed, but he said nothing. When I reached out again, he lifted me up.

I took a few slow steps toward the soldiers.

Pain seared across my back.

They were watching me, yet there was no mockery in their eyes.

At least, not those behind him.

The one in front, however, made no effort to hide the hunger in his gaze, despite his smug and scornful posture.

I stopped before him; he hadn’t moved aside.

He stared straight at me.

I tightened my grip on the shirt in my hand.

“You look like you’ve got something to say.”

“You’ve got a fine body,” he said, running his tongue over his lips, adding with a mocking smirk, “Princess.”

I turned to Vilas. “Did you hear that? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Vilas’s expression darkened as he stared at the soldier. “Rude,” he said, but both his tone and gaze felt disconnected.

The soldier laughed. The ones behind him almost joined, but they were smarter than he was—and more cautious.

They may not have seen me as a princess, but Vilas was still their commander.

He could destroy them all.

The man before me had much to learn.

“Rude?” I scoffed. “Is that all? What are you, a commander or a court lady?”

He didn’t move, but his gaze slid toward me.

A smirk tugged at one side of his mouth.

“No. I’m a smart man.”

He was, in fact. He always knew what to do—and when to do it.

I turned my attention back to the soldier. His eyes were glued to my chest, which was still bound in bandages.

“Hey! My face is up here.”

He raised his eyes, unbothered. “It’s prettier down there.”

“You forgot the princess part!”

He grinned, that same lewd smile, and parted his lips to speak. “Prin—”

I spun him around.

Before he could grasp what was happening, I flung the shirt forward.

I seized the other end just as quickly.

His neck caught in the loop of Vilas’s shirt, I ignored the pain in my back and the soldiers reaching for their swords.

I pulled tighter. The man choked, then lurched forward to draw his weapon—too late.

Vilas moved first, disarming him with ease.

He leaned the stolen sword on his shoulder and watched me with the indifference of someone observing a street performance.

The other soldiers stood frozen, swords in hand, staring.

They may have considered stepping in—but the consequences were crystal clear.

The man between my hands gasped, shocked by my strength.

But I was no ordinary princess.

No ordinary Snake.

I was not ordinary at all.

“I am Princess Assra Marian Sallister,”

I hissed, baring my sharp teeth,

“and only Commander Vilas may look at my breasts!”

I couldn’t see Vilas’s face, but I could imagine it—his eternal scowl.

I held the shirt until the soldier's final breath left him, then let the body drop.

He hit the ground like a bag of manure.

Despite the burning ache in my back, I slipped the shirt over my head and stepped forward, past the corpse.

The two soldiers flinched and stepped back in unison.

I opened my arms, eyes wide.

“Relax, little baby Snakes. I’m unarmed.”

I waved one hand, and with the other, reached out toward the soldier on the right.

“But if you hand me that sword, I will have a weapon. If you don’t...”

I tilted my head toward the crumpled body.

“Another bag of fertilizer joins the pile.”

“W-what?” the soldier stammered.

“Your cock!” I snapped. “Isn’t that what you men think your greatest weapon is?”

The soldier stared at me in horror. “What?!”

“Assra,” Vilas groaned.

I grinned—his fear deepened.

“Relax, I’m joking. You can keep your little sword. It’s probably useless anyway.”

I nodded toward the blade at his waist.

“That’s the weapon I want. Hand it over.”

Startled, the soldier quickly drew the sword and gave it to me.

I strapped it to my waist.

Vilas finally passed by me, breathing heavily as he strode down the corridor.

I whistled, eyeing the muscles on his back.

“So that’s what the shirt was for! Your muscles are positively sinful, Commander. I’m madly in love with you!”