Lyssandra's smile didn't falter. She ran a hand almost absently over her swollen belly, a gesture that was strangely possessive. "Oh, this?" she murmured, glancing down.
"Don't let it bother you. A mere temporary inconvenience. Now…" She fixed him with that intense gaze again. "Tell me your name. Who sent you? How many came with you outside this place?"
Despite the mesmerizing effect she had on him, Hanry's survival instincts finally kicked in. Alarm bells screamed in his mind.
'Something's wrong. Terribly wrong. Why is she here? Why does she care? Who does she serve?' The pieces refused to fit. A beautiful human woman, pregnant, freely walking among monsters, interrogating him? It reeked of deception.
He forced himself to straighten, pulling his tattered tunic tighter around himself. He met her gaze, his voice surprisingly steady.
"No."
Lyssandra arched an eyebrow. "No?" her voice dropping to a dangerously soft whisper. The playful smile vanished, replaced by a cold look that sent a shiver down the squire's spine.
"I don't think you understand the position you're in. I ask questions. You answer."
She pushed off from the door and took a step forward, her heels clicking softly on the packed earth floor. Hanry pressed harder against the wall, every muscle tensed, adrenaline flooding his system.
"You will tell me everything."
"Not a chance," Hanry repeated, his voice firm despite the fear choking. He clenched his fists. "I won't say a word. Do what you want. But I won't betray my companions."
"Oh boy," she sighed, almost pityingly. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."
She trailed a single finger down his chest, the touch sending an unwelcome jolt of sensation through him. "But I suppose I'll have to show you." She leaned in, her breath warm on his ear.
"Right now."
'The [Scanning] skill gives me the facts – name, level, even basic personality traits. But it doesn't tell me their plans, their secrets, the depth of their bonds… And besides, watching them break is so much more enjoyable.'
She enjoyed this dance, the slow, delicious unraveling of will. Breaking them wasn't just about information but dominance, about asserting her power.
"Your companions, you say?" she murmured, her voice dripping with mock concern. "How noble of you to protect them. But perhaps you should listen first."
She rapped her knuckles sharply on the wall beside Hanry's head. A muffled, wet thud echoed from somewhere nearby, followed by a choked-off grunt that Hanry recognized instantly.
'Rolfe!' his mind screamed. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, of pain, was unmistakable. The image of the stoic Bjorin warrior, broken and beaten, flashed through his mind. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. 'No! Rolfe! He's strong, he can take it… right?'
Hanry pressed his lips together, trying to stifle the instinctive cry building in his throat, but an agonized sound escaped him nonetheless.
"No… please… stop…" he gasped, his resolve already faltering.
Lyssandra's smile widened. "Oh, don't worry. I'm just getting started." She rapped her knuckles again, this time on the opposite wall.
A different sound echoed through the cell, a low, rhythmic thumping, punctuated by a series of guttural moans. Hanry's blood ran cold because he recognized the voice.
'Emerick?!'
Disbelief alongside horror. The moans weren't of pain, but of deep, uncontrollable pleasure. They sounded primal, almost bestial, utterly unlike the flippant, naughty elf he knew. 'What are they doing to him?!' The implications twisted Hanry's gut.
Lyssandra watched the play of emotions on his face with intense satisfaction – fear, horror, revulsion, and a flicker of desperate hope that perhaps his friend wasn't truly suffering.
"Sound familiar?" she purred, leaning closer. "I wonder what kind of 'questioning' our elven friend is enduring right now. Shall I describe it to you? Or shall I let your imagination fill in the blanks?"
She trailed a finger down his jawline, the touch sending shivers of dread. "You see, I don't need your consent to break them. But your compliance. Well, that might spare them some of the more… inventive methods. Or prolong their suffering. The choice is yours."
The conflicting sounds of pain and pleasure tore at Hanry's heart. The image of Rolfe being beaten and Emerick being forced into god knows what kind of perverse torment.
It was too much. His duty, his loyalty, his fear for his friends collided in a maelstrom of anguish.
His resolve crumbled like dry clay. He couldn't let them suffer. Not because of him. He had to protect them, even if it meant betraying himself.
"Stop!" he choked out, tears pricking his eyes, shame burning hot in his chest. "Please… just stop! I… I'll tell you what you want to know. Just leave them alone!"
His voice broke on the last word. He sagged against the wall, defeated, a sob escaping his throat. The sounds from the other cells ceased abruptly.
Lyssandra's smile was triumphant, cold and bright. "Good boy," she cooed, stroking his cheek with a feather-light touch. "I knew you'd see reason. Now… talk."
Hanry's voice was hoarse, thick with shame and defeat. He kept his eyes downcast, unable to meet those intense blue gaze.
"M-my name… is Hanry. I'm a squire. In the service of House Marcellis."
He took a shuddering breath, hands trembling. "We came here, the five of us because of a bounty. A sanctioned contract from the Adventurer's Guild in Indyrge. It said the dungeon was weakened, just clearing out stragglers. A B-tier job with good pay…"
He swallowed hard, the memory of their foolish confidence like acid. "My companions… Rolfe, he's the muscle. A Bjorin warrior. Emerick the elf, archer..."
A faint flicker of worry crossed his face when he remembered Emerick's moans. "Then there's Nekari, our scout, catfolk. She got lost in the dungeon. Miriel…"
His voice cracked. "The Saintess. She came to… to help heal the land… gentle, kind. I have to know… is she…?"
He couldn't finish the question, the fear choking him. He looked up, eyes wide and pleading.
Lyssandra's expression unreadable. She leaned against the door, arms crossed, one finger tapping thoughtfully on her forearm.
"Hmm," she ignored Hanry's desperate question about Miriel. "So, the Adventurer Guild sent you. And they told you this was a weakened dungeon, a simple clearing job."
"How quaint."
She pushed off from the door and began to pace the small cell. "But you see, Hanry, there's been a change in management, shall we say. The Crown's information is wrong. Or…"
She turned, pinning him with a hard look. "Who else knows you're here? Did you report back when you first encountered resistance? Did you send a message?"
Hanry shook his head vehemently. "No! We… we didn't do that. And Rolfe insisted we keep moving, finish the job quickly."
He realized how pathetic it sounded now. "We thought we could handle it!"
"Ah, youthful arrogance," Lyssandra sighed theatrically. "A deadly vice." She stopped in front of him. "So no one knows you're here? No one will come looking if you disappear?"
"Maybe…" Hanry stammered. "If we don't report back. Eventually, House Marcellis would send someone. But they think it's safe! It might take days, even weeks."
Lyssandra studied Hanry for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "Very well. I'll make you a deal." She spread her hands in a magnanimous gesture.
"I'll let you and your friends go. All of them. Back to your guild, your precious House Marcellis. But there is one tiny teensy condition."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You will tell them exactly what they expect to hear. That the dungeon was weak, the monsters were cleared, the bounty was easy and some other things too. You fulfilled the contract perfectly."
"You'll hand in your report, collect your reward, and say nothing about me. Nothing about the real state of this place."
She pulled a small, glowing gem and a vial of swirling silver liquid from her cleavage, seemingly out of thin air. "I'll even give you these trinkets. Powerful magical components. Evidence of the dungeon's 'decline'."
Her smile widened. "It's simple. Everyone gets what they want. You go home a hero. Your friends go free."
Hanry's eyes darted from the gem and vial in her hand then to her face. A spark of his old fire ignited in his gaze.