That Prince Is A Girl The Vicious King's Captive Slave Mate novel Chapter 385

Chapter 385
Three days later.

Daemonikai had been right. Zaiper wished he had never lived to see this day.

As he was paraded through the crowded square, head bowed, chains clinking with each step, humiliation was the only thing left in him. This—this—was abject disgrace. The worst of the worst. He was clad in nothing but soiled under-briefs, thick shackles chaining his hands and feet. The bindings laced with toxins, draining him of what remained of his strength. He couldn’t shift. Couldn’t run. Couldn’t fight.

And the people? They were relentless.

“Scumbag!”

“Evil devil!”

“May your soul rot in the nine hells!”

Their hate was a chorus, hot as the sun beating down on him.

Every step was a reminder of how far he had fallen—from a Grand Lord to this, a caged male on display for public ridicule.

Zaiper never chose death lightly. But this public disgrace was far worse.

A woman lunged through the line of guards. “You deserve mob justice!” she screamed, spitting at him.

The spittle slapped his cheek, warm, reeking of bile.

Zaiper tried to snarl, to bare his fangs. But it emerged as nothing more than a low, broken growl. He was too weak. Starved of food. Deprived of blood. Exhausted beyond measure.

Soldiers bordered him on all sides, shielding him from the worst of the assault, but it was a thin wall between order and chaos. Two separate mobs had already tried to rush him during this miserable procession—and now, another awaited ahead.

“Give him to us!”

“Let us have him!”

“He deserves to die screaming!”

“Stay back!” a soldier shouted, attempting to hold the tide.

But then it happened.

A hard object slammed into Zaiper’s back with a vicious crack, pain detonating through his spine. Then came fists. Boots. Claws. He hit the ground, and they descended like a pack of wolves.

There were no screams from him—only choked gasps and strangled grunts. He couldn’t shout. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

He tasted his own blood. Heard the distinct snap of his ribs caving beneath a savage stomp. He wanted to call out—to demand the soldiers do their damn jobs. But his voice was gone. Lost.

Were those bunch of fools even trying to help? It didn’t feel like it.