That Prince Is A Girl: The Vicious King’s Slave Mate Novel

Chapter 893 Chapter 893: Daemonikai wiped his hands with a cloth and turned around. "My work here for today is done. Prepare the next two ferals." "No! Please, no!" Zaiper moaned. A guard hesitated. "Your Grace... he might die. His body is failing, and he needs to feed on blood. Perhaps a few days to recover?" S~ᴇaʀᴄh the ƒind ηøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Daemonikai turned and looked at the trembling shell of what had once been an alpha. He considered it. Then he smiled. "No, he'll be fine.

Bring them." Zaiper screamed as the guards moved, but Daemonikai didn't look back. The cell door slammed shut with a final, resounding bang. Six months later The largest stadium in the capital was packed to the brim. All the citizens of Urai, all the humans that remained, all the emissaries from the allied kingdoms were present. They had all gathered to witness a long-awaited moment: the execution of Urai's greatest traitor. Zaiper Dragaxlov appeared on the scene, alive and relatively well. More or less. The soldiers had sewn him up.

His limbs were bound with coarse thread, his skin rotting in some places, blackened by infection. Flies buzzed around his face. His body reeked of decay. But at least he was still breathing. His eyes were sunken deep into his skull. His once muscular... Body reduced to a crawling echo of ruin. "Do you have any last words?" "To all... I... am sorry... for... what... I... did." His voice was barely audible. Daemonikai had cut his vocal cords, and he ended up coughing uncontrollably. Perhaps they hadn't healed, after all. Anyway. The executioner placed his sword and carried out his task.

A clean cut. Fresh chapters live gⱯlnσνeℓs․cøm Zaiper's head fell onto the stone, rolling like meat across a butcher's block. The crowd erupted in cheers and praise. And right there, before everyone, the story of Lord Zaiper Dragaxlov came to an end. EPILOGUE ONE: FAREWELL That night, Daemonikai slept, and he saw them. Standing at the river's edge were his children, Myka and Alvin. But unlike before, they were not sad. Their eyes no longer reflected the weight of guilt or sorrow. . . .