Someone pulled my tongue out. It was cold, with a taste of rust, and they dragged it forcibly from my mouth. The pain made me suck in a breath through clenched teeth, but all I could manage was a hoarse “huh-huh.”
They poured liquor down my throat. Strong liquor, so harsh it felt as if a knife were slicing it open, running down my esophagus and burning all the way into my stomach. Someone gripped my chin, knuckles pressing into my jawbone with a force that seemed far too great for a eunuch. There was medicine mixed into the liquor. Bitter, terribly bitter. The taste rose from deep in my throat and made me nauseous, but my body would not move.
I heard someone crying. It wasn't me. I had long since forgotten how to cry. Someone beside me was sobbing softly, trying to keep quiet, as if afraid of disturbing something.
They poured another mouthful.
“Your Majesty, it is time to go.”
