You stalk off

As you exit the room, you hear one of Sir Broderick's more ribald friends call after you. "You look a bit sore, milady! Would you like me to kiss it better for you?"

You hear guffaws of laughter as you stride down the hall, though some of the laughs sound more than a little scandalized.

Furious and burning from the humiliation (and spanking) you've just gone through, you stalk out of the castle, deciding to go for a quick walk in the town surrounding the keep to clear your head.

Sir Broderick will likely need some time to get all his men assembled and properly prepared for the journey, so you should have a bit of time before anyone even notices you're missing.

You easily stride past the castle guards; they do give somewhat odd looks to the angry young lady walking out on her own however.

Still fuming, you set out into the poorly maintained streets surrounding the keep, deciding to make a rough circuit around the keep proper before returning. That should give you enough time to calm down. Or at least enough time that you won't feel like screaming.

You faintly notice that the town is somehow... 'dingier' looking than you remember. Many of the more prosperous looking houses and shops seem to be boarded up and abandoned, leaving the poorer and seedier establishments intact. You suppose you aren't the only one fleeing town in the face of the incoming barbarian horde.

You attract a lot of stares, but you don't really think much of it. You are the prince after all, and you've long become accustomed to being looked at wherever you go.

You're too distracted to remember that you aren't the prince at the moment, at least not in the eyes of the watching populace. To the crowd, you're a beautiful young lady, apparently walking about unarmed and unguarded...

You're also too distracted to notice the shabbily dressed and grubby-looking man hiding in between two buildings. As you pass by, you feel a hand close on your wrist, roughly tugging you off the street and into the narrow alleyway.

"Well, well, well. Wot de we 'ave here." You see an unshaven face leering at you from nearby, his foul breath making you slightly queasy. "Yer a tender little thing, ain't ya." You can see lust in the man's eyes as he pulls you closer, his grip feeling like a band of iron on your wrist.