Daphne slowly regained consciousness.   Where am I ?, she wondered.  And why do I smell smoke?
    "Oh good, you're awake," said Malthius cheerfully, as he stoked a brazier of live coals.  "Just in time for the next torment."
    Suddenly  Daphne remembered where she was, her throbbing feet a painful reminder of her predicament.  Oh God, what is he going to do to me next?
    "I won't keep you in suspense any longer.  I'm sure you're as eager as I am to continue the fun," Malthius chuckled.  "The next stage of your ordeal will be foot roasting."
    "You're going to cook my feet?" Daphne gasped in horror.  "I'll be crippled for life!"
    "Don't be silly Princess, I wouldn't cause any permanent damage to those lovely little tootsies.  Not this early anyway.  A lesser torturer might burn you, but not me.  The coals rest in a tray that can be raised and lowered with a crank.  When your soles start to get too hot,  I can simply lower the tray and cool them with water before raising the tray again.  This way I can extend the torture for hours without causing too much harm."  Somehow this explanation did little to comfort the young beauty.
    Malthius began slathering something cold and slimy over Daphne's soles, causing her to giggle uncontrollably.  As disgusted as she was, she was still insanely ticklish.  
    "What is that?," cried Daphne.
    "Lard."
    "Lard?  What for?"
    "The better to heat your feet my dear," chuckled Malthius.
    When the Count finished coating Daphne's soles, he positioned the brazier at the foot of the stocks.  Malthius turned a crank, slowly raising the tray until the coals were just a few inches below her heels.  At first the heat wasn't too bad.  In fact, in the chilly dungeon, it was almost comforting.  Daphne knew this relief wouldn't last, as she felt the lard begin to melt.  Slowly, the heat grew uncomfortable causing her to squirm in her bonds.  She let out a low moan when discomfort began to turn into pain.
    "Please Malthius,"  Daphne began.  "Please lower the tray."
    Malthius didn't respond.  He just smirked at her, a look of wild glee in his eyes.  
    "Aaaahhh," Daphne cried as the pain grew worse.  She tried to focus on pleasant memories to take her mind away from the pain.  She remembered the day she met Dirk.  She was just a little girl; he was a clumsy stable boy.  She remembered the day he saved her from the dragon, Singe, proving to her father that he was worthy of the King's daughter.  She remembered their wedding day; how handsome he looked; how joyful she felt.  But rather than bringing her comfort, this last memory caused an ache in her heart.  Dirk was dead.  The pain of this knowledge was matched only by the burning pain in her feet. She began to tear up.
    "Careful Princess, you don't want to dehydrate," Malthius chuckled.  
    "Go to hell!" Daphne cried.  For the first time since this nightmare began, Daphne felt something other than fear, grief, and pain: anger.  
    "Temper, temper your Highness," taunted Malthius.  "You need to save your energy.  You've got a long day ahead of you."
    The steadily increasing pain in the soles of her feet made this an undeniable fact.  Soon, pain turned into agony, and the young princess began to struggle against her bonds in a vain attempt to move her feet away from the hot coals.
    "Please lower the tray!  My feet must be blackened by now!"
    "Not to worry, Your Highness.  They're slightly pinker than they were before, but they haven't so much as a blister.  It's going to get a lot worse before this is over"
    At these words, Daphne let out a sob.  Incredibly, the pain grew worse and before long she was in a world of agony.  Her crying and moaning became screaming and pleading.  Her struggles grew wilder in a vain attempt to get her poor helpless feet away from the intense heat.  Every nerve ending in her soles felt like it was on fire.  She never so much in her life wanted to pass out, but unconsciousness wouldn't come.
    "AIEEEEE!!!  PLEASE LOWER THE TRAY!" she screamed.
    "Are you okay Princess?  You seem to be in some discomfort," Malthius mocked.
    "OH GOD, PLEASE! IT HURTS!  IT HURTS SO MUCH!"
    "Oh, very well Your Highness.  I guess I can give you a break.  Honestly, how I spoil you," tittered the Count.
    After what seemed an eternity, Malthius lowered the tray.   Daphne stopped struggling and collapsed in her bonds, sobbing uncontrollably.  With the removal of the heat source, the pain lessened considerably; even so, her soles were still screaming.
    Malthius inspected the bottoms the girl's tender feet.  While they were a deep red, there was no sign of  any blistering.  A quick tickle satisfied him that there was no nerve damage.  He then soaked a cloth in cool water and applied it to her soles, much to Daphne's relief.  
    "How bad do they look," she asked weakly.  
    "Medium rare, but otherwise okay."
    "Thank you for stopping.  I couldn't take another moment of that."
    "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," began Malthius as he began to spread lard on her soles again, "because we've only just begun."
    Daphne let out a moan of despair as her tormentor once again began raising the coals to her vulnerable soles.  Outside the dungeon, Malthius's battle hardened guards shuddered at the unnerving sound of the poor girl's agonized screams mingled with their lord's maniacal laughter.