Corwin's eyes are eager and he can't keep them from darting back to the woman strung up for such public humiliation each time a pinch or slap or grope draws a fresh cry from her.  Her whole body quivers from the force of her nearly hysterical sobbing and the pleading and begging falls in an unending but incoherent stream from her lips.  The princeling shifts as discreetly in his seat as he can and looks down, spearing a bite at Naiobe's question.  He nods when one of the servants gathers up the discarded clothing and folds it into a neat bundle to leave at his elbow.<br/><br/>"The food is excellent as always," he manages to answer with a calm voice.  He drains his goblet and looks over at the half-elf.  Her face is unreadable and he hesitates, for the first time ever in their verbal sparring, he's at a loss for words.  And then a particularly loud squeal makes him snap his head over to see the pale beauty swinging from a particularly strong slap to her ass, the handprint already a stark red as the burly guard laughs and watches her swing and spin wildly.  "You're not actually going to send her to the kennels are you?" he asks as he looks back to Naiobe.