Seth stopped, half-turning toward her. “The law allows it, Seren. Are you questioning the old ways now?”
Her shoulders tensed. “The law doesn’t require a spectacle.” Her voice was laced with defiance. “He has nothing to do with this. He shouldn’t even be standing here.”
Seth’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of irritation. “You’d prefer we flog you, then?”
Seren’s lips pressed together. Her silence was answer enough.
“Exactly.” Seth turned back to me, his voice ringing out. “A man steps forward, and the law allows his sacrifice. You should be grateful, Seren. Your precious husband is saving you from dishonor.”
Her expression hardened at the word husband, but she said nothing.
Damn woman.
When I’d seen that vuk stalking us, my only thought had been to warn her. I’d needed to find Dalric and Thorne and get out of the fucking forest. But that had all become secondary when I’d seen her in danger.
Helpless women had caused me trouble too many times.
What type of fucking idiot was I?
The type who ends up exiled and Sealed for two years, apparently.
And now, one who’d be flogged by my enemies.
Seth didn’t remove the shirt hanging at my wrists as he lifted my bound hands to the post, tying them with a thick, rough rope that bit into my skin. A chill seeped into my bare back, the air thick with the scent of pine and earth.
My attention focused on the camp beyond me—a ramshackle collection of tents and wooden structures, arranged in a circle, with gathering space at its center. Smoke curled into the air, mingling with the scents of animals and cooking food. The Viori’s craftsmanship was evident in the intricate carvings on the wooden beams of the space, including the flogging post, etched with runes and symbols. Despite the camp’s makeshift appearance, it was efficient, and easily broken down to be unoccupied and moved. This was no haphazard village—it was the heart of a people who thrived on defiance and survival.
I braced myself as a guard provided Seth with a whip.
Seth uncoiled the whip. His gaze lingered on the Seal between my shoulder blades, resting there for a few beats. Then he stepped back, out of my sight line.
The whip sung through the air with a sharp snap.
An intense explosion of pain followed. Deep. Stinging. Nearly unbearable.
I forced my breath to stay even. The sting tore through me, unforgiving, but I made no sound.
Pain was familiar. Manageable.
I could handle it.
But when I heard the sharp gasp from behind me, my focus wavered. I turned my head just enough to catch Seren’s expression—wide-eyed, pale, as though the strike had landed on her instead. She swayed on her feet as an older woman rushed to her side and gripped her arm.
The whip cracked again, slicing deeper.
Seren collapsed, barely catching herself. The woman braced her, whispering into Seren’s ear.
I hadn’t expected feigned grief from her, but I had to admit—she was a damned talented actress. Playing the role of tortured lover was a convincing touch.
My forehead rested against the rough surface of the flogging post, and I willed myself into silence as strike followed strike. With each blow, my ability to stand straight decreased. Warm blood ran down my arms and legs, soaking my trousers, pooling on the pine needles beneath my boots.
I closed my eyes, trying to drown out the sounds of the forest, the sickening, muffled crunch of leather destroying my flesh, the scent of my blood and sweat, and evergreen trees carried in the wind, the sweet smell of bread baking somewhere on a hearth.
Life, carrying on amid my torment.
Seren vomited with the last strike.
Unceremoniously, the guards cut the rope from my wrists, and I collapsed into my own blood, breath ragged. The blinding pain made it nearly impossible to think as I shook uncontrollably.
