They’re caught in a crossfire, innocent lives suffering.
And it’s on me.
My fingers spasm again. Reizei watches me. He’s waiting for me to break.
I don’t look at him.
I don’t say anything.
I simply sit and stare ahead of me, at the man lashing the girl chained to the wall. At the girl who sits tied to a chair, balling her eyes out from fear.
I thought I could protect people by being the Savage King. Save them. But now I see it clearly as day. I can’t save them all. Some will suffer as a consequence of me being the Savage King.
I may not be holding that whip. I may not have been the one to chain these poor girls. But my silence is another form of cruelty. One that cuts even deeper than a blade.
Despite that, I press my lips into a thin line and bite my tongue until the taste of copper fills my mouth. I sit and watch Reizei’s man destroy these girls one crack of the whip, one torturous slow cut of a blade, at a time.
At some point, the scent of iron reaches us. It clings to me.
I don’t move.
I don’t speak.
I endure.
Slowly, my mind detaches from the present moment. I float somewhere outside my body, watching myself sit in that chair as a spectator.
I’m frail, skin and bones at this point. The cloth tunic falls from my shoulders like an oversized bag.
It takes me a minute to register the deadly silence that falls around us.
I blink, and I’m back in my body.
The stench of iron is lodged deep in my throat.
“Return her to her cell,” Reizei orders calmly.
My shoulders sag.
It’s over.
This round at least.
My woman handler approaches me and guides me to my feet, holding me by the arm. Slowly, I rise and follow her lead. We walk the long, dim corridors in silence.
Reizei will never stop trying to break me. What if one day, I do?
As long as I live, I’m a liability.
There’s only one way out of this.
If I’m gone, he’s got nothing.
My handler’s steps halt in front of an iron door. She turns the lock and it opens to reveal my cell. Slowly, I enter it. Right as she starts closing the door, I turn to her.
Our eyes lock. She pauses.
“Something sharp. A knife, a fork, a shard of glass or even stone.” My words are barely louder than a whisper. “Please.”
