Page 21 of Heart of the Raven Prince

I can’t help it, I glance at Fawn.

“Lochlan, turn the human around,” Arawyn says, her voice this side of too-sweet. Lochlan doesn’t wait a moment before spinning a now struggling Fawn in his grip, tilting her chin up to lock eyes with him as she begins to bite out muffled words against her gag. I’m breathing heavily, my attention trained solely on the queen who is moving steadily toward Fawn. She crooks a finger at Doran, motioning him to her.

With Doran at her side, the queen comes to a stop several paces in front of Fawn. She snaps her fingers, and under the pale light of the chandelier, red tendrils of smoke and shadow begin to form in her hand. They waft between her fingers, twisting and writhing as they trail to the ground. After a moment the translucent shades sharpen and form into one, long, leather whip, the base of which she holds out to Doran.

“How many lashes?” she asks, turning and quirking a brow at me. My throat is too tight. I swallow, trying to work moisture into my mouth. “How many lashes is enough to punish this human for daring to remove her mark? Come now, Caden, if you want the responsibility of a pet then you're going to need to prove you can train it.”

Fawn is a statue, frozen still in Lochlan’s embrace. She is battered and bruised. I suspect she has faced more in these last few days than she has her entire life. She might be defiant, and there is definitely a not-so-quiet strength inside of her, but even still…a whipping from a fae warrior will damn near kill her. If I choose a number that is too low, Arawyn will make it so much worse. I cannot let her off easy. My cut and bleeding hand tightens into a fist on my knee, digging shards of glass deeper into my palm. “Twelve.”

Please accept it, please.

“I was thinking twenty,” Lochlan cuts in, because that fucking asshole can’t keep his mouth shut. Tension coils around the room when he flicks his eyes to me, baiting me, trying to get another outburst from me.

“I agree,” Arawyn says, placing the whip handle firmly in Doran’s grip. To Fawn’s credit, she doesn’t tremble, but she also doesn’t appear to be breathing. Doran stills, his fingers curling around the handle of the whip, turning and looking at me as I remain the only one seated at the table, blood seeping from my tightly gripped hand and into my trousers.

She is never going to trust me after this.

“Lochlan, take the human to the Barracks.”

What?

Doran’s brows knit together. I balk. Even Lochlan seems confused, taking his attention off Fawn and turning it to his mother.

“Do…do you mean after?” Lochlan asks, focused on the whip in Doran's hand.

“I mean now.” Slowly, Arawyn turns toward me. Oh, she is furious. Her aura is shimmering around her, her thick and sticky magic pulsing and swelling around the room, choking me with it. Turning to Doran she nods at the whip, before jerking her head my direction. “You have your orders, General. Twenty lashes.” Waltzing back to the table, she once again trails her hand over my shoulder, before leaning down and pressing her face against my ear as she whispers, “Let this be a lesson, son. Sometimes your pets need continuous discipline. Jacket off, I wouldn’t want you getting blood on a nice coat.”

“I’ll be sad to miss the show, but don’t worry, brother, I’ll make sure to take very good care of our new little pet.” Lochlan grips Fawn tightly around the waist and tosses her easily over his shoulder. He turns, heading out the door with Gregor, who is once again whistling that awful tune, the noise ear-splitting. Fawn tilts her head, just enough to look at me for half a heartbeat before he carries her out of sight.

Was that concern I saw in her eyes?

“Now, Caden,” Arawyn snaps, seating herself back on her throne, leaning back in the chair and settling in for the show. I stand, taking a steady breath as I easily slip out of my dinner jacket. I’m unbuttoning my shirt as I make my way toward Doran, who looks like he’s going to be sick. His jaw is set hard, a muscle feathering in his neck, his knuckles white around the handle. I try to tell him with my eyes that this is okay, that I actually prefer this outcome to the punishment landing on Fawn. I suspect the knowledge would not ease his burden. I don’t blame him. I know how heavy inflicting violence on others stains your soul.

Even when it’s against your will.

Letting my shirt flutter to the ground, I come to stand before Doran, nodding solemnly at him, before turning and dropping to my knees. Pulling my wings aside, I bare my back to him. I remind myself that I deserve this. That every lash is a fair easier punishment than the one my decayed soul is worthy of.

“Begin,” the queen says. The crack of a whip fills the dining room, echoing across the polished black stone. The pain is white hot and blinding, but I manage to do nothing more than grunt at the first lick of the leather whip against my flesh. “Again,” Arawyn says.

Crack.

“Again.”

Crack.

“Again.”

Again, and again, and again.

I make it to thirteen before I start screaming.

Ibump along Lochlan's shoulder beneath the light of that bleeding moon. The moment we stepped out of that black hellscape of a room, Lochlan’s magic swelled again, swallowing us into a cold, suffocating void. It reminded me of the tear in the world Caden pulled me through when he stole me from Gaelynn.

Caden.

That bastard is getting what he deserves. Yet something in his eyes when the queen had instructed Lochlan to spin me around like I was to be whipped…it was almost like fear. I would be a liar if I said I hadn’t been terrified, my heart beating so fast I thought it would burst through my chest. But why the fuck would Caden care? I expected him to demand a hundred lashes, or more. I thought he would request to be the one to dole out the punishment, to strike me again and again until I eventually blacked out from the pain. Until I died.

I hope she gives him more than twenty lashes. I hope she repays every debt he owes to the human race for damning us all.