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“You disappointed me today, Huntyr,” he began.
I dropped my head. “Yes, Lord. My opponent was stronger than I expected him to be.”
Lord stood from the chair with unexpected speed, crossing the room in two big strides. “Now you make excuses? You think it is his fault that you struggled during the fight?”
I stumbled over my words, “No, Lord, I–”
A hand cut across my cheek. The stinging on my face was nothing compared to the shame that crept through my body. I deserved it.
“It cannot happen again,” he commanded.
I squeezed my eyes shut to keep the tears from seeping out. “I understand.”
“Do you?” Lord challenged, his musky breath brushing over the now-sensitive skin on my face. “I’ve tried, Huntyr. I’ve tried to protect you, to train you for the dangers of the world. Do you understand how much I have sacrificed for you? How much I risked by saving your life? Do you know just how special you are?”
I did not answer.
“Many of the Phantoms would take your place in an instant to be brought up by me, to be personally trained by me from childhood. You are a weapon, Huntyr. A sword. There is no room for error here.”
“I can do better,” I mumbled. “I’ll train harder, I’ll get stronger.”
The silence that lingered between us seemed to last for minutes. “You will,” he replied finally. “You have no other choice.”
Lord turned to walk toward the back of the room once more, only pausing for a second to tilt his head toward the ceiling and exhale, long and slow. Perhaps he wouldn’t punish me this time. Perhaps his disappointment would be enough.
But he reached for the whip that always sat in the corner, propped against the wall. I knew then that I was very wrong.
What came next was no surprise.
“Turn around.”
Another beat of silence. My heart stuttered in my chest.
“Yes, Lord.” I did as I was told, moving in slow-motion as I turned and lifted my training garments, peeling away the blackleathers and matching black undershirt until I stood facing the door with nothing on but my chest wrap.
The first lash came quickly, unexpectedly. I hissed in pain when the leather snapped through the air, smacking against my scarred, bare back. My hands slapped against the wooden door, holding me up as I braced myself.
“Do you think I enjoy this?” Lord demanded. “Do you think I want to hurt you, Huntyr?”
Another smack of the whip, lower this time. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out.
“I do this for you!” he pushed.
Another lash.
Another.
Tears streamed down my face now, and I was happy Lord could not see my lapse of strength.
Tears were weak. Showing pain was weak.
I eventually lost count of the lashes. Seven, maybe eight.
My vision blurred, my head grew heavy. My forehead fell against the wooden door in front of me as I struggled to stay upright. They were just lashings. This was the punishment I deserved, no worse than any of the others I had received.
I nearly cried out in relief when I heard him drop the whip to the ground. “Look at me,” Lord ordered.
I wiped my face quickly before turning to face him, lifting my chin to meet his steely gaze. I only saw a quick glimpse of anger in his eyes before it melted away to a soft expression of pity, of care.
