His Forsaken Luna-Chapter 32: Fury

From the moment I saw her, I never believed her to be a spoilt princess.

Was I wrong? Is that why she fled like a thief in the night?

My hand curls into a fist, wanting to strike something, feeling restless that she is not within close proximity.

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The sun was yet to be at its highest peak, but we finally arrived in my gilded cage. I expected Deyanira to be waiting for us at the gates, make a show of this. She is not; the palace is just how it was the day before.

Of course, the Queen Mother would not be waiting—she will make me wait.

Once we pass the gates, Orym lowers himself to the ground, and I slide off before he shifts back into his human form. Guards are already beside me, hands on my wrists after passing Orym a pair of breeches. They crowd my space, wary that I might escape their grasp.

Did they forget who I was and what my infamy was for? I was as weak as a human. There was no need to handle me like some beastly criminal.

Orym’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, and the other guards stepped back. I looked over my shoulder at Soren and Theo. Neither looked in great shape, standing naked in the snow, their bodies full of bruises and slashes. The Weres had acted aggressively towards them the entire journey back.

"I had your word," I hiss at Orym. "They played no part in this!"

Orym smirked. "And you do have my word, Princess. They are free to go." As he spoke those words, the Weres circling my knight and slave disbanded from around them.

Relief floods my chest and stomach, loosening the tight, nauseous knots that had been formed during the journey, worrying over my knight and slave. With a sigh, I accepted what was next to come. Was this to be a walk of shame now?

I wore a servant’s dress. Whatever ridicule I face for that is nothing compared to what will happen when I am alone with Deyanira. I keep my chin lifted, steeling myself.

"It’s no use!" Soren snaps behind me. I force myself to focus on the path ahead. "A slave will never get an audience with the Alpha King!"

What? That almost made me look in the direction for such a foolish-

"Then you go to him!" Theo hisses. "You’re her knight!"

They should worry about themselves.

Orym drags me further away so I cannot hear the rest. At first, we enter through the front doors of the palace, which is surprisingly quiet. Fortunately, I am then led through the servants’ corridors.

"Thank you,’ I murmur.

"You won’t be thanking me after this," Orym replies quietly. There is some semblance of pity there. He, like only a select few chosen by Deyanira, is aware of how I am really treated by the Queen Mother.

With a mask of indifference, I’m pushed forward into Deyanira’s chambers. The black flooring sparkles like normal, and I keep my gaze on it as Orym leads me further into her chambers. My heart begins to pound louder and louder the closer we get to the room I know so very well.

"Mistress," Orym calls, stepping forward, knowing well I will not move or run. My eyes remain on the sparkling floor. Is it some type of moon rock?

I feel her gaze on me before I hear those pointed heels click against the floor. "Thank you, Orym. You did well. I expected nothing less," she purrs.

I glance up and look away swiftly upon seeing Deyanira’s hand gliding along the knight’s taut chest, her raven locks around her shoulders in waves. She is in a black gossamer gown, long black gloves reaching her elbows, the dress she gives out punishments in.

"You may go," Deyanira waves her hand to Orym. Then whispers, believing I do not hear. "Come back tonight."

Favourite knight indeed.

Orym bows and wordlessly leaves. I am nauseous for other reasons now.

Before Deyanira can begin babbling, I speak first. "You could have let me go." My eyes raise to meet hers.

Deyanira doesn’t like that. She moves an imaginary strand away from her face and wrinkles her nose. It has always been her tell. "And miss out on our fun? Idalia... Darling... You know I must discipline you for this."

I drop my gaze, and she steps closer.

"You made my precious boy worry. Even now, I believe he paces instead of working...All." She taps her finger on my nose. "Because." Tap. "Of you." Tap.

I glared back at her before I could stop myself. Her responding smirk was all it took before she pointed at the post on the other side of the room. So today, it would be whipping. In a state of mind I’d fallen into every time, I moved towards the post, already disassociating from what was about to happen.

From muscle memory, I lifted my skirts, holding them to post, revealing my scarred calves and leaned against the wood.

"Oh no, dear child," Deyanira scoffed. "You tried to run away. That is a grave offence."

My body started to shake, but I bit my tongue, focusing on my anger so she wouldn’t gain any satisfaction besides what she was about to do.

The whip slices through the air, and I brace myself. The back of my dress rips open, and cool air caresses my skin. "You won’t be needing this old thing again. Don’t worry, though. I have a few old dresses here I haven’t discarded yet."

Somehow, whenever she whips my back, it never scars once it has healed. It is like the whip is enchanted because I know it is not me.

I release my tongue and focus on an old blood stain on the floor that the maids couldn’t scrub out. It was the same spot every time. Any other babbling from the woman goes over my head as I breathe in, and the whip slices down on my back. White hot pain erupts across my body. I breathe out, releasing my tightened muscles.

The whip cracks through the air, and I continue my breathing, focusing on the blood stain, ignoring Deyanira’s chatter about how this was good for me. Tears spring to my eyes, but I blink them away.

She will never see my tears. My eyes burn and glaze over as the whip slices again and again into my back.

Anguish turns into fury. That fury holds me upright, burning bright, sizzling under my skin, keeping me stronger than before. I’m done being weak. I am done being their whipping post. Something inside of me has snapped.

Sure, I was always going to be punished if I was caught. But I’d been whipped for far less. Tortured for lesser things.

I do not care if she is Alaric’s mother; I will get my vengeance. For me, for my mother. Anger boils in my blood; it’s so potent that I don’t know what to do with it. I barely register the crack of the whip against the back of my calves, but my body grows weaker.

Again and again, pain slashes across my body. My bottom lip doesn’t so much as quiver. That blood stain on the ground begins to blur, and I know I am almost spent.

Deyanira slips as I cling to the post; the skirts dropped to cover my legs now that she’s had her fill there as well. I tremble, my muscles screaming for release as I hold myself up.

"What do you say, Idalia?"

I vaguely register her words ringing around my ears. My head is yanked back by my hair, and I stare at Deyanira’s disgustingly beautiful features. I have no more energy left to give, and she knows it. "What do you say?!" She snaps.

"Thank you," I mumble, swallowing thickly through a dry throat. I do not scream, and I do not cry. That is why my punishments are always so long.

Deyanira wants to hear me, see me fall apart. Never do I give her the satisfaction. It is one thing, as little as it is that I can keep to myself.

"For?"

"Teaching..." I inhale deeply. "Me a lesson. I am... S-sorry." The words taste like ash in my mouth. These words are meaningless.

"Idalia!?" A loud thud follows the familiar voice.

Huh?

The ground suddenly shakes, and I am not sure if I am hallucinating or already passed out. I turn, but the world swirls around me.

"Idalia!" I blink up, suddenly aware of arms around me, beneath my knees and back. Black dots cloud my vision at the sudden change in movement, and pain shoots up my spine.

"What have you done?!" He snarls, but not at me. Everything feels like it is in slow motion. Blinking, I watch as Alaric threatens Deyanira.

"It is in my jurisdiction to punish her, son. This is perfectly normal for a rebellious royal-"

"THIS is not normal!" He roars, hands gripping me tighter. My wince doesn’t go unnoticed. He curses in Issorian and glowers at his mother. "We are not done."

Then we are moving. The walls blur into one, and I shut my eyes to the dizziness. "I’m so sorry." Alaric continues to mutter his apologies as the wind from his movements thrust my hair away from my face. The air is cool but does not sweep away the locks plastered to my forehead from sweating.

"It’s fine." I blink up at him, try to smile and pat his chest limply.

Alaric stares at me, heartbroken. My comforting skills are somewhat lacking.

My head flops back against his arm, and I watch the hall behind him, staring at the figure at the other end. Eryx? No, I am hallucinating. But nobody else has such enchanting green eyes, so vivid, especially in the darkness of these halls.

That does not make any sense. Why would he be in the servant’s quarters?

I blink, and he is gone. Hallucinating about my enemy. Great.

My vision blurs, and darkness envelops me, washing away the pain shooting across my body like thousands of needles stabbing, twisting and turning. I welcome the dark, and it welcomes me.