Chapter 51 Myla #2
Movement lures my gaze to my mother, and I watch as she slides her hand over my father’s, giving it a light squeeze before returning it to her lap. He dips his chin in a nearly imperceptible movement before drawing in a deep breath. “If you think it would impart a better lesson for my daughter—”
“You can’t be serious!” Navin interrupts, causing another roll of gasps that echo against the stone walls.
“This goes directly against everything we claim to hold value in.” His hand shoots out in my direction.
“Regardless of what the princess has done, the punishment should be befitting of the crime, and de-veiling her strips her of more than just a cloth over her face. It takes away any future prospects for her to marry.”
I don’t react, letting my fury stoke me from within—a flame that grows infinite in its heat. I know he’s just using my most valuable card to play, but my worth as a person being dwindled down to nothing more than some male’s future wife only makes that flame grow hotter.
“There is still time to make advantageous deals for Myla’s hand, even as she is tainted.” His voice wavers on the final word.
Fuck, I’d rather just out myself fully than be referred to as if I’m not here, but my logic outweighs my emotions, so I keep my mouth shut.
“While I can appreciate your steadfast adherence to tradition, in this case—”
“No, Prince Navin is right,” the king interrupts Father Yamin, his voice sharp. “Administer the lashings, and then we can all get on with our day.”
It’s as simple as that. It brings me a small amount of joy when Father Yamin’s expression stumbles, unable to hide his anger and embarrassment for a few heartbeats before composing himself.
Assuring my veil remains, the two brethren who dragged me here make quick work of removing my robe.
The air is cold as it hits my skin, my hands rebound around the wooden pole.
From the corner of my eye, I watch as my brother leans over to our father, whispering something harshly in his ear.
The king just sends him an icy glare in response.
Navin flexes his jaw, his eyes dropping to the floor where they stay as the sound of the father’s whip uncoiling brings my own focus forward.
Metal scrapes along the stone as he slowly drags the iron-tipped ends of the whip back, and my body reacts and draws taut at the sound.
“Princess Myla Ryuu, you are being punished today for lying to the brethren of Khaos, god of Time and Void, about your whereabouts three evenings ago. As decided by Khaos, and the gods that rule with him, you will receive twenty-five lashings.”
My breath trickles in through my nose as I stare at the unfortunate passage burned into the wood in front of me. May Solana’s light guide you to the Afterlife.
The rustling of Father Yamin’s robe seems to stop time itself, a distended few seconds where there is nothing but the beat of my heart and the hiss of breath between my clenched teeth.
The words on the pole blur as my mind begins to flash through random memories as a distraction.
Sunis and the dragon fields. The men who left bait for Bali.
Aria and the way her hair glints like a jewel beneath the dappled sunlight of the cavern.
All at once, everything fractures, the impact of the whip slicing through my skin luring me back into the present with world-shattering agony.
My eyes snap closed as my chest pushes against the pole, my nails digging into it. The next lash chokes air from my lungs. The next makes my eyes sting. I stop counting around ten, my body sagging against the pole enough that the father pauses for me to be repositioned.
“Get up,” someone calls, feminine but not my voice.
At least, I don’t think it is. A snap rends the air as warmth trickles down my back and pools at my knees.
“Get up!” they say more urgently. I groan, the scent of iron heavy with every gasp, churning my stomach as blood drips down my torso and hips.
“Get. Up. Myla.”
My eyes fly open, strands of black hair covering them as my fingers grip not the wooden pole but something softer—a pillow.
“Come on, you’ve been in bed for three days.
You need to get up.” Navin. He brushes the hair away from my face, concern forming a wrinkle on his forehead.
“You’re covered in sweat. It’s even soaked through the bandages.
” He has the audacity to look slightly ill at that. “Let’s get you cleaned up and moving.”
“I’m not healed enough to move,” I argue, my voice raspy. It had only been three days since the whipping? But I shouldn’t be surprised by that, time moves differently when pain is the only thing you can feel.
“No,” he sighs, tying his long hair back. He’s wearing his sparring leathers and a plain white undershirt. “But you must.”
“You cannot expect me to train in this condition,” I murmur, closing my eyes and sinking my face deeper into the pillow. Snap. Another drag of the barbs against my ravaged back. Snap. There’s no air, and I can’t breathe. Snap.
“I expect so much of you, Myla, and this is no exception. You aren’t weak or helpless or unworthy.
You never have been. Now get up. We have work to do.
” The bedsheets rustle as he stands and leaves my room, the door remaining open behind him.
I groan, but when the sound of the whip cracks again in my mind, I move.
And just like he did the last time the whip met my skin, Navin gets me out of bed and forces me to meet a new day.