Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Bloom
Weight of Consequence
The blood drained from my face.
Nero was bound to an iron post, his wrists dragged high above his head by heavy chains.
He wore only loose trousers, his torso bare and exposed.
His back was turned to the crowd—to me—and between his shoulder blades, spanning the width of his powerful back, was a tattoo.
A portrait of a crowned redhead, her features hauntingly like my own, rendered in ink.
Black roses bloomed at her feet, thorny stems winding like swirling shadows.
My breath caught. When had he gotten that?
I’d never seen it—I was always facing him when he fucked me, and even when his back was to me, it must have been concealed by magic or dim light until this terrible moment.
Students and faculty pressed together in a suffocating mass, their collective breath a heated fog in the air, their giddy anticipation an unwelcome weight.
Each House stood as a distinct island in the sea of onlookers.
House Ravencrux—hybrids, shifters, and something else—formed a somber bloc.
They wore asymmetrical mauve folds: the men in frock coats fastened with dark buttons, the women in high-collared gowns with charcoal embroidery curling along the bodice.
I wore one as well. Heavy fabric, a constricting bodice, the skirt brushing the cobblestones.
Across the way, House Kingsley gathered, a wave of arrogance clad in deep blues and golds. House Stardust’s coven of witches and mages formed a third point, shrouded in purple.
A stifling silence fell, the air sharp with the metallic taste of impending violence. Every eye fixed on the brutal sight at the center of the gothic courtyard: Professor Ravencrux, chained to the whipping post like a fallen dark god.
Kingsley loomed behind Nero, clad in silver armor, Hera’s Whip in his grip.
I could feel its vile, cursed power from where I stood.
The dark metal seemed to writhe as if alive.
Iron barbs protruded from its braided length, glinting with a sickly green sheen.
Its hungry whisper crept over my skin like the voices of the damned.
I knew instinctively it would not only inflict pain but drain the victim’s power.
I could feel its unholy need to consume life force and power.
This wasn’t meant to punish. It was meant to break.
Morrigan brought me to Headmistress Stardust, who sat upon a cushioned seat among a handful of other professors.
Sebastian sat with them, surprisingly, though he was meant to be a student, or did he only pose as one?
His eyes found me, and for the first time since I’d known him, they held no trace of emotion.
The usual warmth, the practiced charm—gone. He simply watched.
The headmistress gave a slight nod. Two sentinels stepped forward and escorted me toward Nero, making me stand only a few feet from him. That was what they’d meant by giving me a front-row view.
I tried not to tremble. I tried to hold on to some dignity.
But I shook like a leaf. I might not need an inhaler anymore, but I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t pass out.
I dropped my gaze to the ground, afraid that if I locked eyes with Nero, I would shatter in front of him, in front of everyone.
I scolded myself, forcing steel into my spine, but I had none, not when I saw Nero chained.
Right now, I needed the hellhound more than anything, but he only ever guarded me at night.
“She’s not supposed to be here!” Nero snarled, the chains rattling as he strained against them. “She’s not supposed to see this!”
“Your little whore is exactly where she belongs,” Kingsley said, his voice smug and cruel. “You might have found a loophole to spare her the lashes, but she will witness this. If you thought her such a fragile flower, you should never have plucked her. This is all on you.”
“Go fuck yourself, you piece of shit,” Nero hissed with pure hatred. Then he turned his head and barked, “Stardust! Get her out of here!”
“She’s outvoted,” Kingsley chuckled. “The entire committee voted for your squeeze toy to watch your punishment. You wanted to play the hero in an epic romance where you rescued your lady? You got it.”
From the Kingsley ranks came a ripple of snickers. The enmity between the house leaders trickled down, turning every student bearing Ravencrux colors into a target.
“It’s all right, Nero,” I said, forcing strength into my voice. “I will watch. And I will remember. I won’t forget who is owed a debt.”
“Now she shows some fire,” Kingsley tsked. “Surprise.”
“One day, you will pay for this,” Nero vowed, the words a violent rumble.
Then Dante and Orren appeared, positioning themselves on either side of me like walls of protection. Their presence grounded me, even as nauseating dread remained lodged in my stomach. The four of us—me, Dante, Orren, and Nero—fixed our burning hatred upon Kingsley.
If only my loathing could strike him dead where he stood.
When our enemy’s piercing gaze fixed on me, I did not waver. I did not cower, though he was formidable and I was nothing—a new student caught in their games. One day, I would get him. And if I was not mistaken, for a flickering second, he flinched.
Kingsley raised the whip.
It fell across Nero’s back with a crack like thunder. In any other hands, the whip would be brutal—but wielded by Kingsley, with all his power behind it, the effect was horrific.
When the lash lifted, strips of flesh came with it. Blood streamed down Nero’s skin in rivulets, pooling at his feet. Shredded tissue clung to the barbs, dangling like grotesque trophies.
A sob caught in my throat. My body was frail, but in that moment, I would have taken his place. Why had he volunteered? I could have endured it. I could have found another way. Now he was tormented because of me.
Another lash split the air, painting his back like a bloody canvas. The iron barbs tore deeper, biting into muscle. Nero didn’t make a sound. His jaw was clenched so tightly the muscle leapt, but he refused to give Kingsley the satisfaction of a scream.
I trembled until my teeth chattered. Orren’s hand closed around mine, pumping silent courage into my veins. I straightened my spine.
When the third lash landed, I glimpsed bone through the ravaged flesh—white flashing beneath the red. My stomach turned violently.
“Stop!” I screamed. “I’ll leave! Banish me, erase my memory, do whatever you want! I swear I’ll never see him again. Just fucking stop!”
The whip continued to fall, relentless.
“Four. Five…” someone counted from the crowd, their voice flat.
“I said stop, you goddamned motherfucker!” I screamed and charged toward Kingsley. I didn’t care if he killed me. I wanted to destroy him, to tear him apart with my bare hands.
Dante shot out an arm and dragged me back. Orren locked his arms around me as well. I struggled with everything I had, but they were too strong.
Kingsley laughed. “This is better than I’d hoped.”
“Six. Seven. Eight…”
The whip slashed across Nero’s back again and again, the wet, shredding sound sickening.
The smell of blood thickened the air, metallic and heavy.
Each strike opened fresh wounds, tore deeper into already ruined flesh.
And it was draining him; his skin grew paler, his body sagging further with every blow.
“Leave him alone, please!” I cried, my voice breaking.
“Shhh,” Dante murmured, holding me tight to keep me standing. “It will be over soon.”
“He’ll survive,” Orren added in a strained, furious voice. “He won’t break. He never breaks. He’s endured worse. Morrigan will heal him after.”
Nothing could be worse than this.
The crowd watched, transfixed. A few looked away, faces pale or hands pressed to mouths.
But most of the supernatural spectators wore expressions of stark fascination, eyes wide and hungry.
They had never imagined witnessing an immortal of his power being publicly broken. This was their entertainment.
Nero held his head high as the whip fell again, showing them all who truly held power here, even chained and bleeding, even with Kingsley wielding the whip with such killing intent.
“Eighteen, nineteen…” The count continued, each number another wound carved into his body.
Another lash fell brutally across his shoulders, catching the edge of the tattoo—my own face in blood and ink, rendered unrecognizable. He swayed, his knees buckling, but the chains hauled him upright, forcing him to endure.
Anguish slammed through me, hollowing out my soul.
“I brought this on him,” I whispered, tears welling and drying and welling again. “I chose wrong. If I had just gone away—”
“It’s not your fault,” Dante bit out. “Never your fault!”
“Don’t watch,” Orren said, his eyes burning with helpless fury.
“I will not look away,” I said through clenched teeth. “I want to remember every second. I won’t forget, and I’ll never forgive.”
My fingernails sank into my palms. Blood welled, hot and swift.
And I began to weave.