Chapter 39
The clearing was alive with shadows and whispers, torchlight dancing across faces twisted with anticipation.
I couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the roaring in my ears as I watched them drag Cade toward the wooden platform at the centre of the circle.
Her screams tore through me like physical wounds, each one slicing deeper than the last.
"Show me the fucking footage!" I shouted, pushing through the crowd of hooded figures and curious onlookers. "This is bullshit! We need to see the evidence!" Logan's hand clamped down on my shoulder, his fingers digging in painfully.
"Stand down, Ryder. It's done." I shook him off violently.
"No, it's not fucking done. Not until I see what you saw." My voice cracked with desperation as I fought my way to the front. "Something isn't right here."
The platform loomed before us, ancient wood stained dark with years of ritual and punishment.
Two hooded figures, housemen from Syndicate and Archive, were my guess, hauled Cade up the three wooden steps.
Her legs kept buckling beneath her, forcing them to practically carry her to the central post where iron manacles hung like perverse ornaments.
"Please," she sobbed, her voice thin and broken.
"Please don't do this. I didn't do anything!
" I lunged forward, breaking away from Logan's grip, taking the steps two at a time.
The housemen were already stripping her, roughly yanking off her burgundy coat, the one I'd bought her just last week, and then my hoodie, leaving her trembling in just a thin camisole, her skin ghostly pale in the torchlight.
"Cade, baby," I grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at me, searching her tear-streaked face for answers. "Tell them, Cade, tell me you didn't do it. Tell me you weren't with Damien." Her blue eyes, wide with terror, locked onto mine.
"I wasn't, I swear I wasn't! He attacked me, Ryder. Please believe me!" Something cold and hard settled in my gut. She was telling the truth. I could feel it, see it in the naked fear in her eyes. This wasn't the look of someone caught in betrayal; this was the raw panic of the wrongfully accused.
"I believe you," I whispered, but strong hands were already pulling me back.
"That's enough, Mr Purcell," Williams' voice cut through the night, sharp as a blade. "The evidence has been presented and accepted."
"By who?" I spat, struggling against Cole's restraining grip. "Logan? Did either of us get a vote? Did anyone actually fucking ask Cade what happened?" Logan stepped forward, his face carved from stone.
"I saw the footage, Ryder, with my own eyes. Her and McIntyre kissing. His hands on her throat, the same throat she claimed he bruised when he 'attacked' her. But she wasn’t afraid, she was loving it."
"And you didn't think that maybe, just maybe, the footage didn't show the whole story?" I snarled, trying to wrench free from Cole. "You didn't think to fucking ask her?"
"The Trivium has made its decision," Williams intoned, his academic demeanour replaced by something colder, more ceremonial. "The Second Offence Punishment Protocol will be carried out as tradition demands." I froze, ice flooding my veins.
"No. No, you can't be serious."
Williams' eyes gleamed in the torchlight as he addressed the gathered crowd. "For the crime of betrayal, the Consort must face punishment at the hands of her Regents. Each shall deliver three lashes, followed by the branding that marks her transgression."
"Branding?" I choked out, horror clawing up my throat. Oh fuck, I forgot about the branding. "You can't-"
"Should any Regent refuse to participate," Williams continued, his gaze boring into me, "they shall forfeit their title and all protections therein.
" The threat hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
Forfeit my Regency. Lose everything. And not just me, my mother, locked away in Lexington, dependent on the protection my title afforded her.
Luce, vulnerable to my father's manipulations without my standing to shield her.
He would use this against me. He would see this as his way in, his reason to do all the things that he keeps promising to do.
The thought of Aaron Purcell with unchecked power over my family made my blood run cold.
I was trapped. We all were. Behind me, I caught a glimpse of a hooded figure, slipping away from the clearing.
Max, the houseman I'd whispered to earlier, sent to find Luce, to bring her here to testify. If I could just stall long enough…
"Prepare the accused," Williams commanded.
The housemen seized Cade again, dragging her to the post. One produced a knife, the blade glinting wickedly in the firelight, and in a swift motion sliced up the back of her camisole, exposing her pale skin to the night air.
She whimpered, struggling weakly as they secured her wrists in the iron cuffs, stretching her arms above her head, leaving her back defenceless.
"Please," she begged, her voice breaking on a sob. "I'm innocent. I swear I'm innocent."
Williams approached me, a crude leather whip coiled in his outstretched hands.
"Mr Purcell. You will begin." The weight of it in my hands made me want to vomit.
The leather was worn smooth from use, the tail tipped with a small knot, and something else, something metal, designed to bite into flesh.
I stared at it, then at Cade's exposed back, unmarked and vulnerable in the flickering light.
"I can't," I whispered, my hands shaking. "Please don't make me do this."
"You must," Williams replied, implacable. "Or face the consequences of refusal."
My father's voice echoed in my head: Weakness has consequences, boy. And not just for you. I thought of my mother's fragile state, of Luce's terrified face whenever Aaron was near. If I lost my Regency, they would lose their only protection.
"Proceed, Mr Purcell," Williams commanded. "Or forfeit your title."
I approached Cade, my legs leaden, stomach churning with self-loathing. She turned her head, her tear-stained face visible in profile, purple hair falling across her cheek.
"I'm sorry," I choked out, my voice barely audible. "Cade, I'm so fucking sorry. I have no choice."
"Ryder, please," she sobbed. "Don't do this. I'm begging you." My hand tightened on the whip, tears blurring my vision.
"I'll fix this," I promised. "I swear to God, I'll make this right." Williams' voice cut through my anguish.
"Three lashes, Mr Purcell. Now."
I raised the whip, my arm feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. The crowd seemed to hold its collective breath. In that moment, I hated them all, the voyeurs, the self-righteous Trivium puppets, Logan with his blind certainty. Most of all, I hated myself for what I was about to do.
The first lash cracked through the air like a gunshot. Cade's scream tore through the night as the leather and metal bit into her flesh, leaving an angry red welt across her shoulder blades. The sound of it, the feel of the impact reverberating up my arm, made bile rise in my throat.
"I'm sorry," I gasped, tears streaming freely down my face now.
"I'm so sorry." The second lash landed lower, crossing the first. Her body arched away from the pain, a primal, wounded sound escaping her lips that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Blood beaded along the welts, tiny crimson droplets glistening in the torchlight.
By the third lash, I was barely able to stand, my vision swimming with tears, my chest heaving with suppressed sobs.
Cade hung limply from the chains, her back already beginning to swell and bruise from my betrayal.
I dropped the whip as if it had burned me, stumbling forward to grasp her chained hands in mine.
"Forgive me," I pleaded, pressing my forehead against her trembling fingers. "Please, Cade. I had no choice. I'm so sorry." Her only response was a broken whimper, her body shuddering with each ragged breath. I clung to her hands, my tears falling onto her skin, mingling with the sweat of her pain.
"Mr Bowers," Williams' voice cut through my grief. "You're next." I refused to move, staying at Cade's side, holding her hands as Cole stepped forward. His face was ashen, eyes hollow with horror as he took the whip. He looked at me, then at Cade, something like a silent apology passing between us.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking.
"God, Cade, I'm sorry." The whip cracked again, and Cade's body jerked violently, a fresh scream tearing from her throat.
I flinched as if I'd been struck myself, my fingers tightening around hers.
The second lash fell, then the third, each one punctuated by her cries and the sickening sound of leather meeting flesh.
Cole staggered back, dropping the whip and lurching to the edge of the platform, where he bent double, retching.
The stench of vomit mingled with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid smell of fear-sweat.
"Mr Bale," Williams intoned. "Complete the punishment." Logan stepped forward, his face a mask of cold determination, but I could see the conflict raging behind his eyes. He picked up the whip, hesitating for just a moment before raising his arm.
"Wait," I begged. "Logan, please. She's innocent. You can stop this." His jaw tightened.
"I saw the evidence, Ryder."
"Fuck the evidence! Look at her! Does this feel right to you?" For a brief moment, doubt flickered across his features. Then Williams stepped closer, his voice low but carrying.
"Mr Bale. Your duty." The whip rose and fell.
Once. Twice. Three times. Each strike precise, methodical, as if Logan was trying to distance himself from the act.
Cade's screams had diminished to hoarse, broken sobs, her body no longer even tensing against the blows.
I pressed my lips to her knuckles, tasting salt and copper.
"It's over," I murmured. "It's over, Cade. No more."