20. Morning’s Torment
Chapter twenty
Morning’s Torment
Scarlett
The hall gleamed under the torchlight, the obsidian tiles reflecting Cyrus’ predatory grin.
Scarlett’s chains bit into her wrists as she stood trembling, forcing herself to appear meek, obedient, and blushing as he demanded.
Ace remained bound behind her, his eyes burning with frustration and helplessness.
“Lift your chin. Shoulders back. Curtsy again,” Cyrus commanded, voice smooth, deliberate, and poisonous. Scarlett obeyed, her body trembling as she forced herself to appear meek, vulnerable—precisely what he demanded. Every flutter of fear in her eyes, every stuttered motion, was feeding him.
He stepped closer, close enough that his breath grazed her neck.
“That’s it, little Heartland,” he murmured.
“See how easy it is to break you? To bend you to my will?” His hand slid lightly to the curve of her hip, pushing her slightly into him.
Scarlett’s knees buckled under the pressure, but she forced a tiny curtsy, the picture of a compliant bride.
Then, without warning, his hand rose, gripping her chin, tilting her face toward his.
“Kiss me,” he demanded, voice sharp, velvet over steel.
Her pulse skipped. She pressed her lips to his as instructed, a perfunctory, careful motion to appease him, and he bit his lip sharply, savoring her discomfort.
The moment his mouth met hers fully, her anger flared—hot, immediate, uncontainable. She bit him sharply on the lip, tasting iron and cruelty.
Cyrus’ head snapped back, eyes narrowing in fury.
Without hesitation, he struck her across the cheek, his hand burning against her skin.
Scarlett staggered as the chains rattled against the stone, a sharp gasp tearing from her lips.
Pain flared across her cheek, heat blooming beneath the strike, as a thin line of blood slipped from the corner of her mouth.
His grin returned, darker this time—sharp enough to wound. “Bold little Heartland,” he murmured, his voice a dangerous blend of velvet and steel. “You think defiance earns freedom? Respect?”
His hands closed around her shoulders, firm as he forced her upright and dragged her closer against him. Scarlett fought the instinct to recoil.
“No,” Cyrus said softly, almost amused. “It earns consequences.” His gaze dragged over her like a claim already made. “Tonight, you will remember exactly what role you serve in this kingdom.”His grip tightened. “My bride,” he whispered. “My possession. My property.”
He yanked her closer by her hair, grinding her against him, the bruising press of his body and hands leaving her no room to escape.
His gaze flicked toward Ace, bound and gagged across the hall, shadows curling around his restrained form.
“Look at him,” Cyrus sneered. “Your precious prince… helpless. A lesson for you, little Heartland whelp. Do you see what happens to those who think they can claim freedom—or love?”
Cyrus dragged his hands along her sides, pressing them into her waist, and then shoved her forward until her chest pressed against the table where the wedding preparations lay scattered.
“And you,” he growled, turning Scarlett sharply by the shoulders, “will learn. You will feel… every inch of what it means to obey me.” Cyrus yanked on the flimsy fabric of the night slip she was forced to wear.
When Scarlett instinctively flinched, flaring her defiance with a quiet growl, Cyrus’ callous hand came down across her bare ass, brutal and punishing, the smack echoing through the hall.
“You bite me,” he spat, hand gripping her hair and pulling her head back again.
“You will remember what that earns. You want to act like a spoiled brat, I will treat you like one.” Another smack followed, his fingers forcing her to stagger, to bend, to submit in every movement.
Cyrus forced her head back onto the table with a thud, causing Scarlett's vision to blur.
Cyrus signaled to the guard to come closer.
“Bind her wrist to the table leg.” Scarlett fought in Cyrus' grasp and against the tension in her arms from being stretched over the table.
The guard backed away to his corner of the room again.
Cyrus pulled on Scarlett's hips, ensuring her arms were pulled painfully tight.
Cyrus’ hand on the back of her neck, pressing her face hard to the table, showing her off to Ace, letting him watch helplessly.
“This is what obedience looks like,” Cyrus said, dragging a finger down Scarlett’s cheek, sharp, precise, almost painful in its control.
“Your body… your posture… every gesture must scream compliance. You are mine in sight of every court, every noble, every witness who believes in my power—and in the price of defiance.”
Cyrus grabbed her hair again, tugging her face up toward him until their faces were inches apart.
Scarlett winced at the pain of the position.
He forced her lips to his, biting his own in mock temptation, using the kiss to assert ownership rather than desire.
Scarlett’s instinctive flinch earned her a strike across her face, and he grinned cruelly, letting her head drop back to the table.
Cyrus began undoing his trousers, and Scarlett began to panic at the sound of him undressing. “No, No, you…you can’t. What about waiting for the wedding night?” Scarlett stammered and pleaded.
“You're already ruined, why not get started on that heir?” His voice was final.
“You will not resist me,” he whispered, voice velvet with venom.
“Not now. Not tonight. Not ever. Not while you stand as a symbol of my will. Every part of you will belong to me—and every inch, every shiver, every gasp will remind you that you are a vessel, a tool, and mine. By nightfall… You will remember this lesson well.”
On his last word, he shoved into Scarlett as she screamed out helplessly. She was forced to endure his relentlessness. Tears pooled beneath her cheek, onto the parchment scattered across the table. Ace couldn't bear to watch. Scarlett searched for Ace's eyes, pleading with him to somehow intervene.
Cyrus’ voice felt distant, like she was hearing him through a wall of water.
She stared off past Ace, the dark stone and curtains behind him.
The stone faded into wood. Warm honey colored walls, the scent of old paper wrapped around her.
Bookshelves lined the wall; the vision was soft, familiar anywhere but where she was now.
The sound of a bell tugged at something deep in her chest. For one impossible moment, she could almost feel herself standing between the bookshelves.
The image flicked and was gone as quickly as it came, and pain rushed back into her body. The weight of Cyrus pressed against her, the rage radiating off him as he used her to make his point. The chains pulled taught, cutting into her wrists. His voice snapped her back into her suffering.
“See how useless you are, boy, you abandon her sight even here? You’d never have what it takes to rule this kingdom. Or to protect anything.” Cyrus grunted before pulling out of her. Scarlett took a full breath for the first time since he shoved her to the table, hoping this was over.
Cyrus rounded the table, pulling Scarlett by her hair, forcing her to turn over and lie across the table on her back with her head hanging over the edge.
He bent down to her, his voice vile and tight, “Open your mouth and do not bite me, you whore.” She refused, turning her head away from him.
A wave of panic hit her as the blood rushed to her head, lying this way so exposed and vulnerable.
He gripped her by the throat and held her nose with his other hand, forcing her to open her mouth to breathe.
She fought him with all she could, but the lack of air ached in her chest. With her gasp for breath, he intruded her mouth forcefully.
She gagged at the taste and size of him.
He was acidic on her tongue, tasting of malice and dirt.
“Look how well you can behave when your hand is forced,” he cooed through clenched teeth. He pulled out slightly before burrowing himself to the hilt in her throat. Tears streamed down her face, while drool trickled out from the side of her mouth, her face turning red from the lack of air.
Cyrus was relentless, until her chest was heaving. He pulled out again to let her draw in one breath before thrusting forward again. Satisfied with her suffering, as her chest began to heave again, he came with a forceful grunt, before removing himself from her mouth.
Scarlett turned her head over to heave and spit. But Cyrus gripped her chin, holding her nose once more, and covering her mouth. “Swallow, now.” He demanded, as she was forced to obey him. Releasing her, she finally rolled to her side on the table, her sobs quiet as her body shook.
Cyrus stepped back, surveying her bruised, trembling form with a sharp smile.
“Prepare yourself,” he commanded. “We have a performance to perfect. The bride must appear blushing, obedient, and terrified. Everything else… I’ll take care of it tonight.
” Cyrus signaled to the guard to release her from the table.
He turned and left the room. She searched for Ace one final time before hiding her gaze in shame. His eyes were red and lined with tears, his body shaking with fury. There was nothing he could do to protect her.
Scarlett staggered off the table, chains clinking, every nerve alight with humiliation, pain, and the knowledge that Ace had been forced to witness her degradation.
Her body ached, her mind whirled—but the ember of defiance, though buried beneath bruises and fury, still pulsed beneath her skin.
She would endure. She would survive. And when the time came, every ounce of her torment would be repaid.