Chapter 144: 144. Court V
Maisie
The whip was ash-tipped.
There was a crack, and the world fragmented as Quinlan bowed when the whip sliced into his back. He gritted his teeth, hissing, but did not cry out.
He only laughed.
It was the sixty-seventh lash.
The third restart.
The Queen sipped from her cup of tea, curling her hand through the strands of her mate’s hair as he nuzzled her knee. Her cruel eyes were on me as she said, "Start over."
The whip lifted again.
That was when I lunged.
I did not think or care. I hurled myself toward the man with the whip, meaning to wrap the leather around his throat and drag him down with me if it killed us both.
Jericho caught me around the middle. Mercer caught my arms.
I fought them like an animal.
I screamed. Kicked. Bit down on whatever I could reach. They held me anyway, stoic and unyielding, Quinlan’s blood wash all over the floors.
The hall wasn’t watching anymore. Not even the people who had frothed at the mouth to catch the rare sight of a belittled prince weren’t watching anymore. It’d stopped feeling satisfying after the fiftieth lash.
But that had been over an hour ago.
Crack.
Now I sat curled on the floor of the bedroom, my back pressed to the wall, my knees shoved tight to my chest. My body felt hollowed out. My throat burned from the soundless sobs I had cried into my own hands until there was nothing left in me but shaking.
I had been deposited in here after I punched Jericho for holding me back and told the Queen while holding her gaze that I was going to kill her.
She had smirked, amused by that, because we both knew the truth. I couldn’t do anything. Doing something had brought this upon them. All I ever did was start fires I couldn’t put out, unwittingly.
Soren was right. I was a walking hazard.
Crack.
My shoulders curled inward.
I pressed my palms harder over my ears, as if that could stop the sound from getting in. As if it could stop the image of Quinlan on the floor from burning itself into my skull.
I couldn’t tell how long I sat there, but silence fell at some point, so abrupt, I almost didn’t notice it.
No more whip. No more grunts of pain. Just nothing.
My chest tightened.
I surged to my feet and wrenched the door open.
A guard stood outside with Brynn.
Her face went flat the moment she saw me.
Whatever softness had existed between us before had been scraped clean and thrown away. There was nothing but contempt there now. "His Highness has instructed that you remain in your bedroom tonight," she said.
My heart lurched painfully. "Quinlan—"
"I believe you have done more than enough damage. We have the best healers in the world in this castle. They will see to his swift recovery."
My hands started shaking again, but this time it was anger. "Get out of my way, Brynn. I do not care what you think of me. You will not stop me from seeing him."
A muscle twitched in her jaw.
For a second, I thought she might refuse. But she stepped aside.
I shoved past her so fast my shoulder caught the doorframe.
I went left. Then right. Then left again.
I had no idea where the hell the infirmary was.
The corridor stretched ahead, every wall lined with guards who looked at me as though I had some plague they didn’t want to contact. Trying to ask them got me nowhere.
So I focused on the bond. The pain. By the time I found the red double doors, I’d been lost four times and was breathing hard enough to hurt.
I slipped inside. Healers moved around me with bowls of water, bloodied cloths, salves, needles, vials of colored liquid. The air was thick with incense and herbs and blood.
Quinlan’s blood.
My gaze darted frantically from one body to another as I looked between each room, and a small sob escaped me when I finally found him.
Quinlan lay on a wide bed half-hidden behind a screen.
His shirt had been cut away.
The skin of his back was striped raw, red and ruined. His face was turned to the side, his lashes dark against his cheek. One arm lay limp over the edge of the mattress.
He hadn’t stopped bleeding.
Tears poured down my cheeks and I took a step. Toward him. A run. I knew it in that moment that I was a fool for thinking I could ever stay away from these men. Bond or not, they’d become a part of me at some point. And now, when they hurt, I hurt too.
I took another step.
Then froze.
Because someone was already there.
Standing beside his bed with a clean cloth tenderly wiping over the blood on his back was Tessa. I suspected he was out of it, but it still felt like someone had ripped a hand into my chest and squashed my heart.
I should’ve been there.
I should’ve been the one running my fingers through his hair, tending to his wounds. I should’ve been the one by his side.
I exhaled sharply, and Tessa’s head rose. The second her eyes landed on me, that ugly hate settled over her features.
Clutching the bloodied rag, she crossed the room, shoving me outside and shutting the door behind her. "What are you doing here?"
I glared at her, shoving her right back. "That’s my line. What do you think you’re doing?"
"Taking care of him," she answered, blocking my path before I could take a step back into the room. "Someone had to. You should leave. Your presence here is unneeded."
Fury heated my cheeks swiftly. "In case you’ve missed the last few weeks in some severe case of amnesia, allow me to stir your memory. I am the mate. I am the wife. You have no right to be here."
Something flashed across her face and she snatched my harm in a painful grip. "You have some nerve, showing up here with that look on your face when you’re the reason he’s in this state. Every problem in their lives lately begins and ends with you. You did this to him."
I felt the guilt clogging my throat, the voices whispering in my mind telling me she was right. I tried to shake it off. "I didn’t—"
"Four hundred," she flung at me. "Four hundred lashes for stupid bitch like you. Soren would give up his throne and whore himself out. The bastard would bend the knee and bed his enemy. The brute would start a war for you. What have you ever done to deserve them?"
Her claws were tearing into my skin. But her words were digging even deeper into my mind, tearing at my defenses.
Inadequate. Unfit. Useless.
"I heard you asked for a divorce," she continued. "I always knew you wouldn’t be able to handle them. You are young and selfish and cannot see past yourself. You think the world around you is a fairytale of roses and violets—"
"You don’t know anything about me—"
"That position you so carelessly throw away, many would gladly die for—"
"I never asked for this! And if you would die for it, why don’t you just have at it, then?!"
I didn’t mean it. I didn’t know if I meant it. But when I felt the presence behind me and Tessa’s face rose above my shoulder, I knew that I wanted to take it back.
Turning, I found Jericho’s hard look.
"Jericho, wait. I didn’t—"
His jaw clenched and without another word, he turned around and left.
"Because they don’t want me," Tessa said when I tried to go after him. A little laugh escaped her. "Do you have any idea what it took to get them in line? The depraved things I’ve done to them to secure my place? Do you have any idea why I informed the Queen of your existence?"
My gaze snapped to hers.
"Because I knew it was the only thing that would get them to the aisle. Holding you captive. And it worked." Her eyes shimmered with hatred. "I was this close. So close to having everything. And they would’ve gone along with it, shackling themselves to me, if it meant keeping you safe. The Queen’s condition to them for your release, to leave you be even after your transition, was the wedding and consummation. I knew she wouldn’t keep to her word, but I was desperate, and frankly, you were collateral damage."
My heart slowed. My breath puffed faster and harder out of me.
"Do you know what would have happened to you if they hadn’t married you?" She took a step closer. "It wouldn’t have stopped with the Red Moon. It would have continued every day. Until you conceived. And when you birthed a child, she would’ve done it all over again. The Queen’s need for repopulating surpasses her care for your autonomy and agency. You would’ve died a breeder."
A chill ran down my spine and when she let me go, I staggered away from her, my legs shaking.
"That is the reason they dragged you down that aisle, even if you’re too stupid to see the bigger picture. Call them bad if you like. Cruel. Violent. Possessive. Wherever suits the childish narrative you have in your head, but I assure you," her eyes flashed. "You haven’t experienced cruelty. Yet."
She raised her chin. "But I do suppose the divorce is the wisest thing you’ve done. When you are gone, I will take your place."
Her voice softened into something almost sweet. "I will fill the hole you leave behind. I will hold them together. I will give them little silver haired pups."
My breathing stalled slightly, my nose tingled with sourness, and I felt as if my heart was soaking in bitter water.
Because I could see it. Years from now. Them laughing. The mansion being occupied by her. Every corner of the house I’d lived in, the kitchen, the gym, the pool, the path I ran every morning.
Erased. Forgotten. Usurped by her.
Wife. Lover. Queen.
She would be accepted here. Loved. She was, after all, the Queen’s choice.
"You are not irreplaceable, Maisie Adams," Tessa said. "It may take time. But eventually, you will be nothing but a memory."
Her lips curled with disdain. "A bad one."
My gaze lifted over my shoulder to where Quinlan lay, still passed out, and I held my tears before they could fall.
Why did the thought of someone else taking my place hurt so bad? Didn’t I want the divorce? What was I doing? What did I want?
Freedom.
Why did that sound so flimsy all of a sudden? Didn’t I want to live freely, not to be owned by anyone?
Fear entered my heart at that thought, turning my stomach into a cramping squeezing mess, and I fled from the infirmary at the sudden realization that knocked me so hard off balance, I didn’t think I could ever recover from it again.
A part of me liked being... theirs.
Being... owned.
