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I clutch the sheet tighter, feeling it slip against my sweating palms.

"And what if I don’t?" I ask, voice splintering like glass.

He turns slowly, his shoulders stiff, his mask glinting dully in the gray light. Stern. Displeased. "I don't think you'll like the result.”

Whatever hold I have on myself slips, and what emerges is something unfamiliar but true.

“Fuck. You.” I seethe.

“Excuse me?” His head tilts, like he truly didn’t hear.

“I should tell him,” I threaten, grasping at straws. “Go back and let him know that you reneged on the deal. That it was pig's blood at the wedding. That you left me here, alone, instead of taking me like a man.”

He crosses the room, each step deliberate, each footfall sinking into my bones like hammer blows. He picks up the red leather collar from the bench at the end of the bed. Faster than I can blink, his hands are around my throat.

I cry out, his fingers pinching. “Let go.”

“You seem confused, Arianette. You don’t have the power here, I do. Your uncle doesn’t give a shit about you as long as the association to my title gives him the prestige he so desperately wants.” His face is close to mine as he buckles the strap tightly around my throat. I flinch, the metal ring at the front burning cold against my skin. His finger loops inside it and pullshard."I warned you about disobeying," he murmurs. "Your uncle warned me too."

“I should have let Armand fuck me during the Hunt,” I grind out, sucking in air. “Let him fuck me and kill me then. It would have been better than this.”

He growls through a clenched jaw, and releases the loop. I bend over, drawing in a full breath, as he walks to the dresser and opens the top drawer.

From within, he pulls out a black velvet box and before he even opens it, I feel the tremor snake down my spine. Inside lies the punishment rod, gleaming in the low light, waiting. He lifts it out carefully, reverently, like a priest with a holy relic. "I didn’t want to use this," he says softly. “But I will.”

Something inside me cracks. Fractures into jagged, splintering pieces. I stumble back, clutching the sheet tighter around myself. My heart slams against my ribs, a frantic bird desperate to escape. The words tumble out of me–shrill, childish, furious.

“You're nothing but a monster hiding behind a stupid mask!" Tears blur my vision, hot and stinging. I shove my fists against my eyes but it doesn't stop. It won't stop. “You live here alone pretending like you have a family. That your Shadows are more than stupid frat boys playing dress up and hand-picking Barons to do little more than clean up the messes in Forsyth.”

His eyes narrow, his fingers tight around the rod. “I’d watch your mouth.”

"What happened to your wife?" I ask, going straight over the edge, because that’s the place that feels best to me. "What happened to your son? Did you fuck her and turn her away the next day? Did you lock him in a cage? Play manipulative games? Treat him like dirt under your boots?”

The air goes razor sharp. “Don’t you speak about my wife and son.Ever.”

“I’myour wife!” I scream. “I’mthe one you married in front of a church full of people!” I take a stumbling step toward him, trembling so hard the sheet slips dangerously low. "Where are they?" My words are poison now, wild and reckless. "Why do they hate you?" I sob. "Why are you all alone?”

Somethingsnapsacross the room. It's not the rod. It's him.

In two long strides, he’s on me. All power and muscle in full control. He rips the sheet from my body, yanking it so hard it burns across my skin. I stumble, naked, gasping, hands grabbing at air. He fists a hand in my hair andshovesme down onto the floor. Forces me onto my hands and knees.

"Since you want to behave like a brat," he growls, "you'll be treated like one."

The first strike of the rod lashes across my backside: searing, sudden, cruel. I yelp, the sound punching out of me without warning. Another blow falls. And another. Each one driving me deeper across the floor, my fingers clawing at the rug.

"You will learn," he snarls above me, punctuating each word with another brutal strike, "that my life–my past–is none of your goddamn business."

The rod snaps across my thighs, my hips and ass. Heat blooms under my skin, welt after welt, forcing out a wail.

"You arenothingmore than a business arrangement," he spits, voice low and venomous. “A means to an end. Your uncle had something I wanted. Something worth shackling my family to a foolish, deranged girl.”

Another blow.

Then another.

I flinch and brace myself for the next blow. Knowing it’s useless to tell him to stop; I don’t think he can even hear me, not anymore.

"You exist to serve a purpose, you stupid, deranged girl. To obey. To behave." The rod slashes down hard. My vision whites out at the edges. “To be a vessel for my Barons to pour their lust and rage into. I need them sharp and focused, not frequenting bars or clubs. They get their fill at home, and then work for me. That’s how being a Royal works.”