Page 31 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

“ENOUGH!” Fintan shouted, his voice reverberating as he stormed toward us. With a fierce urgency, he wrapped his arms tightly around my shoulders, drawing me against him with an intensity that bespoke his protectiveness. “You do not speak to the future Queen that way!”

Fintan was pissed. Beyond pissed. His jaw clenched. “And you will NEVER touch her again!”

Side by side, we stood resolute, facing the King, the tension between us thickened like a storm about to break. Or perhaps that was just my swirling emotions.

The King’s eyes blazed with fury as he fixed his intense gaze on Fintan, and then he laughed. “Future Queen? Please! She is a whore!”

I placed my hand on Fintan’s shoulder. I could feel his rage and knew he was about to do something stupid.

“You better—”

“I better what?” The King interrupted. “Are you barking orders at your King? You will marry whoever the fuck I tell you to marry,” he thundered, his voice a low growl.

A surge of shock coursed through me, my eyes widened, while an unsettling knot twisted in my stomach, churning with apprehension.

“You will not be King for much longer!” Fintan snapped, his tone sharp and cutting. “Elara will be my wife come winter, and we will rid you of our castle!”

Winter… that was in like three weeks.

This was all news to me.

The King’s face flushed an aggressive shade of red, almost veering into purple, as fury radiated from him like heat from a blazing fire. In that moment, Fintan had managed to make him look foolish before the very eyes of his subjects, stripping away the regal composure that was his hallmark.

“Nobody threatens me in my own kingdom! Hold him back,” the King commanded, as he gestured frantically to two of his guards, who had remained frozen, their expressions conveyed no emotion throughout the confrontation.

Fintan, however, wore a confident smile, as if he had been anticipating this reckoning and was silently welcoming the challenge it presented.

“Fifteen lashes!” the King shouted.

My heart dropped as knots formed in my stomach.

Was he truly about to order his own son to be whipped?

The weight of the moment pressed down on me, my mind raced for a way to protest, but before I could utter a word, the Prince interjected, “You’re going to whip your own son?

A Prince? For what, protecting the woman he loves? !”

Oh my suns.

Panic surged through me; I couldn’t allow him to defend me in such a way. I couldn’t let him get punished like that.

“Please, Your Majesty, surely we can figure something else out,” I begged as I reached out and touched his arm.

Big mistake.

Huge.

I pulled my hand away quickly.

The King’s eyes darkened, a storm brewing within them. “Make it twenty lashes,” he commanded as he looked me up and down. His gaze shifted to Gavrin. “Remove her shirt.”

The gravity of his words hung heavy in the air, chilling me to the bone.

Her.

My ears began to ring, Fintan’s words now inaudible, as the realization hit me. He wasn’t going to give Fintan twenty lashes… he was going to give me twenty lashes.

Fintan’s eyes widened in horror, the color draining from his face. With a surge of adrenaline, he lunged at the King, rage seething within him as he wrapped his hands around his father’s throat.

“You son of a bitch!” he shouted. His hands were only there for a second before he was pulled away, his voice trembling with emotion.

“You are nothing but a coward! You cannot do this! Punish me, not her! She did nothing wrong!” The words erupted from him, fueled by desperation and a fierce sense of injustice.

But two of the King’s guards held the Prince by the shoulders, while another kicked his legs out from underneath him and held him by his hair.

“You will bow to me, and watch your whore get punished for your crimes and her own.” The King spat. Fintan now knelt on the ground before his father. The King was making a mockery out of him.

“Your Majesty, surely you wouldn’t want me to actually whip her? She is just a foolish, helpless girl,” Gavrin said, his voice laced slightly with uncertainty. His dark skin almost seemed to pale.

“Are you disobeying your King, Gavrin?” The chilling voice of the King pierced the air.

“No, your highness. Of course not. I meant no disrespect,” Gavrin quickly replied, a trace of panic flickered in his eye. As he promptly looked at me, I could sense his apprehension. He didn’t want to do this.

“Good. Bastion, hand Gavrin the whip,” the King commanded, turning his gaze to one of his men who stood nearby, gripping the weapon tightly.

The whip was a long, menacing instrument; its black leather flashed ominously. The sight made me shudder; Silver. The tips of the whip, coated in silver, shimmered like a deadly promise. I swallowed hard, knowing that I would not heal from this like a Fae, but like a human.

Gavrin took the whip from him. A pained expression laced his face.

Fintan began fighting with the three guards. He managed to get to his feet and knocked out one of the guards who was holding him. Another guard appeared. Fintan’s face was now bloodied as they threw him to the ground and relentlessly hit and kicked him.

“Stop! Please, just stop!” I cried out, my voice trembled with desperation as I watched the scene unfold before me. Panic surged within me, tightening my chest like an iron grip. Every punch Fintan took felt like a dagger to my heart. I wanted to shield him, protect him, as he had done for me.

The King nodded to more guards. I didn’t even know where they came from, but suddenly it was five against one.

They beat the Prince as he fought back, but he was no match against that many trained men.

They beat him mercilessly; each blow aimed for precision until he was knocked out from one hit to his temple with the pommel of their sword.

I cried out and went to run to him, but Gavrin grabbed my arm.

“Let go!” I pleaded. But the look in Gavrin’s eye told me not to speak or move another muscle. I knew he didn’t want to actually hurt me and was protecting my fate from the King.

I wouldn’t forget their faces—not for a moment. Every sneer, every cold stare, every twisted smile they had was burned into my memory like brands on flesh. I had etched them there deliberately, so I’d never lose sight of what they did. One day, they would answer for it all.

They would get what they deserve.

“You disrespect me, in MY kingdom,” the King spat on Fintan’s face as he lay out-cold on the ground, “and there will be severe consequences.” He raised his arms and called out so everyone could hear.

More people started to gather as two of his men walked over to me with handcuffs.

“This WHORE,” he looked at me with such repulsion, “will receive twenty lashes for trying to murder one of my guards—”

I made another mistake and cut off the King. “What?! No! I wasn’t—”

“SILENCE!” He smacked me so hard, my head snapped to the side as I fell to the ground. Blood dripped from my mouth.

My head started to buzz.

“Elara! Stop. Do not speak another word, or you will make this worse for yourself!”

Makar. His presence was a whisper in my mind, and I had unwittingly granted him entry. The weight of his influence made it difficult to concentrate on maintaining my mental defenses. “Look at me, and me only,” he urged, his voice a compelling siren call.

I scanned my surroundings, and there, partially concealed behind the rough-hewn wooden post that the King’s men had just erected, stood Makar. His figure stood tall, and I focused on his hazel eyes.

The King’s voice faded into an indistinct murmur, drowned out by the frantic beating of my heart as I felt the cold metal of the cuffs clamped around my wrist. For a fleeting moment, a wave of relief washed over me when I realized they were not coated in silver, which would have seared my skin like fire and blown my cover.

Instead, these were made of a dull, iron-like material, smooth but heavy, and I could feel the familiar chill seeping into my flesh.

Two sets of strong hands dragged me through the dirt. I tried to fight them off, but Makar whispered, “Stop, Elara. Do not fight them, please. Just look at me, okay? Only me.”

My arms were forced around the wooden pole as they cuffed my wrists together. Instinctively, I tried to pull to free myself, but the cuffs bit into my skin.

“Be brave, little one.” A deep voice grumbled in my head, vibrating my body to the core.

I looked at Makar, but I knew that wasn’t his voice. I blocked him out but let the other one in.

“Who is this?” I thought to myself.

Maybe I was going crazy.

“Be brave and fear not. In the darkest hour, your spirit shines the brightest. Get through this, and then find me.” He growled.

“Who are you? Where are you? Wh-what are you?” I suddenly asked, unsure who I was talking to and if this was some trick of the Kings. I knew it wasn’t human or Worlock.

He didn’t answer back.

“Elara Peachwood,” the King said as he stepped closer, his towering figure cast a long shadow that enveloped me in darkness. “You are to receive twenty lashes for your attempted murder of one of my guards and for your precious Prince’s empty threats.”

My heart raced, and fear surged through me as I realized the gravity of my situation.

My shirt was then cut from my back—the blade touched my skin as the fabric tore. “Do you wish to say anything before your punishment begins?” King Aymon said.

Rage coursed through me like a wildfire, igniting every corner of my being.

“Go. To. Hel,” I spat, each word laced with venom and disdain.

Makar and Eryn’s eyes went wide, but my grin grew wider. I didn’t know who this woman was, but I was pissed.

The King—a sinister grin spread across his face— chuckled softly, as if my anger was nothing more than an amusing spectacle.

His shadow moved, and I heard the sound of the whip crack before I felt the pain.

I didn’t have time to brace.