Scarred(Never After #2)(41)

Over the years, I’ve cleaned it up. There’s no running water, and electricity is too new for it to exist here, but despite all of that, it’s comfortable.

It’s also in such a condensed area of the woods that nobody can hear the screams.

“I don’t want to continue hurting you,” I say, walking around Edward. I anchored his arms with thick chains to a long wooden table that’s declined enough for his head to be beneath his body. “I want to trust you.”

His breathing is choppy; I can tell from the way the dirty white cloth that’s over his face morphs with each of his heavy breaths, being sucked into his mouth and blowing back out.

“You were foolish,” I continue. “And as a result, everything could be ruined. Do you know what you’ve done?”

He shakes his head, the chains clanking from where his arms pull. “I’m sorry,” he says, the words muffled behind the fabric.

My stomach burns from what he’s forcing me to do, and I exhale a breath, clicking my tongue. “It’s too late for apologies, Edward. We must repent for our mistakes and learn from them.”

I dip the large metal jug into the bucket of water at my feet, bringing it over his head and tilting until the liquid pours in a steady stream onto his face, soaking the cloth and dribbling into his mouth until it fills his airways.

The tendons in his neck bulge as he thrashes against the table.

“I’m sure you know this is nothing compared to what will happen if your lover gossips and we’re arrested for treason,” I note. “After all, you’ve been the one doling out the punishment for years now.”

His breathing garbles, his body rising and falling in jerky movements as he chokes on the water, unable to do anything except experience the sensation of drowning and pray that I let him live.

I snap the jug upright again and sigh, my insides curdling at the thought of having to resort to such extremes. The large bottle thumps against the rotting wood floor as I set it down, before leaning over Edward and removing the cloth from his face.

His skin is sopping wet; broken blood vessels spinning spider webs around his eyes, his lips cracked and bleeding from where he’s bit into them in his panic.

I adjust the table until he’s lying flat. “If you were anyone else, I would kill you.”

His head lolls to the side, his chest heaving. “I know,” he says, his voice broken and hoarse.

“Are you going to thank me for my mercy?”

His eyes find mine, his mouth parted and panting.

“I don’t want to break your spirit, Edward. You must know it pains me as much as it does you.” I place my hand on my chest. “But bringing someone in without my approval was dangerous at best and a suicide attempt at worst.”

He blinks, his tongue swiping against the chapped flesh. “Thank... you.”

“For?” My brows rise.

“For your mercy.”

I nod, satisfied with his punishment, leaning down to move the water bucket to the edge of the room and extinguishing the candles that light the space. But I don’t unbind him. He’ll stay the night and I’ll fetch him in the morning after I ensure he understands his loyalty and silence are of the utmost importance.

“Are you leaving me here?” he asks, his tone shaky.

Reaching out, I grip the rusty metal doorknob. “Think on your actions, Edward, and tomorrow morning we can start again.”

I swing open the door, stepping outside into the crisp nighttime air. Pausing, I twist back to face him. “If something happens. If anything goes awry, it will be you who takes the fall. Do you understand?”

His eyes are hazy as he stares at me from where he’s bound, bobbing his head against the wood.

And even though I’ve lost all my trust in Edward, for now, it’s enough.

Slamming the door shut behind me, I take out the skeleton key and turn it in the lock before spinning to walk away. Tilting my head to the side, I crack my neck, grabbing my matchbox from my pocket, retrieving a rolled joint from inside.

Perhaps it was stupid of me to let Edward live, and if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t. But Edward is a critical piece in the rebellion. Losing him would be akin to losing an arm, and that’s a risk I’m not prepared to take.

Lighting the hash, I inhale deep and start the trek back to the castle.

The moon is high and bright tonight; the usual clouds that grace the Saxum skies missing, creating a haunting glow on the darkened ground. There’s no clear-cut path to the cabin, I’ve taken different ways over the years to ensure the grass doesn’t wear from my footsteps, but the easiest route heads straight to my mother’s garden, and tonight, that’s the one I take.

Torture can be so tiresome.

I come out of the trees and stop short when I see a shadowy figure sitting at one of the black benches surrounding the fountain. As I make my way closer, I realize that it’s Lady Beatreaux.

Something unsettling jolts through me at the fact my little doe is, once again, out when she should be safely away and tucked in bed.

“Insomnia is a serious health issue,” I say, stepping up behind her.

She twists around, the moonlight splashing across her high cheekbones, a small smile gracing her lips. “You would know.”

I walk around the bench and sit next to her, splaying my legs out wide as I tip the joint to my lips and inhale again.