ISOBEL
"Wait, please! Where are you taking me? Stop, please, I beg of you!!"
"Be quiet, you mutt!!"
"Please, have mercy," I begged as I tried to arrange my boobs as they spilled out of my clothes. "Please, spare me."
"If I hear one more word from you, I'll cut your tits off!!" The guards threatened and I became silent. Silently sobbing.
I was in my room in the maid's quarters when some guards abruptly barged in and scooped me from the floor.
They did not tell me what I did, or the crime I committed, they clapped me and pinched my skin.
I could barely feel my own feet as the guards dragged me up the crumbling stone steps.
Their fingers were clamped tight around my arms, digging through cloth down to my skin, left deep bruises I knew I'd see later—if I made it to "later".
They didn't need to grip so hard. I wasn't strong, or planning anything. They just liked it. My wrists ached from the rope, burned raw under the bite of the knot.
Above, the torchlight blazed harsher than the sun. It made my eyes water. For a moment I saw nothing but swarms of orange, spiraling in my vision.
I was taken to the pack's square, a place for punishing low born criminals.
Above, noise from the crowd crashed and rolled over me like waves—shouts and jeers, whistles, ugly laughter. I couldn't make out any faces, just a wall of sound and eyes.
The guards hauled me forward, shoving me roughly into the clearing. My knees buckled. I stumbled, fell onto the stones, skinned my palms. My hair dangled wild across my face, sticky with sweat. When I tried to straighten, one guard kicked my legs apart, forcing me to kneel.
The High Sceptre watched, his black robes billowing in the evening wind. The sharp bone emblem glimmered on the chain at his throat. He looked down the length of his nose, as if I were something crawling and unworthy at his shoes.
Then I saw Kylian.
Alpha Kylian, the future leader—standing arrogantly with a hand on his hip, dark hair falling over his brow, his mouth twisted in a bored smirk as his eyes crossed mine.
Alana, his girlfriend, stood beside him. Her smile was very proud and her aura glittered with power. Her golden hair caught fire in the sunset. Her lips curled.
The High Sceptre lifted his staff. The crowd hushed, all but for a few drunk men yelling insults just for sport.
"Isobel Gray of the Low Pines," he intoned, voice ringing through the silent yard, "You are accused of seducing the Alpha's heir. You have been brought before this council for judgment."
Every muscle in me trembled. The world lurched; my tongue felt too thick in my mouth. I tried to find Cole, my boyfriend, in the crowd, searching for his dark hair, but he was nowhere.
All I saw were eyes, glittering, hungry for pain. Not one kind face.
"I haven't—" The words tumbled out of me. "I haven't done anything. I promise. I swear it."
Someone near the front snorted. Laughter flickered, cruel. "Whore!!!"
The High Sceptre ignored me. "You are also accused," he continued, "of plotting against the Beta and threatening the Alpha's heir. Alana, daughter of the Beta, will recount what she witnessed."
Alana stepped forward, her voice impossibly sweet, like poison mixed with honey. "Last moon's festival," she began, "Isobel got into the wine. I overheard her, late in the night, muttering about getting rid of my brother, Cole. I had warned Cole to stay away from lowborns, but he wouldn't listen. I thought it was just drunken nonsense. I tried to ignore, But then—"
She paused, letting the crowd hang on her next words.
"Then?" prompted the Sceptre.
"Then another day, I saw her," Alana said, her voice trembling with well-practiced indignation.
She bent her head down and pretended to wipe off a tear.
"I went to find my soon-to-be husband, Kylian, in his chambers. The door was locked and I heard voices. When I looked through the keyhole, Isobel was stripping in front of him. Naked. She turned and threatened Kylian, locking the door so I couldn't enter. I heard her say she'd ruin him if he didn't agree to her demands."
It was a performance, every word was measured and perfect. She looked over at Kylian, who winked at her. She pressed a hand to her mouth, feigning a shiver of distress.
This was a plan. Why couldn't the high Sceptre see this?
The crowd roared, some in shock, many in glee. I barely breathed.
"That's a lie!" I croaked, my voice small. "She's lying. He called me into his room. He made me…he told me to dance and jiggle my tits. He told me he always admired me and he'd love to keep me.."
"Silence!" boomed the High Sceptre. "You will not insult the council with your falsehoods."
Kylian stepped forward now. His eyes were very red. "She's lying because she's ashamed," he drawled, as if we were two children and he already knew he'd won. "She came to my room of her own will. She barged into the door and ambushed me!"
"No, Kylian, please tell the truth," I begged.
"Silence! How dare you address your future Alpha as Kylian?"
Kylian put on another evil smirk. "She said she wanted to be the next Luna. She tried to seduce me. She told me her core was wet, sweet and tight enough and I would never want another. I resisted her! Ask anyone who saw. I wanted nothing to do with it. I love Alana."
The two of them exchanged a slow, deliberately cruel smile, and, in front of everyone, Kylian grabbed her face and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was long, mocking, a performance like Alana's speech. The crowd shrieked with delight.
"All hail the future Alpha and Luna!!" The crowd screeched.
I felt sick, my stomach twisting in on itself. Tears pricked my eyes, but I willed them not to fall, not until I was alone. Not as their sport.
The Sceptre's staff slammed down, echoing. "For the crimes of seduction, threat, and treachery," he said, "the council decrees twelve lashes, and thereafter, ten days imprisonment, bread and water only, and public torture each evening."
My breath left me in a whoosh. I couldn't feel the ground beneath me. "Have mercy!! I beg of you!!"
"Do you understand?" a guard barked, grabbing my chin and wrenching my face up so the Sceptre could see my eyes.
"Please," I tried to search the Sceptre's eyes for mercy.
"Do you prefer to be dismembered?" The Sceptre asked with red eyes.
I shook my head, because there was no point in speaking.
He sneered. "Very well. Stand her up."
They hauled me to my feet and shoved me towards the whipping post—a thick, ancient log in the center, slick in places where blood had long since dried into the wood.
I tried to be brave. I tried to picture Cole, my boyfriend, coming through the crowd, riding in on a white horse or simply stepping in, shouting "enough!" the way brothers do in stories. But when I looked up, I saw only sneering faces and laughter.
Thick rope was tied around my wrists, pinning them so tight behind my head, and fastened to the post. The world seemed too narrow to sound—the whip, cracking behind me, and the sharp, ugly anticipation of the watching mob.
Something hot and wet slipped down my face. Whether it was blood or tears, I didn't know.
I felt a blur of muscle, then the first lash.
"Whip!!!"