Except her fear.
I tapped the timeline back three seconds and hit play again.
The needle touched her skin. Her shoulders jumped. She swallowed it down immediately, jaw tightening, eyes fixed on a point on the wall.
She looked embarrassed. Like reacting hurt was an inconvenience.
My hand tightened around the remote.
She didn’t cry. Didn’t ask them to stop. Of course she didn’t. Dynasty girls weren’t raised to ask. They were raised to endure on schedule.
My perfect sub. Sitting there alone in a room full of strangers.
I should’ve been there.
Kneeling beside the chair, hand on her thigh, mouth at her ear.Breathe, angel. Daddy’s here. In for four, out for six. You’re safe. You’re not alone. Look at me, not the needle. Good girl.
Instead, I’d watched her walk into that corridor under a handler’s eye, shoulders set like she was going to the gallows.
Thinking I hated her.
That part lodged like shrapnel.
The Codex chamber had done its work too well. I’d let Crow dialect sit on my tongue like a weapon. Raised my voice. Slammed my palm. Barked orders at her like she was a junior lieutenant instead of the woman who used to fall asleep on my chest with my chain wrapped through her fingers.
She walked into this appointment believing she was being branded for a man who couldn’t be bothered to hold her hand.
The artist wiped a clean arc of ink and blood away on the screen. She focused on the opposite wall so hard it felt like a fight.
“Baby…” It slipped out, useless in an empty room. “I’m sorry, angel.”
My chest felt too tight. I braced a hand on the edge of the console.
“You shouldn’t be doing this alone. Daddy should be right there. God, look at you. Look at what you’re doing for me.”
Pride and guilt twisted together until I couldn’t tell which one hurt more.
The camera angle shifted slightly, giving a clearer view of her back as the crest took shape.
I hated that it had to be carved into her skin.
I loved that it meant something no one could ignore.
The only thing that had kept me upright through the last twenty-four hours was that hard, cold truth: once this was done, she wasn’t just a Thorne heiress anyway. She was under our crest.
Not in name, yet.
But enough.
A marked Crow pet—Codex language so ugly it made outsiders flinch, but in our world it was a shield. A vow-adjacent boundary.Minewritten in a dialect that crows actually respected.
Damius could make examples of unmarked women. He couldn’t touch a woman under Crow ink without paying for it in blood. And now she was considered my pet. Mine. Damius couldn’t assign her to one of my cousins neither.
The artist said something. I didn’t need to hear it. I knew the script.You’re doing well. Almost there. Breathe.The script I had given him.
I wanted to punch through the screen and take the gun out of his hand like he was a threat instead of a tool I’d personally chosen for her.
My shoulders burned with restless energy. I put the remote down before I snapped it.
