This one destroyed all happy memories of ever being on one. I would neverevergo on another.
Not after today.
Not after this.
Jethro didn’t look at me, stroking the end closest to him—what looked like a simple tree-trunk. It’d been carved into a smooth post with leather handholds hammered into the wood.
There were four straps in total.
My eyes followed the length of the seesaw, taking in the fulcrum before gritting my teeth and forcing myself to stare at the other end.
That was where I would go.
That end wasn’t smooth or basic. It’d been modified. It was...it’s a chair.
A simple wooden chair with cuffs for wrists and ankles. There were no cushions, no luxury—a prison cell suspended over the deeplake. It faced toward the pond, barring me from seeing what would happen on shore.
It was worse than any whipping post or dungeon.
Jethro leaned on the wooden joist, tilting the pendulum to sway the chair from the glistening water. It moved as if it was possessed, floating effortlessly, swinging toward me as if it knew I was the one destined to sit.
I moved back, tripping over my feet in my rush.
I bumped into something solid and warm. Jumping, I swallowed my squeal as Kes’s strong fingers came around my shoulders, rubbing me with his thumbs. “Trust us. We won’t let you drown. We know you’re innocent of witchcraft and don’t need to prove that by taking your life.” His voice lowered, barely registering in my ears. “Hold your breath and let your mind wander. Don’t fight. Don’t struggle.”
His circling thumbs made me want to vomit. His kind-heartedness only made this worse. Jerking out of his hold, I stood shivering in my shift. “Don’t touch me.”
His eyes tightened with hurt, and for some inexplicable reason, I felt as if I owed him an explanation.
I’m so cold.
Fear had stolen everything.
I’d never quivered so badly—never been so terrified. My teeth chattered harder and I bit my tongue accidently. Pain flared, a trickle of blood tainting my mouth.
Jethro came up beside me. He held out his hand. “Ready, Ms. Weaver?”
No.
I’ll never be ready for this.
I paused, swallowing blood and every urge to beg.
If we were alone, I would’ve toppled to my knees and wrapped my arms around his waist. I would’ve had no decorum or self-control. I would’ve promised anything, given him everything, if only he put a stop to this.
Please, don’t do this.
His eyes narrowed, glinting with anger. His family watched our every move.
That was it, then. There was no way out. He was resigned to this. And so must I.
Dropping my head, letting a curtain of ebony hair block me fromthis world, I nodded.
“You need to say it,” he muttered. “Say it out loud. Admit that you deserve this.”
Closing my eyes, I died a little inside. Forcing myself to raise my hand, I presented myself to him.
Jethro stole my wrist; his cold touch seeped like permafrost into my already freezing body.
