The pain was white fire. The edge tore through skin, cutting a gash from cheek to jaw. I wanted to scream.
Instead, I bit down, swallowed the pain, and glared at him through the blur of blood now dripping down my chin.
“You do not speak when I am speaking,” he said, his tone quiet—lethal. “Do you understand?”
I nodded once, jaw locked, heat crawling beneath my skin.
Warm blood trickled down my neck, soaking into the collar of my linen tunic. It tasted like iron and rage.
“We found the bodies,” he went on. “Your knife—with your family’s mark—was lodged in your father’s chest. And another, bloodied and abandoned, left behind at Helena Elani’s house.”
Something inside me snapped.
“That’s a lie!” I shouted. “I didn’t kill him!”
The lash struck again, biting into the same side of my face—skin split. The blood came faster now, spilling thick and hot down my throat.
I hissed, tasting it, dragging my tongue across my lips like it was the last truth I owned.
The Enforcer leaned close until I could smell the leather and salt on his skin.
“Your father is dead,” he said. “Accept it, you worthless piece of shit.”
Then his gaze shifted—slowly—to Lazarus.
“And you. Lazarus of Ugarit.”
His voice dropped lower, rougher.
“You stand accused of murdering your mother, Anatya James. With brutality. And without remorse.”
“No!” Lazarus’ cry tore through the chamber, raw and cracking. “That’s impossible! We were gone all night—at the beach! People saw us! Ask them!”
The barbed lash sang again. Metal struck flesh.
Lazarus staggered, blood spraying across the packed dirt, but he didn’t fall.
“This is madness!” he shouted, voice thick with pain. “We’re soldiers of the crown—we bled for this kingdom! We would never—could never—do something like this!”
The Enforcer stood motionless. His arms crossed over his chest, eyes as cold as the iron tools hanging from his belt.
“Soldiers or not,” he said, “the evidence stands. Your blades. Your blood. The proof of guilt is carved into the corpses you left behind.”
Lazarus’ face twisted, grief and fury warring across it. “You’re framing us!” he roared. “We were at the shore—ask Amara! Ask anyone! I would never harm my mother!”
I lunged forward, the chains biting deep into my wrists, clattering like a nest of snakes.
“What if my father isn’t dead?” I roared, my voice cracking under its own weight. “What if this is just another of his twisted games—another punishment for my failure at the war camp? Show me his body! Show me he’s really gone!”
The guard sneered, lips peeling back like torn flesh.
“Your father’s corpse rots in the earth, Lorian. No games. No redemption. No return.”
He said it like a hammer driving the final nail into a coffin?—
And something inside me snapped.
“That’s a fucking lie!” I shouted, the words scalding my throat. “I didn’t kill anyone! My father had enemies—real ones. He was ruthless, hated by half the kingdom. Anyone could’ve done it!”
