I lift my head off the table to stare into Niklaus’s red, devastated eyes as he sees all of me exposed on the table.
A commander shouts at him, pointing and drawing a weapon to attack the unwanted intrusion.
“Niklaus!” I wail, crying so hard my brain swells and pulses against my skull. “Niklaus, please! Don’t let them hurt me!”
His deep-sea blue eyes fill with tears.
“I will take her punishment.”
My stomach drops.
Wait…
That’ll never work.
They won’t want him for this.
The sentinel glances back and forth between us with intrigue. A curly eyebrow is lifted as he points to me with his baton. “This your wife?”
“Yes.”
The sentinel translates to the small audience of high-ranking officers.
Their reactions are both disappointed and humorous. They shout and laugh, throwing their masks off.
I perk up. Maybe this is a benefit of being mated in this prison? Maybe this just saved me! I watch the leading sentinel like a hawk, waiting for the verdict.
He strokes his beard, thinking, weighing his options. And with a lift of his chin to the sentinels behind me, I’m unstrapped, and the chains are unlocked. My backside squeaks against the table as they pull me off it. My hands shield my lower half, fingers shaking and twitching while I pinch my thighs together.
Men shackle Niklaus’s hands together, holding them outward. He’s directed to the table I was once exposed on.
“He will take his wife’s punishment!”
58. Spitfire
Niklaus
The punishment, no matter howsevere, is of little consequence to me.
Barging into this Black Widow room to find Sapphire strapped to this table, legs spread, and bawling hysterically?
That is the greatest punishment I could receive.
The anguish and wrath entwine together, hollowing out a space beneath my ribs where my heart use to beat normally.
I walk to the brass table like it’s a sacrificial altar. The room is quiet—with an anticipating silence that stretches, trembling like glass about to shatter.
The edge of the table grazes my fingertips.
She looks so relieved. Terrified for my fate, but still—so relieved.
A Guardian enters the room, adjusting that ridiculous headdress that he wears like a silver crown, so tall and pointed, it could be a cranial cage. The broad man saunters over to me, observing my upper body with a strictly analytical expression. His stillness is almost impossible to read and terribly deceptive.
“No—I’ll do it. This isn’t right…” Sapphire says with a shaky voice. “Niklaus, I don’t like this. I can take the punishment, okay?”
“I’ll be okay, Spitfire.”
The Guardian who carries out these punishments flashes a doll-like grin, then does a signal with two fingers to someone next to me.
