“Swallow it,” he taunted. “Or spit it out like the dog you are.”
She coughed violently as she spat the glob onto the bed. She wiped her mouth with her trembling hand, as though she might scrub away the revolting memory, but the taste clung to her tongue. Her stomach lurched aggressively, and for a moment, she thought she might vomit.
Symond’s lip curled. “Pathetic.”
Just then, the sound of slow clapping echoed through the room, interrupting her hacking.
“Well, well,” said a voice Elora didn’t recognize. “I’m impressed, Symond. But, unfortunately, times up.”
Symond froze. The tension in his grip tightened, then loosened, like he wasn’t sure whether to fight or obey. He snapped out of whatever spell was holding him and leaned down. His lips hovered near her ear, his voice chillingly empty. “This should’ve been worse.”
The guard stepped closer, no rush or concern. She knew instantly that he wasn’t here to protect her. He was following orders, nothing more. The man’s hand settled firmly on Symond’s shoulder. Not in a way that suggested he was guiding Symond but more like he was controlling a barking dog. Like he owned him.
Symond finally let go of her. Elora didn’t waste a second; the moment he backed off, she scrambled onto the bed, crawling as far back as she could until her back hit the wall. She curled up tightly,knees to chest, making certain she saw both Symond and the guard, her wide eyes flitting between them.
Symond’s glare could have set her on fire. He looked like his only desire was to lunge at her, to finish what he’d started.
The guard turned back to look at her, amusement dancing in his eyes as if this were nothing more than a show. He ruffled his ginger hair, giving her a slow, mocking wink before spinning Symond around and shoving him out of the room. The heavy wooden door swung shut with a loud thud, the lock clicking into place.
Chapter 11
Symond
Symond strode down the corridor, feeling the tightness in his body slowly ebbing away. He felt the lingering warmth of his anger, the adrenaline buzzing in his veins.She deserved it,he convinced himself. Every slap, every cruel word, every moment of fear, she’d earned it. It was justice. It had to be. He’d taken her punishments for years, suffered in her place while she remained protected, sheltered by Tehvan’s favoritism. If anything, his reaction was of her own making.
Footsteps sounded close behind him. Symond didn’t need to look back to know who it was. Gerard, of course. The man had a way of lingering like the stench of something rotting. He detected a grin in Gerard’s voice even before the man began to speak.
“Well, that was entertaining,” Gerard said, falling into step beside him. He slapped Symond on the back with the ease of an old companion, the contact heavy and strangely intimate. He knew this touch too well. It took everything in him not to jerk away. “Shame you’re leaving us, Symond. I might have taken you under my wing, you know. You had so much potential. But I suppose she took that from you too.”
Symond experienced a tumult in his stomach, a surge of bile clawing its way up his throat at the mere thought. His greatest tormentor—a man whose cruelty made Thorn seem merciful by comparison—extending the hand of mentorship. A wolf offering shepherding lessons to the lamb it had mauled.
Symond kept his face impassive. He didn’t want to provoke Gerard, not when he was so close to being free of this place.
The smile he conjured was a broken thing, held together by the thin threads of survival. He tilted his head toward Gerard, as if weighing the absurdity of the offer. “Well, perhaps you could go back and wrap up what I started,” he suggested lightly, a casual shrug escaping him as if what he was suggesting was insignificant. “I’m sure you’d find a thrill in that.” The playfulness in his tone did nothing to disguise the venom flowing beneath it.
Gerard scoffed. “If I did that then I wouldn’t have the energy to spend your last night here with you.”
Don’t hit him. Don’t give him an excuse.Symond pinched the bridge of his nose. “And what did I do to earn this punishment?”
Gerard huffed, his hand splayed across his chest like he’d just been offended. “And here I thought you enjoyed my company. I know part of you certainly does.” His gaze traveled down Symond’s frame.
One more night. Just one. Then I’m free.“So, what is it? What I do wrong?”
“Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag. Nothing. Elora failed the trials.”
Symond froze mid-step.
She failed.
The blood in his veins turned to acid.
And I’m the one being punished.
The urge to turn around, to storm back to her room and finish what he started properly—no time limits, no interruptions—was so sharp it left him dizzy. Fifteen minutes hadn’t even scratched the surface.
"I'm going to kill her."
And he meant it. Thorn be damned. The Empire be damned.
