I blame myself for being too soft. I hope you survive these Challenges, as any father would. Watching you, I have no doubt you will. Your will to live rivals that of a cockroach—a trait you undoubtedly inherited from her. But once this is over, know that you are no longer my daughter. A daughter who casts aside her virtue cannotcall me her father. Your funds are cut off effective immediately. As an Archpriestess, I’m sure you will sustain yourself.
By the time I reach the end, my vision blurs.
Not his daughter.
The rejection claws at my chest, dragging me back to every moment I fought for his approval, every sacrifice I made to please him.
The letter slips from my hands, falling silently to the floor. I don’t move to pick it up. I can’t.
“Raylane.” Kaelzar’s voice is soft.
I turn and find his shadows curling faintly at the edges of his form. I straighten, swallowing against the lump in my throat. “It’s nothing,” I say, though my voice cracks. “Just the ramblings of a man unworthy of my time.”
His gaze lingers. Not prying or demanding, just there, and for that, I’m grateful.
I release a shaky breath just enough to draw air again. My eyes drift to the remaining letter on my bed, its presence both a distraction and a reprieve.
It’s from Eva, and the thought alone makes my throat tighten with a whimper.
As horrid as my father’s words had been, whatever Eva wrote will surely soothe my battered heart. I slump onto the bed, the letter crinkling faintly in my trembling hands as I break the seal.
I am extremely offended!
A chuckle escapes before I can stop it.
Ryker told me what happened! His version of events at least…. There better be no wine involved this time, or we really are going to have to discuss your drinking problem.
Anyway, my best friend finally experienced a kiss we’ve been talking about for years, and instead of running to me with an immediate report, you lock yourself in your room. You’re lucky I’m so understanding, Ray. And because I am such a wonderful friend, I wanted to give you a gift that will hopefully make you feel better and remind you that you’re not alone. Never alone.
P.S. I know this probably isn’t the best time to think about your mother after what Peonica said. She wouldn’t leave me alone until I swore I’d convince you she spoke out of frustration and didn’t mean half the things that came out of her mouth. Just remember that no matter what, you still love your mother for the woman she was when she was with you.
P.P.S Also, I’m well aware your vendetta against that Chastity Warden is alive and thriving, so I think this surprise will still feel pretty timely.
I set the letter aside with care. Then I reach for the sleek black box beside it. My fingers hesitate over the lid for just a moment before I flip it open.
Inside is a whip unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Its length is a weave of black and crimson and the handle is carved from polished red wood, elegantly shaped for a perfect grip with subtle grooves designed to fit snugly in my hand.
Dark steel inlays spiral up the handle, their swirling patterns catching the light with a faint gleam. I shake my head in awe; it is a masterpieceof craftsmanship.
Along the length of the whip the sharp barbs glint, designed to tear through flesh at impact. At its tip, a cluster of razor-sharp metal shards form a wicked end. Beautiful. Lethal. Like a predator’s teeth.
My breath hitches as I pick it up, the weight solid yet perfectly balanced. My fingers slide over the handle, tracing the intricate carvings as my vision blurs with unshed tears.
It’s exquisite. It feels almost wrong to hold something so perfect, as if it belongs to someone greater than me.
Despite its lethal design, I notice the whip is ingeniously crafted for safe transport.
The barbs fold inward with a soft click.
In its stored state, it fits neatly into a reinforced leather case lined with protective fabric, ensuring it won’t damage anything, or anyone, unintentionally. The handle remains exposed, its red surface standing out like a signal of the power it holds. And the danger it promises.
Kaelzar clears his throat, and my head snaps up.
“Eva told me you’ve been waiting for your king to whip the Chastity Warden who hurt your mother,” he says, his voice steady but softer than usual. “And she told me why. She said that maybe now you’re strong enough to do it yourself.”
I brace myself, waiting for the inevitable smirk, the mocking edge I’ve come to expect. But when I meet his gaze, there’s no derision or amusement. Instead, a solemn weight lingers in his storm-gray eyes, a look I can only describe as respect.
My hand drifts to the scar above my brow, and this time I let my fingers trace its uneven edge instead of pretending it isn’t there. Kaelzar’s eyes follow the motion. There’s a question in them, but he doesn’t ask it.
