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King Zander’s guards are here, their eyes sharp, watching the Vampire King with the assessing stare of predators sizing up one of their own.

My gaze moves to Kylian where he’s standing on the raised quarterdeck, eyes hard and jaw tight. The crew’s voices rise around me, men barking suggestions, pointing at me like I’m meat in a butcher’s stall. Someone laughs about feeding on me, about tasting me, another about stripping me and letting the whole deck see what the king keeps hidden. Nausea rolls through me. Kylian’s menacing aura rushes out, and I worry he may kill them all. If he does that, Zander could declare war when his men don’t return home.

Eagan goes still beside me, his gaze fixed on the king.

“Just kill her,” someone calls, and there’s a chorus of agreement, a few laugh like it’s a joke, like my death would be nothing more than an inconvenience they must clean up afterward.

“Let us have her first,” someone else says, and the sound that comes out of Kylian is feral. The entire deck seems to hesitate and glance nervously in his direction.

I turn my head, slowly, meeting his gaze in the dark, and what I see there nearly breaks me. He looks like a king standing on the edge of war with his hands tied behind his back. Like every instinct in him is screaming to protect what’s his, while knowing he must put his kingdom and his people before his own desires.

Then Eagan’s voice cuts through the chaos, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Ten lashes,” he says.

Kylian’s jaw clenches and his gaze slices to Eagan like he wants to tear out his throat for suggesting it. Eagan doesn’t flinch. He just stares forward.

“I know she is a traitor, my king, but we need to be reasonable. We still need to question her and test her blood. I’m sure you don’t want to break your toy before you have had a chance to play with it.” His words sound cruel, but I know this is him protecting me from the suggestions of the crew.

I don’t realize I’m sobbing until my breath hitches, and hot, humiliating tears spill down my face. Ten lashes is better than being fed on by men who hate humans, being stripped by hands that don’t see me as a person, or being murdered just to prove a point. I’ve survived worse, but it’s a pain I wish on no one.

Kylian’s gaze swings to me, and there is fury there, but it isn’t fury at the crew, not right now. His anger is all for me. My defiance has put him in a position where he cannot choose mercy without appearing weak or giving away what I am to him.

“Fine,” he bites out, and the air shifts instantly as the crew leans in, hungry to see me punished.

“Only five,” Kylian adds, his tone darker now, colder, like he’s forcing himself to say it. “As you said, she’s my toy, and I have no interest in fucking shredded meat.”

The men laugh, and bile rises in my throat. I hate that I understand why he has to speak like this. Just as I hate that I’ve forced him into a display of power.

“String her up,” Kylian orders.

But it isn’t his voice I’m hearing. For a moment, I’m back on Mr. Crawly’s farm, knees weak, watching Arlo fight to keep me safe. I stare up at the man who promised he’d never hurt me like this, knowing no one is coming to save me this time.

Eagan drags me toward the mast where the rigging hangs like a spiderweb, then he steps in front of me, his expression stoney. I expect him to tie me up and wield the whip, but for half a breath, his gaze meets mine with remorse.

Then he pulls Kylian’s coat off me, exposing the rip in my dress that covers very little of my lower body. Humiliation burns in my throat as the cold wind catches the fabric. I feel the men’s hungry eyes on my body like tentacles. Then Eagan’s fingers catch the neck of my dress . . .

And he rips it.

The back splits open with a sound too loud in the hush of the ship. My skin is exposed to freezing wind, and my entire soul wants to flee my body. I’m not wearing anything beneath it, and as my arms are tied behind my back, the scraps of fabric drift down my shoulders.

The deck erupts into whistles, laughter, low vulgar noises, and my cheeks burn so hard it feels like fire beneath my skin.

Eagan’s hands go still, and he quickly moves to block everyone’s view with his body. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he mumbles, hoisting what’s left of my dress back up my arms. Then his voice is in my head. “You know how dangerous it will be if Zander’s men find out that you are not a prisoner. Violence is all that will satisfy the men on board, and if they don’t think you’ve been punished . . . Well, you heard what they wanted to do to you. If I had not suggested this, the king would have slaughtered Zander’s men right here. We cannot go to war. You’re still vulnerable until you’ve sealed the bond.”

I nod once in acknowledgment. This is a traditional punishment for servants like me, for prisoners who break the rules. I know exactly why he suggested this. I saw Kylian struggle to contain himself over the crew’s vulgar outbursts, but understanding why won’t make the whip hurt less.

Eagan disappears from sight, and my whole body braces as the whip swishes through the air once. A warning.

The next moment, the sound of the whip comes with a sharp bite across my back like fire. The pain is immediate, and my body reacts before I can think. My spine arches, my hands crushing the ropes. My scream catches in my throat.

The next lash lands harder as it slides over old scars, the skin of my back already ruined from years of abuse. My scream is silent as I choke on my sobs, tears carving wet tracks down my face. The pain is unbearable.

The third strike splashes my blood across the deck, and my voice rings out loudly as fire ravishes my back.

Blood slides down my spine in warm trails, and I fight so hard to keep my power buried. It’s thrashing under my skin like a beast, responding to pain, to the fear. I know if I let it out for even a second, if I so much as breathe wrong, every monster on this ship will scent what I am, and this punishment would be for nothing.

The fourth lash comes down. My scream tears out, loud and broken. My knees buckle, and my body folds as I collapse to the deck with my wrists still tied above me. Salt spray on the wind burns my torn flesh, and I worry I might not get up again, that maybe this will be where it ends.