Fated Twice,Rejected Twice

CHAPTER 7

Ronan.

I stood in the grand hall, the cold stone echoing with the ring of my harsh, low laugh. The fire of defiance that had burned in Naylah's eyes still glowed despite the trembling—a trembling little creature to defy me. It was absurd, but it sparked a fury in me that I could barely contain. I had insisted upon her rejection in the past, and now, in her determined silence, she had crossed the line. I would show her the price of defiance.

"Guards!" I bellowed, my voice ringing off the walls, "Clean her until she is bloody. And if you all fail me in any of you, you will all pay with your lives." The threat was absolute, my voice leaving no room for dissent. The warriors who stood about bowed their heads in submission, their eyes clouded with duty and fear. Sheila's sneer darkened as she backed away, folding her arms over her chest in a tight ball.

I approached Naylah slowly, her petite, mutinous form looming in front of me like a pliable reed in a tornado. My chest pounded with anger and an odd, torn pleasure. I saw every outline of pain and determination etched onto her crying face, every tremble of her body as she steeled herself for what was coming next. I would not, could not, give her the notion for a moment that her disobedience was acceptable.

"Naylah," I growled, my voice low and menacing, "dare you disobey me?" I could sense the glint of fear in her eyes as she gained her footing, yet her chin remained held high in silent defiance.

Without hesitation, I gestured to the guards. "Do it. Now." They caught my eye and then closed in on her. I stood back and watched as one of them produced a long, sadistic cane—a punishment instrument meant to remind her of her station in my world.

Naylah's eyes became wide and she swallowed, shuddering as she took a step back by an inch or so. "Please. I—I can't bear it," she whispered in a cracked voice that trembled with equal proportions of fear and resolve. Her pleading, unadorned words hung heavy in the charged air.

"Silence!" I thundered, not bothering to indulge in further protest. My gaze swept the room, ensuring that all of them received the gravity of my command. "Do it, or die." The threat was as real as the authority I possessed over them all.

The guards hesitated only briefly before closing in on us. I watched in seething satisfaction as the first lash of the cane landed across her delicate skin. The c***k was sharp, and a cry of pain escaped between her lips, hanging there in the silence that followed. I waited, my own face a mask of cold authority as blood began to form—a thin, black line tracing the path of her rebellion.

"Will you be able to prove yourself by enduring pain?" I sneered, stepping forward so that I could see each distorted face on her. Her eyes welled up and her lip trembled, but she did not flinch. But there was no defeat in her eyes—only an unbending determination that only made me angrier.

And then, as if driven by some foul impulse, Sheila stepped forward. "You foolish girl!" she yelled, and before I could prevent her, her hand snatched out in a swift, slashing slap on Naylah's face. A crisp, cutting sound. Naylah's head jerked sideways, and the flush crept over the other cheek as she fought to smother another cry. Her eyes, however, flashed with both pain and with a glimmer of unbroken defiance.

"Stop it!" I snarled, yet even as I said this, the guards went on unrelentingly. Every blow of the cane made her wince, her body shrinking beneath the impact of the blows. Naylah's cries became hoarse as she pleaded, "Stop… I can't—please stop, I beg you!" Her voice was broken and rasping, a plea in the hallway, but I didn't budge, my face stern and unyielding.

The maids, Elara and Milla, who stood there in silent horror on the sidelines, could not hold back their pain. They ran into the room, their words strangled with fearful pleading. "Alpha, please, in the name of mercy! Not like this!" Elara had horror-paralyzed eyes, and Milla's hands shook as she outstretched her arms to place herself between Naylah and further injury.

But my resolve was bolstered by the defiance that radiated from her very presence. "Silence!" I roared once more, my voice a sword cutting through their pathetic cries. "Do as I command, or you will all pay the price." The guards paused for only an instant at my command before resuming their savage work.

I rose, torn between the internal storm of rage and some other intangible feeling—a reluctant admiration for her tenacity. With every lash, Naylah's body trembled, and her soft, imploring wails echoed down the corridor until, finally, her strength gave out. Her eyes drifted, and her head fell forward as if attracted by some unseen magnet. She fell all too soon, toppling under the steady onslaught.

The room became deathly quiet as the sound of punishment receded. I looked down at her, her lean body stretched out on the cold stone floor, a single bead of blood following along her skin. A part of me wanted to infuriate even more, to exact greater demands upon her compliance, but another, one that I struggled to keep down, quaked with conflicting emotions.

"Guards!" I bellowed, my voice firmer than it had been. "Take her to her chambers and tend to her injuries. She must sleep now." The command was final, and the guards moved quickly, picking her up carefully and moving her away from where she had been tortured.

Elara and Milla were already standing there beside her, their faces a mixture of regret and pain. As they reached her private chambers, Milla's trembling hands grasped a bowl of hot water. Crying openly, she applied the warm liquid to the bruised flesh of Naylah, as if trying to banish the pain. The odor of water combined with the metallic tang of blood, was a harsh reminder of the brutality that had been inflicted.

Elara knelt down beside her, looking up towards the heavens with tear-streaked eyes as she mouthed fervent prayers. "Oh, Goddess of the Moon, forgive us… for what we have let transpire. Heal her, I beg of you, repair this shattered soul." Her words trembled with raw emotion, every prayer a reflection of remorse and desperation.

In the darkened rooms, the atmosphere was heavy with emotions. I stood at the doorway, watching as the servants worked assiduously to bring her back from the edge of death. Naylah, life itself held in her sickly form, stirred something within me—a conflict of regret, anger, and a strange, growing gentleness that I could not afford to face. My heart pounded in my chest, each thudding beat an unvoiced concession of the tormented emotions seething within.