The punishment yard had no public seating.
Vespera Morcant stood inside the white boundary painted on the concrete while six household guards watched from beneath the covered walk. The yard lay behind the Roarke administrative wing, enclosed by stone walls and a locked vehicle gate.
Tavian Roarke had called the punishment private.
He had invited witnesses.
A household officer checked the disciplinary order against the number etched into the scent rod. The instrument was narrow, flexible, and designed to release measured force across an Alpha or Omega’s scent glands without breaking the skin.
It had never been designed for someone recovering from a miscarriage.
Vespera’s clinic bag remained in the ground-floor guest room. Her coat had been taken when the guards brought her outside. Sh
