The First Crown

The Weight of Chains

Reade

They said nothing at the gate, not at first. A glance, a whisper passed down the line, the kind of look men wear when they’ve seen too much. I walked her through the postern, hand still burning from the slip, from the feel of her against me. My orders were simple: stand guard, keep watch, stay invisible. Instead, I’d laid hands on the Duke’s jewel in plain sight.

When she stepped through the arch, Briallen rushed to her side. The door closed. The echo of her footsteps faded, but the heat remained in my palm, branded there like truth carved into stone.

And with it the bond. Clear. Inescapable.

Mate.

The word burned like fever behind my ribs. I’d known wolves who chased it their whole lives, who went mad when it never came. I hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t asked for it. And yet, one slip on a frozen path, one breath where her heart thundered against mine, and the Moon had made her mine.

Which meant ruin for us both.

I stayed at the postern long after the door shut, breath rising in white plumes. The other guards muttered, their glances cutting sideways, but I couldn’t make myself move. Her scent still clung to me wildflower soap and snow-wet wool, threaded through with something headier that made my teeth ache. I pressed my hand against my chest, against the pounding there, as though I could hold the moment in place.

I wanted to go after her. Goddess help me, I wanted to follow her up the stairs, through the halls, catch her hand and demand she look at me the way she had on the path startled, breathless, as though she felt it too.

Instead, I forced my boots to turn, to carry me back to the wall walk.

The summons came before supper. Captain Ronan’s eyes found mine across the yard, steady as stone. “The Duke wants you.”

I knew what that meant. So did the men. Aedan’s gaze darted to me, worried, but I didn’t meet it. Thorne leaned against the well and smiled, slow and poisonous, pale eyes gleaming like pond-ice about to c***k.

The great hall was cold despite the fire. The Duke sat in his high chair, cloak draped across his shoulders like shadow made flesh. Every steward, every servant in the room had gone still, as though the keep itself held its breath. Evelyne lingered near the hearth, smirking as though she’d been waiting all day for a spectacle. Maren wasn’t there, thank the Goddess.

“You abandoned your post,” the Duke said, voice flat as hammered iron.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You laid hands on my daughter.”

The words were weighted, not accusation but verdict.

“Yes, my lord.”

His mouth curved a fraction. “Ten lashes. At dawn. You’ll stand as example to the rest of the guard that obedience is the only coin Lockwood pays.”

I bowed my head. “As you command.”

Ronan’s jaw tightened. He wanted to speak, but didn’t. He knew better. He also knew ten lashes on frozen skin would be worse than twenty in summer.

Dawn came grey and pitiless. Frost slicked the yard, the air sharp enough to cut. The men gathered before the bell finished ringing, drawn by the promise of blood. Thorne leaned against a post, lips curved, hungry for it. Aedan stood stiff, fists clenched, as though he could will the whip from the air.

I stripped to the waist. Cold gnawed at me, raising every hair on my skin. The bond in my chest pulsed hot and steady, a reminder of what had brought me here.

They tied my hands to the whipping post. Rough rope bit into my wrists, coarse fibers abrading skin that already felt flayed. Ronan stood near, face carved from stone. He would not wield the whip he had rank enough to order it done, but not enough to stop it. Another man, one of the Duke’s chosen, stepped forward, testing the weight of the leather with a sharp c***k against the frozen ground.

“Ten lashes,” Ronan intoned.

The first strike whistled through the air, loud as thunder, before the pain even landed. When it did, it was fire searing, white-hot, stealing the breath from my lungs.

Second lash. My back lit like kindling, blood already streaking my skin.

Third. Fourth. The leather tore me open. Each strike rang through the yard like a drumbeat, and with each one I thought of her, her hair catching the torchlight, the way her breath had gasped when I steadied her.

By the fifth, my knees threatened to buckle, but I locked them straight. I would not fall. I would not give them the satisfaction.

Sixth. The crowd muttered, some wincing, others leaning forward, eager for more. Evelyne was there, I felt her gaze like a knife at my spine. She would carry this tale back to her sister.

Seventh. The world dimmed at the edges, pain carving me open until there was nothing left but blood and bone and the memory of her pressed to me on the frozen path.

Eighth. My breath came ragged. My wolf surged against my skin, snarling to be let free, but I bit it back until my teeth ached.

Ninth. The taste of iron filled my mouth where I’d bitten through my lip.

Tenth. I stood when it landed. Shaking, bleeding, but upright.

Ronan’s voice carried over the yard. “It is done.”

The rope came loose. My arms dropped heavy to my sides, muscles screaming. Blood streamed hot down my spine, hissing faintly when it hit the snow.

The Duke’s gaze was sharp, satisfied. “Perhaps now you’ll remember your place.”

I bowed my head. Said nothing.

In the barracks, Aedan tried to press water into my hands. “You shouldn’t have taken it so quiet,” he muttered. “Scream next time, make them feel it.”

“There won’t be a next time,” I rasped. My throat was raw from silence. My back burned with every breath.

I lay on my cot long after the barracks went quiet, staring up at the rafters. Every blink brought her face to mind the startled look, the soft curve of her mouth, the sound of her heart hammering against mine. I turned my head into the pillow, teeth clenched against a sound that wanted to be a growl.

That moment the catch, the heat, the bond I would keep it. I would hold it in my chest until my last breath. But for her sake, for both our sakes, I swore I would never allow her across my path again.

Even if it killed me.

Lilliana

The morning after vespers, the keep was louder than usual. The corridors buzzed with whispers, servants drifting like smoke between tasks, their eyes darting, their tongues sharper than their knives.

I felt it before I heard it. The way the air shifted when Evelyne swept into the solar, skirts rustling like wings. She sat down at the embroidery frame opposite me, plucked a needle from the basket as though she meant to work, and smiled with all the brightness of a girl about to share a secret too delicious to keep.

“Did you hear?” she asked.

I glanced up. “Hear what?”

“Reade Ashford,” she said, savoring the name like sugared almonds. “Ten lashes at dawn. The yard was full to see it. I swear, I’ve never heard leather sing so sweetly.”

The needle slipped in my hand, pricking my finger. A bead of red welled up on the pale cloth.

Evelyne leaned closer, her grey eyes shining. “He stood without a sound. Not one cry, though by the fifth he was near on his knees. It’s almost romantic, don’t you think? To suffer in silence for touching Father’s jewel.”

Briallen, folding linens by the hearth, straightened so sharply the cloth fell from her hands. “My lady,” she said firmly, “that’s enough. Blood is not for gossip, nor punishment for delight.”

Evelyne’s smirk widened, unfazed. “You sound like a nursemaid, Briallen. A whipping’s no worse than what the butcher does to a carcass, and everyone knows the guard lives to be tested.”

Briallen’s cheeks flushed. “Ten lashes on frozen skin is no game. Shame on you for saying so before your sister.”

“I say it because it’s true,” Evelyne returned coolly, and rose with her work untouched. “But perhaps Lilliana already knew. Perhaps she gave him reason.”

Her skirts whispered as she swept from the room, leaving the words to linger like smoke.

I stared at the tiny bead of blood staining the linen, my hands trembling around the hoop. My throat closed against air.

This was my fault.

Every step on that road. Every loaf in that basket. Every breath I’d dared take beside him. He had paid the price, not me.

Briallen knelt at my side, her hand warm over mine. “Don’t listen to her, my lady. Evelyne likes to wound with words. She’s not cruel enough to understand what she says.”

But I couldn’t stop hearing it. Ten lashes. The sound of leather. The sight of blood. And his silence.

I rose abruptly. “I need air.”

Briallen caught at my sleeve. “Lilliana—”

“I won’t be long.”