Page 156 of Castle of Nevers and Nightmares

I jump to my feet. “The House of Shadow handles my punishment. You know this.”

Goodfellow gives a tight grin. “None are here.”

The blood drains from my face. “You planned this.”

“Go on, Shadow Alfred.”

Alfie refuses to look at me as he straightens his spine and continues. “The guilty party is stripped of all glamours, magical enhancements, and clothing, exposing their natural vulnerabilities for the procession. If the offense is severe, the guilty party will be temporarily stripped of their status and demoted to a lower rank until they can prove their decorum has been restored.”

Chapter

Fifty-Four

WILLOW

To maximize the public humiliation, the bastards wait until class is over, then drag me outside. People still exit the building when they demand I stop and strip in the thoroughfare. As bodies knock into me, my consciousness retreats deeper into my body. There’s no avoiding this. Fox is too far away and on horseback. He won’t hear my scream.

This is my fault, anyway. Sylvanar, Ignarius... Goodfellow. Who the fuck knows why he hates me so much? Maybe I showed up and ruined his day.

I have no other option than to take my clothes off and suck it up. Facing the woods, I keep my vision unfocused. I undo the buttons on Fox’s coat. I try not to think about the whispering crowd, urging others to step up and watch the revelry unfold. The coat comes off, then my boots, trousers, and panties, but I freeze as I pluck the first button on the shirt.

The pendant.

My expression must convey my fear because Sylvanar glances at Goodfellow, who then returns a haughty nod.

“What are you hiding, Nothing?” Sylvanar rips my shirt open. Buttons scatter to the dirt path.

My heart falls to the floor. I am exposed, naked, for all to see. Every pore on my skin contracts from the cold. But it’s not my breasts or vagina they lock eyes with. The overcast sky provides the perfect condition for Tinger’s glowing manabee to twinkle like a star, catching the attention of everyone watching. Shocked gasps ripple in the air.

“A wisp!” someone exclaims.

Mesmerized by the light, Sylvanar’s meaty hand wraps around my precious friend. He snaps the cord from my neck.

“You took something from my son,” he murmurs darkly. “It’s only fair I take something in return.”

Someone yanks the shirt from my arms. Another person shoves between my shoulder blades. I stumble forward, my bare feet cutting into sharp twigs and rocks on the path.

“Smile, Nothing.” Goodfellow sneers. “And march.”

He gestures with his hand. Tingling fire ants crawl over my body. They head down my legs and wrap around my feet until they walk without permission. Jerking forward, I am powerless to change my fate—a naked puppet on strings.

I thought I could hold my head high, but each step shoves insecurities into my mind without Tinger’s presence against my skin. People laugh when Goodfellow riles up the spectators, urging them to cheer up because sour moods are for subterraneans.

They point at my face. They point at my nakedness. They veil insults within creative jokes. My fingers flutter to my face, to the deformed and bulging cheekbones. Unshed tears blur my vision. My curse is worse again, thick and ugly.

“What’s colder than a witch’s tit?” someone shouts.

“A Nothing’s tit!”

“Hm, yes,” Sylvanar’s voice filters above the rest. “She looks cold. We’re not monsters. Shall we keep her warm?”

Applause breaks out when torrential, scalding water falls on my head as though I’m standing beneath a faucet. I splutter and choke, trying to breathe as it follows me. Any way I turn my head, water is there. Panic strangles my lungs. Blinking rapidly, my instincts take over and I find an angle that helps me breathe.

Goodfellow’s enchantment forces me over uneven terrain, heedless of twigs and stones cutting into the soles of my feet. I’ll bet even my stilted gait looks ugly. Every step becomes torture. I try to lift my chin, but the water gets in my eyes. I try to wipe it from my face. Immediately, a malevolent magical force pins my arms to my side. Terror fills me. Coughing, I glare at the path ahead and refuse to give them any more signs their cruelty affects me.

Fuck this. Fuck the fucking queen. I refuse to drown.

But the further I walk, the more numb the cold makes my feet, the hotter the water feels, and the harder it is to deny what they call me. My mother wanted me to learn from my mistakes, but I’m here again, flailing in the middle of one, drawing in the air, alone and despised.

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