Page 35 of Dragons' Bride
Cyril’s mouth tightened at that, but he didn’t let himself stop his assessment to check the cause. With the wall she’d slammed between them, it was hard to read Kit’s eyes and body. But her scent and the bond between them still carried scraps of feelings she could not quite lock away.
Kit wasn’t the least bit sorry. But she was hurt. Alone. Vulnerable as hell and fighting with every fiber of her being to keep it hidden. She looked pale, too. Had she not been eating these past days?
Cyril had been busy, and – since it was his orders Kit had ignored when she put herself and the ship in danger – he’d wanted to be the one to clear the air. So she’d been left alone, a human new to the immortal realm, wondering when she’d be whipped for trying to save Quinton’s life.
And now she’d stopped wondering and remembered that she’d been beaten before and survived. Not just by the assholes who enslaved her in the human realm, but by the pack - in an incident that also happened to be over a refusal to follow orders to stay put.
She wasn’t running now, though. She was surviving - by not letting anything, the dragons included, to get too close. Kit had been a slave. She’d learned the cost of trusting the wrong person. And she had no intention of trusting the dragon princes again.
Cyril closed the distance between them in a single step, his hand capturing her chin. The contact of their skin sent a jolt of energy through him, one that he prayed to the stars she felt too.
“I don’t want to see you hurt,” he said softly. “The order I’d given was to protect you, Kit. Going up to an injured dragon is more perilous than you know. Iamsorry it took so long to speak to you. But I need to know that you understand. In truth, not just words. Show me you understand, for real, and it’s behind us. We both walk off this deck and that’s that.”
“I understand.” Unlike Cyril had, Kit spoke loudly enough for the crew to hear her both her words and the insolence of her tone. “Thank you for correcting me, my prince. May I go?”
Rut his life. “You may not.”
A ghost of a humorless smile brushed her lips. “Of course not.”
“You think I’m playing with you?” Cyril demanded. He knew she knew what she was cornering them both into.
“No, Your Highness. I know full well that I am Lady Kitterny, your true bride, and that every word you utter is the truth.” She bent to pick up the rope’s end she’d discarded earlier, her scent now filled with steel. “I understand naval custom prefers rope for discipline?”
An invisible band tightened around Cyril’s chest, and it was only his years of military training that let him keep his voice even, free of the dread and anger now raging through him.
“You understand correctly.” Taking the rope from her, Cyril undid her creative weaving and knotted the rope in even intervals with a precision that he knew she’d notice.”
This was going to hurt them both. And for what? Her pride? To erect a wall between them? Hell, most likely she was doing it to remind herself to hate Cyril.
“The knots are added for impact,” he said, aware of the crew watching his every move. “They hurt a great deal more than you’d expect looking at them.” It was not until he finished the last one, that he moved closer, his voice barely audible above the wind. “This is not how I intended for our conversation to end,” he said tightly. “Whether you chose to believe that or not is up to you, but this is not how things should be between us.”
“It is the only way they can be.” The void between them stretched with every heartbeat. “Plus, doesn’t the crew deserve a boon for their hard work?”
“The crew?” Cyril felt his brows rise. What had the crew to do with any of this?
“Haven’t you heard? I’m the reason the Phoenix’s runes failed. There are good odds being offered that I’ll be begging before you are through, by the way.”
Cyril froze, his fury pulsing through his blood. He hadn’t heard. Probably because the sailors knew he’d flog them within an inch of their lives if they uttered such a thing within his earshot.
Kit stepped away and turned her back to him. Her dress had an open back, with satin ribbons criss crossing the bodice, the skin beneath them was pale and smooth. Reaching back, Kit pulled the knot holding the ribbons in place, letting the satin drop away. She braced her hands on the rail, the muscles of her back bunching to brace for the pain.
“Six lashes,” Cyril announced, which was as low as he could reasonably go. “Not at the rail though. I don’t need you toppling overboard. Go to the capstone.” He pointed the the large post that controlled the anchor chain and the crew parted to let them through.
Kit placed her palms and forehead against the wood. She was already braver than many sailors would be. Cyril hated that she’d learned how to be that.
The wind blew Kit’s hair out of the way.
Without allowing either of them more time to make things worse than they already were, Cyril delivered the first blow.
19. CYRIL
Kit made no sound as the first blow landed across her shoulders, but Cyril felt the lash as if it had hit him instead. No. It would have hurt infinitely less if it were him taking the blows. Letting the rope hang loose for a moment, he laid a second welt beside the first. A third stripe followed. Kit rocked with each one, her breath catching as furious red marks crossed her shoulders. The rope’s knots broke the skin on the fourth lashing. Considering he could open an immortal’s back with one blow, it had been a stretch to have taken as long as it did on a human.
That didn’t make Cyril feel any better as he saw red beads on Kit’s pale skin.
“Two more to go,” Cyril told her. “It’s almost over.”
She didn’t react.
