I found the door at the end of the hall closed. Even knowing what lay beyond, I hesitated not even a second in opening it.
This room was lit brightly, blinding me the instant I stepped through.
I struggled to become accustomed to the light as I swiftly closed the door behind me.
Too soon, my eyes adjusted and I saw him. Standing tall and strong amongst the casks and shelves of bottles, the Drakkar good looks stamped on his proud features, even through age.
“Papa,” I whispered, fighting the shiver seeing him caused to slither over my skin.
It had been years.
But I was never safe. I knew I was never safe. Not in Lunwyn.
Her magic didn’t reach Fleuridia. And thus I counted on the fact it definitely wouldn’t reach the realms across the Green Sea.
But in Lunwyn, I knew, knew I was never safe.
“You and your brother have behaved very badly, Franka,” my father declared.
“I—” I started to explain.
“Silence!” he barked, leaning toward me, and as used to it as I was, the verbal strike of his loud word still made my body lurch in surprise and fear.
It was then I saw the lash coiled in his grip.
I didn’t take a step back. I never did. Weakness was not tolerated. I’d learned. I’d learned if I showed weakness, Kristian received the punishment and it would be twice as bad.
He could not endure it. We’d discovered that when we were children in a way so heinous, I buried it so deep I couldn’t even remember it, just the feelings it caused.
But we’d learned.
Kristian broke. He did it easily.
Soft heart. Weak will.
Thus I had to endure it. Every last strike. If I broke, they’d turn to Kristian and wouldn’t stop until the blood flowed in streams down his legs while he hung unconscious, receiving his punishment through oblivion.
“What have you done to our House, Franka?” my father asked, but didn’t allow me to answer. He continued on, “The mighty House of Drakkar could have been brought down to nothing, and would have if this generation didn’t see the resurgence of The Frey within The Drakkar.”
How had he heard?
“Please, Papa, if you’d allow me to—” I began.
“There’s no explanation for treason,” he bit out.
Gods! How had he heard?
“Papa, if you’ll let me share. I assisted Frey and the others with—”
“You,” he interrupted me, “are at least a Drakkar. Headstrong. Whip-sharp. I can imagine you have a reason for what you did, though I don’t bloody give a damn what it was. Your brother, however, had no reason. None at all. Except to do as you told him. Always minding you, like a brainless pup. It’s revolting,” he spat his last, the expression twisting his face sharing just how revolting he thought his son was. “I wished to punish him. Your mother, though, she has a soft spot for that boy. So I’m here.”
I was uncertain my mother had anything soft about her. In my estimation, it was less her caring for Kristian and more the enjoyment she got from inflicting pain on me.
“The hook is ready, Franka. Prepare and make your way to it,” he ordered.
I cast a glance to my right and up, seeing the hook was indeed ready as, in times like these, it always was.
But I didn’t prepare and move to it.
I looked back to my father.
“I endure, she leaves him alone,” I stated.
That was the arrangement. It had always been the arrangement. And they had never reneged.
But there was a reason I carried a midnight soul, for the evil contained in both my parents set their souls to cinders years ago. It was not a wonder I’d inherited the blackness.
“You committed treason, daughter,” my father reminded me.
“I endure, she leaves him alone,” I repeated.
Panic threatened to paralyze me when I saw the cruel sneer curl at his mouth, the excitement light in his eyes, the same in the rush of pink to his cheeks.
He enjoyed this. I’d learned that as well. In the past, there needn’t even be a transgression for Kristian or I to earn a punishment. No, our father simply had to be in the mood.
And to our misfortune, he was in the mood often.
“You endure, my daughter, she leaves him alone,” he agreed.
But I knew by his expression. I knew my transgression, Kristian’s, had earned a punishment even I might not be able to survive.
Regardless, I nodded. On shaking legs I focused all efforts on keeping me upright, I moved to the hook.
I was twelve when they’d stopped binding my wrists and hanging me from the hook. From that point, it was part of the punishment to keep my fingers curled around, hold myself up, not fall.
Never fall.
And tonight, I definitely could not fall.
When I arrived below the hook, I turned my back to my father and pulled the thin straps of my silk nightgown down my shoulders and arms. I felt the material drift down my skin to catch on my hips.
Bare up top, I took in a deep breath, closed my eyes tight then set my jaw.
I opened my eyes, lifted my hands and curled my fingers around the cold steel of the hook.
“I begin, my sweet.” I heard my father say and knew he was communicating with my mother. A mother who was not there but could be in a blink if there weren’t enchantments protecting the Winter Palace.
No, she was close to Kristian, ready to complete the punishment should I fall.
On that thought, my fingers gripped the hook tighter.
He did not delay in doing as he said he would.