Cass’s POV

"Found this vagabond sniffing around our borders last night," Warrick says, gesturing to the prisoner.

Ezra is a ruin of a man. His eyes are swollen shut, his face a grotesque mask of bruises and dried blood. He is barely conscious, yet when he hears my name, he flinches.

"What does this have to do with me?" I ask, my voice trembling.

"You tell me," Warrick replies.

"I don't know this man," I lie, though my heart is pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

"Then he can die in place of the boy," Warrick says, his tone chillingly nonchalant.

"Why does anyone have to die?!" I scream. "I need time to master my power. It’s not something I can just toggle on and off at your command!"

Warrick paces before me, a predator circling its prey. "I don’t have patience, Casseopea. But I have a knack for getting results." He signals the guard. "Kill him."

I gasp. "DON’T YOU DARE!" I growl. As the guard draws a dagger, his hand suddenly freezes. The blade clatters to the floor.

Warrick stares at me, first with confusion, then with a twisted, prideful smile. "Congratulations. You’ve saved your mate."

My blood runs cold. "You... you knew?"

"Of course. He told us everything last night. You lied to me, daughter. You said you didn't have a mate."

"He was not my mate! I was never marked!"

"Yet you move heaven and earth to save him," Warrick sneers. He turns his gaze to Colt. "And you, Alexis... to think I had my enemy’s son under my nose this whole time. It makes me feel... insulted."

"I... I am here," Colt stammers, desperate. "I came to be with you. I—"

"Because you were commanded to," Warrick cuts him off. "We’ll talk later. Just like I talked to your brother."

"I knew he was scum," Beck mutters, laughing.

The room spins. My panic is a living, breathing thing. Warrick isn't just cruel; he’s playing a game, and we are the pieces. Without warning, he swings his dagger, killing the boy instantly.

"No! You said no one had to die!"

"I lied," Warrick says, wiping the blade clean.

The sight of the boy’s blood pooling on the floor snaps something inside me. I lunge, snatching the discarded dagger from the floor and throwing myself at Warrick. He catches my wrist with effortless brutality.

"Haha! There’s that fire!" Warrick roars with manic glee. He twists my arm until I’m forced to drop the blade, then slaps me across the face, sending me reeling into the arms of a guard.

"Don’t touch her!" Colt lunges forward, but Victor and another guard slam him to the floor.

Warrick hops onto his desk, looking down at us. "So, let me get this straight. You’re sleeping with your mate’s brother? The man I ordered to bring you to me? The man I ordered to

woo

you so you’d have a reason to stay?"

"It's not like that, Cass!" Colt shouts.

I look at him, my eyes stinging. "You lied..."

"I love you!" Colt cries, his voice cracking. "He ordered it, but the feelings were real from the moment I found you. I never intended to bring you back, but when we were caught... I had no choice!"

Warrick laughs. "The downside of our bond: distance dilutes the command. Once he was near me, he was mine again."

I feel betrayed, yet deep down, I know Colt’s love is the only true thing in this room. But Warrick isn't finished. "Garret, take Colt to the Black Room."

"Cass! Don’t give up on me!" Colt screams as he’s dragged away.

"And him," Warrick gestures to Ezra, "take him to the healers. He’s still my daughter’s true mate—and a bargaining chip against my enemies."

"I’m done acting obedient," I say, standing tall despite my shaking limbs. "I’m ashamed to be your daughter."

Warrick tangles his fingers in my hair, yanking my head back. "I’m going to break you, Casseopea."

"You can try," I hiss. "Give it your best shot."

Victor leads me to the stage—a wooden platform lined with poles, where the broken and the chained are displayed like trophies. He strips me bare, his movements stiff and cold. When he sees the scars covering my back, he pauses, a flicker of remorse crossing his face before it vanishes behind a wall of apathy.

He hands a wire whip—intertwined with silver—to a guard.

I wrap my chains around my hands and close my eyes.

It’s going to hurt, but I can handle it. I am strong.

The first crack of the wire is blinding, searing pain. I bite my lip to keep from screaming. Then the second. Then the third.

I am strong. Pain always ends.

Suddenly, the agony becomes background noise. A laugh bubbles up in my throat. They think they can break me? They’ve only forged me.

I’m not the fragile girl they stole from her home. I am something else entirely. Let them whip me. Let them scar me.

Will. Not. Break.