Chapter 12

It was too much.

As the second blow landed on his back, Cillian looked up at the wooden rod around which his bonds were secured. It could be broken without much effort. He pulled hard. The third hit lashed across his back and he twisted in agony and tugged at the same time. The rod bowed and the bedposts leaned in.

With the next strike, he tugged down with all his might. The legs on the opposite side rose off the floor as the bed tilted. The rod bowed and then cracked. He pulled again before the prince could wind up for another strike.

The rod broke and Cillian almost fell to the floor, but he managed to remain on his feet. He turned just as Pari threw his hand forward. Cillian jumped up and grabbed his wrist, stopping the swing in mid-stride.

“Wha—?” the prince shouted before Cillian, wrists still bound together, wrenched the whip from his grasp. Cillian ripped the gag from his mouth.

“My turn,” he rumbled in Pari’s ear.