52: Punishment

The doors of the royal bedchamber shut behind them, sealing Xylara and Kiara within. A deep silence settled in the grand chamber, only disturbed by the faint flicker of enchanted torches that bathed the room in dim, golden light.

Xylara's breath was steady, but her heart pounded.

The weight of Kiara's gaze made the air thick, suffocating even. Obsidian eyes, empty yet terrifyingly aware, locked onto her, peeling away all pretense.

There was no amusement in Kiara's expression, no sadistic grin, no sign of pleasure in what was to come. Just the cold certainty of execution.

"You disappointed Master," Kiara stated, her voice devoid of emotion. A mere fact, not an accusation.

Xylara clenched her fists. "I know."

Kiara stepped forward, the air distorting around her as she raised her right hand. From her palm, a long, black whip materialized—woven from aetherius.

It pulsed with a terrible power, threads of energy writhing along its surface like living veins. A whip made not of mere material, but of Lycius's power. It was not a weapon meant to break the body. It was meant to carve lessons into the soul.

"Then you know why this is necessary," Kiara continued.

Xylara did not argue. She did not beg.

She did what was expected of her.

She turned and dropped to her knees before lowering her upper body onto the cold marble floor, exposing her back.

Kiara's eyes narrowed.

A soft hum left her lips, almost amused. "You're bowing again."

Xylara tensed.

Wrong.

She had already failed again.

Without hesitation, Kiara moved.

The first strike came like a bolt of lightning.

The aetherius whip lashed across Xylara's back, cutting through both cloth and skin in an instant. A sound like cracking thunder echoed through the chamber. Xylara gritted her teeth, suppressing a cry as fire spread across her nerves.

Aetherius was no ordinary energy. It did not just tear flesh. It seared into one's very essence, branding the lesson into existence. There would be no healing away this pain. No magic could erase what had been burned into her being.

"Stand," Kiara ordered.

Xylara pushed herself up, legs trembling, but she stood.

The whip struck again.

And again.

Each lash landed with precise cruelty, leaving behind lines of glowing pain. The agony was immeasurable, raw, but Xylara did not fall. She clenched her jaw, her breathing ragged, but her body refused to break.

Kiara circled her like a specter, each movement calculated. There was no rush, no waste. She was a doll with endless patience, and she wielded pain like an artisan. This was no mindless torture. It was devotion, discipline forged through suffering.

Lycius did not force loyalty. He did not need to. But Kiara… Kiara shaped it.

"Do you understand why you're being punished?" Kiara asked as the whip coiled back like a serpent.

"Because I—" Xylara inhaled sharply, suppressing a groan as fresh blood dripped from her wounds. "—bowed to someone other than Lycius."

The whip lashed again, wrapping around her arm this time, constricting like a vice before Kiara yanked it back, forcing Xylara to stumble.

"Not someone," Kiara corrected, her tone unwavering. "Anyone."

Another strike. This time against her legs, bringing her to one knee.

"You are his," Kiara's voice was calm, final. "There is no authority above him. No power. No will. No law. You exist to him. You are his possession. Practically his creation. And yet, you lowered yourself before another."

Xylara breathed heavily, her vision blurring from the pain, but she forced herself to nod.

Kiara's grip on the whip tightened. "And tell me, Xylara… what happens to possessions that fail?"

Xylara swallowed, her throat dry.

"They are discarded," she whispered.

A chilling silence followed.

Then Kiara smiled. It was not warm. It was not cruel. It was simply inevitable.

"Good."

The whip vanished.

Xylara remained on one knee, body trembling, her back a web of burning agony. But she did not collapse.

"Now, your reward."

Kiara moved, quick as a shadow, appearing before Xylara in an instant. A small dagger materialized in her palm, its blade glistening with aetherius. Without hesitation, she sliced a thin line across her own wrist.

A single drop of her blood fell.

Xylara barely had time to react before it passed through her lips.

The moment it touched her tongue, an inferno ignited within her.

Power.

Aetherius roared through her veins, devouring the pain, mending the torn flesh as her body absorbed it hungrily. It was pure, overwhelming, an echo of Lycius himself. It did not just strengthen her—it reminded her.

Who she belonged to.

The strength that flooded her limbs was not her own. It was never hers. It was his.

She gasped, hands gripping the floor as her body shook from the sheer force of the energy rushing through her.

Kiara knelt, her face close, her obsidian eyes locking onto Xylara's as she spoke the final words of the lesson.

"You are stronger now," Kiara murmured. "Not because you wanted it. Not because you sought it. But because Lycius has given it to you."

Xylara's breaths were ragged, but her mind was clear.

She had bowed twice.

She would never bow again.

Not to Kiara.

Not to Elizabeth.

Not to anyone.

Only him.

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