SERAPHINA'S POV
I left immediately, disappearing through the forest like smoke, heading straight back to the mansion.
I carried Ivy's unconscious body up the stairs with surprising care, her weight limp and warm against me. She looked so fragile in my arms — pale, covered in bruises and half-healed welts from the flogging, her white gown torn and stained with blood and dirt. I laid her gently on her bed, the silk sheets swallowing her small frame.
A pity, I whispered under my breath, my voice barely audible. "Every tear you shed is a debt you owe me. I always collect."
Then something shifted.
I stood up quickly and left the room. My feet carried me down the quiet hallway before my mind could catch up. I filled a basin with hot water and grabbed clean cloths and salve, my hands moving fast, almost on their own.
Back in Ivy's room, I sat on the edge of the bed again.
I dipped the cloth in the warm water and started cleaning her wounds in slow, careful strokes.
The wet fabric glided over her skin, wiping away dried blood and dirt from the ugly flogging welts that crossed her back and shoulders. Each pass revealed more of her.
The delicate curve of her spine.
The soft swell of her breasts where the torn gown had slipped lower.
The gentle dip of her waist.
The smooth line of her hips.
She was beautiful in her brokenness. Pale skin marked with dark bruises like fingerprints. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Her nipples tightened slightly every time the warm cloth brushed over them. My eyes moved lower, over the flat plane of her stomach, then to the subtle shadow between her thighs where the gown had ridden up.
My hand stilled for a fraction too long at the curve of her breast, warmth seeping through the damp fabric, my grip tightening before I forced it to continue. This wasn't mercy. It wasn't interest.
And yet… I was still looking.
All of a sudden, her body twitched. She began fidgeting like someone trapped in a nightmare, she moved restlessly as her fingers kept curling and uncurling, her brow furrowing as if she were fighting something she couldn't escape. A tiny tear slid from the corner of her closed eye, trailing down her cheek.
I reached out and wiped it away with my thumb, deliberate and slow.
I withdrew my hand slowly, like pulling back from something that might burn if I lingered too long. The room felt smaller all of a sudden, quieter in a way I didn't trust.
I stood without another glance and walked out.
I didn't look back.
*****
The memory came without permission.
Blood where it shouldn't have been. Silence where there should have been breath.
My steps slowed for half a second before I forced them steady again, my fingers curling slightly at my sides.
Not here.
Not now.
There would be time for that… when the debt would be paid.
Footsteps interrupted me. I could hear downstairs.
"Father, what did you just do?" my lovely stepdaughter yelled.
I stared at them from above the staircase, hidden in the shadows.
"This isn't the right time, Layla," I heard him whisper.
"But Father!"
"I said not now!" he turned in fury, lifting his hand.
I gasped softly. I had never seen him yell at his spoiled daughter before. I wondered what happened when I left, that left him this furious.
Layla's shoulder hit mine heavily as she ran up the stairs to her room, eyes blazing with fury and humiliation.
Lucas kept pacing back and forth as Marcus excused himself quietly.
"What happened, honey?" I asked gently, stepping down and holding onto his back.
"We are in a big mess now," he muttered, voice tight with rage. "And it's all because my daughter could not control her sexual urges…"
"Calm down, please," I said, trying to steady him, but it didn't work.
"It's all her fault," he kept murmuring. "Now I look incompetent in front of the clan, and worse they gave me an ultimatum…"
He laughed bitterly.
"Me? The Lord of the Velistra bloodline — an ultimatum… to step down, or let Ivy be stripped…"
Then his voice lowered, dangerous and raw.
"Do you know what happens if they follow through?" His voice dropped, not louder, but sharper, like something barely contained. His hand dragged through his hair before falling uselessly at his side. "They won't just strip her. They'll make an example of her… of me."
He let out a humorless breath, eyes darkening as they flicked toward the stairs. "A Lord who can't control his own bloodline becomes a story. And stories like that spread."
His jaw tightened. "And I don't survive stories like that.
With that, he stripped my hands from his arm and headed up the stairs.
I stood there for a couple of minutes, letting the silence settle.
******
By morning, Lucas's voice cut through the room before I fully woke.
"Elowen," he said, already on the phone, his tone stripped of everything but authority. "I need you at the mansion. Now."
I didn't move. I stayed where I was, eyes half-lidded, listening.
A pause stretched across the line.
Then her voice slid through, smooth and amused.
"Lord Lucas… to what do I owe the honor? Another political wound that needs stitching, or has one of your precious daughters finally broken something that can't be fixed with money and threats?"
Lucas didn't react to the mockery. His grip on the phone tightened slightly, knuckles paling.
"It's Ivy," he said flatly. "She's injured. Badly. Flogged during the parade last night. She's unconscious, feverish… twitching like she's trapped in nightmares.
A soft chuckle echoed from the other end.
"Ah… the disgraced daughter."
There was something in her tone now. Interest.
"How unfortunate," Elowen continued. "Healing a flogged half-breed at the request of the great Lord Velistra. The clan would tear you apart if they knew."
"Only if they find out!" Lucas said