Warning: This chapter is more graphic and violent than the prior chapters and may not be suitable for all readers.

Please, be advised and proceed with caution.


He woke up stiff and cold. Far too cold. When he opened his eyes, he saw the blindfold was there once more along with the gag. Peter's hatred only seethed. She will pay for doing this, Peter told himself. She had to. She could not get away with hurting him like this.

Certainly, she was hurting him. Every inch of him hurt. Incredibly. Although he was quite limited, when he moved, nothing hurt any more than when he was stationary.

After stabbing him, Jadis had healed his wounds slowly. He had passed out not long after. Only to be awoken when her soldiers held his face in water until he was flailing to breathe. They let him up and dragged him back to his cell. He must have passed out again because he did not remember anything else after that.

He shifted his legs and arms. Even the stab in his stomach had healed. Granted, it still all ached, but he had experienced worse.

He needed to get out of here. He did not think he could handle it too much longer. She was just slowly chipping away at him, and he was afraid of what would happen when she cut too deep.

Therefore, this was the thought that drove him when the werewolf came once more. As before, the werewolf ripped the gag out of his mouth and forced water into his mouth. It was just as aggressive as the last time. This time, when the werewolf unchained him, Peter took the blindfold off and placed a kick into the side of the werewolf. The werewolf was caught off guard and landed on the ground.

This is my chance! Peter thought to himself, as he stumbled towards the door. Just as he nearly reached it, the werewolf grasped his ankle, pulling until he took Peter's legs out from under him.

With a painful crash, Peter landed on the frozen ground with a thud. As quickly as he could, Peter scrambled away from the werewolf, as he clawed at Peter's legs to get a new hold on him.

A well-placed kick at the werewolf's head caused him to let go of Peter and bought Peter enough time to get to his feet. The kick did not do any true damage because the werewolf was coming right at him after only being dazed for a moment.

Peter raced out the door, slamming it behind him. The only way he knew that he had succeeded in trapping the werewolf was the clawing and scratching at the door. The werewolf slammed into the door to no avail. He was trapped, and Peter was freed.

Taking a few moments to regain his composure, Peter headed towards the throne room. He just needed to get outside. Once he found someone, they could help him get away or at least send for help. Just get outside first.

He was careful and quiet as he crept down the hallway. The stairs had a whined to it, which prevented him from seeing too much in front of him.

His breathing was rapid, and he could tell by the way that puffs of iced breath left his mouth. Every sound made him jump, and as much as he wanted to be extra quiet, he knew that the longer he took to get out of the castle, the more likely the other guards were to find that he had escaped.

Just as he reached the top of the stairs, he heard approaching voices. His heart nearly stopped right there. As he saw the shadows reflecting off the ice, he darted to his right, down the hallway. Once he rounded the corner, he kept his back to the wall, praying that they would not find him.

Sneaking a glance, he saw it was two of the minotaurs approaching. He snapped back around to the safety of his hiding place. Please, do not find me, Peter silently prayed. The voices only grew louder, and Peter feared they would come down the way he had hidden. Peter felt the coldness latch onto his skin, and his heart was pounding in his ears.

Please, don't find me, please.

Just when he thought for certain they would, the voices grew distant.

Even with his heart pounding, he chanced a glance to see that the minotaurs no longer were there. Taking a huffing breath, he quietly walked back towards the throne room, just barely catching a glimpse of the arm of one of the minotaurs as they went down the stairs Peter had come from.

His nerves were twisted around, and he was shaking, but his vision and his head were clear, despite the headache. He needed to get out.

His feet scratched against the icy ground as he reached one of the arched entrances to the throne room. He surprisingly saw no one was in there.

At first dismissed as paranoia, Peter thought for a moment it was a trap. There should be someone, if not the White Witch herself, here.

But despite this thinking, he silently prayed for this to be his escape. With eagerness, he stepped into the throne room.

Although he picked up his pace, he noticed his blood still stained the ice where he was cut all of those times. It would have made him very uneasy if he was not honed on escaping.

With what started out as a careful pace turned into sprint as soon as he was in front of the corridor that led shaky legs, he did not stop going as fast as he could. His pace only quickened when he heard a voice.

"Get him!" A snarl shouted behind him.

He took off. He glanced back at the several creatures all chasing after him. He did not have much time to worry if they would catch him.

Because she did.

When Peter turned to look back at where he was running, he ran right into Jadis's hand. It clasped right around his throat, almost immediately cutting off his air.

She lifted him right off his feet. His toes danced across the ground. His hands tried to pry her fingers off, but she just squeezed tighter.

"You cannot leave yet, Peter, dear," Jadis's mockingly sweet voice returned. A smile lingered on her face, even as Peter clawed at her hand.

Without much effort, she tossed him to the ground with a thud. He shuffled back on the ground when she stalked towards him; her stone knife clutched in her hand.

His palms scratched the surface of the iced floor, and he almost got to his feet before Jadis swung the stone knife. Peter dropped to the ground to avoid it.

He slid away from her for only a moment more before her guards grabbed a hold of him. They dragged him back. He kicked and screamed; it made no difference.

Thrown back on the floor in her throne room, the White Witch towered over him.

"You should not have done that, Peter," she warned. Her voice hollowed. She switched her hold on her knife.

She only glared at him once more before plunging the blade through his leg. It pierced right through the bone, wedging itself in the ice beneath him. He cried out.

"Stop," he pleaded. "Please, stop." As she yanked the blade out of his leg, he could not help the whimper that left his lips.

After his hands clasped around both sides of his shin, he saw the blood that was seeping through his pants, staining his hands. With the strength he could muster, he was shaky looking up at her.

"I do not take rebellion lightly, as I am sure you remember," Jadis said.

He remembered Mr. Tumnus's destroyed home and all the people she had killed during the Battle of Beruna. If he was not already shaking, he might have started to do so at her words. But he held his glare the best he could. Her lips pursued, as she tapped her finger on the hilt of her knife. She seemed to be contemplating something. Her fury faded the longer she stared at him.

"A lesson must be learned here."

She gestured to her left with a nod of her head. As the guards grabbed a hold of his biceps, he tried to squirm out of their grasp, but ultimately, he could not. His blood smeared against the ice and only followed in a trail behind him.

They dragged him to the nearest pillar, taking shackles and locking his arms around the other side of the pillar. His chest rested against the pillar, and his cheek rubbed against it.

Peter felt a numbness overtake his body, as he was quite afraid of what was coming.

He really could not turn his head to see what was happening behind him, but every part of him stopped when she ordered, "Fetch my whip."

"No, no, don't do this," Peter pleaded, fear overtaking his desire to appear tough to her. He pulled on the chains that held his wrists; they burned and were already very raw.

"You tried to escape. That cannot go unanswered for."

He heard scurrying behind him, and finally, all movement stopped.

"Remember, I do hate crying. If I even hear a sound come from you, I will add on five lashes," Jadis reminded him. Her threat sent a chill down his back.

"Don't do this," he pleaded one last time.

Instead, her only response: "This will be very painful for you. I will enjoy this far more than you shall."

There was a hollowed silence following her last words, a desperate anticipation. He tried to brace himself. The waiting for the first strike was terrifying.

Please Aslan, give me strength, please, Peter silently pleaded.

The first lash struck his back. He bit down on his lip to keep the yelp suppressed. The slash burned and made his eyes water.

Another lash. He writhed under the strike. Then another one.

Only after three did Peter's bite draw blood from his lip.

Another lash scathed across his back. He pulled on his restraints in desperation to get away. It was futile.

Edmund, please, find me, Peter thought to himself, as he held in the desperate cry that wanted to come out. Susan, Lucy, please.

Two more lashes snapped against his back.

Please, Aslan, help me, Peter pleaded.

His prayer was only answered with another slash across his back. His blood trickled down his back. His wounds were burning and raw.

It only took one more lash for him to cry out. The new lash had dashed one of the formers, and a painful cry escaped his lips.

"Oh, what had I told you, my little king?" She asked with false care.

The whip snapped against him once more. Another yell came out.

"You must not want this to be over," Jadis said, taking a brief pause.

"Just stop," Peter quietly pleaded.

"No, you must learn," Jadis promised. "Learn that when I am here, all will bend to my will, even you."

Another lash scorched his skin, but this time he kept his pain silently.

He had only succeeded one more time before screaming for every lash after.

He tugged on his restraints until his wrists were bleeding. He pleaded with her to stop. He silently begged Aslan to save him.

Nothing did save him though. Instead, he took every lash. Every single one. When the White Witch was finally done, Peter was drained and aching. Every inch of his back burned and his leg throbbed. He barely even felt the scorching sensation of her healing his wounds.

His vision blurred, as he was being unchained. He did not even fight them when they dragged him between two of her guards.

Exhaustion was fluttering all around him, and he was too numb to have any fight in him at all.