Langwidere did not want the entire kingdom to witness the event, so she invited a select few dozen people to the throne room after choosing which of her guardsmen would be most suitable to carry out the punishment without any gleaning of personal gain. She chose a newly married young man who had always been utterly respectful of people in general and women in particular.

She knew she had made the right choice when his face had gone ashen and he had tried to refuse.

"Your Highness, I couldn't possibly!"

"You have no choice," she had simply told him.

Now, she approached the throne room with Mistress West on her arm, and whispered into the witch's ear as they reached the door. "I sent a message to Tip, inviting her to join us, but she declined my generous offer."

West groaned. "I'm glad she did."

Langwidere smothered a grin and led her inside, to their waiting audience. "I am going to sit on the throne, as is proper, and to show everyone that you are mine, you will bend over and hold one arm of the throne with your head in my lap while Mr. Alire paddles you."

West curtsied politely, not wanting to embarrass the queen in front of any of her subjects. "Yes, Lady Ev."

Langwidere stopped them at the throne and turned to address her people. "Thank you all for coming," she said loudly, eyes sweeping the room. "The mistress of the western fields has made a grave, grave mistake. But she understands her mistake and is ready to accept her punishment, here in front of all of you."

Every eyebrow in the room raised.

"Isn't that right, Mistress West?"

Oh, she was expected to speak to the group? How terribly awful. "Yes, Lady Ev," she said reverently. She didn't know what else to say.

Langwidere smiled at her and turned back to the room. "The nature of her mistake shall remain between her and I, but rest assured, it warrants the punishment she is about to receive. If anyone should take any offense... I don't care."

Langwidere glanced toward the still open doors and Mr. Alire, red faced and clearly unhappy, entered holding a large black leather paddle.

West went as red faced as the guardsman when the room collectively gasped.

Langwidere, quite pleased with herself, sat on the throne after smoothing her skirts, and patted her lap condescendingly.

Grateful at least not to have to look at anyone, West bent over the chair, rested her hands on the arm of the throne and lay her head in Langwidere's lap, facing her stomach. She was mildly comforted when the queen's hands threaded through her hair.

Langwidere looked to her guardsman. "Begin."

He had already been told in private that he was to deliver fifty powerful strokes.

As the first stroke landed, West jumped in surprise at the force of it, hands curling around the piece of furniture tightly.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Langwidere whispered to the witch. "Count. Loudly."

"Just a number?" West asked, eyes closed.

Langwidere's eyes sparkled even though West's were closed. "One, Sir," she breathed so that the guardsman couldn't hear her.

"One, Sir," West said obediently, voice echoing through the room, though it grated on her self-respect to say that to a man she didn't even know. She only did it for the queen.

The guardsman scowled to himself, not liking that, either. He smacked her again, hoping his wife would forgive him. He was really a gentle sort of man, and had to force himself to use enough strength to appease the queen.

"Two, Sir," West recited, squeezing the throne even tighter, if possible.

Again.

"Three, Sir."

Again.

"Four, Sir."

Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.

By twenty-five her hands had left the throne and curled into the queen's skirts. For a second she thought Langwidere was going to correct her for it, but a gentle hand stroking her hair let her know it would be allowed. "Twenty-five, Sir," she counted. It hurt much more than she had anticipated a paddling could hurt. She wished she'd brought her poppies with her. Although that would have been impossible because she hadn't packed her things to come for a sleepover, she'd been brought here half unconscious by Tip.

The guardsman's arm was tired as well as his patience run thin, and only fear of the queen's ire kept him from dropping the paddle and walking out. Not only was he married, but he didn't believe in corporal punishment, especially not of an adult.

As he hesitated far too long, Langwidere shot Mr. Alire a sideways glare, indicating with her eyes what she'd do to him if he dared to question her orders, either vocally or by omission of action.

The guardsman came back to himself, shaking off his thoughts, and brought the paddle down harshly.

West felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. "Twenty-six, Sir." She wanted to bury her face in the queen's lap, but then she wouldn't be able to count aloud.

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two...

Her tears broke free and slid down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking silently as she cried. "Thirty-three, Sir," she said shakily, knowing that everyone present would hear the tears in her voice.

She was already crying and he had seventeen more to go? "I don't think I can do this," he said quietly.

Langwidere whispered to the suddenly tense witch in her lap. "You'd better convince him to finish it..."

West stood up on trembling legs and spun to face him, blocking out the rest of the people in the room. "Please," she said quietly, for his ears only. "What I've done is unspeakable, and this is the only way she'll forgive me. Please, finish it. I can take it, I swear."

His eyes went wide. "You're okay with this?"

She sniffled and nodded. "Of course. I'm a witch. Do you think I wouldn't incinerate this entire city if I wasn't okay with this?"

Bewildered, he simply nodded.

Sighing with relief, she turned and bent back over, putting her hands on the chair again, resting her cheek on Langwidere's thighs.

"No more counting, and no more 'Sir'," the guardsman said to the queen, and once she'd given her agreement, he started paddling Mistress West in earnest, happy to go faster and get through with it.

No longer having to count or keep track, West finally buried her face in the queen's lap, taking comfort in the familiarity of her scent and the way the beads of the elegant dress rubbed against her skin. Her ass was on fire, and by the time the guardsman had finished the punishment, her cries were no longer silent. The pain, along with the guilt over hurting the queen and the relief at being able to find a way to be forgiven, allowed her to let her emotions loose, and she sobbed against her princesa, uncaring of how many people heard her.

As soon as it was done, the guardsman handed the queen the paddle and fled the room.

"Thank you all for coming!" Langwidere shouted without getting up. "See yourselves out and close the doors!"

When they were alone, West cried harder, gripping Langwidere's dress like a lifeline.

"Come here," Langwidere said fondly, guiding West up to sit in her lap, mindful of her paddled backside as she helped her settle. "Why are you crying, little witch? It's all over."

"Am I forgiven?" West asked, still fearful of the answer despite what they'd just done.

"I think I could never not forgive you," Langwidere said in a rare moment of transparency. "It would leave a hole in my spoiled heart."

"I will never, never disappoint you like that again, I swear..." One arm was around the queen's neck and the other clung to the bodice of her dress. "You are the only one I should have thought of... not Glinda. It's just that it's quite scary for me that you've come to mean everything to me. I wasn't looking for that and I didn't expect that, and you just- you were perfect, you are perfect, and if I'm honest, I've fallen very much in love with you. Such a thing is unheard of for me, Princesa, and I'm terrified."

Her mask could hide her tears, but not the raw emotion in her eyes. "You wretched little witch," she breathed, resting her forehead against West's. "Love is a terrifying feat for me as well, yet here you are, and here I am, and I do quite love you."