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There will be two flashback chapters. One is the day before Al's 'death', and one is after. Flashback one covers one day, and flashback two takes place eight days later.

Flashback 2

Flashback Pt.2 4 Years Ago

Eight days is a long time to be locked in a void. When I finally surfaced and had to face the reality that Augusta was dead, my body became wracked with inconsolable sobs. The Rack didn't allow for much movement. My arms had been forced up and behind me; I may have lost my fingers to lack of circulation if I'd been anyone else. My legs were pulled into a violent split to either side, hips long since dislocated, and tendons pulled like taffy.

I couldn't feel it. I'd long since gone numb as I wallowed. But my vision finally started to creep back in. Slowly, shapes came into focus, then light, and then color. As I was finally able to focus, I became aware of a heavy sigh from a point just in front of me.

"I know you're awake. How long are you planning to play dead?" Playing dead as if I put myself in a coma. Tilting my head back caused a searing headache as the overhead light sliced through my retinas. It passed quickly but kept happening as fast as it faded. Marcus sat in an ornate wooden chair just a few feet away. He wore a pressed grey suit with a navy shirt beneath. His hair was swept back casually from his face, a few strands brushing his brow. His shoes were black and shined to a mirror finish. He looked like he should be attending a boardroom meeting, not lounging in a dungeon waiting for his captive to wake from her coma.

He smiled when I looked at him. A true, genuine, relieved smile. As if he was worried I might not wake up. Piece of garbage is the reason I'm even in this state. "There you are. My precious thing. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit." My voice was rough; I'd not had water in over a week, and though I couldn't die of dehydration, my body was still experiencing the symptoms on a constant loop.

His laugh was warm like I'd charmed him. "Good. It's what you deserve after trying to run away with that ginger bitch." Not Red, not Augusta. I knew her name would never be mentioned again; it'd be as if she had never existed. It saddened me greatly that such a light had been snuffed out.

"You told me to try."

He launched at me but didn't touch me. "And you should have known better. It was a test, and you failed. You must be punished." His spittle hit my cheek, leaving a wet trail that eventually dripped off my chin.

I felt a burst of defiance. "Punished? Haven't I already been punished enough? I've been assaulted and beaten and had my dear friend murdered right in front of me. What else could you possibly do to me?"

He huffed harshly in my face, "Oh, Lav. I am so glad you asked." I drew up short at that. My next retort is dying on my tongue. Glad I asked? No, he hates it when I ask a question.

He walked away from me. His steps bouncy with excitement. My mind was spinning. There was so much about this I didn't understand. What could be worse than all that had already happened? Why was he so gleeful? And what the fuck what up with him not even being scratched when Augusta smacked him so roundly upside the head?

I'd not worked out anything when footsteps echoed from just outside the chamber door. The man who walked in had a hood pulled up over his head and was decked in thick leather pants and a matching vest top that was darkly stained with old blood. I'd never met the executioner before. I'd heard horror stories from other girls Marcus had given to him, and the stories they'd told and the scars they carried had always made me a bit grateful that Marcus seemed to want to protect me from him.

But it seems that had run out. I guess the worst thing is my death. I tried to feel sad, and I think I was a bit. I would never see Celia again; I wouldn't be here to protect her from Marcus. I would never see the sea again, breathe in that salty air, or feel the wind through my hair. I'd never know what happened to my brother. And while all of that threatened to swallow me in sadness, the tears that came were tears of relief.

It'd be over—no more pain, fear, or uncertainty. I'd be free, and I could finally rest.

I raised my head as high as I could in my position and bravely faced the executioner. "I'm ready." I closed my eyes and waited. I hadn't felt peace like this in a long time.

After a bit, though, nothing happened. There was No stabbing blow or sword slice. I cracked my eyes open and found him standing still by the door. He'd been busy while my eyes had been closed, though. A broad axe was now held loosely in his hands, and a canister of fuel rested on the floor by his feet.

"I ain't here for you. So just you pipe down an' wait." His accent was slow, lazy around the vowels. It was a regional accent usually only found in the villages at the deepest valleys of Mount Pearl on the other side of the island. I hadn't heard it since my governess had passed when I was eight. She was usually quite posh with her words, but it would slip through when Al and I truly vexed her. We always found it charming, so we set out to make her do it as often as possible.

It was a surprise that someone from the Mount Pearl region was the executioner. They were historically pacifistic farmers. The most violent thing I had ever heard one of them doing was dealing with animals that were bothering their flocks. I looked him over and wondered if he knew Miss Agnes. I was still thinking that over when a commotion started up outside the door.

Muffled screaming blasted through the door ahead of them. I walked Marcus, still dressed as proper as before. Behind him, Fredric and Henric were manhandling a third man into the room. He was tall, even hunched over. He appeared about six foot one. He was painfully thin in the way someone who had been purposefully starved was; his skin stretched painfully tight across his bones.

I couldn't make out his face; a blindfold and gag covered it, but the color of his hair was like a beacon, even in the dim lighting. It was a dark lavender shade. It had darkened with age, but only the royal family was known to have hair like that. Tears fell, "Al?"

He reacted to my voice, his head shaking, no doubt terrified to hear my voice after so long.

I turned my head to Marcus. I deep frown, pulling at my mouth. "What have you done? When did you find him?" I couldn't stop the questions. True panic that I hadn't known in a while ate at me. My brother was supposed to be safe. He was supposed to gather forces and plan my and Celia's rescue. He was not meant to be here, on his knees, emaciated and beaten.

Marcus knelt beside him and yanked him back by his matted hair, "Found this little fucker digging in a dumpster down in the restaurant district. He came right along when I offered him some food. Poor sod, I don't think he even realized who he was speaking to. Hunger has pretty much turned his brain to mush."

A sob choked me, and I pulled on my bindings. I felt a shoulder pop as I fought to get loose. They watched me struggle for a few minutes, my pained grunts and my brother's fearful pants the only sound in the room. Finally, my body sagged. My energy was spent till I could regenerate it. "Marcus, please. Please don't hurt him."

I hated begging, hated that I kept having to do it, but I wasn't sure how else to save him. "Please."

He swaggered over to me, putting his face right in mine. "Maybe for a kiss, I could be persuaded to let him live." Kissing him was the last thing I wanted to do, but I'd do anything for my siblings, and he knew it. I nodded, and with one more smarmy smile, he moved in. The kiss was everything I knew it would be. Too much teeth and tongue and hot breath. It went on for quite a while before he pulled away, leaving me breathless. He appeared pleased, smiling warmly and patting my head.

But he stepped back and returned to Al's side.

"Now, Lavender, you and I both know I've never been swayed by begging and bribes." I should have seen the trick coming, but my mind was going to many places simultaneously. I couldn't even feel sad for myself; I was only afraid for my brother. Through tears, I watched him motion to the executioner, who took several steps forward, hefting his axe high over his shoulder. He stepped right up to Al and angled the axe at his neck. Al must have felt the steel at his neck as he began to thrash and shriek like a trapped animal.

"No, no, no, no, no!" I screamed as hard as I could. When I stopped for breath, Marcus looked at me and said, "This is your fault." Then the axe dropped. Al's wailing cut off like a switch had been flipped, and the silence was deafening. My cries started up after the initial shock had gone off. Through tears, I watched as they tossed Al's head onto his chest and doused him in the fuel I had noticed earlier.

Marcus stuck a match, and as he tossed it on, he winked at me.

He and the brothers retreated after the fire had been lit. The executioner stayed behind, a bucket of water in hand to keep the blaze from getting too out of hand. I vomited stomach bile at the smell; it went on for what felt like eons. Finally, there was nothing except a burnt husk left behind. I was left alone with the corpse for a long time. I don't think it was more than a few hours; the sun had barely moved in the window at the top of the dungeon wall. I couldn't look anywhere else. I'd thought of him nearly every day since I had been captured. I'd thought that not knowing was the worst, but I was wrong. This was worse. I'd have rather never know if he lived than to know so precisely how he had died.

Eventually, Marcus came back. The tears had dried up, and my cries had stopped. I only registered him being near me when I felt the heat of his body near mine. I was suddenly very aware of how cold I was, not just because I was still only clothed in the robe Augusta had given me, but also from shock. I felt him untying my bindings, and when the last knot was undone, I fell to the ground like a marionette with her strings cut.

The pain of hitting the ground was nothing compared to the way all my limbs cried out. They had been denied full circulation for so long that the rush of blood, along with my sudden advanced healing, burned like liquid fire. I groaned a loud as Marcus reached down and flipped me to my back. He brushed my hair back from my face and smiled sweetly at me.

"Now, Wellesley," he grinned around my name, knowing how unsettling I found it when he did, "you now understand how serious I am. I killed your friend and your brother, and if you don't shape the fuck up quick, I will do the same to your sister, that uppity brat Wendi, and anyone else you ever come to care about. It's time you get with the program. Time you realized that no one is coming to save you."

He didn't wait for a response; he just stopped petting my hair and stood to his full height till he loomed over me. A clatter at the door drew my attention. Outside of it, I saw several soldiers in full armor stationed in the hall. "I've arranged a group of guards to watch you; they aren't here to help, just to keep you from getting any more funny ideas about running off." Like I would do that now with everything that's happened, he gestured to the body behind him, "I expect that rubbish to be cleaned up and out of my castle before the sun rises tomorrow morning." And then he strolled out one last time.

I lay on the floor, waiting for my limps to be usable. It took a while, but once I could twitch my toes, the rest soon followed. Sitting up made me feel dizzy, and I had to close my eyes and hold my head to keep the room from spinning. The memory of getting Al's body out of the dungeon is blurry. His skin had been hard to hang onto, and I'd been forced to rip a strip off my rob to loop around his shoulder for leverage. I didn't look at him, every time I did, nausea would roll over me, and without any food in my stomach, I'd just throw up stomach bile.

True to Marcus's words, the guards did not help; they just followed behind me, throwing the occasional jeer my way. When we finally crested the steps to the dungeon, I realized I was very near the kitchens. It was very near the escape that Augusta had tried so hard to get us to a week prior. Emotions tried to rise, but I was too tired. I had no more tears to give. It took hours, but I finally got outside. The guards fanned out around the courtyard as I pulled my brother's body to a nearby tree.

It's fitting that this was the courtyard I would be burying him in. This was the last place I had seen him before he left for his training trip. I pulled him up to an old cacao tree very near the wall and rested against its trunk, trying to catch my breath. Thick dark clouds had rolled in, cooling the otherwise sweltering evening.

I smiled wanly up at the sky, "I think we are in for a summer storm, Al." Just as I said it, a loud roll of thunder rolled across the sky, followed by a drop that smacked onto my forehead.

"Hey, get digging. We don't want to be out in this damn rain longer than need be!"

"I've no shovel."

Harsh laughed, "You got hands, don't ya? Best get digging."

Hot anger flared in my gut. I wanted to refuse, but Al deserved a burial, even if just a shallow one for now. Who knew what would happen to his body if I didn't take care of it? It took two hours, and the rain had turned to freezing, whipping sleet, constantly filling the three-foot hole I'd dug with mud and water. The guards had abandoned their posts and watched me from the kitchen windows, where they ate their fill of hot stew and drank deep from beer steins.

I finally couldn't dig anymore. My fingertips and nail beds had torn and healed countless times, and I could no longer feel them or my toes from the cold. Tearfully, I climbed out and rolled my brother's body into his resting place, the wet smack making me cringe. Scooping the dirt back in only took a few minutes, and when it was finished, the muddy mess filled in; only then did I cry again.

My shoulders shook, the tears lost to the rain as I mourned my brother. Would Marcus tell Celia? Was she like I was waiting for a rescue that was never coming? I tried to think that at least his pain was over. The death itself had been quick, even if the days leading up to it hadn't been. I don't know how long I cried, but the rain eventually lessened to a drizzle, and one of the guards came out to collect me.

He led me through the castle, up several staircases, and through empty corridors. Then we were before chamber doors again. Their iron wolf silhouettes snarled at me as I passed.

He wasn't in the bedroom. But I heard the water running in the ensuite, so I followed the sound. Marcus stood in a plush bathrobe beside a massive black granite tub filled with steaming water. Next to it was a sideboard filled with various meats, cheeses, fruit, and chocolate. Giant pitchers of water and juice sat near crystal goblets on the counter.

The abundance struck me as uncannily cruel. I'd been denied all these things for so long, more so in the last week, and to have to watch him have them seemed a step too far. But he didn't begin to eat or step into that steaming tub to ease his aches while I stood by, body one big sore. No, instead, he held out his hand.

"Come, my love, let's get you washed and fed. Then perhaps a nice nap, hm?" I wanted to refuse, but I was so tired, my mind and body too wracked with grief and pain to put up any fight.

So, for the first time, I went to him with little to no resistance. I let him wash me and feed me and put me to bed. And early the next morning, when he rolled on top of me and pressed a kiss to my lips and his hips between mine, I didn't push him away.

End of Flashback Pt2