Page 68 of The Crowned Queen

“Commander Shaw is a fae-fucking brat who never had to work for a single thing in his life,” Caylin snapped. “If you want to go crying to him about what I’m doing to his precious little toy, you’d better run fast. I doubt she makes it through ten lashes.”

Leather whistled through the air, landing with a crack across Araya’s back.

Araya’s back bowed, the scream ripped from her throat raw and wordless. The wound burned—iron wire braided into the leather tearing through skin and soul alike. Araya’s hands scrabbled across the gravel, trying to drag herself away.

The whip cracked again. And again.

Araya’s arms gave out. Her face hit the ground, dust and blood flooding her mouth and choking her screams. She must have bitten her tongue⁠—

Another lash. Another blinding ribbon of pain. It sliced her open, peeling her flesh away from her bones.

Caylin was right. This would kill her. She would never see Loren again. She didn’t even know if fae believed in an afterlife like so many humans did⁠—

But the next blow never fell.

A shadow fell over her. Araya cried out, flinching away from the hands that grabbed her under the arms, lifting her. She gagged on the scent of vanilla and blood, emptying the contents of her stomach all over Jaxon’s shiny black boots.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” he snarled.

Araya sagged in his grip, her legs too weak to support her body. She couldn’t stop shaking, her teeth chattering despite the branding heat of his hands on her skin. Shock, she realized distantly, the memory of all the years she’d spent helping at Serafina’s clinic rising hazily to the top of her mind. She’d been through an immense physical trauma and now her body was shutting down.

“You’re the one who’s lost your mind!” Caylin’s chest heaved, the whip still clutched in her hand. Blood—her blood—darkened the leather, dripping onto the dusty ground. “She’s nothing Jaxon. Nothing but another halfblood whore who has made you look like a fool in front of your father and the High Commander and everyone else who matters⁠—”

“This isn’t the place for this conversation,” Jaxon warned, glancing around at the clustered soldiers.

“Stop protecting her!” Caylin’s voice cracked, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “She picked him over you, but you still wouldn’t let me do what had to be done to draw him out! At least now he’ll come. He had to have felt every one of those lashes⁠—”

The ground under her feet split open.

Roots as thick around as Araya’s arm burst upward, vines lashing out blindly. They tore through canvas and splintered wood, dragging screaming soldiers to the ground. One hacked desperately at the vine coiled around his ankle, his blade flashing as it hauled him backward—but more surged forward to take its place, wrapping around his legs, his arms, his throat. And Caylin⁠—

The whip dropped to the ground, thudding uselessly into the dirt as Caylin lifted a shaking hand to touch the gnarled root jutting from her chest.

“Jaxon—” she choked.

“Gods,” Jaxon breathed, his grip on Araya’s arm tightening as he stared at the grisly scene. “Fuck. Alright⁠—”

He shoved her into the arms of the nearest soldier.

“Take her back to my tent,” he ordered. “And then get the healers out here. Now.”

“Sir—” the soldier stammered. “The healers won’t come until the scene is secured⁠—”

“Do you not see her?” He pointed at Caylin. “She’s the High Inquisitor’s daughter and there is a fucking tree through her chest.” He swore viciously, glancing between Araya and Caylin. “Just—fuck. Stay with them both. I’ll go. They won’t say no to me.”

Jaxon didn’t wait for an answer before he took off at a run. Araya struggled to find her feet, the world around her blurring as black spots danced across her vision. The camp was in chaos—smoke filling the air as soldiers raced to burn back the spreading vines.

But no one seemed to notice that the soldier gripping Araya’s arm had frozen, reluctant to get too close to the writhing vines wrapping themselves around Caylin’s body.

The human woman moaned, blood bubbling on her lips as another vine climbed her legs. “Help,” she whimpered. “Please⁠—”

The soldier began to shake, his grip on Araya’s arm trembling. “No—” he muttered, his complexion turning the color of old ash as he watched the vines slide across the ground. “No. I don’t want to die here⁠—”

He let go.

Araya collapsed to the ground. Boots pounded past her, soldiers shouting and tripping over each other in their haste to get away from the murderous vines spreading across the ground.

Little queen. That dark presence wrapped around her, twining through her consciousness. Have you changed your mind?