THE PRIESTESS'S WORTHLESS HUSBAND IS A DRAGON

CHAPTER 2: PUNISHMENT PART 2

Two guards stepped forward from behind the pillars. One grabbed Ethan's wrists and yanked them above his head, chaining them to an iron hook that hung from the ceiling. The cold metal dug into his skin as his body stretched upward, feet barely touching the ground, back exposed.

The first lash came down like a tongue of fire dragged across his spine.

Ethan's entire body seized. His teeth clamped together so hard his jaw ached. He swallowed the scream and kept it locked behind his ribs where nobody could hear it. He had learned that long ago. Crying made it worse. Screaming made it longer. Silence was the only shield he had left.

The second lash split the skin. Warm blood trickled down the curve of his lower back in a slow, thin line that felt like a finger tracing his spine.

By the fifth lash, his vision blurred. Tears gathered at the edges of his eyes, but he blinked them away because he knew, he knew with everything in him, that if he cried, his father would call him weak and add ten more.

By the tenth, his shirt was shredded. The fabric hung from his shoulders in ribbons, soaked through with blood that smelled like rust and salt. Every breath felt like swallowing broken glass. His mind drifted somewhere far away, back to a memory of him at twelve years old, wrapping a bandage around Derek's scraped knee while their mother watched from across the room and said, "Be more careful with him, Ethan. You're always too rough." Derek had fallen on his own. Ethan wasn't even near him. But it was still his fault. It was always his fault.

By the fifteenth, his knees buckled. The chains caught his full weight, and his wrists screamed as the metal bit deeper. His head dropped forward. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He thought about every time he had stayed quiet when Derek got the praise he earned, every time he had smiled when his parents forgot his achievements, every time he had told himself it would get better. It never got better.

By the twentieth, he couldn't feel his back anymore. Just a wide, burning numbness that spread from his shoulders to his waist like someone had pressed a hot iron flat against his entire body.

The guards unhooked the chains. Ethan crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. He lay on the cold marble, cheek pressed against the stone, breathing in shallow, ragged gasps. Blood pooled slowly beneath him, dark and warm.

Neither of his parents moved from their chairs.

The side door opened softly, and Derek walked in.

He moved slowly, hesitantly, wringing his hands together with his head slightly lowered. His eyes swept across the room and landed on Ethan's broken body on the floor. His lower lip trembled. His brow creased. He looked up at his parents with the most pitiful, wounded expression a face could make.

"Please don't blame Brother." Derek's voice cracked perfectly, like a china cup tapped just hard enough. He sniffled and wiped his eye with the heel of his palm. "It's my fault. I wasn't strong enough to awaken my bloodline. Brother shouldn't have to suffer because of me."