The clinking of keys against the iron bars jolted me from the haze of exhaustion. I hadn't slept - none of us had. Sleep felt impossible here, especially after Kian's arrival the day before. We'd spent the night in silence, neither of us willing to voice the thoughts that weighed heavily in the air between us. My body ached, my mind frayed, but the sound of footsteps always managed to cut through the fog of my fatigue. 

Asher's tall, shadowy figure appeared outside the cell, his expression as cold and detached as ever. He was the kind of man who carried out orders without hesitation or question, his presence a reminder that this place had no room for mercy. 

"Both of you," he said, his voice sharp and unyielding. "It's time." 

My heart sank, a mix of dread and resignation coursing through me as the cell door creaked open. I forced myself to sit up, my muscles screaming in protest as I moved. Kian shifted beside me, his eyes narrowing at Asher, though he said nothing. The tension in his jaw and the way his fists clenched at his sides said enough. 

Asher stepped in, handcuffs glinting in his hands. He approached me first, locking the cuffs around my wrists with a mechanical efficiency that made me feel less like a person and more like a task to be completed. His grip was firm but impersonal as he pulled me to my feet. 

When he turned to Kian, my best friend met his gaze head-on. Kian didn't fight back, but the way he stood tall, his shoulders squared, was a quiet act of rebellion in itself. Asher cuffed him too, then motioned for us to follow. 

"Stay close," Asher said flatly, his gaze flicking between us. "You'll only make this worse for yourselves if you don't."

The walk down the corridor was agonizing, each step a reminder of what awaited us. The cold stone beneath my bare feet, the oppressive silence broken only by the sound of our chains - it all felt like a march to the gallows. My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my head up, refusing to let them see my fear. 

Kian walked beside me, his presence a small comfort in the suffocating tension. He didn't speak, but the subtle brush of his shoulder against mine as we moved reminded me that I wasn't alone in this. 

As we turned the corner and the dim light of the square came into view, my stomach twisted. Magnus was already there, his stance casual but his expression anything but. His sharp, mocking smile sent a chill down my spine, and I could feel his gaze lingering on us like a predator sizing up its prey. 

"Strip him too," Magnus said, his voice low, rough, and tinged with something unplaceable - regret, frustration, or maybe just resolve to finish what had already begun. 

My breath caught in my throat, and I turned my head sharply toward Kian. His green eyes widened, then narrowed, flashing with defiance even as the guards approached him. 

"No," I whispered, my voice hoarse, but the word carried no weight. The guards didn't even pause. 

Kian's face was a storm of emotions: anger, disbelief, and something that looked heartbreakingly close to guilt. He didn't resist, though. He stood tall, his jaw clenched tight, muscles taut as if daring anyone to call him weak. 

I wished he would fight, argue, do something, but deep down, I knew why he didn't. We were warriors of the Autumn Court. We knew when the battle couldn't be won. 

His shirt was torn from his body first, and I felt my shame flare brighter than before. It wasn't just humiliation now - it was his too, and it twisted inside me like a blade. I looked away, but the sounds, the murmurs of the crowd, made it impossible to ignore. 

Kian's voice broke through the chaos, sharp and cutting. "Verena, don't look." 

It was both a command and a plea. He didn't want me to see him like this, stripped of dignity and pride. But how could I look away when he was enduring this for me, for a decision that had led us both to this moment?

My chains rattled as I shifted, my bare feet scraping against the cold stone. "I'm sorry," I murmured, the words barely audible, but he heard them. 

His lips pressed into a tight line, and he shook his head once. "Don't. This isn't on you." 

The guards worked quickly, as if they couldn't wait to finish their task. When it was done, Kian was pushed forward, his hands bound above his head next to mine. His breathing was steady, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed against the restraints. 

The crowd's whispers grew louder, their judgmental gazes burning hotter than any fire I could conjure. My own shame was a heavy weight, but seeing Kian, my closest friend, enduring the same degradation, made it unbearable. 

"I can't believe they're doing this to you," I whispered, my voice cracking under the strain of keeping my tears at bay. 

Kian's head tilted toward me, his green eyes meeting mine. There was no anger there, no blame - only a fierce determination. "We'll survive this, Verena." 

His words should have comforted me, but they only deepened the ache in my chest. This wasn't just another battle. This was something darker, something that would leave scars far deeper than any blade. 

Magnus stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he took the whip from a guard. His movements were measured, his posture as composed as ever, but I saw it - hesitation. 

Kian's gaze never wavered from mine. "Eyes on me, Verena. Don't let them win."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, and braced myself. For him. For us. 

The whip cracked through the air and struck my skin, fire exploding along my back. My teeth clenched against the pain, my breathing uneven as I forced myself to stay upright. I wouldn't scream. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction. 

But then the sound came. A sharp, strangled cry. 

My head snapped toward Kian. The whip has moved to him, slicing across his back with merciless precision. His hands clenched into fists above his head, his body taut and trembling as he fought to keep his control. 

"Kian..." I whispered, but my voice was lost beneath the next crack of the whip. 

He didn't cry out this time, but the strain was etched into every line of his face. His jaw was tight, his green eyes burning with defiance and pain. He was trying so hard to stay strong, to endure, but I could see the cracks forming. 

The whip returned to me, and I gasped as it tore through my skin again. The pain was sharper this time, like it was feeding off the misery in the square. My body flinched, but I refused to look away from Kian. 

The whip came down again, this time on Kian. 

The scream that tore from Kian's throat broke something in me. It wasn't just the sound - it was the way his body sagged in the chains, his strength wavering under the weight of it all. 

I felt my vision blur, and it wasn't from the pain in my back. Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and unrelenting. They were for him, for the man who had stood by me through every battle, every hardship. And they were for me, for the agony I couldn't push away no matter how hard I tried. 

"Kian," I choked out, my voice trembling. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He tilted his head, his eyes locking on mine. Despite the pain, there was no anger in his gaze - only stubborn determination. "Don't...apologize," he managed, his voice hoarse. "This isn't your fault."

Another lash tore through his back, and this time, his knees buckled. He caught himself before he fell completely, but the chains groaned under the weight. 

"Stop it!" I shouted, the words bursting from me before I could stop them. My voice echoed through the square, silencing the murmurs of the crowd. 

Magnus hesitated, the whip hanging limply in his hand. For a moment, I thought he might stop, but then his expression hardened, and he raised the whip again. 

I closed my eyes as it struck me, tears streaking my face as the pain burned through my body. I couldn't scream - not now, not when Kian was watching. I couldn't let him see me break. 

But as the whipping continued, alternating between us, I felt myself unraveling. This pain, the humiliation, the sight of Kian's suffering - it was too much. 

Through it all, Magnus's face remained a mask, but his movements were slower now, almost hesitant. I could see the conflict in his brown eyes, the way his jaw tightened with each lash. He didn't want to do this. 

"Kian," I whispered again, my voice barely audible over the sounds of the crowd. He didn't answer, his head hanging low, his breathing shallow but steady. 

The tears kept falling, mingling with the sweat and blood on my skin. For him, for me, for everything we had lost. But even as my body trembled, I clung to one truth: we would survive this. Together, we would survive. 

The whip snapped through the air again, its sharp crack slicing through the tense silence of the square. Magnus's movements were steady, practiced, as he alternated between us, each strike leaving fresh pain and humiliation in its wake. 

But then he stopped, coiling the whip in his hand as he turned to me, his brown eyes gleaming with something cold and calculating. 

"You know," he began, his voice low and rough, "you could save yourself from this. All you have to do is beg."

I glared at him, my breath ragged as I straightened my back against the chains. "I won't."

Magnus smirked, tilting his head as if studying me. "No? Then what about him?" He gestured toward Kian, who was slumped forward, his breathing shallow and labored. "You could beg for him. Maybe spare him a few lashes. Wouldn't that be noble?" 

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sand. Kian's head lifted slightly, his green eyes finding mine. There was no blame there, no expectation  - just a silent plea not to give in. 

"You're wasting your breath," I said through clenched teeth. "Begging won't change anything, will it?"

Magnus's smirk twisted into something cruel. "You're smarter than you look. No, it won't change a thing. The king was clear - this punishment won't end until one of two things happens. Either you die, or he changes his mind." 

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I felt the weight of them settle over me like a shroud, pressing down on my chest until I could barely breathe. 

Magnus paced slowly in front of us, his boots clicking against the stone. "And let me tell you something, Verena," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The king doesn't change his mind."

Kian shifted beside me, his chains rattling as he struggled to lift his head. "Then he's a coward," he rasped, his voice thick with pain. 

Magnus stopped, turning to him with an arched brow. "A bold statement from someone who's barely standing," he said coldly. He raised the whip again, and I flinched as it came down, the sharp crack followed by Kian's strangled cry. 

Tears stung my eyes, spilling down my cheeks as I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. I couldn't stop this. I couldn't protect him. 

"Every day," Magnus continued, his voice cutting through the ringing in my ears. "Every day, you'll both be dragged out here, stripped, chained, and whipped until you break." He leaned closer, his brown eyes narrowing. "Until you both die." 

I met his gaze, the tears still streaming down my face. "We won't break," I whispered, my voice trembling but firm. "Not for you. Not for him."

Magnus's expression darkened, and he straightened, the whip coiled and ready in his hand. "We'll see."

The crowd's whispers rose again as he turned back toward Kian, the whip snapping through the air once more. I closed my eyes, tears falling freely now - not just from the pain of my wounds but from the sound of Kian's screams. 

The whip cracked one last time, the sound ringing in my ears like a death knell. My body flinched, though I had nothing left to give. My back was a tapestry of raw pain, each lash marking a new chapter in this unrelenting nightmare. 

Magnus let the whip fall to his side, his movements slow and deliberate. He looked at us both, his expression unreadable, though his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of what he'd done. Without a word, he handed the whip to a nearby guard and stepped back. 

"That's enough for today," he said flatly, his voice carrying no emotion. 

I sagged in my chains, the metal biting into my wrists as I fought to stay upright. My legs trembled, my body threatening to collapse under the weight of exhaustion and pain. Beside me, Kian was silent, his head hanging low, his breathing shallow but steady. 

The guards approached, their faces impassive as they unlocked the cuffs that bound us. My arms fell limp at my sides, my shoulders screaming in protest as blood rushed back into my hands. I stumbled forward, barely catching myself before I fell. 

"Move," one of the guards barked, shoving me roughly toward the edge of the square. 

I glanced at Kian, who was swaying on his feet, his green eyes glazed but still burning with a flicker of defiance. The guards shoved him too, and he staggered forward, catching himself with a groan. 

No one handed him his clothes. Just like they never had for me. No one even looked at us as though we were people anymore. We were nothing to them - just prisoners, just tools for their so-called justice. 

The murmurs of the crowd faded in the background as another figure stepped forward. Asher. 

His caramel hair was cropped neatly, his amber eyes sharp and calculating as they swept over us. There was no pity in his gaze, only cold detachment. He gestured for one of the guards to step back, his tone clipped and professional. "I'll take them from here."

The guards exchanged glances but complied, stepping aside as Asher moved closer. "Let's go," he said, his voice low and gruff. 

I shuffled forward, every step agony, my bare feet scraping against the stone. Kian followed beside me, his movements slow and uneven, but he didn't falter. 

Asher led us down the narrow corridor toward the cells, his pace brisk but steady. He didn't speak, didn't even glance back at us as we stumbled after him. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the sound of our labored breathing and the faint echo of our footsteps. 

When we reached the cell, Asher unlocked the door and pushed it open, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Inside," he said curtly. 

Kian moved first, his battered body brushing past me as he collapsed onto the hard stone floor. I followed, every muscle in my body screaming in protest as I sank to the ground beside him. 

Asher lingered at the door for a moment, his amber eyes flicking between us. Without another word, he closed the cell door and locked it with a sharp click. 

The silence that followed was deafening. 

I turned my head toward Kian, his face pale and drawn, his breathing shallow. "Kian," I whispered, my voice hoarse. 

He didn't respond, his green eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. 

I shifted closer to him, ignoring the searing pain in my back as I reached for his hand. "We'll get through this," I said, my voice trembling. "I promise." 

Kian's fingers tightened weakly around mine, his gaze finally meeting mine. "We always do," he murmured, his voice barely audible. 

Asher's footsteps faded into the distance, leaving us alone in the cold, unyielding darkness of the cell. 

Kian, despite the visible strain in his movements, lowered himself beside me, his face pale but determined. He leaned against the wall, his breaths coming in labored gasps. 

"Let me see," he said hoarsely, his green eyes scanning my injuries. 

"Kian, you're in no condition-"

"Let me help you," he interrupted, his tone firm despite the obvious pain in his voice. "You can't take much more of this. Let me do what I can."

I hesitated, but the raw determination in his eyes left no room for argument. With a faint nod, I shifted slightly, exposing the worst of my wounds. 

Kian's hands hovered over me, the faint glow of his healing power igniting as warmth spread through my battered body. The searing pain ebbed away, replaced by a dull ache as the worst of the damage faded. 

"You shouldn't..." I murmured, my voice trembling.

"It's fine," he said tightly, though I could see the toll it was taking on him. 

When he finished, I let out a shaky breath, my body feeling marginally lighter, though the emotional weight remained. "I appreciate it," I said softly.  

He offered a faint smile, leaning back against the wall. 

"You should heal yourself," I said, noticing the blood still trickling from the fresh, raw marks on his skin. "You're worse off than I am now."

Kian shook his head, his expression grim. "I can't. My power doesn't work that way."

"What?" I asked, my stomach sinking. 

"My healing only works on others," he explained, his tone matter-of-fact.

I stared at him, a mixture of disbelief and frustration bubbling up. "That's...that's not fair."

Kian let out a weak chuckle, the sound dry and humorless. "Nothing about this is fair." He closed his eyes for a moment, his breaths slow and measured. "But if I can keep you going, that's enough."

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away. "You shouldn't have to suffer like this. You didn't have to come here."

"I did," he said simply, opening his eyes to meet mine. "You'd have done the same for me."

I couldn't argue with that. 

I stared at him, his quiet strength both admirable and infuriating. He shouldn't have had to endure this - neither of us should. But if he couldn't heal himself, maybe there was something I could do. 

"I can't fix your wounds," I murmured, my voice trembling. "But I can ease the pain."

Kian frowned, shaking his head. "Verena, you don't need to-"

"I do," I interrupted, determination hardening in my tone. "You did what you could for me. Let me do this for you."

He hesitated, his eyes searching mine, before he gave a reluctant nod. "Alright," he said softly. 

I took a shaky breath, reaching deep within myself to summon the power I hadn't used in what felt like an eternity. My energy was drained, my body weak, but I forced myself to focus. The familiar spark of my illusion magic flared to life, faint and fragile, but there. 

I concentrated on Kian, weaving a subtle distortion over his senses. The sharp sting of his wounds faded, replaced by a soothing numbness. His breathing steadied, and I could see the tension in his shoulders ease. 

"It's not much," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "but it should help."

Kian blinked, his expression shifting as he registered the change. "It's...strange," he admitted, flexing his fingers experimentally. "Like the pain is still there, but I can't feel it." 

"Good," I said, letting the faintest smile tug at my lips. "That's the point."

I let the magic linger, maintaining the illusion the best I could. It wasn't perfect - my power wavered, weakened by my exhaustion - but it was enough to give him some relief. 

Kian looked at me, his expression softening. "You didn't have to do this," he said quietly. 

"Yes, I did," I replied, meeting his gaze. "You came here for me, Kian. The least I can do is make this a little less unbearable for you."

He sighed, leaning back against the wall. "You're as stubborn as ever."

"And you wouldn't have it any other way," I shot back, my voice tinged with a faint, tired humor. 

His lips twitched into a small smile. "Fair point." 

The cell fell into a quiet stillness, the only sounds were the distant drip of water and our steadying breaths. My body was weak, my power nearly spent, but for the first time in days, I felt the faintest sense of peace. 

Kian leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes closed as he let the illusion dull his pain. I watched him for a moment, grateful beyond words that he was here, even if it meant he was suffering alongside me. 

Despite everything, we were still standing - still fighting. 

"I'll get us out of this," I said softly, more to myself than to him. 

Kian's eyes opened, and he turned his head toward me. "We'll get through this," he corrected, his voice quiet but firm. 

I nodded, the weight of his words grounding me. Whatever came next, whatever torment awaited us tomorrow, we would face it together. 

And for now, that was enough.