Her Cinder Throne (Completed)

Chapter 16

Cole judged putting down the tray with the dishes would cause too much noise, so she clutched it tight to her chest as she slowly backed up through the room. She decided leaving all together was the best choice, and that hopefully the prince was too drunk or tired to even notice his tea was not in the room. Even if she left it behind, he'd know that whoever it was that had left it had been late, and had even had the possibility of overhearing his conversation. Knowing the royal family, it was better for them to think her incompetent than for them to think she might have overheard any secrets.

As she reached the door, she paused. Overhearing secrets was what she was here for. What if the men were discussing something that she could use in her assassination? 

The cracked door to Bastian's bed chamber beckoned her closer with its temptation of possibly learning more about the man she was supposed to be killing in a few days. Clutching the tea tray close, she edged toward the door and pressed against the wall until the light from the room beyond spilled over her face.

Through the crack of the door, she could see that the two men in the room were bathed in the orange glow of a hearth-fire. One of the men was Bastian, and he knelt on the floor in front of a seat, his elbows resting on the cushion and his head ducked over it. He faced the chair, and his billowing shirt and doublet lay carefully folded on a nearby table. His bare back reflected the light of the fireplace just as a heavy leather belt slammed down over his shoulders, the metal clasp cutting in deep and and carving out a trough in his skin that quickly filled with blood. He struggled not to react to it, fighting to keep his face from more than a flinch and clenching his fists.

Behind him, his father, King Thijs, stood, winding the belt back up and staring down at his son with hard eyes. His back was to the fire, casting him in shadows that rendered him into a creature made of darkness. Only his eyes were easily distinguishable, like ice chips floating in a pitch black lake. 

"I thought you'd learned not to spare the servants the rod weeks ago, Bastian," he said, letting loose the belt again and this time catching Bastian over the ribs. This one made the prince arch away from the pain, his teeth gritting as he drew in a sharp breath and let out a muffled yelp.

This small sign of weakness seemed to signal to Thijs that more punishment was needed. He delivered four more blows with the belt, the clasp digging deep each time.

He pulled back his arm when he'd finished, slightly out of breath but otherwise unnaturally cool in the presence of beating his only son and heir. "You know the rules. All servants must receive lashings for even the smallest hint of disobedience or incompetence."

Bastian raised his head slightly. "It wasn't worth my time," he muttered. Cole bit her lip. It had been well-worth his time. She knew for a fact that he would have had plenty of free time to drag Adrie in to give a few lashings to. Not to mention, he could have just ordered someone else to do it for him.

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, but whatever lashings you refuse to give out, you'll receive double the amount on your own. And now my time is being wasted. Perhaps from now on I should raise the punishment for this kind of poor judgment." He rained down a flurry on Bastian's back, this time with anger and force behind his arm. His eyes were stormy and narrowed with anger, and Cole could see the veins in his forearms as they caught the firelight. He swung the belt over and over across Bastian's back until blood spilled down the prince's back in a crimson rain and pooled around the waist of his pants.

Finally, Thijs stepped back, breathing heavily and raising an arm to swipe away the sweat dripping from his brow. He looked down at Bastian, who was now barely able to keep himself still kneeling against the chair.

"Remember that you may be irreplaceable now, but there is a point where the difficulties of getting rid of you become less troublesome than having a weakling as an heir," he said, dropping the belt on the ground and picking up a lacy handkerchief to wipe Bastian's blood off his hands as he walked for the door on the opposite wall from Cole's. He paused half way through the portal, and looked over his shoulder as Bastian. "Also keep in mind that if I decide to dispose of you, it won't only be your life on the line. I've kept Rushi around only because her death would cause too much trouble with her home country. But if you keep up such actions and show me that my throne will not be in the right hands when I die, I won't hesitate to risk a war in order to regain my ability to marry a new queen and create a better heir."

With that, he rolled his shoulders and dropped the bloody handkerchief onto the ground. He spit on Bastian's bared back and then walked across the room to door that Cole had not previously noticed before. He opened it upon a hallway much like the ones that the servants usually used, and slammed the door behind him so hard that the whole room shook.

As soon as Bastian was alone, he collapsed to the floor. His back faced Cole, and she saw the angry welts and weeping wounds left by today's lashing. But she also saw scabs and scars, leftovers from scenes that must have looked much like this one in the past. His back was a patchwork of them, more markings than smooth skin, and all of it hidden neatly behind his crisp silk tunics so that no one would ever know. But Cole knew. She saw him lying on the floor, staring at the fire. He shivered, but otherwise was perfectly still, and then she heard the gentle sniffle of tears and realized he was crying.

This was what drove her away from the door. She was here to kill Prince Bastian, not listen to him weeping after his father had beaten him to an inch of his life. She practically flew down the hallway and away from the room, the tea rattling on its tray as she slammed it back on the serving trolley and whipped it around to head back to the kitchens. She'd tell the cook the family had rejected it, because truth be told, she wasn't sure any of the royal family would be taking a calming tea in that room any time soon.