Chapter 5
Crash-
The sharp sound of porcelain shattering against stone silenced Roland’s unfinished words.
Cecily flinched like a frightened doe, springing from his embrace as if burned.
“You’re awake!” she cried, rushing to Eleanor’s bedside. Her tears came instantly, shimmering like dew. “How are you feeling? Does it still hurt? It’s all my fault…”
Eleanor’s lips curled into a pale, biting smile. “How could I possibly feel better with you hovering over me?”
Cecily’s tears flowed even harder. Her shoulders shook as if she were the one wounded, as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice in the world. She bit her lip, cast one final glance at Roland–and fled the room.
Roland instinctively stepped forward to follow, then stopped himself.
He turned to Eleanor, his voice low. “My lady… the moment called for haste. I didn’t have time to think.”
Eleanor didn’t respond. She turned her face toward the window, letting silence speak for her.
She didn’t want to hear it.
Not his explanations.
Not his apologies.
For three days, Roland stood guard outside her chamber, dutiful and silent. And for three days, Eleanor did not say a word to him.
Until the day she could finally rise from bed.
Though her leg still ached with every step, Eleanor made her way to the study. She opened a carved rosewood drawer and withdrew a jet–black whip–its leather polished to a ruthless gleam.
The Viremont family’s ancestral instrument of discipline.
A single lash could flay the skin from bone.
“Send for Roland,” she told the butler.
When Roland entered the room, Eleanor was calmly wiping down the whip with a white cloth, each stroke deliberate.
Sunlight filtered through the latticed windows, casting shadows across her lashes.
“Roland,” she said evenly, “you are my sworn guard. You failed me, Roland, as my guard.”
She raised her eyes to his. “I will administer punishment. You have no objection, do you?”
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t move.
Only the faintest flicker crossed his eyes–a tightening of his jaw, a subtle clench of his fists.
But Eleanor noticed. She saw it all.
Prince Roland. He had likely never been challenged, never been questioned.
Why would he? He was Roland Thorne–son of a royal house, wrapped in power and privilege. People bowed at his feet, fought for his approval. Who would ever dare to touch him?
And yet, here she was. Whip in hand. Prepared to strike.
She studied his face. And then she saw it–hesitation. He was hesitating.
Not because he feared the lash.
Not because he doubted her authority.
But because he was weighing something else. Weighing her… against Cecily.
He could have ended this with a word.
Chapter 5
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He could have exposed his true status, reminded them all of who he really was, and walked
But he didn’t.
He stayed.
He yielded.
All for the chance to remain close to her–to protect Cecily.
Eleanor’s throat tightened. Her vision blurred.
And for a moment–just a moment–she almost laughed.
Laughed at the cruelty of it all.
At how willing he was to suffer, not for duty, not for honor… but for love.
“I have no objection,” Roland said quietly, jaw clenched.
At that moment, Eleanor’s heart clenched so hard it felt as if something tore within her.
She gripped the whip tightly and raised her arm-
“Stop!”
away untouched.
A slender figure darted into the room and threw herself between them, shielding Roland with her body. Cecily.
Tears welled in her eyes, voice trembling. “If you must punish someone, punish me! This has nothing to do with him!” “Step aside,” Eleanor said coldly.
“No!” Cecily sobbed, her tears falling like rain. “I was the reason you were hurt. If anyone deserves it, it’s me…‘
”
Roland reached out, trying to move her aside. “Lady Cecily, this does not concern you.”
But she refused to budge. She planted herself before him, trembling yet unmoving. Eleanor’s fury surged. She snapped the whip down without hesitation,
Crack!
The sound sliced through the air like lightning.
The blow was meant for Roland–but Cecily leapt forward and took it in his stead. “Ah-!”
A sharp cry escaped her lips. Her fragile frame trembled once before collapsing.
Roland caught her in his arms and knelt swiftly to examine the wound.
When he lifted his head again, his gaze met Eleanor’s–cold as winter steel.
It wasn’t anger in those eyes.
It was murder.
The kind of look that proinised violence. That warned: one more step, and I will end you.
Eleanor’s blood ran cold.
“Get out,” she whispered, her voice barely steady.
Without a word, Roland rose and carried Cecily out.
The heavy doors slammed shut behind him with a deafening thud.
Eleanor stood frozen, the whip falling from her trembling hands.
Chapter 5
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