Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“No.” The executioner stepped toward him. “She stole from us. She tried to escape. She killed two of our own. How dare you stand there and ask for her to be pardoned.” The guards stayed back, watching the two of them stare each other down.
“I’m not asking for her to be pardoned. She should be punished.”
The executioner stepped closer to him. “She deserves to be executed. Your dick is not part of this discussion.”
Magnus hadn’t blinked once. “She’ll be whipped.”
“No.” The executioner turned back to grab me. “You can’t save her this time.”
My body relaxed as he came toward me because I knew it was over. At least Magnus would be there till the end…so I wasn’t alone.
Magnus turned to the boss and looked at him.
He looked back.
The executioner got me to my feet, pulling the back of my hair like I was a dog being grabbed by the neck.
Magnus continued to stare at the boss, silently having a conversation with him. They were of the same height, even had the same colored eyes. Then he spoke quietly to him, their voices hushed. I couldn’t make anything out. Only one audible word came out of Magnus’s mouth, and it was the final word he said. “Please.”
The boss stared him down, a bored look on his face, like this conversation was pointless and uninteresting. But he gave a slight nod.
The executioner released a loud sigh in frustration but didn’t speak a word in protest. He shoved me forward slightly and released the hold on my neck. Then he grabbed me again, cut the rope binding my hands, and then moved me to a tree trunk.
One of the guards retrieved more rope.
The executioner yanked off my jacket then pulled out his knife to slice through my shirt, opening my back to the cold, the frigid air immediately making all my muscles tighten in protest.
The guard threw the rope over a tree branch and then tied my wrists above my head, my feet still touching the ground, my front against the tree trunk.
Then I heard the executioner speak. “You want her to be whipped? Then you do it.”
All I could look at was the tree trunk, but I imagined what was happening behind me. I imagined the executioner walking up to Magnus and staring him down, shoving the whip into his chest because the punishment would be much more painful coming from him instead.
The executioner spoke again. “And you better do it right. Because if you don’t, I’ll start over—and do it all again.”
It was quiet.
All I could do was stand there, my arms suspended over my head so I couldn’t move. I could swing left to right if I wanted to, but not by much. Melanie had slipped his knife back into my pocket at some point, but I couldn’t reach it and cut myself free.
All I could do was stand there and take it.
The quiet continued.
I stared at the bark of the tree, the glistening of the ice crystals embedded between the pieces. I knew what whipping entailed, but I had no idea how it would feel, if it would be better than the Red Snow.
Maybe it would be worse.
The executioner yelled so loudly that he must have woken up every prisoner in the camp. “Get on with it!”
I knew why he hesitated as long as he did. He didn’t want to do this to me. He didn’t want to hurt me. He’d suggested the punishment to spare me from the Red Snow, but the executioner was only interested in my death, not a short-lived torture.
His boots shifted in the snow as he positioned himself.
I stared at the bark, my breath escaping as vapor in front of my face.
And then a whip cracked against my back.
I did my best to silence the groan that came from my lips, but I couldn’t. It was a quiet scream, a whimper from my lips, a shock so potent my entire body didn’t know how to absorb the whip that bit deep into my skin. I swung forward slightly, getting closer to the trunk, my reality pausing for a moment to process what had happened.
I didn’t have time to accept it before the whip bit into my skin again.
This time, I shut my mouth and swallowed the scream that wanted to burst from my lips.
He hit me hard—because he had to.
I wanted to be brave like I was for the Red Snow. I didn’t want them to claim my terror. But I also stayed quiet to make this easier for him.
How long would this last?
He kept striking me, aiming for different parts of untouched flesh. The leather whip cracked into my skin, made the blood drip down my body and over my pants, making the snow turn red at my feet.
My back suddenly felt red-hot, all the flesh inflamed and pulsing.