Her Fate is Sealed: Target of the Vengeful Beast King

PREFACE:

In a world filled with various species-werewolves, vampires, fae, witches, humans, and more-the Urekai stood apart as one of the most powerful of them all.

And to tell you a little about them, you should know, like werewolves, they could shift into beast form. Like vampires, they drank blood. And moved unnoticed among humankind.

The Urekai lived long, near-endless lives with memories stretching across centuries. Possessing a heightened sense of sight, smell, and hearing, they were also known for their intense passions.

But for all their strength and pleasures, meeting their soulmate, or even a compatible match, was incredibly difficult. Yet many held onto hope of one day finding a mate destined for them.

Should you cross them, remember this well: their memories are eternal, their grudges immortal. To provoke a Urekai is to seal your fate, for they never forget.

And they always collect.

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PROLOGUE

FIVE YEARS AGO.

Urekai land: Vallen Falls, Urai.

LORD REVANDREL CEL'THEREN

Of the many slave holes I own scattered across the city, Neked Den sits most special to me above the rest.

My goal is to make it the largest, most renowned, and most profitable pleasurehouse in all Urekai lands and far beyond its borders.

So, here I was, stepping out of my carriage surrounded by my sentinels, making my way into Pleasur'io-the largest slave holes in the city. For now.

Bass-heavy music blasted from above as I entered, the smell of sweat, smoke, and sultriness assaulting my senses.

Males shouted, maidens danced, and laughter spilled through the floors.

Eyes followed me, but they got my perpetual black scowl in return. That alone sent the message clearly: do not come close.

If I were here for pleasure, I might have bothered to look more approachable. But I was not, so I did not.

We took the private corridor, bypassing the mess and music.

Vincent Loran, my ever-efficient overseer, moved ahead as we neared the secured wing, stopping in front of the guards stationed at the grand double doors.

"We would like to see Merchant Lord Jolan Kolls," Vincent said evenly.

The guards gave us the once-over, unimpressed. "Do you have an appointment?" one asked.

"We do not," Vincent replied.

The broader of the two crossed his arms. "Then you will have to return another day. Our master meets strictly by appointment."

Vincent held his eyes. "Tell your master, Lord Cel'theren is here to see him."

Recognition dawned instantly, their eyes shooting wide as they looked at me.

Both snapped into immediate bows so deep their noses nearly scraped the floor.

"My lord! Forgive us, we had no idea-"

"It is an honor, truly-"

Their overlapping voices gave me a headache.

The other guard tried to speak above the broader one. "I will go in there immediately and announce your-"

"Never mind." I moved past them. "I will do it myself."

They practically stumbled out of my way. I grabbed the doors, pushing them open hard enough to shake the hinges.

The chatter inside stopped.

At the far end of the lavish chamber sat the male I was here for. Jolan Kolls looked irritated at the noise... until he saw me.

He gasped, leaping to his feet so quickly his chair scraped against the floor with an ugly screech.

"Lord Revandrel! What a pleasant surprise!" He sounded shocked and way too eager as he gestured toward the robed man beside him. "I am sure you recognize Lord Cyrus-"

"Of course, who does not know the High Magister?" I said smoothly. "But I am afraid I will have to steal his time. I need to speak with you, and I am sure Cyrus will not mind." I turned my gaze to him. "Will you?"

"Not at all." Rising from his seat, the High Magister retrieved his hat and headed for the door. "We will continue our discussion another time, Merchant Lord."

Jolan raised his voice after him. "Yes, yes, I will send a messenger bird with the details!"

I slammed the door shut behind the High Magister.

Now alone, Kolls was smiling widely at me like a male who did not know whether to offer wine or whip out his favorite underwear for an autograph. "Lord Revandrel, what an honor. To what do I owe this visit?"

I settled into the chair the Magister had vacated like I owned the place. Leaning back, I pinned Kolls with a stare.

"You are a difficult man to pin down," Jolan Kolls continued, laughing nervously. "I have spent years trying to meet with you. I have a business proposition, I believe-"

"I am afraid that will have to wait." My tone was flat. "I am here on my own business. And I intend to get straight to the point."

"Sure, sure, of course, by all means." Kolls settled forward with an attentive look.

"I want the very first ten maidens who ever worked for you in this place," I stated bluntly. "Specifically, the five known by these mask colors: Red, Blue, Green, White, and Yellow."

There it was, the end of his smile.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. So predictable.

He cleared his throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable, like someone had replaced his chair with a bed of nails. "You know I cannot do that. You, of all people, know a good businessman never reveals his secrets."

"I know," I said calmly with a nod. "And I also know this: you want to expand your guild. You want more economic power, political influence, and social leverage. You are struggling with your black market operations, and your contraband relics never make it past the third tollhouse before they are seized. How am I doing so far?"

He lowered his head, chagrined.

"All of this is why you have been trying to get a meeting with me for how long now?" I tilted my head slightly. "Twenty-five years?"

"Thirty-five," Jolan Kolls muttered.

I gave a single nod. "You want my help. You want into my good graces. You want to do business with me. Well, I am finally listening because now you have something I want."

He remained tensed and wary.

"So, give me their identities. Those ten slaves you used to build your brothel empires. Especially the Red Mask."

His broad shoulders slumped.

"During these seven centuries, Pleasur'io is still well known," I continued casually. "That female is the only reason your name still has weight, and your pocket has not dried completely. She is the legacy itself, and I want her."

"I really cannot..." he began, looking uneasy.

"I want all the files on them, and in exchange, I will lend you my name," I stated bluntly.

His pale face looked stunned. Then, incredulous. "You would really do that?"

I raised a 'wait' hand. "Do not get ahead of yourself. There will be conditions. But yes, I will."

Koll looked highly tempted. My name was a huge offer after all. But at the same time, he looked genuinely puzzled.

"But you are the Cel'theren. You have power, wealth, and influence. You have never shown much interest in me, making me the runt of your empire. So why is this suddenly important to you? Why now?"

"That is none of your concern," I said evenly. "So. Will you accept my offer or not?"

Koll's face screamed 'yes!' his eyes filled with eagerness and greed. Already, calculating all the doors my name would open for him.

But there was also hesitation.

"Must... the Red Mask be included?" he faltered, pleading silently with me.

Ah, of course. She was the jewel in his empire. His goldmine. His ghost.

The Red Mask's hidden identity was his greatest secret.

"Especially her."

He winced. "I made a vow. An agreement with her, long ago. When she left, when her contract ended, I swore never to reveal her identity to anyone. An oath I have never broken. Ever."

I merely watched him in silence.

"She was different from the others." Still uncomfortable as hell, he added. "See, I will gladly give you the others, all nine of them. But not her. Please, can we exclude her?"

"Time's up." I stood. "Nice to meet you, Merchant Jolan Kolls." I headed for the door.

"No, wait!"

I stopped. Turned.

"I will give you everything you need! Just, please, wait here!" he blurted before scrambling to his feet. His footsteps echoed off the walls as he disappeared through the door on the right.

Yeah. That is what I thought.

I walked back and reclaimed my seat, letting myself relax again.

Moments later, a stack of aged files lay open before me, spread across the table like a tribute. Names. Faces. Records. And proof.

I skimmed through them methodically.

A few of the females were Urekai, but the rest were mostly Succubi.

No surprises there. They had to be the species known for their allure to pull off the kind of reputations they had.

But I knew what I was looking for, exactly who I needed to find. I opened the last folder. The one labeled Red Mask.

And the world... stopped.

I stared.

My heart did not pound. My breathing did not hitch. But something cold slid through my veins like poison.

My eyes snapped up. "No. That cannot be right." Rage filled me. "How dare you try to dupe me?"

"I would never, Lord Cel'theren," Kolls insisted, hands raised in quick defense. "She is the Red Mask."

I pointed to the parchment. "Lady Baevera Sevriel Eldareth?" I said slowly. "Only daughter of the late Supreme Lord Magmus Duskbane Eldareth, the Grand Magnate of House Eldareth... that Lady Baevera?"

"The same," he confirmed quietly. And for some reason, the bastard actually looked guilty.

Things rarely got to me anymore. When you have lived the way I have, seen the things I have seen, very little has the power to shake you. Even less confusing for you.

And yet, I sat there, staring at her name, written in clean, elegant ink across old parchment. Waiting for it to shimmer... shift... correct itself. For the ink to swirl and reveal the real name underneath.

It did not.

Baevera Eldareth is Red Mask.

I shoved the fury back down, hard. I could not let it cloud my thoughts. I had to process this.

Proper, cold as an icicle, and proud as a peacock, Baevera?

The female I hated more than anyone in this cursed world.

The prey running from me, avoiding my path for over a thousand years.

The heir to the Eldareth dynasty, Baevera, was the infamous figure behind the Red Mask?

I blinked once. Twice.

For the first time in centuries, I was completely stunned.

And, gods help me, genuinely confused.

THE PRESENT.

LADY BAEVERA.

"I still cannot believe a blood-bond finally formed for you after all these years," Helory squealed once again. "I was beginning to think it might never happen!"

I huffed, casting my best friend a side glance where she lay sprawled across the bed like an overexcited child.

My maids moved around us, fastening my clasps, adjusting pins, and smoothing silks as they dressed me in my ceremonial gown. I slipped my arms gracefully through the sleeves they held open.

"Don't look at me like that, young lady." Helory clapped her hands, kicking her feet. "I am just so excited! At over a thousand years old, I am fairly certain you are the last blood-virgin in all of Vallen Falls-possibly even all of Urai. Most of us were bloodhosts before we reached three hundred. It is such a thrilling thing, Bae. I am giddy for you!"

"I am excited too." And I truly was.

Helory sat upright. "By the Goddess, you are so beautiful."

"Oh, please." I rolled my eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "Though I must admit, this silk is very flattering."

"Of course it is. Everything looks exquisite on you." She snapped her tongue. "Some days, half of Vallen Falls, and I wonder if Ukrae set aside an entire separate day just to create you. The perfection is glaring, and frankly, a little bit offensive. You make the rest of us feel woefully inadequate."

I gave her a flat look. Helory was the reigning queen of flattery.

"I just wish you would stop staining that fiery red hair of yours black," she lamented, mourning my hair as she had for centuries. "It is one of your loveliest features."

I can't do that." I hated the color red with a passion, and Helory knew it. I would gladly dye my hair black all my life if it meant I never had to look upon the vivid red strands ever again.

She sighed softly. "I understand." Leaning in a little, her tone dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. "So you wonder what he will be like? Your bloodmaster, I mean."

She continued, a dreamy smile lighting up her eyes. "I hope he is handsome, rich, and unmated. If you are going to be saddled with a male who gets to drink your blood for the rest of your life, the least the gods can do is make him pleasing to look at."

"I do not care for such things," I told her.

"Well, I do," Helory stated, without shame. "You were specific in your letter, right? About the meeting place?"

"Let us meet beneath the Union Tree, within the woods of Perching Hollow, as the sun begins its descent, at the fourth bell," I recited.

"Perfect. Very poetic." She nodded in approval. "This is exactly the kind of thrill you need in your life. You are always shut up in this big, boring manor, stepping out only for business, living the life of a cloistered old maid when you are arguably the most stunning female in the city. I worry about you, you know. Every day. But finally, the gods have heard me."

"I do just fine," I protested.

"Oh, please. If not for your betrothed's occasional visits, your life would be as lonely as they come." She grinned, hopeful. "Who knows, maybe the bloodfeeding will awaken something in you, and you may begin to feel the real desire, Bae. Not the shallow imitation that vanishes the second their fangs leave your skin."

I slid my foot into my shoes as she rambled enthusiastically.

"Then again, those others were not your bloodmaster, but this one is. Once the bond is sealed through his first feeding, you will officially become his bloodhost. And when you start to feel it again, you can finally consummate your love with Lord Phillip! You two would perform the bonding ritual and be mates for life!" She finished with a high, delighted squeal.

Oh gods. Exasperated, I shook my head.

But butterflies stirred in my belly. A lady could hope.

Before my Phillip, I had long since resigned myself to the fate of being one of those Urekai females who might very well die alone.

How was I supposed to find my lifemate when I had not felt even the faintest spark of attraction in what felt like an eternity?

Desire was a foreign concept to me. I do not have any physical desire. Have not in seven centuries.

Countless nights, I tried to seduce my betrothed, but always ended up unable to finish what I started.

The last time I entered Phillip's room, I chickened out, bolting to the nearest lavatory to empty my belly into it.

Thirteen years since I met the love of my life, yet I still could not give him my body.

So, I guess I understand why my usually composed best friend was practically going insane over the unexpected blood-bond I woke up to yesterday.

While the idea of some random male sinking his fangs into me and drinking my blood whenever he pleased did not exactly appeal to me, it stirred something I hadn't felt in a very, very long time. Hope.

Because a common, natural side effect of bloodfeeding was physical arousal. Whether the male deliberately released pheromones to intensify the desire or not, it always stirred a response. Always.

And I was counting on it.

It didn't matter that I had tried being a feeder many times in the past and only ever felt a shallow, strange imitation of desire. It was even worse when I was the one doing the drinking.

Both times, whatever flare of sensation I got vanished the moment the fangs withdrew, leaving me emptier than before. So, I gave up.

But now... now there was hope again.

Because, as Helory said, those males were not my bloodmaster. This one was. There is a blood-bond between us.

Maybe things will be different now.

Maybe, just maybe, I could finally be normal again.

•••••

"We are here, My Lady," the coachman announced as the carriage rolled to a smooth halt.

I stared at the entrance of the woods ahead, not moving an inch.

"Bae?" Helory called.

"Mmm?"

"Are you having second thoughts?"

I was. Gods, I was.

"There is nothing to worry about," she said gently, knowingly. "If you do not want the feedings to be uncontrolled action, you can set that boundary. Keep it formal, platonic, even mechanical. He is the one who needs you. His life depends on drinking your blood. You hold all the power here, Bae. Set the terms, and he will abide by them."

The knot in my belly loosened, if only slightly. "You are right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right." Helory gave me a reassuring smile. "So, stop eyeing the woodpath like you expect it to morph into a giant werewolf, and get going. Your bloodmaster awaits."

Okay, I can do this. With a deep breath, I stepped down from the carriage and entered the narrow wooded path.

The Union Tree stood in the clearing like a guardian from an age long gone. Two massive trunks fused into one, entwined like ancient lovers. Stepping beneath its sprawling boughs, I looked around.

Empty.

Trees stretched endlessly in every direction, but no one waited. Was he late? Had I arrived too soon?

Just a little while. If he does not show, I will leave, and we will reschedule.

Decision made, I leaned against the fused trunk and waited.

I did not have to wait long.

The air shifted. Something changed, and I knew I was not alone anymore.

My eyes caught movement between the trees: a figure. Then another. And another. So many bodyguards.

I straightened slowly, turning in a slow, full circle. More figures emerged between the trees, forming a loose perimeter around the woods.

Well, at least my bloodmaster was a person of power. Maybe even nobility, like myself. That certainly made things easier.

But unease crept over me, prickling my skin. The hairs on my arms rose.

And the scent of emberwood hit me.

No.

Oh gods, no.

He was not the only male whose natural scent was emberwood. It could not be him. It must not be.

Heavens, please. Anyone else but him.

The figure came into view, and I stopped breathing.

Revandrel Orionas Cel'theren.

Rich as the devil, handsome as sin, and tall as a tower, with shoulders as broad as a mountain's base. A force to be reckoned with.

The male is solely behind the vast Cel'theren empires scattered across Urai and its ancient cities.

He was also ruthless, calculating, merciless, and cruel. And more than all that, he hated me. No, hate was too small a word. Far too mild and civilized for his feelings toward me.

At 1,320 years old, I was no stranger to being despised. I had known dislike, resentment, even deep-rooted loathing, but none came close to what this male projected at me.

Only in those cold, satanic gray eyes had I seen hatred in its rawest, truest form. Coated with venom, seething with spite.

As he spotted me, he froze.

"You," he snarled. "What in the devils is this?"

The last time our paths crossed, I ran. Dignity be damned, grace forgotten, I had grabbed my skirts and bolted like a wild thing.

He caught me anyway.

This time, I did not move. I could not. Because the truth hit me like a blow to the chest.

A blood-bond had formed between us. Revandrel Orionas Cel'theren was my bloodmaster.

"This cannot be," I whispered.

"Baevera fu*king Eldareth," he growled, striding toward me. "Why the hell would you darken this sacred path with your filthy presence? The Union Tree deserves better than the likes of you. What the fu*k are you doing here, and where the hell is my new bloodhost?"

"Oh gods, it cannot be." I had always known our third meeting was inevitable. I just hadn't expected it to be today.

A lifetime spent avoiding him. Yet here we were.

I saw the exact moment he realized what I already did.

"You? My new bloodhost?" Revandrel's eyes flared with disbelief before fury broke through. "Over. My. Dead. Body."

"I did not choose this." I tried to keep my voice calm, but it was shaking. I was panting. "This cannot be happening."

Revandrel pinned me with a very spiteful glare. This male who had earned many names over the centuries.

The Coin Master. Whisperer of Gold. Ruthless Lender of Ruin. Dread Lord. Cunning Serpent. Bloodthirsty Gladiator. I had heard them all.

But once, long ago, he had only one name to me ... Evan.

My stepbrother.

Though not by blood, nor by birth, but by circumstance.

The boy who once glared at me with so much contempt, tearful, stuttering, small, had become this towering predator who struck fear and awe into nobles and trade barons alike.

That fragile boy was gone. In his place stood a cold-hearted, merciless Urekai with so many reputations it was difficult to keep count.

"I warned you," he stormed toward me, disgust twisting his handsome face. "Our paths must never cross a third time."

"I did not create this bond."

"No. Fate did." His tone dropped to something calm. Too calm. "They knew it was time for my revenge. And like a sacrificial lamb, they brought you to me."

He gripped my cheek, tilting my face until our eyes locked. I could not look away.

"When I am done with you, Baevera Eldareth," he murmured, "you will wish this day had never come."

His hand lifted, a flash of metal catching the corner of my eye. A pin?

I panicked. "Wait-"

"And even if you were the last female on earth, I would never drink from you," he snarled before the world went dark.

LORD REVANDREL

I stepped into Naked Den with a mood so black a storm-cloud had nothing on it.

Is there something on my face, too? Because these people took one look at me and scrambled the hell out of my path, tripping over themselves to avoid me.

"Get the ladies," I barked.

My ever-watchful sentinels moved with speed to carry out my command.

Taking the dark, winding corners, I came to the secret stairwells leading down to the corridor that led even deeper underground.

The music and laughter faded with every step, and by the time I got to my private residence, only silence remained.

I stepped in, slamming the door so hard it rattled, giving out a loud boom. Then, I was pacing. I could not stop. Too worked up, angry, and restless.

Baevera fucking Eldareth was my bloodhost?

"What sort of sick joke is this?" I growled. My Urekai beast was so close to the surface, I knew my eyes had turned yellow.

When I woke up yesterday to a strange tug in my chest-the unmistakable pull of a blood-bond-I felt... relief.

Actual happiness, for the first time in a long time.

At 1,270 years old, I was tired of drinking from so many strangers to satisfy the thirst. More than ready now to have a one true feeder.

Once a Urekai male reaches a thousand years old-or a female, five thousand-the thirst changes. It grows wilder, more demanding, until it requires more feeders than usual to feel full.

That's when fate makes a match with the blood-bond, choosing a one true feeder for us.

Just my fucking luck that mine would turn out to be an Eldareth. Of all the Urekai females in the world... her?

It was laughable.

And it made me want to rip the city in half.

Very little moved me anymore, but the name Eldareth was different. Always had been.

It did something to me. Lighting me up and making me rumble like a fucking volcano.

I stalked to the tall window and stared out at the rainy night. Lacing my hands behind my back, clenched fists and all, as I tried my damndest to calm the fuck down and think clearly.

My revenge on the Eldareth lineage was long overdue. A thousand years late.

It was not that I did not want revenge. I had. Every single day. Most days, it was the first thing I thought about every waking dawn, and the last thing before I went to sleep.

But I had to walk away.

When I had to choose between killing them and making them pay, I chose revenge. And because my rage was too great then, I walked away.

Had I acted then, it would have been a bloody massacre.

I would not have stopped until every Eldareth corpse lined the gates of their manor. Burning their legacy to the roots. I would probably have salted their ashes, like the demons they were.

And all of that would have been mercy, for they did not deserve to merely die.

So I pulled away and rebuilt myself, trusting time to dull the bloodthirst just enough for revenge to fully blossom.

And the time had finally come.

Fate, the twisted, vindictive witch that she is, bound me to the one person I would never drink from. The Eldareth I wanted most to destroy.

If this third meeting had happened five years ago, I would have started my revenge on her immediately. But something was different now.

After my visit to Jolan Kolls, I had spent more mornings than I cared to admit wondering how the hell Baevera Eldareth could possibly be Eve, the Red Mask.

It sounded so absurd, I used to laugh. Sometimes I still did.

Her nobility, lineage, and personality aside, the Red Mask had gone down in history as more myth than female.

They said her body felt like magic. Addictive to have, obsessive to touch, and impossible to let go of.

That red-haired pleasure maiden was so expensive, males gladly emptied their vaults for a mere handful of hours in her bed.

Some swore her skills were unmatched; others insisted she did not have to do anything because her body alone did the work for her.

And all of that was Baevera? I snorted aloud, almost sick with the absurdity of it all.

To even think that seven centuries ago was named 'Reign of the Red Mask'. The golden century that saw more noblemen fall from wealth to ruin than any other time in Urekai history...because of her.

I had tracked down all the other founding slaves, made them offers they could not refuse, and in time, they came to work for me. Every last one of them.

Except her.

I never reached out.

Not because I did not want to, but because the night I vanished from their lives over a millennium ago, I made her a promise.

"I will walk out of here, but pray to whatever demonic gods answer the likes of you that we never cross paths again in your lifetime. Three times, Baevera. I will let you go the first two. But the third... Consider our third crossing at your end. Your life as you know it will be over, and my revenge will begin."

So I made no move to seek her out. Two paths crossed in the past, one more to go.

Why should I chase her when I knew inevitably, she would find her way into my orbit?

And she did.

Now, she is mine.

I had her revenge well planned centuries ago. Every step, every torture, every suffering.

I would crush her businesses, tear down her alliances, erase her reputation, and leave her destitute. Inflict all kinds of pain on her, strip her of every ounce of wealth and legacy her name carried.

That was the plan, until five years ago. Now I had something much better in mind.

Baevera Eldareth will be my slave.

Not for me personally. Heavens forbid. I would rather lie with a frozen corpse than that female.

In fact, if my life depended on sleeping with her, I would sooner perform a death-summoning spell than lie with Baevera Eldareth. But she will work for me here in Neked Den.

She will wear the Red Mask again, but this time under my terms. I will not pay her a single copper. No title, no dignity, just a body to be used.

And I will make sure she knows every second of it that she is owned.

LADY BAEVERA

The days bled into nights, blurring together until they became meaningless.

I had no idea how much time had passed.

When you are kept in a small, windowless dungeon, fed once a day-maybe, it was easy to lose track. Especially when you are so weak you cannot even tell if it's a meal a day or one every three.

Hunger stretches time, distorts it. So does pain. So does silence.

By now, everyone would know I was missing. My estate. My staff. My family.

Helory would be beside herself. My aunt would be worried sick, and Phillip would wear holes in the floor from agitated pacing. They have all probably sent out search parties through every shady corner of Vallen Falls looking for me. They would not find me.

If only they knew my nightmare had returned in the flesh.

If only they knew Revandrel had finally come for me with his millennium-aged revenge, dragging his hate behind him like chains.

He was determined to break an already broken doll into as many pieces as he could get.

Sigh...

His workers did not know what to make of me. When they brought food, I made a habit of staring them down. Looked them in the eye until they dropped their gaze and walked away.

I could see the curiosity in their eyes, the questions behind their silence. They expected panic, hysteria, screams, and demands.

They expected a lady pounding against the bars, shrieking to speak with their master. They expected weakness.

But I did not give them that.

Not even when my Urekai beast stirred restlessly inside me, snarling one second and begging to be freed the next. Eager to fight, to lash out.

Not even when they came with sacks and ropes, dragging me out of my cage like an animal.

They would throw a red sack over my head-always red-and carry me off. String me upside down like livestock over a slaughter pool.

Legs tied, arms restrained, garments bound to my body, then they would dunk me into the water. Over and over again.

That was how they bathed me.

I could not decide which method was worse. But I took it all.

And when they returned me to my cage, dripping wet, shaking, and teeth chattering in the cold, I said nothing. Did not scream. Did not beg.

Revandrel does not know... it would take more than all of this to break what was already broken.

Did he not know I had prepared for this day? That I had spent centuries imagining it. Training for it. Hardening for it.

The cold did not faze me. Neither did the pain.

I had trained my body through fire and frost, through illness and hell, preparing for the slim chance I might still be alive when he found me again.

I always knew he would. And I would be ready. I was ready.

...if only they would stop using the damn red sack.

Or the red ropes.

I really abhorred that colour, because it meant ruin. Red is a bad omen.

Some incredibly horrible fate is coming my way... yet again. I can feel it.

I clutched at my soaked robes as shivers snaked down my body, my cheek pressed against the filthy ground. I shook and shook from the cold.

They had been especially cruel today, the bastards. But I could bear this. I had to.

Sooner or later, Revandrel would decide to show his face, and when he did, I would be ready to withstand whatever demonic punishments he chose to inflict.

In a way, it was a great mercy that his loathing for me ran so deep that he would never touch me. And for that, I would eternally be grateful to the gods.

As long as whatever he had planned was not of that nature, I, Baevera, would survive.