Timur shut the door of their secret meeting room behind them and let out a sigh of relief. With a whispered word of power and a wave of his wand, he took off his glamour. It was too draining to maintain.

“Good thing we chose this room in advance,” said Russell in a weary voice.

“They’ll discover it eventually. It’s a good thing the Otherworlders don’t know this castle well and have to rely on the staff to tell them where to go. We managed to misdirect them away from the rooms,” muttered Claudia .

Timur nodded. “I do have good news. I just contacted Ignis. He’s gotten the horses ready. We are making our move in a few hours. Make sure you have everything.” He paused and in a carefully neutral tone asked, “How is the girl?”

A man so tall and thin he looked like a tree sapling laughed with relief. “That’s great! And, oh, the girl’s fine. We locked her in the store room. I heard her crying slightly, but she’s stopped. She’s trussed up tight.”

Timur thought about Frances, in a dark room, tied up, and crying. It took all his willpower to smile and say, “Thank you, Renfrey.”

“How do we know you’re not going to just leave us?” whispered a soft voice.

The prince narrowed his eyes at a small woman in a maid’s uniform. Ignis, the troll that the cell had been in contact with, had briefed Timur on this woman. He said she was the most dangerous of the group.

“We have delivered on everything else, have we not, miss Selena?” Timur asked with a hint of steel.

Selena narrowed her dark eyes. “You have. And yet, even when we have kept up our side of the bargain, you still keep us reliant on you.”

“What are you asking for, Selena?” Timur demanded, standing on his feet.

“I’m not asking. I’m just stating,” she said, with a far too casual shrug.

Timur growled slightly and stormed to the storage room door. “I’m going to check up on her and make sure she has nothing hidden. Mages are tricky bastards, and she’s an Otherworlder to boot.”

Russell frowned. “Don’t rough her up too much, we need her alive.”

Timur nearly asked why would he rough Frances up, but stopped himself because of course he would. Frances had killed so many of his fellow Alavari, and by all accounts, doomed an operation that his agent had spent months planning. He should be furious. His father would expect him to be livid. Only… Timur wasn’t.

“I’ll make sure she’s alive,” Timur hissed. He stalked off, his stomach squirming and opened the door. A hissed word of power set the lamp in the storage room alight to reveal the dusty furniture, and the tied up human girl on the floor.

A tied up human who was also the only reason he was still alive, and someone who he realized now, often thought of and hoped to meet again, but not like this.

There was a dark purple bruise already forming on Frances’s cheek, which made him wince. As he shut the door behind him, he heard her indignant grunts.

Kneeling beside her, he bellowed, “Quiet!” before immediately whispering, “You need to pretend that you’re being hit by me.”

Frances’s eyes widened, but she nodded. He kicked the table with his boot, and she let out a far too realistic muffled cry.

“You killed hundreds of my fellow Alavari. What do you have to say for yourself?” he undid her gag as quickly as he could and whispered. “Frances, I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck you!” she screamed, and Timur flinched at the very real hurt in her tear-filled eyes. “Hit me now,” she hissed under her breath.

“I’m—You impudent human trash!” he roared, managing to catch himself in time. Lowering his voice. He gestured with his fist and Frances, on cue, let out a half-chocked groan. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you. You’re very pretty. I mean you’re normally pretty. You were just really pretty today…” he spluttered and hoped he wasn’t blushing because his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears were feeling warm.

Frances stared at him with an expression he could not read and muttered. “Toss me on that sofa over there.” He obliged, picking her light form up and throwing her onto the old creaky sofa in the corner of the room.

She hit the sofa, and its legs collapsed with a sickening crunch. Frances screamed, and as the dust settled, she began to moan loudly and cough. Timur felt his blood run cold.

He’d expected her to curse at him, not just… lie there, defeated and make that haunting sound.

“Don’t just stand there, mock me!” she gasp-whimpered.

Timur’s mind flailed and he snapped out, “How do you like that you bitch?”

“Please. Don’t hurt me. I’ll be good. I promise?” Frances sobbed. Tears were running down her face, ruining her makeup. He could barely make out what she was saying. The whole tableau made him want to throw up.

He quickly knelt beside her, whispering, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t touch me!” she hissed. She winced and took a breath. “Mock me some more. And pretend to hit me a few more times.”

“Are you sure?” Timur whispered. He didn’t like how Frances seemed to be shivering, and curling up on herself. He wasn’t sure if he hadn’t hit her now, even though he knew he hadn’t actually done so.

Frances closed her eyes for a moment. “No, but if you don’t we’ll be in trouble, right?” He had to nod and she sighed. “Curse and hit me some more and then tell me your plan.”

Timur swallowed and bellowed. “You should have thought of that before you insulted me you welp!” He hit the battered armrest of the sofa twice, flinching as Frances gave a scarily realistic gasp and whimpered. She had to be drawing on her memories, the trauma that she’d carried with her. He had to make her performance worth it.

“I’m taking you and the other four traitors outside of the castle to meet my agent. He’s loyal, but I don’t trust them.”

Frances nodded and croaked, “Please, I’m sorry.” Then her voice dropped to a whisper. “Then what?”

“I’m going to leave you. The traitors won’t like it but with horses to leave Conthwaite, they’ll have other things to be concerned about.” Timur hit the couch again.

He thought Frances would whimper and beg. Instead, she caught him off guard when she didn’t whimper, she moaned so piteously he felt a chill run up his spine. After that, she began to cough, great hacking wheezes of breath. It was just like he’d kicked her in the gut.

“And if my friends find out? What if my mentor figures out your plan? How will you negotiate us out of this?” Frances gasped.

Timur took a breath and tried to focus, but he found himself speechless. He kept staring at the bruise on Frances’s face and her tearstained eyes. His hand was shivering.

“Timur, you need to focus. We’ll get found out.”

“But what do I say?” he stammered.

“Call me a worthless slut. Ask how I like being hit. Insult my looks. Say I look prettier with a black eye.” Frances glanced at the door desperately. “Timur, please, I’ve survived far worse.”

“But—”

“Damnit Timur!” Frances whipped her head backward, slamming it into the couch’s battered armrest. It creaked and she cried out, shivering, eyes shut. Timur, aghast instantly reached out to cradle the back of Frances’s head. Whipping out his wand, he whispered a healing spell.

She opened her eyes and managed a pain-filled smile. “Thank you. Timur, please. You need to do this to me. For real if you need to. Now, what if my friends find out?”

“I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath and pocketed his wand. “How do you like that murderer?” he roared. It was perhaps a bit shrill, but it would do. He dropped his voice back down to a whisper. “I’ll hold you hostage and withdraw to the horses. I’ll be improvising.” He took another quick breath. “Tell me! How do you like that you ugly murdering shit!”

He stood up this time and stomped onto the couch, snapping a spar inside of it. Frances cried out and descended into a blubbering mess of half-whimpers and sobs.

Timur watched, stricken until Frances suddenly hissed. “Keep me close to you. Edana will kill you if you don’t, and I don’t want that.”

After a night of shocking discoveries, Timur didn’t think he could be shocked any further, but he was. “You don’t? But I… I well…” he stammered.

“No, I don’t.” She swallowed. “I… I wasn’t sure before, but now I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I can tell by your eyes.”

Relief relaxing the cold grip of guilt that twisted his guts, Timur knelt down and grabbed Frances in a tight hug, before remembering her earlier hissed command.

“Sorry!” he whispered as he released her. He raised his voice and kicked over a nearby chair. “Come on! How do you like that?”

“I…I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please don’t hit me!” Frances coughed and whispered, “That’s alright. Just… maybe not the time?”

“Definitely not the time.” Something suddenly occurred to Timur and he bent over Frances. His fingers working quickly, he loosened her bindings at the wrist and at her ankles. “Just in case. So you can get out if you need to.”

Frances smiled again, and despite the bruise, and her moist eyes, the prince found himself warmed by her expression. “Thank you.” She took a deep breath and grimaced. “Hit me again, make it a hard one, and do it a couple of times. Pick me up and throw me again if you need to,” she rasped out.

“Aren’t you already begging for me to stop?” Timur asked, incredulous.

“Timur! You need to play the part of the abuser. Someone who sees that I deserve everything that you’re doing to me,” Frances hissed. “Tell me that I don’t deserve your mercy. That you’re only punishing me for my own good.”

Timur nodded, swallowed and stood up. “You don’t deserve my mercy! I’m only doing this because it’s for your own good!” He cackled and kicked the wood of the couch repeatedly. The couch shuddered and groaned. Frances made a sound that could only be described as a keening whimper, interrupted by pained wheezing every time he kicked the couch.

“I’m… sorry… milord. Please…I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Just stop hurting me, please.”

The prince shut his eyes as the feeling that he wanted to just empty his stomach returned. Frances, eyes still moist, looked up at him, and she nodded reassuringly.

“You don’t deserve my mercy!” Timur picked Frances up by the shoulders, standing her up. She let out a scream, before making a nauseating choking sound. It was like she knew exactly how to sound like she was being strangled.

The trogre found his six-fingered hands were beginning to shake again and he turned away. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

Panting, Frances nodded and winced. “I really appreciate that Timur. Though, we really need to stop meeting like this.” She went back to making her earlier strangled, whimpering noise.

“Oi! Stop it already you’re going to kill her!” yelled Claudia.

The pair froze. They could hear someone walking to the unlocked door. Timur knew what he had to do. He knew he was going to hate it.

He froze, he couldn’t do it. They were going to get discovered, but he couldn’t do it. Timur opened his mouth to speak, to apologize.

Only, Frances nodded and mouthed, “I’ll be fine. Throw me.”

Swallowing, already hearing the door handle moving, Timur gently squeezed Frances’s shoulders, before lifting her, and throwing her down at the ground.

He hadn’t intended to throw her very hard, but she made a very real cry of pain and the floorboards creaked as she hit them. He nearly yelled in alarm as she landed on her back and rolled onto her side, moaning, but he had to play his part. He could tell Claudia and the others were watching them. He had to stay silent and… and…

Timur stepped forward and kicked Frances. To his horror, he found it far too easy to bury his right boot into her chest and send her sliding back into a wall. Yet, he couldn’t watch her try to catch her breath. He had to step forward and bury his foot again, and again into her stomach.

He had no idea how Frances managed to lie there, screaming, tears running down her face and just let him continue to kick her. Her hands were loose enough that she could have slipped her bonds and caught his feet. But she didn’t. She could have begged him to stop, and he would have. Perhaps it was why she just shut her eyes and cried. Timur was trying to pull back his kicks, but he had to connect with her body and Frances continued to sob.

Mercifully, two pairs of arms grabbed his shoulders and yanked him back. He resisted, enough to make it look like he was trying to hurt her, but ultimately let himself be yanked back.

“Are you out of your mind, Timur? She’s our way out!” Renfrey exclaimed.

Timur took a deep breath to still his shaking hands. “Let me go, I’m alright now.” When Renfrey and Claudia let him go, he adjusted his shirt, glancing at the moaning Frances. “I’m sorry. She killed hundreds of my fellow Alavari. Nearly spoiled our plans. I… lost control.”

Somehow Renfrey and Claudia mistook his shaking from rage, rather than the heart-rending guilt it was. They nodded with some understanding and a lot of wariness.

Timur glanced back at Frances, whose face was rolling against the dusty floor, sniffling as she cried softly.

“I’m going to put the gag back on before she alerts the whole castle. I think I put enough pressure on the noise-deafening spells,” Timur said. He scooped up the gag and the rope tying it and knelt by Frances. Sitting her up, he locked eyes with her as he tied the gag around her mouth.

To his utter relief and shame, as Timur ran his fingers through her hair and tie the rope around the back of her head he could feel her nod slightly. He could say nothing, do nothing really, other than gently hold her head in his hands, and let go.

“Right, I’m going to head to the washroom. In fact, whoever wants to go should do so. We can’t afford any inconvenient urges.” Timur applied the glamor spell back on himself and strode out of the storage room. The humans watched him with a mixture of fear, and awe at his cold tone.

Except for Selena, the maid. Her eyes narrowed at his back.

But he didn’t know that. Only Frances, who was gagged, and pretending to be bound, noticed, and all she could do was keep whimpering.