Gabriel's breaths quickened, his chest heaved, and sweat trickled down his temple. His legs trembled uncontrollably, and a surge of panic engulfed him. What have I done? He was overcome with guilt and fear.

In those critical moments, he had lost control, acting impulsively without considering the consequences. He had destroyed any goodwill he might have built with the king and shamed himself before the nobles. Despising his own stupidity, he regretted the rashness that had brought him to this point. Now, he faced the harsh consequences. A war band to be dispatched, the king's wrath upon him, and the unsettling realization that everything he had done was in vain.

As the taller guard, who Gabriel recognized as the same one from his father’s chambers, approached, he whispered darkly, “Our punishment doesn't seem so bad now.”

Gabriel's heart pounded in his chest as the shorter guard seized his arm, cruelly twisting it behind his back. His shoulder felt as if it were on the verge of dislocation, and the relentless pressure on his wrist was unbearable. A feeble whimper involuntarily escaped his lips, a testament to the overwhelming agony. He felt powerless, despite his will to resist.

The noblemen's eyes followed the guards as they approached, parting way for their advance. With a forceful push, Gabriel was propelled forward, the vice-like grip on his wrist steadied him on his feet. Then the guard callously flung him onto the cold, unyielding floor—right in front of the throne. One arm had gone numb, rendering it useless in cushioning his fall, leaving only his left arm to bear the brunt of the impact. His knees crashed painfully against the marble floor.

The king’s gaze swept over Gabriel impassively, his face a chilling mask devoid of any emotions. The sight was even more terrifying than his usual anger. Amongst the nobles, a spectrum of reactions unfolded. Some wore cruel smirks, while others averted their eyes— unable to bear witness, their heads bowed low.

To the left of the imposing throne, Leoman had his arm draped casually around Artus's shoulder, whispering into his brother's ear. Their laughter pierced the heavy atmosphere, finding amusement in Gabriel's plight. The sounds of mockery and scorn intermingled with Gabriel's labored breaths, forming an eerie symphony of malice.

A new guard emerged from behind, his eyes downcast. Gabriel's stomach churned with dread when he noticed the whip pass between the guard and the king. Its ominous presence made him shudder, causing him to involuntarily clench his fists. As the king nonchalantly tossed the whip from one hand to the other, the leather strands seemed to writhe like serpents in his grasp. The dark hue of the leather seemed to embody the very essence of torment. Gabriel's eyes were transfixed on the instrument, following its every movement as it rose and fell in the king's hands, each motion exuding a silent promise of pain and suffering.

The king removed his tunic, exposing a simple white shirt underneath. Handing the tunic to his guard, he methodically rolled up his sleeves, baring his corded forearms. Gabriel's eyes were drawn to the taut muscles, tense and prominent, as the king's knuckles turned white from tightly gripping the handle of the whip. The king looked to be readying himself to do the whipping himself. I can’t believe it. The king never dirtied his hands when his soldiers could do it for him.

As the king descended from his throne, the heavy thud of his footsteps shook the floor beneath Gabriel, growing louder and closer with each beat. The king's hands ran through the leather strands of the whip, and, with a menacing crack, he struck it against the ground. The sound chilled Gabriel to the marrow.

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Gabriel’s couldn't remember ever feeling such fear before. The consequences of defying the king were now before him. Terror rooted him to the spot, making it impossible to avert his gaze from the impending torment.

“You left me no choice,” the king said.

To Gabriel’s amazement, an older noble, Lord Dalton, stepped forward to speak. “My king, he is but a boy.” The unexpected support from a near-stranger touched Gabriel deeply.

The king's eyes narrowed. “None can lie in this court. Man or child, Noble or Prince, I will punish all those who defy me.” He paused before continuing, “Let this be a lesson to you all. If any of you seek to cross me or the kingdom, you will suffer.”

With a curt nod to the guards, the king signaled for the punishment to commence. Gabriel heard someone approaching from behind, but he kept his eyes on the floor.

A sharp object sliced into his back, and he heard, more than felt, cotton tearing. The guards swiftly turned him around, directing him to face the exit doors. How I long to escape.

The whip in the king's hand became more than just a tool for physical torment; it embodied power and oppression, symbolizing the forces that sought to break his spirit and subjugate his will. Its presence was a stark reminder of the cruelty and darkness that existed in the world.

Despite the overwhelming fear and uncertainty, Gabriel found a flicker of defiance within. He steeled himself, refusing to be broken. He knew he must endure the pain, standing tall in the face of adversity, and rising above the torment inflicted upon him. He focused only on his breathing, in, out, in out, as he had been taught.

There was no warning as the first lash of the whip cut through the air, its hiss and the subsequent pain were unbearable. The warmth of blood on his back dulled his senses, leaving him lightheaded and disoriented.

His feet gave way, and he fell to the ground, his earlier feelings of defiance drifting away. The hope that the whip would never come had faded, and he cried out in pain, unable to control his emotions.

“Stand him up!” the king bellowed. The thought of enduring another lash overwhelmed Gabriel, causing his pulse to quicken.

Rough hands gripped him, hoisting him up from his underarms to stand on his feet once more. Despite his desire to curl up and escape the agony, he remained standing, his feet rooted to the spot.

The rhythmic hiss of the whip struck him again, and Gabriel writhed in pain, struggling to contain his gasps. He wanted to show his strength. But against the king I am nothing.

Drops of blood fell down his back, splattering against the floor. Gabriel felt the familiar queasiness at the sight, but his own body was in so much agony, it forgot to wretch as it normally did.

“Again. Stand him up,” screamed the king.

The pain was overwhelming, and Gabriel muttered to himself, repeating the mantra, “I will endure, I will endure, I will endure.”

Something within him had broken. He felt a detachment from reality, seeking solace in the darkness that engulfed him. In that harrowing moment, he clutched his necklace, its coolness offering him reassurance even though it couldn't shield him from the pain.

“My king, the child has paid enough,” Lord Carnahy said loudly.

A tense silence lingered in the air, and Gabriel's heart pounded with hope that the king would heed Lord Carnahy’s plea for mercy. However, the moment stretched on. Finally, the king spoke, his tone unyielding, “You must learn that your actions have grave consequences. Mercy in the face of betrayal would only invite more chaos.”

Amidst the suffering, a flicker of deep anger overcame Gabriel. His defiance resurged, and with great effort, he slowly rose from the cold floor. His tear-stricken eyes locked onto his adversary's, and though he could not find the words to speak, his gaze spoke volumes. Hunched in pain, he exhibited a strength that contradicted the torment he had endured. Gabriel refused to be defeated, vowing to endure and rise above the cruel punishment inflicted upon him.

Facing his enemy, he braced himself as the king swung his arm. The whip cut into his right side, and unbearable pain enveloped him. In that moment of agony, Gabriel found peace in the darkness, his hand clutching his necklace tighter as he surrendered to the abyss.