{Cinder}

After a miserable amount of time, Nox finished.

Thank fuck.

Nox leaned forward to whisper in Rayne’s ear.

Korac tried his best to ignore it, along with everything else that had transpired. It had proved an insurmountable struggle. Her choking gasps. His overbearing grunts. The kiss on her nacre. The slap to his face with her only good hand. The three meaty punches to her face in return. The crack of her orbital bone had exceeded the limit.

Korac’s ruler had raped a drugged, one-armed girl, and Korac now questioned how much of this was really for the good of the race anymore.

Nox whispered, “First and last. No one else will satisfy. Until eternity takes me, you will always be mine.”

Korac argued with every one of his muscles not to shudder.

His King brushed a strand of Rayne’s damp hair from her bleeding face. She retreated from his touch. Nox said, “Deny yourself the truth, but your scent cannot lie. There’s no flower on Cinder which smells as sweet as you. You enjoyed it, my warrior.”

What a tasteless taunt. Korac resisted the urge to smirk when she mouthed, “I’ve. Had. Better.”

Fuck!

Nox went to finish the job as he’d done with his look-a-like victims before Korac broke rank. He dared not touch the King, but he approached the throne where Nox wrapped his considerable hands around her neck. In a reasonable voice, Korac said, “Sire, if you kill her, the apparatus will not work.”

Nox stopped.

Rayne glared at Korac. Guess he ruined her suicide plan, but he needed her alive. Maybe Sagan would forgive him if at the very least he’d saved her life.

“My General, always watching my back. You’re absolutely right,” Nox said as he dropped Rayne back to the throne with a thud. “Get her dressed. Bring her to the chamber.” He swept away nude save for all the defensive scratches which healed in his wake, leaving his clothes on the rocks. Nox paused outside the entrance and promised, “I’ll find out soon enough how good Sagan is, won’t I, General?” He crossed the threshold.

Rank bastard. Of all the fucking ludicrous things to be on his mind right now in the middle of this war—

Korac noticed in the corner of his eye that Rayne was trying to piece her top back together and cover her modesty. Over three million Icari watched the entire affair, and she wanted her clothes. Her meek attempts set Korac on edge.

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While Rayne had cried through the ordeal, she did not in the aftermath. Not a single tear. But she coughed blood from the busted larynx.

What a mess this all was.

Korac gingerly approached Rayne. She didn’t flinch; she didn’t put up her guard. He wrapped his cloak around her bare body. She didn’t look happy about it, but she didn’t refuse it either. When Rayne attempted to croak a rebuttal, Korac leveled with her gaze. In that brief moment, he gave her the most undetectable of nods.

To what end? Korac didn’t know. But he knew any sign of reassurance was welcome at that moment, and Sagan would expect him to give it. Oh, hell! Sagan would’ve expected him to slaughter the entire guard to stop what happened, but it was out of the question. What happened now was up in the air. And Korac wanted to assure Sagan’s best friend of anything in that moment.

Korac would not carry Rayne. He wanted her to walk away from this as a General should, fallen or otherwise. She gathered the cloak about her and stood. Shaky, unsteady as a newborn calf. The poison in her system had left her too weak to fight, which partly saved her life. They walked back into the castle.

After a few twists and turns through familiar corridors, they entered Nox’s chambers. Korac measured Rayne’s gait as she stumbled through. Their bare feet sank into the red dirt floor. The pyre of Cascading Light blazed high, endless.

In the room sparse of furniture, Korac led Rayne to the bed. Black ribbons and strips of fabric were strewn across it. The Icarean wedding garb Nox dressed his victims in.

Fuck.

“Can you dress on your own?”

Rayne collapsed next to the bed in answer. Her good arm was all that held her from becoming a puddle. Korac removed the cloak, and she gave him wide, traumatized eyes. The remnants of her clothes scattered about her, leaving her vulnerable. He knelt and snatched the larger strips of clothing.

“Raise your arm.”

Rayne complied, raising her right hand. Korac slipped the strap through and brought the base with it. He covered her in haste. He’d never touched a dead limb before. It was an odd experience. Unresponsive, thin, and frail, he sighed as he guided it through the other strap. Her gaze never left him.

Was there accusation in Rayne’s eyes? Korac probably fucking deserved it. A strangled sound brought him back to her face.

Rayne mouthed, “Sagan.”

Korac stared at her for a bit. There were so many words in the harsh lines of her expression. She spoke volumes without a single word.

‘You don’t deserve Sagan.’

‘You didn’t help me.’

And the surprising one, ‘Protect her.’

“I’ll die before he touches her,” Korac vowed.

Tears welled in Rayne’s eyes, and she choked on a sob. After everything Korac had witnessed her survive, today, his assurance to Sagan’s safety had broken through her resolve.

Korac opened his mouth to say something, but footsteps nearby cut him off. He held out the shorts. “Can you put on the bottoms?”

Rayne looked at her good arm and her bad one. Then shook her head. He pulled the opening wide for the first leg, and she pushed her foot through. He repeated the process for the next and covered the last of her exposed, delicate skin. He coiled the ribbons around her arms and down her legs.

“The King awaits you,” a guard called from the doorway.

Korac let Rayne stand on her own. She stumbled still, but he noticed her gait was growing more sure. He led her out of the room and headed into something he’d helped design. The painful parts, anyway.

May Sagan forgive him.