The sound of the whip filled the room one last time, a final, wet crack that was less a snap and more a sickening tear.
The woman's choked plea for mercy dissolved into a guttural, broken sound that was the raw scrape of a spirit pushed past its limit.
Jinx hung limp between the two wolf-beastmen who held her arms, her body a testament to calculated brutality.
Each of the one hundred strokes had been meticulously placed to maximize agony and bleeding while carefully avoiding any vital organ or bone—this was punishment, not execution.
Fenris, her husband, stood across the spacious, opulent chamber, his arm draped possessively around the slender shoulders of Silvia, his mistress. He did not watch the punishment with sadistic glee, but with a chilling, analytical satisfaction, as a craftsman might survey a completed piece of work.
Silvia, a lynx-beastman with luminous eyes, pressed her cheek against his shoulder, her delicate fingers splayed over the subtle swell of her abdomen. Her expression was one of pained vindication.
As the restraints were loosened, Jinx's legs, long stripped of strength, buckled. She collapsed onto the cool floor, the impact a fresh jolt of fire across her ravaged back. The tattered remnants of her silk gown were now a macabre tapestry stuck to her skin with dark, coagulating blood. The metallic scent of it mixed with the incense burning in the room, creating a cloying, oppressive perfume.
"Take her out of my sight," Fenris commanded, his voice smooth and dismissive, as if ordering the removal of a stained rug. He turned his full attention to Silvia, his thumb stroking her cheek. "Are you satisfied, my jewel? Is our child avenged?"
Silvia's eyes, fixed on the crumpled form being hastily approached by two hesitant fox-kin servants, gleamed. She spoke softly, the tremor in her voice expertly calibrated. "It… it is a start, my lord. But what if she had succeeded? The poison was so strong they said. Our precious pup… snuffed out before seeing your face. All because her own womb is barren dust." She leaned into him. "Her jealousy is a cold, dead thing. It frightens me."
Fenris's jaw tightened. He knew the accusation was as flimsy as gossamer.
The "poison" had been a mild digestive tonic, easily identifiable, left in Silvia's chambers by a bribed maid.
No investigation was needed because the truth was irrelevant. The narrative was everything: the barren, jealous wife, lashing out at the fertile future.
In their world, a woman's power—no matter if she hailed from the illustrious Fox Clan—was rendered null by an empty womb. Status, strength, supernatural potential—all were currencies that crashed to worthless against the singular, immutable standard of fertility.
Jinx's fox family gave her that name, because she didn't give off any supernatural aura when she was born
Each of the one hundred strokes had meticulously scourged away another layer of her old self: the privileged daughter of the influential Fox Clan, the defiant heiress who had sworn to marry no one but the lowly wolf soldier who had saved her life from the attack of a rogue beast 5 years ago. She fell in love with him at first sight.
But now, that heroic figure, Fenris, now stood watching her suffer.
Only her mother, Cecilia, had ever spoken it with warmth, seeing not a jinx but a beloved daughter. She had been the only one to see through Fenris's desperate, tearful courtship, the only voice warning that his devotion felt like a trap.
But she didn't listen and ignore her advise. But her mother's death had been the first lock on Jinx's cage, isolating her with the man who soon revealed his true colors after he married her: a thirst for her family's wealth and status that quickly curdled into contempt once he had secured them.
The servants, two older fox-women with downcast eyes and ears flat against their heads, carefully lifted Jinx. A low, involuntary whimper escaped her cracked lips as the fabric pulled at her wounds.
One servant clenched her teeth, her own heart a knot of impotent grief. They moved slowly, carrying not just the physical weight of the clan chief's daughter, but the crushing weight of her disgrace.
As they neared the arched doorway, Fenris's voice rang out again, clear and cold. "Ensure the physician tends to her. She is not to die from this. Her penance is not complete. She will learn her place, one way or another."
Jinx heard him through a thick fog of pain. To live was to remain in this hell, a visible, bleeding monument to his power and her worthlessness. She stared, unblinking, at the retreating view of the room, to the man she had once loved to the point of familial exile now whispering comforts to another woman, his hand resting on the proof of his legacy.
In that moment, lying broken and carried like discarded cargo, something within Jinx did formed.
The love that had been a blinding sun had long ago curdled into a pathetic, desperate hope. That hope was now scourged away, whipped out of her along with skin and dignity. What was left in the raw, exposed hollow of her soul was not yet anger, but the feeling of worthlessness he had cultivated so carefully.
The two maids, Daliah and Edith, finally got Jinx back to her rooms. It wasn't really her room anymore; it was a small, plain chamber in the west wing, far from the main halls. They laid her gently on the narrow bed, on her stomach.
Daliah rushed out immediately to find a physician. Edith stayed. She dipped a cloth in cool water and began to carefully clean the blood from Jinx's face and neck. Her hands, worn from years of service, were incredibly gentle.
"Little mistress," Edith whispered, her voice thick. "You know that this suffering has to end. It will kill you."
Jinx didn't reply. She stared at the wall beside the bed. A single crack ran through the plaster. Her mind was a numb, circling thought: What did I do wrong? What did I ever do to make him hate me so much?
But deep down, she knew the answer. She was just refusing to admit it. It was because she was barren. And she had no supernatural ability. Not a single one. In their world, a mix of sleek technology and ancient beast-gifts, her Fox Clan was known for their sharp minds and psychic talents. But Jinx had been born without a spark of that energy. She was an exception. A mistake. She'd once been told that she as a defective pup should have been executed. Her mother, Cecilia, had refused. She had raised Jinx anyway, dressing her in luxury and telling her she was worthy.
Now, her mother was gone. And Fenris, as her husband, had control of the vast inheritance Cecilia had left for her. He used it for himself and for Silvia. His family's rise in status and wealth was built on Jinx's money. And she was the one who got whipped for it.
Daliah returned with the physician, a stern badger-beastman who said nothing. He placed his hands over Jinx's ruined back. A warm, tingling energy flowed from his palms, a basic healing gift meant to stop the bleeding and prevent infection.
It sealed the worst of the wounds, but it was a clinical, painful process, pulling torn flesh together. The scars would remain. After his energy was spent, he took out a modern med-spray from his kit, coating the wounds in a clear, smart-gel that would numb and protect.
The whole time, Jinx was silent. The physical pain was fading into a deep, heavy ache.
Jinx couldn't see an end to this suffering. There was nowhere for her to go. Her family had cast her out. Her mother was dead. This strange territory, Fenris's homeland, was all she had now. She was trapped here, in this house, with that man.
The thought of leaving was a fantasy.
So a different, older thought came to her. It was the same thought that had kept her here through all the other betrayals. I have to make it up to him.
If she could just be better. If she could just try harder, be more patient, more loving. He had forgiven her before, hadn't he?
Each time she caught him with another woman, each time he spent her money on something foolish, he would cry. He would beg. He would promise to change if she just stayed. And she had stayed, because she loved him.
If she could figure out how, and fix things, he would see her worth. He would forgive her again. He would give her another chance. He had to. It was the only thing left.