Chapter 20 -The Lavender Heir

The Branding

Sasha woke with a start, her heart hammering. For a moment she thought the roar in her ears was the sound of fire, of the pyre outside the night before, but it was only the wind whistling through the cracks in the stone walls.

The bed was cold. William was still curled against her, his small body radiating feverish heat. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead and felt a spike of panic. He was worse.

“William,” she whispered, shaking him gently. “Can you wake up for me?”

His eyelids fluttered, and he gave a faint, rasping breath.

Sasha bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. She had to find a way out. If she didn’t, William wouldn’t survive another day in this place.

The heavy sound of boots echoed down the corridor before she could think further. The lock on the door rattled, and Sasha scrambled to sit up, pulling William close as the door opened.

One of Cian’s men stepped inside. “Up,” he barked. “Both of you.”

William stirred weakly, but Sasha eased him to his feet, steadying him as they were marched down the corridor. She tried to keep track of the twists and turns again, but it was hopeless—the castle was a maze, deliberately designed to confuse.

They were taken not to the dining room this time but to a grand hall lit by towering windows. Cian stood at the far end, dressed immaculately in a dark suit, his pale eyes glinting like steel as they approached.

Sasha’s stomach tightened. Something about his posture told her this wasn’t just another meal.

“Good morning,” Cian said smoothly. “I trust you slept well?”

Before Sasha could answer, William gave a strangled sound and collapsed at her feet.

“No!” Sasha dropped to her knees, gathering him into her arms. He was burning with fever, his small body frighteningly limp.

She looked up at Cian, her voice trembling with fury. “He needs a doctor. If you don’t agree, then kill me now. Because I’m not going to sit here and watch him die!”

There was a flicker of amusement in Cian’s eyes. He stepped closer, crouching so that their faces were level. “You are… outspoken,” he said softly. “I like that. Very well. A doctor it is.”


—

The doctor arrived an hour later, a middle-aged man with tired eyes who examined William on the bed with quiet efficiency. Sasha hovered nearby, clutching William’s hand while Cian stood in the corner like a shadow.

“The wound is badly infected,” the doctor said at last. “I’ll start him on antibiotics now, but if he’s not improved in two or three days, you’ll need to call me back. Or take him to the hospital.”

Cian nodded as if the decision were already made. “You’ll come back,” he said smoothly, pulling a thick wad of cash from his jacket and pressing it into the doctor’s hand. “And you will keep this visit to yourself.”

The doctor hesitated only a second before pocketing the money with a muttered, “Of course.”

Sasha felt her stomach twist in disgust.


—

“Put the boy back to bed,” Cian ordered one of his men once the doctor had left.

William was carried away, still feverish but breathing more steadily now that the medicine had been given. Sasha started to follow, but Cian’s hand closed around her arm.

“No,” he said softly. “I want to show you something.”

He led her through the castle, the corridors stretching endlessly as though they might swallow her whole. At last, they stopped before a grand portrait of a striking woman, her eyes dark and proud, her bearing regal.

“My mother,” Cian said quietly. “They don’t make women like her anymore. You remind me of her so much.”

Sasha tore her gaze from the portrait to glare at him. “As long as I don’t have your murderous cruelty,” she said sharply.

The words had barely left her lips before his hand struck her face, the force of it sending her crashing to the floor. Stars exploded behind her eyes.

“Bring her,” Cian ordered.

The men dragged her through the corridors and out into the courtyard. The fire from the previous night’s pyre was still smouldering, ash swirling in the cold wind. The stench of burnt flesh lingered in the air.

A man was waiting by the embers, a length of iron heating in the flames. The brand glowed red-hot at its tip—the raven and sword of the De Burgh family.

Cian ripped the sleeve of Sasha’s dress away, exposing her upper arm. “Hold her,” he said coldly.

She struggled, kicking and thrashing, but the men held her fast.

“No! Please, don’t—”

Her scream tore through the courtyard as the brand was pressed into her flesh, the searing pain blinding and absolute. She felt her knees buckle as the world tilted, darkness closing in around the edges of her vision.

The last thing she heard before she lost consciousness was Cian’s voice: “Now she carries the name.”


—

Sasha was thrown back into the room with William, barely conscious and bleeding from the brand and the brutal beating that followed. She hit the stone floor hard, the impact jolting her back into a haze of awareness.

“Sasha?”

William’s small, frightened voice cracked as he scrambled from the bed. He dragged his blanket with him, covering her trembling body before lying down at her side.

“I’m here,” he whispered, clutching her hand.

Sasha’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, but the pain was too much. She passed out again, her face pale against the coarse stone floor as William stayed beside her, holding on.