Today was the day Landervik was set to return, today was the day Emilia had been dreading for a week. She didn’t know what to tell him, what to say to him, what would be enough. She was terrified he would come back pissed at the fact it was a mutual retreat, terrified that anger would be amplified at the sight of her failures. Emilia was a nuisance, and Landervik took care of those quickly, and, preferably, with a weapon.

He hadn’t contacted her, the only notion she’d received was Her Royal Majesty relaying information about training this morning in a letter. Emilia was told to be in gear and ready at dawn. It was well before an hour till dawn and Emilia sat on her bed, fully dressed and armed, her knuckles turning white as she held them together in contemplation.

She had no evidence of the rebellion, and feeding what little she did have was guaranteed to only infuriate him; believing she would be going off of rumours. Emilia was stuck, and nothing, and nobody, was there to pull her out. Well. Maybe.

Emilia abruptly stood up, taking down her bun and deciding to go for one french braid down the back instead. Maybe the Lady of Mercia could help, she thought as she furiously wove strands of her hair in and out, making sure it was tied tightly and perfectly. Maybe she could understand the stakes Emilia was at and give her something, anything useful. Emilia was no use to her if Landervik truly was at the worst state she’s imagining, the state she’s replaying in her mind, fearful of what was next. What could she do? Nothing, Emilia knew nothing would change what would go down in, now 30 minutes, she couldn’t prevent a single thing; it was driving her to insanity.

Thirty minutes passed at the speed of lightning, all the while Emilia sat, paced, and redid her hair at least 20 times before she noticed the slight peek of sunlight through her window. Hurriedly, she made her way out of her room and to the dungeons, her body on edge with nerves the entire way. As she descended into darkness fear crept its way back into her body, filling out her edges.

The walk was the same, sparring partners that had just gotten back from the excursion waving to Emilia, not surprised when she acted like they didn’t exist. She didn’t reach the training room before Landervik appeared, grabbing her arm and dragging her into the main training area that was filled with the freshly arrived faces from the retreat. He dropped her arm, giving Emilia a chance to look up at his face, a face filled with utter rage and disgust.He whistled to gain the attention of the plethora of faces that filled the room.

“You see this,” He spat, pointing towards Emilia, “I’m sure you all compiled your own explanations as to why my prodigy stayed here instead of coming to battle. Maybe she’s too valuable, I heard some of you whisper, others really saw through. This-this thing is a product of skill but with a boosted ego, with favoritism. I failed at some point but now, this fails me.”

Landervik kicked out Emilia’s shin forcing her to kneel, she fell to the ground in compliance, knowing better than to fight back. He was making an example of her, undermining him would undermine any and all of his authority.

“I rarely do public punishments anymore since they often breed petty drama and silly bouts of gossip, but I will no longer stand by the appraisal of my greatest failure. You all think her to be a prodigy Princess who will lay down her life for her kingdom, but she is no more than a coward. A traitor to the crown she was unfit to claim.”

Emilia wasn’t focused on the sea of blurry faces around her, rather, she was focused on the man that moved behind her, tying her arms in rope and blindfolding her. It took everything in her body not to curl up, to beg for this to stop, to beg for something private; her vulnerabilities would be on public display, and to Emilia that was the cruelest of all punishments.

She knew it was Landervik who held the hot blade to her chest, searing through the fabric and just barely hitting the first layer of skin on her abdomen. Her breathing was labored but she did not scream, did not cry; refusing to give him anything.

“While her incompetence during our absence in Dent is an atrocity on its own,” Landervik pressed the blade to her chest, this time hotter, “I have received news of a league of traitors, while currently unnamable a member who is undercover notified me of her appearance at a meeting with Lords and Ladies that have been showing signs of disen, plotting the overthrow of our beloved King and Queen.” Emilia bit back a cry as the heat in the blade fizzled out against her chest, now cutting a deep line across her chest. She felt the blood trail down her front, hearing the gasps of the crowd.

Landervik continued, “I never heard a word of her endeavor, was never told of her knowledge of this league. Ultimately, I was undermined and betrayed by my special prodigy.”

Emilia heard the clang of metal against the stone flooring, she could only assume Landervik had dropped whatever he had been cutting her with. Before Emilia could even get a taste of relief she felt a fierce kick to her stomach, causing her to double over, gasping and coughing for air. Tears involuntary slid down her face, a natural reaction to the nauseating pain she felt in her. Instinctively she raised her head, only to be met with a sharp punch to the jaw, she fell to the side, hitting her head against the masonry.

Landervik had stopped whatever public message her had been conveying with words and let his actions speak, repeatedly kicking her while she was down. Unwilling crys erupted from her mouth as her body convulsed under his feet. She hated this, she despised what these people saw of her, what Landervik made of her. A rage so great fueled her, she wanted to burn down this entire place and watch it all collapse. Billowing flames, desperate cries, Emilia craved destruction and pain; she craved to wrought back what was being done to her.

She barely noticed when the kicking stopped, but eventually it did. Her body ached so badly, uniform pain spread throughout it. There were no words left for her, she felt Landervik spit on her face then heard them all leave.

Someone had stayed behind, untying her blindfold and the hands behind her back, her vision was too blurry for her to even see who it was; most likely a servant. Whoever it was left as soon as her bonds were off, leaving Emilia on the floor. She laid back down against the concrete, letting the cool feeling sit on her aching body. Taking the time she waited, catching her breath up to the point where it was a slow, consistent pace, and the only noise in the empty room. She was so, so tired.