Reed should've known it wasn't over with the Knight Commander.

It was midmorning, and Kelvin had shown up, forcing night shift to get out of bed to stand in the training yard. Reed stood in line with the other Western Barracks knights and squires while the Knight Commander paced in front of them.

Kelvin paced menacingly in front of them, nitpicking people's uniforms, hair, and everything else. "Disgraceful. The whole lot of you. None of you is fit to be called a knight. None of you are fit to lick shit off the bottoms of my boots.

The Knight Commander looked sternly at Reed, Avery, and Timmons as he passed, then moved on to the others. He paused at Phil, then looked Marx over.

For all the world, it felt like Kelvin was shopping for a TV. They were all different brands with the same specs, so it really didn't matter which one he chose, except for aesthetics. He fully intended to return it after Super Bowl weekend, after all. He seemed like that kind of cheap asshole.

It reminded Reed too much of being lined up with those other children on that boat. The old man's disgusting gaze raking over them...

Reed clenched his fists. He'd promised to not be a troublemaker.

Kelvin abruptly turned and pointed. "You. Report to Eastern Barracks for Disciplinary."

Avery trembled. "S—sir?" he asked in shock.

Reed twisted his eyes to look. He'd expected the knight commander to single him out, but no. Kelvin was actually pointing at Avery.

"That'll be another ten lashes for talking back," Kelvin sneered. "I'll be adding another five for every second you're late."

Avery saluted and ran.

"You weren't dismissed, another twenty!" Kelvin shouted after. He was grinning.

This whole situation was a setup. It was a trap. It didn't matter what anyone did here. Someone was going to get fifty lashes today, and Kelvin didn't care who.

Well, Kelvin was absolutely inept. Kelvin wasn't done, though. He pointed at Reed. "You. The Matron of the City Temple complained to me yesterday that you stole money from her son and broke his arm."

Reed was about to react. He knew he'd not taken anyone's money, but he did remember breaking a man's rib and nose. He also had recognized the man from earlier in the day—wait... was it the same guy?

"That will be thirty lashes for you. Go," Kelvin ordered.

Saluting, Reed hurried after Avery, catching up with him at the western junction. He'd stopped there, curling in on himself, sobbing.

Reed gripped the boy's shoulders. "Hey. Calm down..." he tried.

Avery wiped his face with both hands. "Why—" he gasped.

"That asshole from the marketplace told his mom that I stole money, apparently," Reed explained. "Then she told Kelvin. It'll be fine."

"No, it won't!" Avery shook his head vehemently. "It's not going to be alright!"

"He doesn't know how to whip someone properly," Reed assured. "It'll be fine. C'mon. We'll just get this over with. It'll be fine." He wasn't getting through to Avery, though. Instead, the boy stumbled past him, crashing into walls as he drunkenly made his way down the hall south.

Reed caught up again and helped steady him. Avery's face was a mess; completely red, snot dripping from his nose. He was hyperventilating, clearly in a full-blown panic attack. They made it to the eastern garden before Avery collapsed, falling to his knees, gripping his throat and chest. Kneeling, Reed tried to get Avery up and moving again but the boy couldn't.

"What's going on here?" Kelvin snarled behind them. He didn't wait for an answer, though, and grabbed Avery under the arm, forced him to his feet, and dragged him bodily down the path to the Eastern Barracks.

This was starting to worry Reed. Surely Avery was overexaggerating. Kelvin's little display the day before with the belt had been amusing, nothing more than getting hit by a wet noodle.

Reed looked back to find Captain Bass approaching, along with Patrick. They both looked grim.

"Hurry," Patrick said, "It's worse if you drag your feet."

Saluting his superior officers, he walked behind them as they went to the training yard. Avery had already been dragged to a post. They ripped the back of his shirt open and tied his wrists above his head. Someone grabbed Reed.

He automatically pulled from the man's grip with a quick swing of his arm and twist.

This caught Kelvin's attention. "Ten more lashes," he said with a grin.

The Eastern Barracks man snatched Reed by the hair and dragged him to the second pole. They used a knife to rip open his uniform, slicing up his spine in the process. Hands bound, they looped them to the hook above his head.

"One hundred lashes each," Kelvin said.

That wasn't even—

All thoughts fled Reed's mind when the snap of pain lanced across his back. He was so surprised by it, he didn't even get the chance to gasp.

Avery howled in pain.

Gritting his teeth, Reed focused on breathing, gripping the ropes binding his wrists. Every ten or so lashes, someone new took the whip. There was joking and jockeying among the Eastern Barracks boys about whose turn it was. Some did more than ten. Some were more enthusiastic and less practiced.

Reed remained silent.

Avery sobbed and begged.

Reed...

Was pissed. His fury kept him quiet during the ordeal. This pain wasn't like getting hit by a monster's attack. This was more like his father's cruelty, though John Reed Smith Jr. had never resorted to using an actual whip.

Avery's fear was justified. He owed the boy an apology.

But Reed also resolved to figure out some way to make sure no one else suffered this way.

He knew he wouldn't be able to stop them from whipping someone, but it wouldn't be Avery. It wouldn't be Timmons... It really wasn't going to be Marx.

"Stop! That's more than one hundred!" Patrick Davis objected.

Reed had lost count. Avery was hanging limply by his wrists. He'd passed out, and it looked like they'd stopped whipping him because it wasn't fun anymore. Reed's continued silence had irritated them, though.

"Is he even alive?" Someone came around to look at Reed's face.

Opening his eyes, Reed stared murder at the boy.

Staggering back, the Eastern Barracks squire yelped. "He's a demon!"

"You can't continue this. It's against regulations," Patrick insisted.

"You want to take his place?" Kelvin threatened.

Reed could practically smell Patrick's fear. Twisting his head, even though pain screamed from his ravaged back, Reed said, "What’re y’all doin back there? Tryin’ to tickle me?”

Kelvin snatched the whip from the latest boy who had it and snapped it across Reed's back. It made more sense why Kelvin's technique with a belt was so bad. His lashes bit into Reed's flesh like hot irons. Still, Reed refused to give in. Another fifteen, and Kelvin was winded. "Take this trash out of my training yard," he ordered.

Avery was cut down. Reed gripped the ropes, pulled himself up, and slipped it off the hook before dropping down. Turning, he faced the Eastern Barracks boys with a red, sweaty face and pierced them with a cold stare.

Patrick was pale as a sheet. He was trying to bundle Avery's shirt over his wounds and pick the boy up.

Bass limped closer to Reed. "Can you walk?"

At Reed's sharp nod, Bass continued, "I'd advise not antagonizing them too much."

"Monster," Reed heard one boy whisper.

"Demon who doesn't feel pain," someone corrected.

"I hope they fear me," Reed said to Bass and started walking, working on getting his wrists out of the sloppy knots.

***

Instead of being allowed to walk the short way through the palace, Reed, Patrick, and Bass were forced to go the long way around the southern wing and back up to the western garden.

Once on the other side of the building, though, the pain had started to get to Reed. He stumbled. His blood had soaked down to his knees, making the fabric stick to his thighs with every step. The ground swayed out from under him.

Bass caught Reed under the arm, but he was going down, and there was nothing the old man could do to stop it. He only managed to keep Reed from landing face-first into a stone bench.

Barely aware, Reed felt hot hands touch his face. Someone picked him up.

He woke to someone putting a cool, damp cloth on his forehead. Opening his eyes, he found Lily Marx sitting on the edge of the bed, looking concerned. "You really made them mad," she whispered.

Breathing hurt. Reed wasn't sure speaking would be a good idea. He closed his eyes again, hoping to go back to sleep. It looked to be around noon outside. He was in his dorm room.

"Since you're awake, you should drink this," she said.

Reed cracked his eyes open again. She stirred powder into a glass of water. He knew what that powder was. ...Practically baby aspirin for all it helped with pain. It was better than nothing, though. Moving his arms was agony, but he managed to prop himself up a little. He still ended up choking on the water and wearing a good amount. Coughing a few times, Reed lay back. "Next time, just dump the powder in my mouth and give me water after." He closed his eyes.

"They said you didn't even flinch..." she whispered.

"Later," he grumbled. "Let me sleep."

Lily wiped his face and forehead with the damp cloth.

He tried to think of nothing, but the hot, burning pain refused to let him concentrate on meditation.

"Want another dose?" Lily asked, apparently realizing he wasn't asleep.

"Yes." Reed opened his eyes to see her offering a paper packet. He forced himself back up, let her dump the packet into his mouth, then drank more of the water. The act was exhausting, but Reed got more of the medication into his system this time.

"You're supposed to be on your stomach, you know."

Settling back, he closed his eyes.

The dose and a half helped. Pain started to recede a little. It was the sleep medications mixed in that claimed him.

***

Doctor Brenst rubbed his face with both hands, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead and smearing the lenses with his fingertips.

“I can’t thank you enough…” Patrick said, staring at the ground.

“I can’t believe Sir Kelvin did that,” Brenst said. “I’ll have a word with Her Highness.”

Patrick kept his mouth shut, knowing that there wasn’t much Princess Charlotte could do about the situation. He had little hope that anything would be changed. “What’s their recovery time look like?”

“Squire Avery should be alright in two weeks. Squire Owen’s wounds were deeper… I still can’t believe… Did he really just stand there? Normal people would have passed out from the pain long before that?”

Unable to hide how uncomfortable he was with the situation, Patrick shook his head. “I don’t know. He didn’t make a noise. He didn’t flinch. I would have said he was dead except he occasionally adjusted his grip on the ropes. His knees never buckled.”

What really stuck with Patrick was the look in Reed’s eyes after he’d hopped up and unhooked himself. Blatant proof that he was only there because he felt like being there. His look of promised murder as he swept his gaze across the gathered Eastern Barracks knights and squires. Patrick didn’t know what he was going to do.

He was proud of his position as Vice-Captain, but he wasn’t sure he had the guts to stand there silently the way Captain Bass had. Patrick would never get the image of Reed’s peeled flesh from his mind.

Brenst had, thankfully, been available and in the palace at the time. He’d been checking Prince Solace and had come running.

Reed had to be stitched closed in seven places. His back looked like butchered meat.

“They’re both going to need rest. Owen will require bedrest for a week,” Brenst continued, then turned to get his notebook. “I recommend a diet of greens and red meats to help with the blood loss. Here’s pain medication for them both. A sugar spoon every four hours if they’re awake for it, mixed with water. Owen will likely have a fever for a few days. Keep him cool and hydrated. Bandages changed every twelve hours.”

Brenst continued with more instructions even as he wrote them. Finishing, he handed Patrick the paper, two bottles of powdered pain medication and anti-biotic for Reed.

“I will be back next week to check on them, but call me if there are any concerning developments,” Brenst said.

Patrick nodded. “Thank you,” he said in a small voice.

When Brenst finally left his office, Patrick hung his head, pressing his hands to his own eyes as he broke. He felt like such a failure.

Avery was, despite his mischief, a good boy. Reed was only guilty of being Hannish, but Kelvin had come in and confiscated the pay for all the squires. As a lesson.

Thankfully, no one intruded on Patrick’s silence. He was allowed to pull himself together and used some of the water he kept for drinking to wash his face.

When someone knocked on his door, Patrick felt like he was clam enough to deal with it.

“Yes, come in.”

Timmons slipped in and saluted. “Sir. I wanted to tell you about yesterday.”

Patrick settled behind his desk and gestured for Timmons to come closer. “You were there?”

“Yes, sir. Avery, Reed, and me were in the market, going to Jay’s when Matron Tundra’s son, Rimmer, ran into Reed. He tried to say Reed hurt him at first, then said Reed stole his money. Captain Raccoon didn’t believe him and got Rimmer to go away.”

Writing the report, Patrick nodded. Tundra’s son was a troublemaker and all-around stain on the Temple. But nothing could be done about him because the Matron constantly covered for him.

Timmons shifted uncomfortably. “Uhm… Last night… we ran into him again. He was beating a whore in an alley and Reed broke his nose and maybe some ribs.”

Pausing, Patrick looked at Timmons and took a breath as he set his pen down and sat back. This wasn’t going to be forgotten easily. Reed had started a war with the Matron.