127. The Best Kind Of Punishment

Ravenna cut in, sweet as poisoned wine. "But you? You have a unique opportunity. Redemption, if you will."

She turned her palm upward. In it lay a single silver key. "I have a task for you."

Raymond's chains clinked as he leaned forward. "A task?" His voice wavered between suspicion and desperate hope.

"All the nobles fled like rats from a sinking ship when the imperial decree named me Jola's ruler," Ravenna said, pacing slowly around him. Her hills clicked against the marble floor with metronomic precision.

"Which creates an administrative dilemma." She stopped abruptly and clapped her hands once, the sound sharp as a arrow shot. "Certain documents require signatures from native Jola nobility. And you, dear Raymond, cousin to the former lord, one of the last native noblemen still breathing on this island—are suddenly very useful."

Raymond's breath hitched. His fingers twitched toward the key. "You... you just need my signature?" The possibilities unfurled in his mind—freedom, status, a return to privilege. After months in that stinking cell, the Imperial Princess herself was offering him a path back to glory.

"This key," Ravenna purred, dangling it just beyond his reach, "opens one of the new luxury apartments overlooking the harbor. Sign what I need by evening, and it's yours. Permanently." She leaned in, close enough that he caught the scent of roses and steel beneath her perfume. "I'll even appoint you to my administrative council. A man of your... experience could prove valuable in many ways than one."

Raymond's pupils dilated. He could already see it—silken sheets, chilled wine, and all his precious "toys" returned to him. The dungeon's stench would fade from his skin, replaced by perfumed oils and the respect he deserved.

"The knights will escort you now," Ravenna said, dropping the key into his palm. "Rest. Refresh yourself. We'll speak again at dusk."

"Yes! Yes, Your Highness!" Raymond scrambled up so fast his chains rattled like a beggar's cup. He barely noticed the knights' iron grips as they hauled him away.

Only when the door sealed behind him did Ravenna collapse into her chair, rolling an orange between her fingers. "Was he the last?"

High Priest James exhaled through his nose. "The final one from the child predator arrests, yes." He watched as Ravenna's thumbnail split the citrus rind, sending a spray of pungent oil into the air as he continued "I still don't understand this charade. Hanging would've been quicker."

Ravenna sucked the juice from her thumb, smiling as it stung the tiny cut there. "Your Holiness, Your Holiness." She tsked. "The best punishments aren't those that simply end men." A segment of orange glistened like a jewel between her fingers.

"They're the ones that let men watch their hopes crystallize..." Her teeth sank into the fruit with a wet crunch. "...just before you smash them to pieces."

Newly Constructed Luxury Apartments, Jola City, Jola Island

The apartment surpassed Raymond's fantasies. Sunlight poured through arched windows onto mosaic floors, gilding the imported Ancornan furniture.

A bath already steamed with rose-scented water, and the breakfast spread—smoked fish, honeyed figs, wine so dark it looked black—made his stomach growl.

The copper tub’s warmth had long since faded, but Raymond remained submerged up to his chest, watching the sun climb higher over Jola’s gleaming rooftops. Raymond thought the Princess needed him! He was, after all, the last true nobles left on this wretched island.

Yet as luxurious as his gilded cage was, boredom gnawed at him. Months in the dungeon had left him starved for more than just fine wine and soft beds. His fingers drummed against the tub’s rim, imagining the delicate throats of his favorite "playthings," the way their—

A knock at the door shattered the fantasy.

Two women entered, their silhouettes backlit by the hallway’s light. They wore the island’s traditional sheer garments, the diaphanous fabric doing little to conceal the curves beneath. Not the fresh-faced young girls he typically preferred; these were older, those innocent girls, their knowing smiles sharp as knives but after so long without a woman in his bed, Raymond found his pulse quickening regardless.

"These ladies will be your companions today, my lord," the knight announced, his tone carefully neutral before withdrawing.

The door hadn’t even clicked shut before Raymond was on them, his hands greedy as they explored familiar territory. The women responded with practiced enthusiasm, their laughter like wind chimes as they led him to the waiting bed.

After few hours

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time the women left, their departure as silent as their arrival. Raymond lay sprawled across sweat-dampened silk sheets, pleasantly exhausted, when another knock came.

This time, it was a knight in captain’s regalia who entered, a rolled parchment in hand.

"I am Ser Hughes Gustav, Her Highness’s Knight-Captain," he said, his voice clipped. "You are to sign this document, then accompany me to the plaza. Her Highness wishes to announce your new position publicly."

Then, with a glance toward the door, Hughes leaned in conspiratorially. "Between us?" His whisper was barely audible. "I believe she intends to name you as one of her official lovers. She’s taken a... particular interest in you."

Raymond’s breath caught. Lover to the princess? The woman was infamous for showering her favorites with gold, estates, unchecked power. He’d eclipse even his cousin Edward’s former status!

With trembling hands, he unrolled the parchment. "A petition to rename the dukedom?" The request was unusual but not something major, Jola had been his cousin’s family name for generations, but what did he care for legacy now? His future glittered before him, brighter than any past.

Let the old name burn, he thought, scrawling his signature with a flourish.

"Excellent," Hughes said, tucking the document away. "Now, if you’ll dress appropriately—something worthy of a princess’s consort—we’ll depart."

Raymond barely contained his glee as he selected the finest silk robes from the wardrobe, their embroidery catching the last sun rays like liquid gold. Let the rabble gawk. By dawn, he’d be untouchable.

He walked with the swagger of a man who'd already won, his chin lifted high enough to catch the envious stares he imagined would come.

But as they rounded the final corner, Raymond's steps faltered.

The square was alive with color and noise, the air thick with incense and the murmur of a thousand voices. Towering banners of deep violet and gold fluttered in the evening breeze, each embroidered with the sacred symbols of Herptian—entwined bodies, overflowing chalices, roses in full bloom. Priests and priestesses lined the perimeter, their revealing robes leaving little to the imagination, their faces painted in the traditional patterns of the goddess's rites.

At the center of it all stood a raised platform, flanked by six massive pyres, their wood stacked high and soaked in oil. The scent of it made Raymond's nose twitch.

His confusion deepened as he was ushered behind the stage—where a dozen other men and women stood waiting, all clad in the same gilded silks as him. His stomach dropped. He knew these faces. Knew their preferences, little girls and boys.

“No.”

Raymond spun to leave, only to find a wall of armored knights blocking his path. Their visors were down, their silence absolute.

The crowd's murmur swelled to a roar as Ravenna emerged.

She was a vision of divine beauty and carnal grace. The Herptian High Priestess's ceremonial regalia clung to her like liquid night—a gown of black gossamer that revealed more than it concealed, the fabric slit to the hip on either side. Golden chains draped across her bare waist, each link etched with Herptian's sacred verses. Her hair cascaded in loose waves down her back, interwoven with rubies that caught the torchlight like drops of blood.

But it was her eyes that froze Raymond where he stood. There was no warmth in them. No mercy. Only the cold satisfaction of a Raven watching dead.

"This," Raymond whispered, his voice cracking, "isn't a lover's announcement." At his side, one of the other men began to sob.

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