I don’t tell him I couldn’t ever let them hurt her for reasons I myself am only just beginning to understand.

“I knew the punishment, and I couldn’t let her take it. I’m not sure it wouldn’t break her entirely. And frankly speaking, if I hadn’t invoked Vicarius, wouldn’t you have?”

He drops his gaze to the floor and nods. “What was it?”

“Twenty-four lashes.”

Ivy gasps from her place across the room, and I turn to her and raise an eyebrow. I give her a smile. “I survived.”

“Santiago, the painkillers. They’ll help,” Ivy says as if just remembering.

“No, no pills,” I say. “Scotch will do it.”

“Are you sure?” she asks.

I nod. Santiago is watching me when I turn back to him, and I swallow the second scotch, then hold my glass out for another. He fills it generously.

“Besides, Hildebrand would have enjoyed punishing Mercedes too much,” I say. “I have a feeling he’d have happily stood witness.”

“I am sure he enjoyed punishing you, too. He’s a fucking sadist. Take off your shirt and let’s see the mess they’ve made.”

I stand and am slow to peel it off, hissing with pain as the skin reopens when I pull the shirt away. Their doctor cleaned the wounds, and that may have been more painful than the actual lashing, but when Santiago walks behind me, and I hear his intake of breath, I have a feeling I’ll be going through it again.

“Fucking barbarians. Sit down, Judge. And help yourself to the scotch. Ivy, come help me. Your touch is gentler than mine.”

I look over my shoulder to see her take in the damage, her eyes growing misty, mouth frozen in an O. But then I see Santiago’s face. His gaze on the tattoo he doesn’t know about. At least I hope the scar it covers is camouflaged by all the rest of the damage.

He clears his throat and meets my eyes. He won’t be asking me about that tonight.

Turning the chair, I straddle it, and for the next half hour, I endure another round of cleaning and bandaging. I drink half the bottle of scotch as they tend to the wounds.

“You were brave,” Ivy says.

I am not sure about that. Maybe it was me atoning for my own sins against my friend whose keen eyes study me as he wipes his hands on a towel. Because I have broken his trust. I have bedded his sister again and again and again.

“I’ll leave you two,” Ivy says. She kisses her husband and leaves the room.