3. Where Girls Don't Cry

The moment the maids approached me, something twisted in my chest. I took a step back, shaking my head.

"No," I whispered, more to myself than to them.

They grabbed my arms anyway.

"No—" I yanked one hand free, but the other was held too tight. Then the guard stepped in behind me, and all the fight in my body turned to trembling.

"I’m not going! I’m not agreeing to this stupid marriage. Let go of me!"

They didn’t.

One maid clutched my wrist like she was restraining a criminal. The other pulled at my arm, and the guard placed a hand on my back, guiding me toward the doors like I was filth being removed from the room.

"This isn’t fair!" I shouted, trying to twist away. "You never let me do anything I wanted! I just wanted to read books, not rebel! But you said I read too much for a girl—"

No one stopped them.

"You didn’t let me pick up a sword because girls shouldn’t know how to protect themselves! You said I was being difficult, when all I wanted was to be something!"

The hallway echoed with my voice as they dragged me out of the dining room. I kept fighting, kept trying to plant my feet, but the floor slipped beneath me and they kept moving.

"I don’t want to be a wife," I cried, "I don’t want to belong to anyone. I belong to myself!"

Still, they didn’t listen. No one ever did. My father didn’t even glance in my direction. Rylan sat back down.

The doors slammed shut behind me.

And I… was alone.

Again.

I was thrown inside like I was some kind of creature they needed to cage.

The door slammed shut behind me with a thick clang, the lock turning before I even hit the ground properly.

I stumbled forward and caught myself, then spun around and started pounding on the heavy wood.

"Let me out!" My fists hit the door again and again, the sting of impact crawling up my arms. "You can’t keep me in here! You can’t!"

But no one responded. Not even the maids outside. Not even a single voice.

"I didn’t do anything wrong!" I screamed, slamming my palm against the wood so hard it burned. "I’m not a criminal—I just–just–I don’t want to marry a stranger!"

I beat the door again, then again, until my knuckles ached.

"I didn’t ask to be born here," I whispered, eyes burning. "I didn’t ask for any of this."

The silence after that was louder than my voice.

I slumped against the door, breathing hard, heart pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape too.

It wasn’t about marriage. Not really. It was the fact that I was always the problem, always the disappointment.

Because I didn’t have magic.

Because I didn’t sit still like a proper girl.

Because I dared to want more than being someone’s beautiful little puppet.

I pressed my forehead against the cold wood, hands still trembling.

"I just wanted a choice," I whispered. "Why is that too much?"

It wasn’t long before footsteps came outside the door, heavier than a maid’s.

I stood up fast, wiping my eyes even though I wasn’t crying anymore.

I knew those footsteps.

The door unlocked with a click, and swung open slowly. Two guards stepped inside first, not meeting my gaze. One of them looked... regretful, maybe. The other didn’t.

Behind them came Father.

He didn’t speak right away. He never did. Just stared at me, eyes sharp and unreadable. That silence, it always made my skin crawl more than his words ever could.

"I gave you every chance, Cessalie," he said calmly. "Every chance to act with dignity. And yet, you screamed at your brother. At me. At this family."

I opened my mouth, but he raised a finger.

"Not another word."

He turned to the guards. "Hold her."

I tried to run. I really tried. But one grabbed my wrist and twisted it behind my back, while the other caught my waist as I thrashed. I kicked, screamed, cursed at them, but they didn’t care. They were used to this.

Just like me.

Father walked to the side of the room and pulled the leather strap off the hook.

The same one I’d seen too many times.

"I had hoped you would grow past this childish rebellion," he said as he approached. "But clearly, we still have lessons to teach."

I thrashed harder. "No—no, please, don’t—Father—!"

The strap came down fast, sharp and unforgiving. Across my back, then again across my arm when I tried to shield myself.

I screamed.

Not just from the pain, but from the humiliation. From the helplessness.

"Maybe next time," he said, striking again, "you’ll remember your place before shouting like a market whore."

I bit down on my scream, swallowing it until it turned into a choked sob.

It ended as quickly as it began. He handed the strap back to one of the guards without a word. His expression never changed.

He turned and left. Rylan passed him in the doorway. He didn’t stop. Didn’t glance back.

But he looked at me once.

Just once.

Blankly. Coldly.

And then he walked away.

I crumpled on the floor the second the guards let go, my body shaking, my breath broken.

I wasn’t crying.

The hallway was silent as they dragged me out of the room. One guard held me upright while the other walked just behind, in case I collapsed.

My back was burning. Every step made the wounds throb deeper, a reminder of how loud I’d been. How stupid.

When we reached the bathing chamber, the warm, perfumed air hit my skin like a mockery. Too soft. Too gentle. For someone who wasn’t me.

They didn’t even bother to look away as I was stripped down, not that I had shame left in me. They’d seen worse. I’d felt worse.

I sat on the cold stone bench, naked and still, while the maid, Rena, maybe, knelt behind me with a bowl of healing salve and linen.

I didn’t flinch when the cold cloth touched the broken skin. I didn’t hiss when the salve seeped into the lashes. I didn’t cry.

I couldn’t.

My tears had dried out long ago. Somewhere between the second punishment and the hundredth silence. Somewhere between learning how to speak and being taught never to raise my voice.

The bath steamed next to me, untouched.

They wanted me to soak. To clean off the blood. To look like I wasn't punished at all.

I just sat there. Eyes blank. Arms over my knees. A hollow, scorched thing dressed up as a daughter.

Rena’s hands were gentle. That was worse somehow. It made my chest tighten in ways I didn’t want to feel. It made me feel like a girl again, just for a moment, and that was dangerous.

Because girls cried, and I didn’t.

They could break my back. Strip me bare. Lock me up. But they couldn’t make me cry.

Rena finished tending to the last wound, her hands hesitant as she smoothed the bandage over a deep lash near my shoulder blade. I didn’t thank her. She didn’t expect it. We both knew the script.

She stood up quietly, grabbed the stained cloths, and stepped away.

I was still sitting there. Naked. Dried blood crusting over skin that wasn’t even fully mine anymore. Just something Father owned.

Steam curled around the chamber, soft and ghostly, but I didn’t move to get into the bath. I hated the way warm water made the pain sting sharper before it dulled. I hated how it made me feel clean when nothing inside me was.

The door creaked.

I didn’t lift my head, already knowing it wasn’t him. Father never checked. He punished and forgot. He left the cleaning to the servants.

The boots were too light for a guard. Too heavy for a maid.

Rylan.

I could feel his presence like a blade at my throat.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t say anything.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch him standing there at the edge of the chamber. His eyes landed on the angry red marks across my back, the ones he didn’t put there but never stopped either.

"Come to make sure I learned my lesson?" My voice cracked, raw and dry, but not from sadness. From rage.

He just turned and walked away.

Coward.

I stared at the empty space he left behind, my heart thudding like a scream I refused to let out. And then finally, I got up and stepped into the bath.

The water was too hot. It stung every open wound. But I didn’t wince.

I just sat there, knees pulled up to my chest, staring into nothing, while the heat wrapped around me like a lie.

This is my life.

Not because I chose it.

Because they decided I was only useful when silent. Pretty. Married off to someone who’d treat me like an investment.

I rested my chin on my knee.

Let’s see how long they can keep me locked in.

After the bath, i was sent back to my chambers. They locked the door behind me like they always did. A soft click.

That’s how they handled me. Punish. Patch up. Lock away. Not to keep me safe.

To hide me. To control me. To give the bruises time to fade before the guests showed up again.

I sat on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in nothing but the long robe Rena had thrown over me before they marched me back here. My skin itched where the bandages pressed too tight, but I didn’t move to fix them.

What was the point?

I looked around the room. Every wall the same shade of dull beige. Every shelf lined with the same damn books I’d already read a hundred times. Some of them I could quote word for word now.

I used to love them.

Now they felt like cages made of paper and ink.

Days passed. I couldn’t tell how many.

They brought food in. Left it on the tray near the door. Sometimes Rena came, sometimes someone else. None of them talked to me. They just slid the tray in and left before I could say anything.

Not that I tried.

I didn’t have the energy anymore.

There was only a window in the room. My room had a bed, a dresser, a book shelf and wardrobe.

I spent most of the time lying on the bed, books open beside me, unread.

My eyes would skim the same paragraph over and over and retain nothing.

Sleep came and went. I’d wake up not knowing if it was morning or night. I’d eat half of what they gave me. Some days, not even that.

My body hurt in a dull, constant way. Not just from the wounds. From the stillness. The emptiness. My mind felt fogged. Like I was disappearing inch by inch, and no one in the house even noticed.

No, not true.

They noticed but they didn't care.

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