Corruption

Chapter 14

I cringed as I looked over my shoulder into the mirror, examining the damage done by Vicruls hand. It had been days since my spanking and the marks had yet to fade from my skin. Maybe I didn't hate them all, but at the moment I did hate him. "It will heal in time, princess." Kuruk spoke, setting his hands against my waist as he turned me around, pulling my bare back against his chest as he admired me in the reflection.

"You can't be angry forever, little one." He continued. I sighed in annoyance at his comment, pulling away from him and grabbing my dress from off the counter, yanking it into place on my body. "I will stay angry as long as I see fit." I huffed, earning myself a warning glance from the man as he helped me fasten the back of my clothing. I didn't care. I wanted nothing to do with that horrible man.

Yes I had disobeyed, but he had humiliated and abused me, and for that I would not forgive easily.

I made my way to the common room as my knights dispersed to attend their daily activities, leaving me alone to wallow in my boredom once more.

By midafternoon, I had nearly dozed off when I heard it—scratching at the main door, followed by a low, familiar growl.

I sat upright, heart leaping.

No. It couldn't be.

The door hissed open, and for a moment, I thought I was dreaming.

A blur of thick white fur bounded into the room, growling until it caught my scent—and then let out a high, whimpering bark.

My breath hitched. "Cerulean?"

The massive hound lunged toward me with a joyful snarl and knocked me flat on my back. I let out a shocked yelp as his tongue covered every inch of my face, his paws enormous against my chest, his tail a blur of movement.

"Cerulean!" I sobbed, arms tightening around his neck. "You're alive—you're here—you're okay—"

He barked again, lower this time, protective. Loyal. My hands trembled as I buried my face in his fur. It still smelled like home—like forests and sun and freedom.

My Cerulean. My dog.

A part of me I thought had died with my planet.

It took minutes before I noticed the figure in the doorway, standing motionless as he watched.

Vicrul.

He didn't enter the room.

He stayed on the threshold, hands clasped behind his back, helmet unreadable, rigid as stone.

I stood slowly, one hand buried in Cerulean's scruff, the other wiping at my cheeks.

"You brought him back," I whispered.

Vicrul nodded once. "He was found in one of the First Order kennels. They had plans to condition him into a war beast. But he wouldn't obey. Wouldn't eat. Wouldn't respond to anyone."

My throat tightened. "He only listens to the royal bloodline. It's how he was trained."

"I know," he said. "That's why I brought him here."

For a moment, the silence between us felt sharp. I waited for him to come closer. He didn't.

Instead, his gaze dropped slightly to the hound, whose lips were curled in a low warning growl. His posture stayed protective, half-wrapped around me.

"He hates you," I said quietly. Not with cruelty. Just fact.

Vicrul nodded again. "Yes."

"He senses things. Intentions. Fear. He won't let you near me."

"I know."

The honesty in his voice made me look at him fully for the first time since the punishment. There was no mask of superiority in his tone, no false command in his posture. Just stillness. Just silence.

"I didn't want you to hate me," he said, barely audible. "I thought I was teaching you what you needed to survive here. But now..."

Cerulean growled again, a deep warning in his throat.

Vicrul's hands twitched at his sides.

"He won't bite unless I tell him to," I said, softer now.

Vicrul tilted his head.

"But he won't let you close either."

He let out a breath—a subtle exhale that might have been a sigh.

"I don't blame him."

The tension in my shoulders started to ease. I lowered my hand to stroke Cerulean's head, calming him.

Vicrul stepped forward once. Just once.

Cerulean growled louder, and Vicrul stopped. Didn't move again.

"I'll stay out of his way," he said, voice calm but hollow. "He's yours. I just wanted... to give you something no one else could."

I studied him. This cold, brutal man who'd broken me across his knees now stood like a punished child at the edge of my space, desperate for forgiveness he didn't know how to ask for.

"Thank you," I said at last.

Vicrul turned to leave—but just before the door opened, I added quietly:

"He doesn't trust easily. But I do. Eventually."

He paused, still facing away.

"I hope so, little one," he murmured. Then he was gone.

I sank back onto the floor, Cerulean curling tightly beside me.

And for the first time since Rhymna burned, I didn't feel so alone.