The cell was darker than usual, the only light coming from a single torch flickering at the far end of the corridor. Phoenix sat hunched in the corner, her wrists bound in shackles that bit into her skin, her back a mess of torn flesh and dried blood from the punishment she had endured.
She was trembling, not from pain, though it was unbearable, but from exhaustion. The air reeked of damp stone and iron, suffocating her with its weight.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Slow, deliberate, familiar.
Phoenix didn't lift her head as Nicola appeared outside the bars, her regal figure framed by the dim light. The queen's expression was unreadable, her emerald eyes cold and distant. For a long moment, she stood there, her gaze sweeping over Phoenix's battered form.
"You've been whipped again," Nicola finally said, her tone sharp and clipped.
