It had been a month since Carlos Punishment at the Thompson estate. A month of silence. A month of pain.
The heavy iron of prince Liam's gates creaked open. A solitary figure walked through them.
It was Carlos.
He looked nothing like the arrogant young master who came the last time to deliver good news. He was a broken man. He leaned heavily on a crude wooden crutch, his left leg dragging slightly with every step. The fifty lashes from the Royal Guard and the thirty from the family had left him scarred and stiff.
His face was thin, his cheeks hollow, and his eyes were darting around with the nervous energy of a hunted animal.
He limped across the courtyard. The royal guards watched him with open contempt, but they let him pass. He had an appointment.
He reached the main hall. He struggled up the few stone steps, wincing as his healing back stretched and pulled. He pushed the heavy doors open and stepped inside.
