Seeing Anastasia after a long time brought fury. She pulled at her chains, but they clanked and she only writhed in the air. Anastasia stepped up to Etaya's side. The look she gave to her made Etaya's stomach turn over but she didn't let it come to her face. 

"Though I never learnt the art of tormenting people in my age, you certainly had thousands of years training in it," said Anastasia. She tilted her head and glanced sideways at Etaya. "But I have to say one thing Aunt—I have learnt a lot from you. You have taught me various things." 

Etaya went pale with fear. "You filthy bitch! If hitting a shackled woman while she is tied makes you feel supreme, then you are nothing but a rutting disgrace to —" 

Darkness slammed into her, making her writhe and twist, forcing her to stop speaking. "Don't you dare to speak to my woman like that," Ileus hissed. 

Anastasia smiled at her and then said, "Well, I thought it made you feel powerful when you whipped me. Why shouldn't it make me feel that way?" 

"You deserved every bit of it, you fucking, rotting fae!" Another round of darkness hit her, but she still said, "Wait till the demon king gets you. He is going to make you kneel and then enjoy killing you bit by bit, limb by limb. Oh, he is so waiting for you, Anastasia!" Her eyes were filled with rage. "So what if you have stripped me of my magic. The demon king of Galahar still stands there, and he will come to retrieve me." 

Anastasia pivoted herself to her back. She snorted and then cracked her whip. Etaya screamed loud at the sting and the pain. Blood trickled down her back, onto her pants as her skin split. 

"You rutting bitch!" Etaya shouted. 

Another crack and Etaya arched in more pain. She screamed. 

"The demon king of Galahar was defeated by his son," Anastasia said and then wielded another whip. 

"His son, Rolfe Aramaer had taken over as the next king." Again. 

"And guess what? Rolfe is now married to Iona." 

She lashed the whips again. 

"Noooo!" Etaya couldn't believe what Anastasia was saying. "You are nothing but a liar!" she said. 

The whip fell again, this time falling over her skin and peeling it away. 

"Would you like me to vow to the Lore?" Anastasia said. 

Again.

Again. 

By now, Etaya was asking her to have mercy. "Leave me or kill me. Or are you afraid that I will come back as yet another reincarnation and wreak havoc?" 

Anastasia hissed and whipped the woman who had brought so much devastation to the Lore. "Because of you, because of your ambitions, you destroyed the lives of so many!" said Anastasia and she struck her again at the point where Etaya's skin was already peeling. "I will not allow you to die. I will not allow you to live!" 

Etaya pulled at her chains, now almost half-dead with all the pain and blood. She looked at Ileus in front of her with half-closed eyes. Sweat trickled down her forehead and mingled with the blood on the floor. She could barely lift her head. 

Anastasia whipped her one more time on the back of her thighs and this time she couldn't even scream. 

Breathing heavily, Anastasia walked forward to examine the woman who still needed to be tormented. She held Etaya's jaws tightly and shook her head. "How does it feel to be whipped, Aunt?" When she left her jaw, Etaya's face dropped like a stone. "This was just the beginning of what I am going to do to you," Anastasia continued. "There is eight years of torment that needs to go back to you." Etaya didn't stir, but Anastasia knew that she was listening. She looked at one of the guards who was carrying a box as she had instructed. He came to her and opened it. Anastasia grabbed a fist of salt, walked behind Etaya and threw it all over. Etaya twisted weakly at the pain, at the sting. Once done, Anastasia walked to the door of the prison, the belt lowered in her hand, dragging behind her bloodied gown. Just before she exited, she turned to look over her shoulder and said, "By the way, Iona is now married to the King of Galahar." And she walked away. 

Etaya opened her eyes for a moment and then she slid into darkness. 

There was no word for what she did in the prison. Ileus was helping her in the bathroom with a bath. She was simply… ruthless. He was pouring water over her hair after he had applied a fair amount of washing lotion over there. "You are over-exerting yourself, love," he said. "Don't forget that you are pregnant." 

Anastasia rested her head on his thigh. She closed her eyes as tears dropped from the sides. "I hate her, Aly," she said in a hoarse voice. "Look at what she has done to my parents. They look so… broken." 

He gathered her hair in his hand and poured more warm water over them. "I told you—your parents will come back. Trust me." 

Ignoring his words, she said, "Do you know why I waited for you to come to visit Etaya?" 

"Why?" 

"Because I wanted to take revenge from her for both of us." 

He gulped. He stopped washing her hair and bent down to brush a kiss on her forehead. "Are you happy now?" he asked. 

She shook her head. "No, but I want to be satisfied." 

He took a deep breath and continued to bathe her, tenderly. "Then I hope that you find your satisfaction soon." 

That night after the sun had set and the moon had climbed in the sky, they went back to the hills where the celebrations were taking place. As they walked over there, hand in hand, they looked at the rolling hills sprawled in front of them, which were kindled by bonfires. Plumes of smoke rose from them as the faes buzzed around with excitement, tittering and talking. The music soared in the air. Anastasia tugged her husband's sleeve towards the first giant hearth that was burning at the crest of a hill. She joined a group of dancers again despite her husband's warnings to take it slow. She shoved every bit of thought about the harshness she had executed on Etaya and danced and danced. Ileus watched her with a smile and knew that she was purging her soul from the malice that had filled it a few hours back. 

Slowly, he fell into the rhythm of the pulsing beats and joined his wife in the dance of love, of freedom, of celebration. He was the only wizard in the crowd. He was the only one without wings, yet he felt at home. And this was the first time he realized what King Ian wanted to feel, why he wanted to celebrate. 

In the middle of the festival, after feeding his wife, he carried her in his arms all the way back to their bedchamber. The night stretched into a dreamy one. When he woke up in the morning, he watched her stir beside him, her hand resting on his stomach. It looked like a curled flower. He covered it with his remembering all the noises he had wrenched from her last night. He touched her lips and she smiled. 

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