Joshua was fifteen now, taller but still lean where his brothers were broad. He moved through the servant's quarters with purpose; a small leather pouch clutched in his hand.
Lysandra materialized in the shadows of the memory, her breath catching as she recognized the determination in young Joshua's stride. This wasn't the broken eight-year-old from before. He seemed stronger, and moved with purpose.
"Why this…? Why am I here?" Lysandra called out to nothing and no one.
The trial didn't even acknowledge her words.
"Freyna," Joshua called softly, knocking on a modest wooden door. "It's me."
The door opened to reveal a servant girl, maybe fourteen, with gentle green eyes and flour dusting her hands. Her face lit up when she saw him.
"Joshua! You shouldn't be in the servant's quarters. If your father—"
"I don't care." He pressed the pouch into her hands. "This is enough. You can leave tonight. Get your mother the medicine she needs. Start fresh somewhere far from here."
Freyna's eyes widened. "Joshua, no. This is—these are your personal funds. I can't—"
"Please." His voice cracked slightly. "You're one of the only people who looks at me like I'm a human. I want the best for you." He sighed. "Please."
Freyna pulled Joshua into a fierce hug. "You matter more than you know. When I get settled, I'll write. Maybe... maybe you could visit?"
"I'd like that," Joshua whispered into her hair.
The door burst open.
Marcus stood there, flanked by two royal guards. His smile was pure malice.
"Well, well. The worthless prince and his whore." He walked up to Joshua slightly shorter, but with a presence that somehow dwarfed Joshua's.
"Brother," Marcus said, voice dripping with false worry. "Father's looking for you. Something about missing funds from your personal allowance?"
Joshua went rigid. His eyes flicked to Freyna, who'd gone pale as parchment.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Joshua said calmly, moving to stand between his brother and Freyna.
"Really?" Marcus stepped forward, his bulk filling the doorway. "Because the treasury keeper says you've been withdrawing significant amounts. Repeatedly. For months."
"My allowance is mine to spend—"
"On a servant girl?" Marcus's grin turned vicious. "How... inappropriate. One might even say scandalous. A prince forcing himself on a helpless maid, using money to buy her silence?"
"That's not—!" Freyna started to protest.
"Quiet," Joshua snapped at her, his voice suddenly cold. The transformation was instant—from gentle friend to cruel prince. "Don't speak unless spoken to, servant."
Freyna flinched back, confusion and hurt flashing across her face.
He's protecting her. Lysandra's hands clenched. He's going to take all of it on himself.
"You're right," Joshua said, straightening his shoulders. He grabbed Freyna's wrist roughly—though Lysandra could see how careful he was not to actually hurt her. "I've been... amusing myself. Taking advantage of my position."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Really? Our pure, noble brother?"
"Even I get bored," Joshua said with a manufactured sneer. "And she was... convenient."
The words made Lysandra want to vomit. She could see the way each one tore through Freyna, the girl's eyes filling with tears of betrayal.
"How dare you," Freyna whispered, playing along even as her voice broke.
"Your mistake" Joshua replied coldly, though his hand on her wrist trembled slightly.
Adrian laughed. "Father will be so disappointed. His precious third son, corrupting servants."
"Let's go," Marcus said, gesturing to the guards who'd appeared behind him. "Father wants to discuss your... activities."
Joshua released Freyna's wrist, not looking at her. "Fine."
As they dragged him away, Lysandra saw him mouth silently over his shoulder: I'm sorry.
Freyna collapsed against her bed, sobbing.
The memory jumped forward.
The throne room. Joshua on his knees before his father, his brothers standing smugly to the side.
"Forcing yourself on a servant," King William's voice was arctic. "Using your position to take advantage of those beneath you."
"Yes, Father," Joshua said tonelessly.
"You disgust me." The king stood, descending from his throne. "But at least you're finally acting like a prince. Cruel. Selfish. Taking what you want."
He backhanded Joshua across the face. The crack echoed through the hall.
"Unfortunately, you were stupid enough to get caught." Another strike. Blood ran from Joshua's nose. "And worse, you've risked creating a scandal."
Stop. Lysandra pressed against the wall, her whole body shaking. Please stop.
"The servant girl will be dismissed immediately," the king continued. "Sent far from the capital with enough coin to keep her quiet."
Relief flickered across Joshua's face for just a moment.
His father caught it.
"Unless," the king said slowly, "you'd prefer she stay? I'm sure your brothers would enjoy... investigating her role in this more thoroughly."
The threat was clear. Joshua's head snapped up, real fear in his eyes for the first time.
"No," he said quickly. "Send her away. Please."
"Please?" Marcus laughed. "The rapist prince says please?"
"Enough." The king waved his hand dismissively. "You'll receive your punishment publicly. Fifty lashes in the courtyard. Let the servants see what happens when anyone oversteps their position. We will keep your servant here as motivation for you to not get any strange ideas, about running away yourself. The summoning is in a few years, and I expect you to be ready to fulfill your duty."
Joshua just nodded, accepting it without protest.
The memory shifted to the courtyard. Joshua tied to a post, shirt removed, back exposed. The entire palace staff forced to watch, including Freyna in the crowd.
This is barbaric. Lysandra's nails dug into her palms hard enough to draw blood. They're destroying him for protecting someone.
The first lash split skin. Joshua bit down hard enough to crack teeth but didn't scream.
By the tenth, blood ran freely down his back.
By the twentieth, his legs gave out, only the ropes keeping him upright.
By the thirtieth, he was barely conscious.
Through it all, Lysandra saw Freyna in the crowd, tears streaming down her face, understanding exactly what he'd done for her. Why he'd said those horrible things. What he'd sacrificed to keep her safe.
At forty lashes, Joshua finally broke. A sound escaped him—not quite a scream, more like a wounded animal's last breath.
At fifty, they cut him down. He collapsed into the bloody mud.
"Clean him up," the king commanded. "He has dinner duties tonight."
As the guards dragged Joshua away, Lysandra saw Freyna try to rush forward, only to be held back by other servants.
The last thing the memory showed was Joshua, half-conscious, bloody, broken, whispering through split lips: "She's safe. That's all that matters. She's safe."
The memory began to dissolve, but not before Lysandra heard his father's parting words:
"You're finally learning your place, son. You will make a great sacrifice."
Lysandra stood in the space between memories, her entire body trembling with rage and grief.
He let them call him a monster. Let them torture him. All to protect someone he cared about.
And he's been doing it his whole life.
Tears ran down her face as she realized the truth: Joshua had never been weak.
He'd always been the strongest one in that palace.
Strong enough to endure anything to protect others.
Strong enough to smile through it all.
Strong enough to still have kindness left after they tried to beat it all out of him.
Joshua, she thought desperately. Where are you in these memories? Are you reliving this alone?
The void around her began to shift again a faint red threading its way through the darkness, pulling her toward another memory.
And she knew, with horrible certainty, that this would be the worst one.