Chapter 70: Torturing Yvonne And Asmund

The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and the faint echo of distant moans. Alaric stood outside Yvonne’s cell, his expression cold and calculating. He had spent the past few hours interrogating Eskil’s comrades, and now it was time to deal with the mastermind behind the attack on House Galanis.

He signaled to the guards to open the cell door. The heavy iron door creaked open, revealing Yvonne huddled in the corner, her wrists and ankles bound with thick ropes. Her eyes widened as Alaric stepped into the cell, his presence filling the small space with an almost palpable tension.

Alaric approached her slowly, his footsteps echoing ominously in the silence. He knelt beside her, his eyes locked onto hers. “You’ve caused a lot of trouble, Yvonne,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “And now, you’re going to pay for it.”

He reached out and removed the gag from her mouth, tossing it aside. Yvonne gasped for breath, her chest heaving as she struggled to speak. “Alaric, please—” she began, but her words were cut off as Alaric’s hand flashed out, striking her across the face.

The sound of the slap echoed through the cell, the sharp crack of flesh against flesh sending a shiver down Yvonne’s spine. She cried out in pain, her cheek flaming where his hand had struck. Alaric didn’t stop there. He grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to look at him as he spoke, his voice cold and unyielding.

“You dared to harm my aunt and my cousin,” he growled. “You dared to threaten my family. For that, you will suffer.”

Yvonne’s eyes filled with tears as she shook her head, her voice trembling. “Please, Alaric, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Alaric cut her off with another sharp slap, this time to the other cheek. “Save your apologies,” he snarled. “They mean nothing to me.”

He released her hair, only to grab her by the arm and force her to her feet. Yvonne stumbled, her legs weak from the hours of being bound. Alaric pushed her against the wall, his hand wrapping around her throat as he pinned her in place.

“You’re going to regret ever crossing me, Yvonne,” he said, his voice a low growl. “You’re going to wish you had never been born.”

With that, he began to beat her. His fists connected with her stomach, her ribs, her face, each blow sending a wave of pain coursing through her body. Yvonne screamed, her cries echoing through the dungeon as she begged for mercy. But Alaric showed none. He continued to pummel her, his anger fueling his strength as he unleashed his fury on her.

But physical blows weren’t enough to satisfy Alaric’s wrath. He wanted her to feel true pain, true suffering. He stepped back, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he raised his hand, his fingers glowing with the telltale signs of his magic.

“Firebolt,” he intoned, his voice cold and steady. A bolt of flame shot from his hand, striking Yvonne in the chest.

She screamed in agony as the fire seared her flesh, the smell of burned skin filling the air. Alaric didn’t stop there. He cast spell after spell, each one more painful than the last.

“Ice Shard,” he said, his voice like ice. A shard of ice materialized in his hand, and he threw it at Yvonne, the sharp projectile embedding itself in her shoulder. She cried out in pain, her body convulsing as the cold seeped into her wounds.

“Lightning Bolt,” he said, his voice crackling with energy. A bolt of lightning shot from his hand, striking Yvonne in the leg. She screamed as the electricity coursed through her body, her muscles spasming uncontrollably.

Yvonne’s screams filled the dungeon, her cries for mercy falling on deaf ears. Alaric was relentless, his anger driving him to inflict as much pain as possible. He wanted her to suffer, to feel the same fear and pain that she had caused his family.

After what felt like an eternity, Alaric finally stopped, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked down at Yvonne’s broken and bloodied form. She lay on the cold stone floor, her body a mass of bruises and burns, her breaths coming in shallow, pained gasps.

Alaric knelt beside her, his hand grabbing her hair and pulling her up to face him. “Now,” he said, his voice cold and steady, “you’re going to speak truthfully to me. Or else, I will throw you in a cage with drugged beasts who will then rape you continuously.”

Yvonne’s eyes widened in shock and horror as she stared at Alaric, the reality of his threat sinking in. She could see the cold determination in his eyes, the unyielding resolve that told her he was serious. She began to sob, her body shaking with fear and pain.

“Please, Alaric, don’t do that,” she begged, her voice trembling. “I’ll do anything you want. I’ll lick your feet, I’ll do anything. Just please, don’t do that to me.”

Alaric’s expression remained cold and unyielding. He smacked her buttocks strongly, the sound of the impact echoing through the cell. Yvonne cried out in pain and shame, her body trembling as she struggled to speak.

“Why did you attack House Galanis?” Alaric demanded, his voice like ice. “You should have received the news of my family subduing the Farrow Family long ago. So why did you act against House Galanis so suddenly?”

Yvonne hesitated, her eyes darting nervously as she struggled with the decision to speak the truth. Alaric’s threat hung heavy in the air, the weight of his words pressing down on her like a physical force. She knew she had no choice but to speak the truth, no matter how much it pained her to do so.

“It… it was my stepmother Elin,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “She wrote to me, told me about what happened to my family. She and my other stepmothers—Evanthe, Zoey, and Sigrid—they all wanted revenge. They wanted me to take action against your family, to make you pay for what you did to them.”

Alaric’s expression darkened as he listened to Yvonne’s confession. He knew the names she spoke, knew the women she referred to.

They were the wives of Edgar Farrow, the women he had saved from imprisonment and kept for his own pleasure. He had underestimated them and had failed to see the danger they posed. And now, his family had suffered for his mistake.

He stood up, his grip on Yvonne’s hair tightening as he pulled her to her feet. “You will speak of this to no one,” he said, his voice cold and steady. “If you do, I will make sure your fate is worse than anything you can imagine.”

Yvonne nodded, her eyes filled with fear and desperation. “I won’t, I promise. Just please, don’t hurt me anymore.”

Alaric released her, pushing her back against the wall as he stepped back. He looked down at her, his expression cold and unyielding. “Remember your promise, Yvonne. Or else, you will face the consequences.”

Before leaving the cell, Alaric cast a series of high-grade Healing Spells on Yvonne, his hands glowing with a soft, warm light as he mended her injuries.

With that, he turned and left the cell, the heavy iron door clanging shut behind him. He made his way to the next cell, his mind racing with thoughts of revenge and retribution. He would deal with Elin and the others later. For now, he had another matter to attend to.

The next cell belonged to Asmund, the teacher who had dared to poison his mother. Alaric’s expression darkened as he approached the cell, his anger burning hot and bright within him. He signaled to the guards to open the door, his voice cold and commanding.

“Beat him to the inch of his life,” he ordered, his voice like ice. “I want each bone, each nerve broken. Make sure even the best healer is helpless.”

The guards nodded, their faces a mix of respect and fear as they obeyed his commands. They entered the cell, their fists and weapons raised as they began to pummel Asmund. The sound of flesh against flesh, of bone against stone, filled the air as they carried out Alaric’s orders.

Asmund’s cries of pain echoed through the dungeon, but Alaric showed no mercy. He watched as the guards beat Asmund, his expression cold and unyielding. He wanted the man to suffer, to feel the same pain and fear that his mother had felt. He wanted him to pay for his actions, to face the consequences of his betrayal.

Once the guards had finished, Alaric turned to them, his voice cold and steady. “Make sure he suffers,” he said. “And make sure no one speaks of my meeting with Yvonne to Matriarch Cassandra or anyone else. As for my meeting with Asmund, you can inform the Matriarch about that. Understood?”

The guards nodded, their faces a mix of respect and fear. “Understood, Master Alaric,” they said in unison.

Satisfied, Alaric turned and made his way back to the manor. He was tired, his body aching from the exertion of the battle and the interrogation. He needed rest.

He made his way to the guest room, his footsteps echoing softly through the corridors.

The room was quiet, the soft glow of the moonlight casting long shadows across the floor. He approached the bed, his eyes lingering on the sleeping form of his mother.

Lyra lay on her side, her breaths deep and even, her face peaceful in sleep. Alaric smiled softly, his heart swelling with love and affection. He lay down beside her, his body relaxing as he closed his eyes, his mind finally at ease.

An hour later, Lyra woke up to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains. She stretched languidly, her body still heavy with sleep. But as she shifted, she felt a strange dampness between her legs. She frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion as she sat up, the quilt falling away from her body.

She looked down, her eyes widening as she saw the damp spot on her pants. A flush of embarrassment washed over her as she realized what had happened. She had climaxed in her sleep, her body responding to some unknown dream. She could still feel the faint echoes of pleasure, the ghost of a sensation that had left her breathless and wanting.

She glanced over at Alaric, who was still sleeping peacefully beside her. She didn’t want him to see her like this, to know what had happened. She slipped out of bed, her movements quick and quiet, and made her way to the bathroom.

The bathtub was already filled with steaming water, the scent of lavender and rose petals filling the air. She slipped out of her clothes, letting them fall to the floor in a heap, and stepped into the water. The heat enveloped her, soothing her aching muscles and washing away the remnants of her dream.

She sank down into the water, her eyes closing as she let the warmth seep into her bones. She took her time, washing herself thoroughly, her hands lingering on her body as she explored her own curves and contours. She could still feel the echoes of pleasure, the memory of her dream lingering like a ghost in the back of her mind.

When she finally emerged from the bathtub, she felt refreshed and rejuvenated. She wrapped herself in a towel, her body still flushed from the heat of the water. She made her way to her wardrobe set up for her by her sister Cassandra, her eyes scanning the racks of elegant clothing.

She settled on a gown of deep emerald green, the fabric shimmering in the soft light of the room. The gown was cut low, the neckline plunging to reveal the swell of her breasts. The skirt was slit high up the side, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her thigh with every step. The fabric clung to her curves, accentuating her waist and hips, making her look every bit the regal matriarch she was.

She slipped into the gown, the fabric caressing her skin like a lover’s touch. She turned to the mirror, her eyes critically assessing her reflection.

She returned to the guest room, her eyes lingering on the sleeping form of her son. He looked so peaceful, so innocent in sleep. She hated to wake him, but she knew they had much to discuss, much to prepare for.

“Alaric,” she said softly, her voice gentle as she shook him awake. “It’s time to get up.”

Alaric stirred, his eyes fluttering open as he looked up at her. He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he stretched languidly. “Morning, Mother,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep.

Lyra smiled back, her heart swelling with love and affection. “Morning, my dear. We have a long day ahead. Best not to waste any of it.”

With a groan, Alaric swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. “I’ll be ready shortly,” he promised, heading toward the bathroom. Lyra watched him go, her chest tightening with maternal affection.

By the time Alaric emerged, clean and dressed in dark, tailored attire that highlighted his broad shoulders, Lyra was waiting by the door. Together, they made their way to the dining hall. The halls were alive with the morning bustle of the manor, servants moving about with purpose. The scent of fresh bread and spiced tea wafted through the air, guiding them toward their destination.

The dining hall was a picture of understated elegance. Sunlight streamed through high windows, glinting off polished silverware and crystal goblets.

Cassandra and Fiora were already seated, their faces lighting up as Alaric and Lyra entered.

“Good morning!” Cassandra greeted warmly, her voice carrying an unshakable confidence. She wore a striking red gown that clung to her curves, the neckline daring yet tasteful. She gestured toward the empty seats. “Come, join us. The tea is still hot.”

“Morning, Aunt Cassandra. Fiora,” Alaric replied, taking his seat. “I trust you both slept well?”

“Like a queen,” Cassandra said with a smile. “Though I suspect you didn’t. You look… preoccupied.”

Alaric chuckled softly. “You’re not wrong. There’s much on my mind.”

Fiora, dressed in a delicate pink dress that complemented her gentle demeanor, chimed in shyly. “I slept like a rock,” she said, her cheeks coloring as she avoided Alaric’s gaze. “No dreams at all.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Alaric said with a faint grin. “I’m beginning to think dreamless sleep is a luxury.”

The light banter faded as the conversation turned to the pressing matters of the day. Cassandra leaned forward, her expression serious. “We need to decide what to do about the students in the dungeons. Eskil especially. He’s a political minefield waiting to explode.”

Lyra sighed, her fingers drumming lightly against the table. “Eskil’s reputation is high enough to cause trouble if we mishandle this. A direct punishment could backfire but releasing him outright is out of the question.”

Cassandra nodded in agreement, her brow furrowing in thought. “We need to find a way to break his pride, to make an example of him without actually harming him.”

Alaric, who had been listening intently, spoke up. “I have an idea,” he said, his voice steady and confident. “We announce the result of his duel against me. We make it clear that he was defeated, that he was no match for me. It will break his pride and make an example of him without actually harming him.”

Cassandra considered his words, her eyes sharp and calculating. “It’s bold. Public humiliation can be as effective as any punishment. But we’ll have to ensure the narrative is controlled so that he feels particularly humiliated by this incident.”

Lyra, thoughtful, nodded slowly. “It’s risky, but it might be our best option.”

As they continued to discuss their plans, the dining hall filled with the sound of clattering dishes and murmured conversation. The aroma of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries filled the air, mingling with the scent of strong coffee and fragrant tea. The family ate in companionable silence, their minds racing with thoughts of the day ahead.