The Vampire & Her Witch Chapter 1648: Reactions to the Truth (Part Two)

"My lord, you cannot!" Baron Breton Stackpole exclaimed, his hands striking the table as he stared at Rhys in disbelief. "There are over a hundred men present tonight... to endure a lash from each of them...."

"I have some confidence in my ability to survive it," Rhys replied, a wry smile gracing his lips as he remembered the punishment he received from Esselk’ti when he’d sought her aid in obscuring the fact that he’d met with a witch. "However, I will not evade the accountability for my actions."

"Mervyn," he said, extending the whip to a man he had long regarded as both a close friend and an exceptional vassal. "Will you deliver the first strike?"

"Strike what blow?" Mervyn questioned, snatching the whip from his lord's grasp. "Which man among us would have performed better? Which man here could have endured so much and suffered so greatly without shattering like a vessel against the rocks?"

Mervyn clutched the whip tightly in a clenched fist, turning to face the individuals seated at the lower tables.

"Five lashes for carelessness that jeopardizes the ship, " he declared. "Ten for fleeing from a confrontation. Twenty lashes for plotting mutiny, and an additional one for every man misled," he announced, specifying penalties for transgressions deemed too severe for mere deductions from wages or assignments to the ship's most arduous tasks.

"A hundred lashes?" Mervyn queried, allowing half the whip to unfurl from his grip. "For safeguarding your daughter and shielding all of us from the Church's wrath, had they discovered the truth?"

-CRACK!-

Mervyn swung the whip with fierce determination, not at his bare-chested lord, but at his own left forearm, coiling the lash around his thick, muscular arm with enough force to rip through the fabric of his doublet and rend the flesh beneath.

"I shall receive the blow on your behalf, Lord Rhys," Mervyn stated, unwinding the whip from his arm to reveal a slender red line that began to stain the sleeve of his doublet. "And the next one as well," he added, passing the whip to Baron Amren Dalais as his fingers started to work at his own garment.

"I will endure every strike that comes your way," Mervyn vowed resolutely. "Until I can bear it no longer."

"Show-off," Amren grumbled, accepting the whip from Mervyn's hand. "Do you believe I relish whipping either of you? Bring me that Lothian whelp, and I will strip the flesh from his bones for what he has done to our Lady Ashlynn."

"But whipping you?" Amren scoffed, tossing the whip to Baron Domenec Hender. "I would sooner take my position alongside Mervyn," he declared, his fingers moving towards the buttons of his doublet. "If he falters, then I shall stand next, until I too fall and another takes my place."

"Young fools," Domenec commented, holding the whip only long enough to pass it to Cir Ricarde. "My bones are too aged and frail to withstand a blow from youngsters like you," he said, pointing a bony finger at both younger barons. "But do not imagine I will not tear apart your sails and shatter your anchor chains if the two of you prove insufficient to hold through the night!"

"I stand with you, Lord Rhys," Domenec affirmed, striking his chest four times with the same steady, rhythmic beat that Rhys had employed earlier. "The Church may deem us heretics. The king may brand us traitors. But we all comprehend who initiated this, and there is naught holy or pious in their ambitions and their avarice."

"We are with you, my Lord," Domenec declared firmly. "Even if you command us to set sail for the very End of the World, we shall follow your lead."

"Aye!"

"We are with you, Lord Rhys!"

"I will take a lash for you!"

"One ship, one crew!"

Numerous knights rose, making their allegiance known through words or gestures, thumping their chests in time with their heartbeats. Only one man dared to voice a dissenting opinion, and he was the youngest lord at the High Table.

"Step aside, Mervyn, allow me my blow," Baron Cir Ricarde shouted above the escalating clamor. "I am owed one, and I shall have it! Lord Rhys owes me that for suspecting I would ever turn my back on him or desire to witness his suffering," he asserted.

"Merely for that?" Baron Breton Stackpole inquired, raising an eyebrow at his young counterpart.

"Precisely for that," Cir responded, stepping forward and lightly striking Rhys's arm with the coiled whip, the impact no stronger than that needed to topple a wine goblet. "I understand your purpose, my Lord," he added in a low tone. "And we hold you in high regard for it."

"However, rather than witness your affliction," Cir continued, his voice carrying clearly to the lower tables, "I would prefer to hear your strategy moving forward."

"Thank you," Rhys murmured, his eyes welling up. A part of him had desperately wished for someone to step forward and accept the punishment🥁 A bruised piece of his soul yearned to atone for his past transgressions, though he knew more suffering awaited him in the future.

"Anyone willing?" Rhys queried, accepting the lash from Baron Cir and presenting it before the assembled crowd. "If you hold a grievance, voice it now! Let it out before it festers and poisons us, threatening to capsize our ship when our strength is most vital. Breton?" Rhys inquired, extending the whip to the first baron who had dared to voice dissent, even as he anticipated the predictable response.

"My answer remains unchanged, Lord of the Black Sails," Breton Stackpole declared, raising his hand and deliberately refusing the whip. "However, my question differs. Has the moment arrived to unveil the Hidden Histories?" Breton inquired.

"Are we finally able to share the ancient melodies and command the tides and waves as our forefathers once did?" Baron Stackpole questioned. "The Witchwood Fleet still slumbers within the caverns of Broken Bow Isle," he proclaimed. "Is it time for them to awaken and reclaim what has rightfully belonged to us all along?"