Olivia's hands shook violently the moment the tip of her scissors touched Javien's uniform. The fabric had turned stiff from dried blood. Every time she tugged at the cloth, Javien winced, clutching Olivia's bedsheets so hard the fabric began to tear.
"Celine, hold his shoulders. Do not let him turn," Olivia whispered, her voice rasping.
Celine nodded, her face drenched in tears. When the back of the shirt was finally cut open, both girls fell silent.
The wound was not just a common lashing. Deep purple veins branched out from the whip marks, looking as if the magic from Duke Herold's cane was crawling into Javien's very bones.
"This is not a normal wound, Olivia. This is a curse," Celine whispered in terror.
Olivia remembered the sharp sounds of the strike from earlier. No wonder Javien had not screamed. He had used every ounce of his strength to prevent that magic from reaching his heart.
