(Alnilam)

I knew the punishment would be brutal. I don’t care that they are removing me as an enforcer but my hair is my identity, the source of my magic.

They love Amaia and she loves them. She is going to be so devastated and will blame herself.

They slowly move behind me, like glumly whispering.

"It’s for Amaia..." I quietly say to them and they just become lifeless on my back, hanging loosely.

"Amaia is going to be so broken but anything to keep her safe," Snow declares.

"Let’s take a vote. Raise your hands, if in favour of Alnilam Orion to undergo the decided punishment," Natianu’s squeaky voice comes, like an annoying scumbag. My magic wants to reach forward and choke him.

Except for my father, the other four kings decided my fate. To my surprise, Hathial Kane doesn’t raise his hand. He relaxedly sits back and watches me while the other three raise their hands, deciding my fate.

My magic angrily roars in my blood ready to blast them off their seats but I keep it restrained. Every muscle in my body is stretched, devastating me and for a time I find myself lost.

"It’s decided then. Guards take him away for punishment." The move towards me with magic inhibiting hand cuffs. A death glare from me has them pausing in caution.

"No cuffs," I firmly say, walking out without a glance at anyone. Guards follow.

My father approaches me, asking for a moment from the guards. They bow and step aside.

Once we are alone outside in the corridor he grimly says, "You are making a mistake, Alnilam. I don’t trust Faes. Let her go, don’t throw your life away because of her."

Anger has made his forehead all crinkly and the rage in his eyes is indescribable. But mine surpasses his fury.

"She is mine and even if I have to give my life to protect her, I will. Something I had hoped you of all people would understand." He opened his mouth to counter but I raised my hand at him.

"She isn’t the one who killed our step-mother nor was it the Fae people. I wish you would open your eyes and realise the truth before it’s too late. Go, check up on your sons. They need you." With that, I leave my father behind and march up to the guards ready for my fate.

They take me away towards a room in their facility. It has a thick steel door with a circular symbol on it. I have never been to this place. One of the guards opens the door by sliding it inwards, and we step in.

Inside, everything is pristine white to the extent that it’s almost blinding. From the lights to the circular table, chairs, equipment and even the people present in the room. They all wear white, have bleached hair and brows. It’s difficult to focus in this room.

"He needs to go through ’Erasure’ also one year of magic inhibition. His magic is held in his hair," one of the guards explains to the woman, sitting on her desk.

She has long white hair, in knotless braids. Skin so flawless as if she hasn’t faced any blemish in her entire life. Her intense blue eyes find me. A wickedness resides there.

"Now that is a procedure I love performing. The way they scream is just so..." She rubs her thumb on the tips of her fingers, clad in white latex gloves as if enjoying the feel of the torture she puts others through.

Abhorrence creeps up on me. I don’t want her to even touch me. Any woman who is not Amaia, I want them to stay at a distance from me.

Offering her a death stare, I move forward.

"Seems like you are going to be disappointed." I come to a halt near the treatment chair in the room.

She smirks. "I love breaking the ones like you." She points towards the chair. Keeping my hateful gaze focused on her, I settle.

She clicks her gloved fingers and the other man in the room slowly walks over.

Similar garb and hairstyle but different height and face. He doesn’t speak, only straps me in, cuffing my hands and feet to the chair.

Vulnerable, I feel. He grabs my hair and pulls so that my scalp hurts. He lets it hang down from the chair. Invasive feelings, letting anyone touch my hair. If it hadn’t been for Amaia, my hair would have strangled him for trying to touch it roughly.

Ensuring I am unable to move, he steps back and lets the woman take her place again. She is now holding an instrument which appears like a crescent-shaped potato masher with a short handle. The difference is that this one is burning so hot that it’s turned almost white.

"Let’s begin. Get ready for the mark of humiliation," she says with a malicious grin which makes her lips curl up. My hair wants to reach out and spear her but they stay put, lifeless as ever.

Jamina had joked with me several times about this mark. She always said she would be the one to get it because she would want to protect an innocent magic user and end up losing her status as the Enforcer.

"You always take your job very seriously. If there was an award for the best enforcer, it would go to you," she would tease me.

All that remains now are her memories. If she could see me in this situation today, she would be proud that I protected the one I loved and threw away the useless title.

My mind keeps me in her memories while the woman presses that burning device on my forehead.

The pungent smell of my burning flesh assails my nostrils along with an unimaginable pain. But I don’t scream, and will never give satisfaction to the enemy.

Her face contorts in confusion seeing that her plan to make me cry out aloud is not working. She keeps pressing it into my forehead. In return, I observe her with hate-filled eyes.

The pain makes my body shake and arms strain against the cuffs yet I remain steadfast.

"You think you are so tough. Wait till everyone laughs at you." She finally takes away the device and I let out a shaky breath. A shudder goes through my body and then it relaxes like a burden has been lifted.

Placing the device aside, she grabs a pair of pearly white scissors from the table.

"Snip, snip!" She moves them in front of me, teasing me.

My breath comes out ragged, fighting through the physical pain, emotional is yet to come.

This is going to be hard. I can bear the physical pain but parting with my hair which has been such an integral part of me since I can remember is going to be devastating.

This time I close my eyes and just give in to the emotional pain. Letting myself feel...

Every snip I feel crippling me, draining my energy, an inner voice screaming in my head.

"Be strong!" Snow instructs.

The final cut falls on my hair and I lose myself in the storm of mourning that follows.

Amaia, it’s only for Amaia.