The king did not dream peacefully either. Instead, he relived the ending of the evening. He revelled in the feel of Anna's waist beneath his hand, the sound of her skirts as he whisked her around the room, her laughter as they spun. The moment was shattered as the Kralahome informed them that Tuptim had been captured trying to escape. The schoolteacher's words and accusations once again pierced his ears and wounded his pride. Despite her arguments, he would do what should and must be done, whether or not she was present. Determined to show this extremely difficult woman that he was strong, a ruler, a true king, he held the whip in his hands, standing over the form of the girl held down by guards. "No!" he heard Anna shout, as he raised the whip above his head. This time, he brought it down and the loud crack echoed off the walls of marble. But it was not Tuptim who received the blow. On her knees above the girl was Anna, her skirts a large, lavender puddle around her, her arms thrown up to shield her face and head. His eyes widened in shock and horror as he raised his arm above his head once more. Anna lifted her head to look at him, a curl of auburn hair falling on her cheek, her face disbelieving and pleading. His heart broke as again he brought the whip down, his arm acting of it's own accord. The cry of pain that escaped from Anna's mouth as she collapsed into herself cut him to the core. His eyes filled with tears as he whipped her again and again and again, her sobs reverberating off the marble room, and all the while he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and tell her how incredibly sorry he was.

By the time his arm had ceased its repeating motions, Anna lay on the marble floor beneath him, surrounded by the fabric of her gown. Tuptim had disappeared, along with the guards. Dark red blood soaked through the beautiful lavender silk of her dress, staining the white porcelain of her bare shoulders. She did not move.