It had been one of those rare summer nights in Scotland where the heat was unbearable. After leaving the castle where their master set up his bastardized version of a royal court, she longed for nothing more than a bottle of fire whiskey poured directly down her throat. A meeting had not gone well. Many of them were punished for their failures. She had only narrowly escaped the Dark Lord's wrath. He never liked to exact her punishments directly. Usually, if he felt that she deserved to be taught a lesson, he insisted that Antonin do it on his behalf. Perhaps that was where the boundaries in their marriage began to be skewed. How many husbands were expected to beat and punish their wives by the Lord they'd dedicated their lives to? Though certainly no excuse for Antonin's behavior in the privacy of their own home, it wasn't a stretch to imagine that the same force he used in front of their master would eventually find its way into their home.