"I've the right to refuse, haven't I? The King's commutation of my whipping is an offer, not a command?"

"I've no idea, milady," the page stammered. "None have ever questioned it. What would I tell his Majesty?" he wondered aloud.

"You need tell me nothing, Page." Both knelt as the tall Sovereign strode powerfully into the cell. "You may refuse, but I'll know the reason why. The kingdom cheered six months ago when you were made our first woman knight. Having you flogged for retreat will make me look me look a fool to have put you there and a brute to abuse you so."

"With all due respect, Sire, you did not make me a woman knight, but a knight. Any knight who retreats uncommanded and unwounded must be whipped. If I am not, I fear that every man will look on me as a second-class servant. Some already do. Equal justice will show them you regard me as their equal."

"Considerations of state go beyond your private struggles. I do not wish to punish an officer who went to fight Ogres of her own free will, lest I discourage others."

She answered carefully. "My wisdom is in battle, not statecraft, but it seems to me that lack of punishment would show others they are right to fear the Ogres. A whipping shows that the King expects them to be fought and conquered."

"You are no coward," he said at last. "Why did you flee, child?"

"I was outnumbered five to one. In my pride, I went alone, without my escort. I could have stayed and fought, but the likelihood was I'd be maimed or killed, taking too few with me to make it worth the exchange. The logical answer was to flee and take my stripes. The cuts of the lash would heal in a week and I could fight again. I would get no such promise from the cuts of an Ogre's axe. From the time of your fathers' fathers it has been thus: no knight retreats without weighing the odds of the fight against the pain of the whip. It will be only ten lashes, because I was so outnumbered."

"Ten lashes will scar your back, and mar your beauty."

She laughed, but recovered herself to say, "I thank you, my Liege, but I am so covered with the marks of training and battle that ten lines across my shoulders will make no odds. No, if any man should love me, it will not be for my beauty."

The King sighed. "You may consider yourself no beauty, but whipped bare you would be a spectacle. A drape shall hang from your neck to cover your front but leave your back bare, and you shall wear a skirt."

She thought of the eyes of the town drunks and shuddered. "I thank you, my Lord."

"You are brave and intelligent, my child. This will take you far. God be with you; you shall be whipped at noon tomorrow."

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My kink is spanking. To me, a story about a whipping that leaves scars is edgy, even in a case like this where the recipient considers it to be the lesser of two evils.