Page 36

SILIA

When I arrive at the palace the following evening, I am met with the guards who patrol the main gates. The men all rush over to me as my body gives out and I slip off the horse. Luckily, they catch me just before I hit the ground.

“Thank you. Take me to the King, please. Ready our forces immediately.” I try to give out orders as I still struggle to stand up straight. A day’s worth of riding with no sleep, food, or water has caught up to me, and my dress is covered in mud, moss, and other forest remnants.

The guards carry me inside and take me to the map room, where Father is mulling over various documents at the head of the table. His eyes flick up as I’m carried into the room, and he jumps up from his chair. “Silia! What are you doing here? You should be in Daqet!”

Father runs over to us, stunned and gesturing frantically for the guards to put me down. “What happened?”

Before I answer him, I need to tell him about the army. “Father, you need to send a fleet to Daqet immediately. Erebus has taken Diana for good this time. He took all of us as prisoners. I barely escaped so I could warn you.” I collapse in the chair closest to me and try to avoid passing out mid-sentence.

“Where is Captain Survale? I can have him ready the men by the hour.” He looks behind me to the door, fully expecting Rein to trail in behind me.

Unexpected tears roll down my face as I look up to face the man who was like a father to Rein. “He’s gone, Father. Erebus strung his corpse up like a painting in the middle of his ballroom.”

I leave out the bit that Diana was the one to kill him. He is dead either way, and there’s no need to muck up father’s perfect image of her.

He gives a solemn nod, his eyes beginning to gloss over just as much as mine. “My poor boy. He will be remembered fondly.”

I reach my hand out to him, taking his in mine and giving them a light squeeze. This seems to break him away from his thoughts enough to realize the danger we all face.

“Here.” He moves to the weapons wall and brings down the official sword of ceremonies. The last time it had been used was when I’d sworn Rein in as Captain of the Guard. Painful memories return as Father takes the hilt of the sword in his right hand, raises it vertically in front of his face, and approaches me.

I already know what’s happening before he even opens his mouth. I know this ritual like the back of my hand. Father has been preparing me for this all my life.

I weakly rise from my chair and kneel in front of him, tucking my head to my chest. My vision goes fuzzy for a second, and I have to grip the chair to my right for support so I don’t fall over. I feel as though my heart is breaking all over again. Only one year ago, I was in my father's position and Rein was in mine.

He clears his throat and looks down at me, tilting his head in question. “Ready?”

Breathless and utterly exhausted, I answer, “Yes.”

“Silia Hecate Goylstm, do you swear to the Kingdom of Eza that your loyalty to the Crown will never waver?”

“I swear it.”

“Do you swear to uphold the duties and responsibilities of Captain of the Guard without question, until your final living day on this earth?”

A single tear rushes from my eye and seeps into the dry, cracked wood of the floor. “I swear it.”

“Do you swear to obey any and all orders given to you by the king or any member of the royal bloodline?”

“I swear it.”

Father then slowly lowers the sword to my right shoulder, inhaling deeply before beginning again. “I hereby bestow the role of Captain of the Guard to you, Silia Hecate Goylstm.” He then drifts the sword above and over my head and places it on my left shoulder. “May you serve the kingdom well and without faltering.”

As soon as the last word leaves his mouth, a burning sensation sparks in my chest, and I grip the chair tighter. The fragile skin sheltering my heart burns as the kingdom crest of Eza materializes on the irritated flesh.

“For the great country of Eza, I shall serve it well and without faltering.”

I can’t stop the tears that flow from me this time. Once the brand has fully appeared and I whisper the final words of the ceremony, I collapse to the ground, my head gently striking the wood beneath me.

“Silia, you have duties to attend to. There are no more moments to spare thinking about the past.” Father gently lifts me from the floor and stands me on my feet. Loud sobs escape from my lips as I stare into his ice-blue eyes. This is it. I’ve officially broken.

“ Please … I am so tired.” These five words barely make it out of my mouth as I slump against my father. I have allowed myself to bottle up my emotions long enough. I just need a few minutes to get them all out.

“I know my sweet, but it’s for the best. Focusing too much on the past can cause you to miss out on the future.”

He pulls me into a warm embrace, and despite what he says, I let a few more tears escape onto his robe. He glides his fingers through my hair as I sniffle and pull away. An apologetic look crosses his face as he wipes away the last remaining tears from my flushed cheeks.

“Your uniform is in the armory, along with the weapons I had specially made for you.” He smiles, trying to lighten the mood, and he kisses my temple. “Go and prepare, Silia. You have an army to lead.”

Before heading to the armory, I stop by my room first, wanting to quickly wash myself before changing into my armor. My body is sticky with sweat and sap from the tree branches I rode past on the ride here, and I need to clean my new brand. The burn is still fresh, and the last thing I need is for it to get infected.

I walk into my bathroom and grab a cloth from the cupboard under the sink, then soak it in hot water. I lay the cloth out to cool off and start to strip off my dress, when a pile of clothing on the floor stops me mid-motion. One of Lars’s tunics lies crumpled next to the tub, exactly where I had last left it.

Memories of me in the bath while Lars sat on the edge and washed my hair stab at my subconscious like an arrow to the head. I move to pick up the clothes as my father’s words echo in my mind.

Focusing too much on the past can cause you to miss out on the future.

Lars is not my future. He is my past.

My hand is mere inches from the tunic when another idea pops into my head. I focus my mind and incinerate the clothing with my green flame. Without a second thought, I rip my dress off, leaving myself in my underclothes as I stomp out of the bathroom. I know there are more of his belongings in here.

A pair of trousers neatly folded on my dresser.

Incinerate.

Underwear and socks that lie on the floor at the foot of my bed.

Incinerate.

My head throbs as I find the letters and notes he would pass to me when we were supposed to be paying attention during briefings.

Incinerate.

I do this at least a dozen more times, until my room is covered in ash and my mind is a spinning mess.

Chest heaving, I back up to the bathroom door and survey the destruction. I’d incinerated my entire dresser, my bed, and my desk. Even the small footstool at the end of my bed has been reduced to a pile of soot.

He is a liar, a manipulator. He is nothing to me.

I gave him one last chance, one chance more than he deserved, and he had said nothing, did nothing. He didn’t even show me a bit of humility by saying no. Simply… nothing . Fury boils in my veins once again, and I incinerate a few more items until my anger cools off.

Feeling slightly less manic, I return to the bathroom sink and wash myself with the now ice-cold cloth. I have an army to lead and a sister to save. Petty romances have no room to blossom in a dark time such as this.

I finish cleaning myself, swing open the doors to my wardrobe, and pull out my old training leathers. I slide on the trousers and tuck the tunic into my waistband, pulling out a pair of black boots and lacing them up.

I slouch in front of my vanity mirror, parting my hair down the center to fix the sections into two braids. I stop sectioning and stare at my reflection for a moment. I take in every new frown line, the twin dark purple half-moons under my eyes, the harsh lines of my new permanent scowl, and then my gaze flicks to my hair. My face has changed almost entirely in just a few weeks, looking fiercer and more aged. Everything about my current state has shaped into a woman I almost do not recognize, except for my hair.

Focusing too much on the past can cause you to miss out on the future.

I summon flames to my fingertips, then extinguish them just enough to keep my fingers as hot as a chunk of coal while not having an active flame. I close the right section of my hair in my fist and slash my heated fingers through it, then repeat the motion with the left section. Two huge swaths of hair fall to the floor, signifying the death of the woman who’d last sat in this chair.

Staring back at me in the mirror is the woman I’ve been looking for. Someone who no longer cowers, someone who doesn’t let love stand between her and her duty. Silia Hecate Goylstm, Princess of the Kingdom of Eza and Captain of the Royal Guard.

A woman whose silver hair now falls to just below her chin.

With my newfound confidence, I run to the armory and gaze at the glass case that houses my armor. The armor had been custom-made for me when I had intended to take this position a year ago. It has been left here, untouched and collecting dust ever since. I run my fingers down the glass as I stare at the silver metal, glistening from the sun peeking in through the windows. This won’t do.

I open the case and rip the armor from its hooks, throwing it to the stone floor. I summon my flames once again and hold a steady stream to the uniform. The metal glows a deep red as I move my hands up and down, making sure to reach every crevice. I’m not accustomed to the prolonged use of my gift. I can feel the sweat bead on my forehead as I furrow my brows and grit my teeth in concentration. After a few minutes, I kick the armor, flipping it to the other side, and I direct my flames up and down the rest of the way.

I pace the room until the metal has cooled off enough to wear, then begin to don the uniform. I slip the cuisses and greaves on my shins and thighs, then the breastplate for my back and chest. I decide to discard the rest of the metal for my feet, arms, and hands. The long sleeves of my training leathers cover my arms enough, and I’ll need my hands free of metal in case I need to use my gift. I still slip on the leather gloves that are meant to go under the gauntlets.

Lastly, I take the helmet in my hands. The design is made for me to easily maneuver, while still keeping the head protected. It has one long horizontal slit, no wider than two inches, that runs across the front at eye level and a flap that fully covers the rest of the face, but can be opened and closed. Fear and anxiety at the prospect I’m not good enough for this role wrap my gut in a tight squeeze. I wonder if this is how Rein felt when he saw his uniform for the first time.

Blowing out a heavy breath, I don the helmet and take in the sight of myself in the full-length mirror. Over the past year, never did I think I would have the ability to wear this armor. It feels stiff, but oddly comforting. The once-silver metal has now been heated to a dark black, almost purple shade. Perfect.

Just as I reach for my sword and daggers, a boom sounds, echoing loudly through the halls and shaking the palace walls. What the fuck was that?

I quickly secure leather dagger sheaths to my arms—three slots for each side— grab my long sword, and then race for the palace doors.

Staff run around the halls in chaos, nearly colliding with me at every turn. I spot Hila among the crowd and call out to her from across the foyer. “Hila, what is happening?”

She turns back, eyes wide and frantic. “Your Highness, we are under attack!” She is pushing all the staff into various rooms and closets, trying to hide them away. I rush down the hall and throw open the main entry doors.

What greets me on the other side is something close to one hundred men, along with a catapult, emerging from the tree line and onto our grounds. As I squint my eyes further, trying to make out any details, I spot a familiar fool atop a horse leading the army.

I mean to run back inside to gather my men, but out of the corner of my eye, I see them already spilling out from behind the palace. They all line into rows in the grass at the bottom of the stairs and wait patiently for me to give them orders.

My first orders as captain.

I turn to face them and thrust my sword high in the air, then raise the flap to my helmet. I want them all to see my face. “Men, I am your new captain, and I thank you for your loyalty to our kingdom. That army behind you is responsible for the death of Captain Rein Survale. For him, we fight hard and win.”

A few gasps sound as they realize it’s not Rein behind the helmet but their princess. Quickly following their shocked expressions, waves of chants and cheering sound from the men as I prepare to send them to battle. This should be an easy one, since my force looks double the size of Daqet’s.

I lower the visor to my helmet and jerk my sword up once more. “For the Kingdom, for Rein! Bring down the swift sword of justice in their honor!”

These men have already been training for longer than I have been alive. I have no cause to tell them how to fight or bore them with a strategy plan. It is engraved in their bones to fight and win.

They break into pre-planned groups and run straight towards Daqet’s army. One of the men escorts a horse to me as I descend the stairs. I immediately jump from the last step, slipping my foot into the stirrup of the saddle and swinging my other leg over. As I scan the battlefield, Daqet’s army seems to be sporadic and random. Some men scatter around the grounds, running back into the forest, and some look around aimlessly. A very select few match the pace of my men.

It occurs to me Erebus may not have just sent his own trained army, but forced innocent civilians to fight alongside them. Nausea bubbles deep in my stomach as I realize we may be killing innocents today. I snap my horse’s reins and shout as loud as I can, trying to close the distance between myself and my army that has already taken off down the lawn. “There are innocents! Only fight the skilled!”

I get a few compliant answers in response, but many of them don’t seem to hear me. I take a hard right turn and head to the biggest threat on the field right now—the catapult. If I can disable it, it would make it much easier for my men to fight without the looming possibility of being crushed by a giant boulder.

My horse sprints past the front lines, galloping at full speed to reach Eza’s army. I spot Lars on his horse, and he brings it to a halt a few yards ahead of me, watching as I race past him. With my armor on, there’s a possibility he doesn’t know it’s me, but I feel that familiar tug on the invisible string as he follows me anyway. I gain speed on him as I reach the catapult, and the five men operating it begin to swing their swords at me.

Skilled. Good .

From the back of my horse, I circle the men a few times, dodging their attempted attacks. One of the taller men swings his sword up, just grazing the side of my helmet. The clashing of metal rings painfully in my ear as I dodge the next swing of his sword. In return for his first strike, I just swing my sword to chest height and slice his head clean off his body. One of Rein’s signature moves, I supposed.

My first kill.

About fifteen feet in front of me, one of the four men left takes out a bow and draws back an iron-tipped arrow. I raise my sword and brace for the arrow, but before he can let it fly, Lars’s horse comes racing past me, and he pierces the man straight through the chest, heaving his body up with his sword, then escapes into the woods. I use this distraction to run another lap around the catapult and sheathe my sword at my back.

Two more left.

I rip a dagger from its slot on my left arm and hurl it at one of the shorter men. The dagger finds purchase right between his eyes, and he falls to the ground with a sickening thud. There’s something so invigorating about putting my fighting skills to practical use. I could get used to this.

Before I can draw my sword again, the final man runs from behind one of the catapult beams and drives a dagger right through the ribs of my horse, narrowly missing my foot.

Final target.

My horse bucks back and forth, bleeding heavily from the wound on its side. I can’t gain control of the animal before it rams into the frame of the catapult and sends me flying onto the ground. I hear a chilling crack as my right shoulder slams into the earth. Pain radiates instantly as I fear my arm may be dislocated. I don’t have a moment to collect myself—I see the man finish loading up the catapult, reaching for the restraining rope to launch it. I push myself off the ground, unsheathe another dagger, and make a run for the contraption. My vision blurs with black specks as I push through the pain with every bit of strength I have.

I make it just in time to jump between him and the bucket and kick him to the ground. I climb into the receptacle and cut the rope connecting the arm to the cantilever spring in half, rendering the catapult useless.

I huff a laugh to myself and hop out of the basket, watching the man on the ground skitter back, frightened. I slowly stalk towards him, suddenly feeling in the mood to play with my kill a little bit. I throw the dagger to the ground and unsheathe the sword at my back, tossing it around in my hand. The weight of the hilt is surprisingly light, and I mentally thank my father for having my weapons custom-made. I don’t know if I could handle the full weight of a longsword with my arm half out of its socket at the moment.

“No, sir, please. I’m not a knight!” The man beneath me slides back on his hand and heels until he connects with the trunk of a tree.

Not a knight…innocent. The high of my previous kills still flows strong through my body, and I groan in disappointment that I can't kill this man.

“Who are you?” I ask in a calm, yet firm tone. The man holds his hands up in surrender and lowers his head, visibly shaking at the sight of a blood-splattered grim reaper heading his way.

“I’m from Morgana. I was at an event hosted in Daqet when I was suddenly told I needed to fight alongside its army.” He takes his helmet off and throws it at my feet.

Tan skin, brown hair, and that familiar mustache curled at the ends. This man is Rein’s father.

I drop to my knees in front of him and lift my visor. “Sir, what is your name?” The man, still shaking, looks shocked as his eyes lock with mine. He must remember me from the ball.

“Peter, Peter Survale. As I said, I have no place in this war.”

I grab his trembling hand in mine and offer him a way out. “My name is Silia Goylstm, I knew your son well. He grew up here with me.” The man stops shaking as tears flood his eyes.

“You need to run far away from here. I do not mean to harm you, Peter, but you need to run until you make it back to Morgana and never come back.”

Peter squeezes my hand in return and rises to his feet. I slam my visor back down and shove him into the dense trees.

“I will not forget this, Silia Goylstm. The Survale family and the country of Morgana thank you for your act of kindness.” I watch him as he takes off into the tree line, until he turns into nothing but a speck on the horizon.

I utilize this brief respite in fighting to pop my shoulder back into place. My body is so numb with adrenaline that I barely register the pain as my bones correct themselves.

Sounds of metal clashing and gurgled screams reverberate through the field behind me as I pick up my sword off the ground and run back to my horse. But by the time I return, it’s too late. The torso of the animal is no longer rising and falling as it lies in a pool of its own blood. I silently say a prayer to Odenar for the safe passage of this poor animal’s soul as I think about my next steps.

As I finish my prayer, Lars comes riding back into view, and I raise my sword high, aiming the tip at his chest. He pulls the reins on his horse, causing it to come to a skidding halt.

“Sir, please. I do not want to harm your men. I only wish to come to an agreement.”

So, he really doesn’t know it’s me. Outstanding .

Without a word, I swing my sword, aiming for his head, but he leans back just in time for me to only cut a tear in his fighting leathers. I realize he is the only one on this entire field not wearing metal armor. He must have a death wish.

He jumps off his horse and pulls a dagger from the sheath on the front of his chest. His pathetic choice of weapon almost sends me into a fit of laughter.

I raise my sword again and charge at him. He vanishes and appears four feet to my right, then flicks his wrist at my hand. One moment, I’m holding the hilt of my long sword, and the next moment, a fork appears between my fingers. What in the ever-loving Hel is happening? Did he just change my weapon into a fork?

“Sir, if you would please—” Lars speaks up again, but before I can even blink, I’m being tackled to the ground. The breath is knocked from my lungs as a knight from Daqet straddles me and pulls an axe from behind his back. I have just enough time to raise my head and headbutt him with my helmet. He lets out a laugh, drops his axe and rips off his helmet, then slams it down on my arm.

“You’re pathetic. Have you ever fought a day in your life?”

I hiss in pain as I headbutt him again. This time, my metal connects with his skull, and I send him flying back. I skitter to my feet and grab his axe from the ground. I can only manage to raise it a few inches before the man sweeps my feet from under me and I land on the grass next to him. He pushes himself up and gets to his feet, swiping two of my daggers in the process and leaving me with only one left.

He’s much faster than me, stronger than me. I don’t have the height advantage on him without my horse. I need to get him back on the ground.

I take out my last dagger and aim it at his arm. It connects with his shoulder, but he doesn’t go down. He just smiles and rips it from his flesh, then tosses it behind him.

“You fight like a fucking woman.”

He doesn’t get one step closer before Lars picks up the discarded axe and cuts clean through his abdomen. I look away as a gurgling noise vibrates in my skull, eerily similar to the one that came from Rein.

The sound of a bone snapping silences the gurgling, and I feel bile rise in the back of my throat. I swallow it back down as a pair of black boots appear in my field of view.

Lars drops the bloody axe to the ground and bends down. “Are you all right? Do you need a healer?” He takes my injured arm in his, and I pull away. Wicked flashes of pain radiate from my shoulder, and I cry out in agony. The adrenaline must be wearing off.

Lars drops his hands, and I watch as his eyes wholly blacken, then flicker with rage. He reaches up, tears my helmet off, and then tosses it away with such force that I feel the breeze flow through my freshly cut hair.

“Silia, what the fuck are you doing out here?”

I spit at his feet as a month’s worth of rage unleashes. “How dare you lead an army to my people, who haven’t seen the face of war in over fifty years! And dragging along innocents with you? Did you know Rein’s father was among those men? I let him go before anyone else could get to him!” I rise to my feet and kick Lars in the shoulder, so that his back is on the ground. “You are a selfish bastard, Lars Dolos.”

“Silia, I am not here to slaughter your men, I came here to see you. To take you up on your offer. Let’s leave here.” Lars pushes to his feet and closes the distance between us, gripping my hands in his. “Let’s run far, far away and start over. We can have a new life, just us. No Erebus, no prophecy, no more lies.”

His chest rises and falls rapidly, and he swallows hard before continuing. “My heart is not my own anymore, you have held it hostage since the moment I first laid eyes on you. I love you with every bone, every breath, and every particle of my being. Please, Silia, I want to leave all this behind. I want to leave with you .”

I let a moment pass before I speak to him, letting him simmer in the same silence he had afforded me at the ball. Narrowing my gaze, I rise on my tiptoes just enough so my mouth is flush with his ear. “Too. Fucking. Late.”

But it’s not too late.

My heart tries to reason with my brain as I stand there staring at the man I once loved. It isn’t too late. We could leave everything and everyone we’ve known to find a place uninhabited by our past.

The dream of us tangled in those red sheets with matching wedding bands dares to make its way to the surface.

Liar .

I yank my hands from his and storm back to my horse, rip through the pack strapped to its side, and pull out a set of handcuffs. I unlock them and stride back to Lars. Before he can ask what I’m doing, I slap them on his wrists and pull the chains connecting the cuffs tight.

“You will never hurt me again, Lars. We don’t live in a damn fairytale. Running away is not an option anymore. All these deaths will not be in vain just because you want to be selfish.”

He doesn’t put up a fight; he just stares at me. No shock, no anger, just acceptance.

“Your hair looks beautiful.”

I don’t know what it is about that comment that sends me off the edge, but before I know it, I’m cocking back my fist and punching him square in the jaw. His head jerks to the side, and a trail of blood dribbles down his chin from the split lip.

“Keep your fucking comments to yourself.”

I turn to head back to the palace, and I notice my discarded fork on the ground. “Change it back.”

Lars eyes me with confusion. “Change what back?”

I huff and kick him in the shin. “The fork. Change it back, now.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” He only looks at the object for a split second, and it magically reshapes into my longsword.

“I believe thanks are in order.” He pops a hip and rolls his neck as if he were partaking in a friendly conversation. The fact that I have him handcuffed in the middle of a battlefield and I had just rejected his offer to run away with him must have slipped his tiny mind.

“A thank you is the last thing on the list of words I want to say to you.” I pick up my weapon, then return it to its holding place on my back.

“Ah, so it's not an improbable scenario?”

“Lars, please shut the fuck up.” I pull on the chain and guide him away from the catapult, back towards the palace. The battle cries have subsided on the field as I take in the scene around me. Bodies belonging to both kingdoms litter the lawn, but the only surviving knights are Eza’s. I can mourn the losses later. I need to deal with the present situation.

We’re halfway through the field when Lars pulls back on the chain, but not enough for me to lose my grip on him. He could have pulled himself free, but he chose not to. He could also transform the cuffs into anything he wanted, yet he doesn’t. He’s letting me imprison him and drag him around.

“That man on the ground, Tarron, has a letter for you. It should be in his satchel.” I stare down at the body of the goblin that had led me to my room the night I arrived at Daqet. A spear sticks out from his chest, and the smell of fresh blood slithers into my nose. I reach down and rummage through his bag until I find a rough envelope.

“If you make any moves to run, I’ll gut you right where you stand.” I eye Lars before I let go of his cuffs to open the letter.

“You promise?” A sly grin appears on his face, a stark contrast to the solemn pile of dead bodies behind him. Leave it to Lars to joke at an unforgivable time like this.

I roll my eyes and open the letter.

Silia,

I’ll make this short and sweet. I have your sister and her lover imprisoned in the below. Meet me at your mother’s estate by the river, and I will see to it they are unharmed. If you do not arrive by midnight—you know what happens next.

Yours truly,

Erebus

Short and sweet it was. No reminiscing on the past like the letter he’d written to Diana.

“What does it say?” Lars peers over my shoulder as I crumple the letter and then toss it to the ground.

“I need to meet Erebus in a few hours at my mother’s old estate, or else he’ll kill Diana and Odious.” I don’t know why I’m suddenly confiding in him. I guess it makes no difference if he knows my next move or not. He’ll be rotting in my prison for the foreseeable future.

“Silia, you can’t truly believe him. He’ll kill Diana anyway! He needs something from you .”

“ You don’t get to tell me what to do. Shut it.” I tug on his chains again, then lead him through the rest of the field to the palace steps.

One of my men comes rushing up to me, ready to take Lars off my hands, “Captain, will he be taken prisoner? I can escort him to the dungeon. We await your next order.” I turn to the man. His helmet has been removed, and blood splatter covers his young face.

“No, I will see to it myself. Tell the rest of the men to gather the bodies and ready them for a sendoff. We will burn them when I return.” It’s a tradition in Eza to burn the dead. It’s said that if they face the flames in the physical world, they won’t face the eternal flame of Hel in the afterlife.

The young man nods, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad to see you’re all right, Your Highness.” A blush appears on his cheeks as a low growl sounds from behind me. Lars was literally growling like a rabid animal.

I ignore Lars and bow my head in thanks to the young knight. “That will be all, thank you.” He awkwardly looks between Lars and me, then removes his hand and races back off the group of men in the middle of the field.

“Captain? Is that why you’re out here?” Lars speaks up as I guide him up the stairs.

“With Rein now dead, I was next in line. Got a brand to prove it, in case you think I’m lying .” I don’t dignify him with a glance as I answer him. He just hums in understanding as I lead him through the palace doors and down to the prison.

“Listen to me!” Lars pleads, practically begging. “Please, he will not release Diana. There are things you do not know.”

I fasten his cuffs to the ring attached to the wall. My fingers gently brush against his wrist, and the realization hits that this may be the last time I’ll ever feel his skin against mine.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” I spit back at him, disgust overtaking me. “This is my last chance to save her, and I’m taking it. You took her away from me, and I’m getting her back.”

I step away from the wall and stare down at him. As I look into his hazel eyes, I swear I can see genuine longing in them. But my common sense tells me it’s not genuine. It’s just another facade. He tries to rise to his knees, but then slumps back down to the cold floor, defeat replacing the last spark of hope he had in his eyes. My chest tightens at the sight of him like this. I’ve never seen him so…hopeless. No sly smile, no quipping remarks or wink.

“Silia, please, I know you have no reason to trust me, but you must believe me now. He’s not a man who strikes deals. He’ll take everything from you, like he did to me.” His outstretched hands seem pleading, but he would not find sympathy here anymore.

“No Lars, you have taken everything from me. You have spoken nothing but lies since the day we met, and I will never believe a word from your mouth again. Actions speak louder than words, and on every occasion, you have let me down.” I’m in utter disbelief. Now, he’s trying to reconcile? I had already given him one chance, and I would not be giving him another.

“Pity the fool, Silia. He does not know any better.”

I shake the voice in my head away as I turn to leave him here to rot. His fingertips reach for my ankle and stop me in my tracks. His rough fingers lightly graze my skin, then fiddle with the leather lace of my boot. He’s nervous. He’s acting as if this would be the last time he would ever see me, and he’s right. If I can help it, it will be.

“Please.” Lars breathes out one last time, his voice barely above a whisper.

With my back to him and his fingers brushing against me, I slowly turn my head to look at him over my shoulder. “I will not listen to another word from you. You say you love me, but you signed my death the moment you stepped foot in my palace. You kidnapped Diana and sent her to Daqet, knowing exactly what would happen to her. You even led me straight there to be imprisoned, and now Rein is dead. The only person I could depend on in this whole realm is dead .”

I swipe at the pathetic tears that escape my eyes. “And I suppose the love I once had for you is dead as well.”

Lars’s eyes widen in shock at my confession. I don’t know why. Surely, he knew I loved him. All the nights we spent together, wrapped in each other's arms…I wouldn’t do that with just anyone. Although at this moment, I would rather share my bed with a complete stranger than him.

“Silia, I love you. I am right here, please. I know you still love me. Let me explain. Please don’t go to him.”

“You dare to beg for anything from me? To what end? For your freedom? My forgiveness? My love ? You made me look like a fool, made me feel like I was going crazy!” I scoff as if it’s a request from the devil himself.

I give a deep sigh and turn to face him fully. “You need to let me go. Whatever you thought you could get out of me, you won’t, and you never will. You do not deserve a happy ending.”

He physically recoils at my words, and as if signaling his defeat, he releases my ankle and bows his head in submission. “I know you feel like the fool, but I have been blessed by my God to always be the fool in the end.” He looks back up at me, pupils retracted enough that I can watch as the once-golden flecks in his eyes all die out. “I hope I shall see you again, Little Flame.”

It's only now I realize he would not put up a fight. He, in fact, is not pleading for his freedom or anything of the sort. He would let me walk away and allow himself to face any punishment I see fit.

Guilt paralyzes me for a moment, and then washes away once I recall who had led us to this prison cell in the first place— him . Everything circles back to him.

As I turn back to leave the cold, dark cell, I hear that feminine voice in my head once more.

“Listen to him. He will guide you.”

I whip around and scream at Lars with all the rage I can summon. “Do not speak into my mind! Let me walk away with the one shred of dignity I have left. I will not allow you to embarrass or trick me ever again.”

“Silia, it’s not me. I’m not speaking to you.”

As I turn back to him, I find him still slumped on the floor, his eyebrows knit in confusion, and with fresh tears welling in his eyes. Everything in me is screaming to leave him alone and end his suffering. But before I can think, I’m already striding towards him, stopping in front of his kneeling body and reaching down to grab his face with one hand.

“ Never speak to me again, in my mind or otherwise,” I growl at him, nails digging deep into his cheek. I feel that familiar scar on his jaw press against my fingertips as I grip harder. It’s a raised patch of skin I have caressed more times than I can count.

I release my grip and throw his head back on instinct, “You play the role of your God very well. I am sure he’s immensely pleased with you.”

I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.

I shake my head, banishing any positive thoughts I ever had of Lars, and without another glance behind me, I begin my ascent to the prison exit.