A blur—a gust of wind—and suddenly, Max stood before them, chest heaving as though he’d crossed a thousand miles in a heartbeat. The room froze, every eye locked on the prince, his fury crackling like live electricity. Sin cursed herself for speaking—had that given her away? She should be relieved that he might be her saving grace, but all she could feel was guilt for the pain he would feel when they executed her. The king had already passed the sentence.
“It’s you,” Max breathed, his voice trembling. The disbelief in his tone made her heart constrict painfully. How had he known?
Her breath hitched when she saw his eyes. Snake-like. Scales rippled briefly across his skin, shimmering dangerously before fading.
“Who.” It wasn’t a question. The air around him seemed to bend with his rising anger, the light flickering unnaturally as though reality itself was warping under the pressure of his rage. It was like watching a storm gather strength, dark clouds closing in, ready to unleash devastation.
She didn’t answer, her lips quivering in dread, but she could see the moment his restraint shattered.
“WHO DID THIS TO YOU!?” The words tore from him like a thunderclap, shaking the room. Several people flinched at the raw power in his voice, the courtiers shrinking back as his anger filled every inch of the throne room.
Sin felt overwhelmed by his anger, her nerves fraying. She managed to croak out, “The ones I killed.”
Max’s jaw dropped slightly, and for a brief moment, the pupils of his eyes seemed to tremble—like the rage inside him was barely contained, ready to erupt. His chest heaved, and his fists unclenched only to clench again, struggling to hold back the maelstrom building within him.
“Get yourfuckinghands off her,” Max snarled, turning his rage on the guards restraining her, but they didn’t release their hold. Royal decrees held more weight than the wrath of a prince.
Max whirled toward his father, his voice a low, dangerous growl as he declared, “She is my mate.” His words brimming with deadly intent. “I demand she be released and healed immediately.”
The room went silent, every eye darting between father and son. The king remained seated on his throne, his face a mask of authority and power, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.
The king sighed heavily, finally rising from his throne. His tall, regal figure cast a long, ominous shadow over the room. His eyes moved slowly—from Max, to Sin, to the audience—his gaze calculating, observing their reactions with cold detachment before he spoke. “My son, you are promised to another.”
The words hit the room like an avalanche, and Max’s body visibly tensed, his fists shaking at his sides. But the king pressed on, his tone firm. “Even if we healed her and allowed her to live, you cannot marry her.”
“She is my mate!” Max’s voice was a thunderous roar now, a desperate, furious cry that sent a shockwave through the room. The air seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his emotions, and even the courtiers shrank back in fear. The air itself seemed to hum with his fury, and for a heartbeat, Sin could feel something almost like hope—something that might protect her from the dark promise in the king’s eyes.
“And we are on the verge of war!” the king thundered back, his patience wearing thin. His voice was edged with finality, each word a blow that struck deeper and deeper into Sin’s heart. “You are promised to the Princess of Veitrath, and you will marry her to secure the alliance we need. That is a duty you cannot escape.”
The King stood at the center of the dais, a towering figure of regal authority. But unlike his son, Max, there was a weight to him—both literal and figurative—that spoke of years of excess and power unchecked.
Max’s whole body trembled, every muscle coiled tight with rage and anguish. His chest heaved as he struggled to keep control, but it was clear that he was on the verge of losing it. His emerald eyes—now burned with raw, untamed fury.
The king, seeing that Max was teetering on the edge, offered a cruel compromise. His voice softened, almost as if offering an olive branch, though the thorns were still sharp. “However,” he said, his tone deliberate, “I will make one exception.”
Max froze, his eyes narrowing on his father as if clinging to the faintest shred of hope.
The king’s gaze shifted to Sin, and for a brief moment, she could see the calculation behind his eyes, the cold logic of a ruler who would sacrifice anything to maintain his kingdom’s stability. “I will allow her to live under one condition.”
Sin’s heart pounded in her chest as the king’s gaze bore into her. There was no mercy in his eyes, no hint of kindness—only a cruel pragmatism that made her blood run cold.
“She is to be your slave,” the king continued, his words biting into the air like shards of ice. “She will work in the castle for the rest of her days, but she is not to ever be your wife. And the minute I find out she is causing problems between you and the princess…” He paused, his voice lowering ominously. “She’s dead.”
The king’s words hung like a death sentence—final, sharp as a blade to the throat. The weight of it crashed over Sin, crushing any last ember of hope or defiance. This was worse than death. She would be reduced to nothing—just an object, a possession, something to be used and discarded at the whims of the court.
In that moment, Sin thought of death—her only escape. It would be her last act of rebellion, something they couldn’t take from her.
Max turned sharply back to face her, his gaze fierce and unwavering. He stepped closer, his voice low and rough, as though he could hear her thoughts—knew exactly what she was planning. “That isnotan option.”
Sin’s breath caught in her throat as she croaked, “It’s my life.”
“No, Sin,” he said, voice breaking with sorrow. “Your life belongs to me now.”
II
Ignis
Sin
