The words come out steady despite the fire racing through my ribs. Rytha freezes mid-step, her amber eyes snapping to mine with predatory focus.
"He came to me." My voice grows stronger with each word, fed by something deeper than defiance. "Galthan chose me. Hewhispered my name under the open sky where your precious Harvest Goddess could hear every breath. Where she could witness every touch, every moment he claimed me as his own."
Rytha's face twists into something barely recognizable as she processes my words.
"I never forced him. Never tricked him with potions or spells or whatever fantasies you've conjured to explain why he doesn't want you." I taste copper and satisfaction in equal measure. "And I certainly never made myself desperate for him the way you throw yourself at his feet like a dog in heat."
She moves faster than I can track. Her fist connects with my chest like a boulder dropped from a great height. Something inside me snaps—not just breaks, but shatters with a sound I feel rather than hear. The breath leaves my lungs in a rush that tastes like iron and agony.
I crash to the stone floor, chains jangling as my body crumples. An involuntary cry tears from my throat, raw and animal, echoing off the walls. Fire spreads through my ribs with each desperate attempt to breathe, and darkness creeps at the edges of my vision.
"You think because some goddess marked your worthless skin that you matter?" Her voice drops to a whisper more terrifying than her screaming. "You think that makes you special?"
Rytha looms over me, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes like torchlight off a blade.
"You die tonight."
The words fall like stones into still water, final and absolute.
"And if he doesn't come to his senses… he will, too."
Her boots disappear from view as she strides toward the door, leaving me gasping on cold stone.
The heavy door slams shut with a finality that echoes through my bones. Darkness swallows the cell whole, broken only by thethin strip of torchlight bleeding under the door. Each breath sends lightning through my chest, and I taste blood with every exhale.
I close my eyes and whisper to the shadows, to the goddess who marked me for reasons I'll never understand.
"If this is your blessing, why does it feel like a curse?"
32
GALTHAN
The shackles cut deep enough to paint my wrists crimson, but the pain means nothing compared to the rage burning through my chest like molten iron. They drag me across stone that scrapes against my knees, past torches that cast dancing shadows on walls carved with the history of both our clans. Warriors I once called brothers avoid my gaze as the guards haul me toward the council chamber.
The great hall opens before us like the maw of some ancient beast. Carved pillars stretch toward a vaulted ceiling painted with scenes of conquest and glory—battles I helped win, enemies I helped break. Now I kneel in chains before the very leaders who once praised my blade.
The Vaskyr Chieftain sits on his carved throne like a mountain of scarred flesh and bitter authority. Beside him, my own clan elders perch on stone seats worn smooth by generations of judgment. Their faces carry the weight of disappointed fathers, of investments gone sour.
"Look at what our war hero has become," his voice rumbles through the chamber like distant thunder. "Reduced to rutting with slaves in the dirt like some feral beast."
My tusks ache from clenching my jaw, but I force myself to meet his gaze without flinching.
"The human manipulated him," Rytha steps from the shadows behind her father's throne, her amber eyes bright with vindicated fury. "Bewitched him with her false goddess marks and spread her legs until he forgot his duty."
"Enough." Elder Korrath of my own clan rises, his ancient bones creaking like old leather. "We've heard the accusations. The question is what we do about it."
"War." Rytha's father's fist crashes against the arm of his throne with enough force to crack stone. "This insult demands blood. Your 'hero' has dishonored my daughter, spat on our alliance, chosen a worthless human over the future of both our clans."
I keep my mouth shut. Speaking now would only make things worse for Thalia.
"Unless," the bastard continues, leaning forward with predatory interest, "the human burns publicly. Let everyone see what happens to slaves who forget their place. Execute her at dawn, and we can salvage this mess."
"Done." Elder Korrath waves a dismissive hand like he's swatting a fly. "She's a human, not a queen. One less mouth to feed."
My vision goes red around the edges. The shackles bite deeper as my muscles strain against the metal, every instinct screaming to tear these bastards apart with my bare hands.
"You can't be serious." The words tear from my throat before I can stop them.
