I hold the woman’s gaze.
Her brows pinch together, as if she’s trawling through my every word.
She opens her mouth to speak, but she stammers, tripping over herself.
“If I can just get out, get to your true king… I can fix this,” my voice rasps like steel over stone.
All three of the maids look at me desperately, like they want to believe me, to help me, to live differently.
But fear wins out.
“We don’t have long. Commander Vessira will be back and she’ll do to us what she did to you if we don’t have you ready in time,” Tura says apologetically.
This isn’t about getting dressed. It’s about the only chance I had—and it’s gone.
A sob rises in my throat, thick and fast.
But I push it so low it burrows down with the hope I’ve buried, too.
Hilda rinses my back with care and tenderness. A whimper escapes me at the sensation because despite myself, my mind conjures thoughts of Kael—of his touch at the inn in Galreth, and the way he handled me like I was sacred. Something holy.
And that sob crawls back up, insistent, unrelenting.
It wracks my body. My heart breaks and bleeds at once, carving an abyss into my very insides—a graveyard for the versions of myself who thought I could change the realms and unite Aevryn.
“Please, miss, I beg you,” Hilda starts, “we need to get you ready.” Her voice is compassionate and kind, but I don’t miss the urgent terror that stirs just beneath the surface.
I climb out of the bath, the lump in my throat heavy and thick. “What does Vessira have planned for my appearancetonight?” I ask Fern frostily, hoping the change of topic will distract my bleeding heart.
She looks down at her feet, apologetic, and says, “She’s requested your hair to be worn long and the dress has been selected and hung in the dressing room, miss.”
I give a wordless sound of acknowledgment, and wrap myself in a robe, making my way to the room where a single gown sways on the hanger. A gown with a high, choking neckline, long slender sleeves and a silhouette that will hug the full length of my body stares back at me. Black, of course, and bejeweled with gems that will make me glint like a chandelier.
And that’s when it hits me?—
She wants my scars covered.
Like a dirty little secret to be kept.
An unsullied, pure queen for Maldrak to treasure.
But that’s not me.
I am broken, bruised, and bleeding—the Queen of Dravara that he’ll never silence. I will not walk to my demise quietly. I will leave bite marks, gouge with my claws, and draw blood before I ever do what I’m fucking told by any man who believes women were made to be ruled.
I turn to the maids, shoulders pinned back, standing tall, defiance radiating off me. “I will not hide my scars for him,” I speak the words like law.
They may not be able to help me out of here, but I won’t submit.
No. I will not come to heel.
The maids don’t say anything, but I am unflinching.
I stand tall, refusing to shrink in a world that wants me to be less.Quiet.
“I won’t do it. You can refuse to help me dress in the way I want—tell Vessira I forced you to stand down. Or you can getme ready to dine with the false king who oppresses you,” I bite, defiance thrumming through my words.
Because I wasn’t born to appease men and play their silly games.I was born to rule them.
