“Have you determined which one is the princess?” he asked. His gaze dragged over them like a butcher evaluating cuts of meat.
“Not yet,” Zaria replied.
He seized Lucy by the throat so quickly the torches flickered, examining her like livestock.
“Both have brown eyes and blonde hair,” he sneered. “One would think a princess would be easier to pick out. But both these girls are painfully mediocre.”
“I am not mediocre!” Lucy lunged and bit him—hard enough that Esther heard the crunch.
Pain flared across Esther’s chest—not from the slap, but from the fury surging through her. She strained instinctively against her chains, iron biting into her wrists.
Lucy did not cry.
She did not beg.
She bared her teeth and drew blood.
Pride bloomed sharp and dangerous in Esther’s heart. Whatever happened next, Lucy would not go quietly. Neither would she.
“You insolent pest!” he roared, striking her. The slap cracked through the chamber, the walls seeming to recoil.
“Your Majesty,” Zaria soothed, “leave them to me. I’ll send a messenger when I’ve broken them thoroughly.”
“Very well.” He rubbed the bite mark and cast one last contemptuous look. “Mediocre.”
The door slammed like a tomb, locks sliding into place with brutal finality. Silence settled—dense, icy, absolute.
Zaria remained facing the door, shoulders rising and falling in an irritated sigh, as though the king were the true burden.
Then she turned.
Her wicked grin brightened into something almost theatrically cruel.
“Well,” she said, clapping her hands, “now that it’s just us… we can have some fun, can’t we?”
Esther’s pulse thundered. Lucy growled.
“Oh, wonderful spirit,” Zaria cooed. “But we won’t have to resort to that.”
She cracked the door open again, peering out. Sparks hissed from the torches, briefly illuminating her thoughtful frown. Then she shut it gently.
The second it clicked, her entire act disintegrated.
The shift was abrupt, leaving Esther reeling. One moment, Zaria was a blade wrapped in silk. The next, she was frantic, focused—movements precise, nothing to do with cruelty. Her hands shook slightly as she inspected Esther, eyes darting not with hunger, but calculation.
This woman wasn’t unstable.
She was compartmentalized.
And that realization was somehow worse.
Monsters were predictable. People like this were not.
She darted to Esther, malice gone as if wiped clean.
“You’re not harmed, are you?” she whispered urgently.
“I told them not to be rough with you, but they electrocuted you. I’ll send them to the brig later.”
