Micah was seated on her bed, a book cradled in her hand. The cool night breeze drifted in, stirring some strands of her hair and the pages of the book before her.
The candlestands in the chamber flickered softly, casting golden ripples across her face. Her eyes were fixed on the open book, yet her mind had wandered, lost somewhere between memory and thoughts.
Her eyes twitched as the memory of Selena's horrified expression replayed in her mind.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake off the image—the cold, piercing hatred that had burned in that woman's eyes was louder than any words that were spoken.
The queen dowager, Selena, has never had any reason to like her, but now, she definitely has a reason to despise Micah.
After months without a single person to call a friend, she now has an enemy, simply detestable.
The chamber was serene; the only sound Micah could hear was the thumping of her own heartbeat.
Then suddenly—
The door creaked open with a slight bang!
Ragaleon stepped in, his nightgown swirling behind him, his feet thudding heavily against the marble floor.
Mica flinched, startled from her reverie. Her eyes lifted slowly; when she saw it was him, her breath seized for a moment, and she quickly put the book in her hand away, her eyes not breaking away.
Slowly, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her silk nightgown brushing lightly against her ankles as she climbed down.
The air in the room felt heavy, thick with something she couldn't name. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers clutching the carved post of the bed.
She didn't know what to do. Her mind raced, but her body refused to move. It was as if fear itself had rooted her to the spot.
This was the first time in many months he stepped into her chamber; she would have been reveling, but she knew nothing good would come out of this visit.
Now he stood there, uninvited, his shadow spilling across the room.
The torches by the doorway flickered, throwing uneven light on his face. There was a strange leer in his eyes, one that sent a shiver crawling down her spine.
She had seen him angry before, seen him cold and distant—but never like this.
Her throat went dry.
"My lord…" she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ragaleon didn't answer. His gaze traveled slowly around the room, then back to her.
The silence stretched on, unbearable.
Unsure of what to do, she took a small step back, then steadied herself, yet her heart pounded against her ribs.
"If only you would listen… and understand…" she murmured, her voice trembling as it filled the silence between them.
She felt she could keep speaking, keep explaining herself, as long as he stayed quiet. But his silence weighed heavier than his words could ever be.
His piercing gaze locked onto her, sharp as a blade. It pinned her in place, cutting through her composure, making her breath feel shallow.
The words she wanted to say began to wither on her tongue, but she forged on.
"It was never my intention to stir up trouble."
She said finally, her voice soft but steady. Her eyes darted toward him, searching his face for even a flicker of understanding.
Ragaleon's expression didn't change. He stood rigid, his arms folded behind his back.
"Yet you did," he answered dryly. His tone was calm, too calm.
"It was mere curiosity, I swear I had no intentions of…," she began, but he cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand.
"I've listened enough," he said, his voice low and measured. "Now you will answer."
Micah froze, her pulse quickening. Whatever patience he had once shown her was gone.
"When I brought you to this castle," he said, his voice low and bitter, "did I make a mistake?"
The question struck her like a slap. For a moment, she could only stare at him, stunned.
Her chest tightened. She processed his words before giving her reply.
"I didn't ask to be here."
The words left her mouth faster than she intended.
"You made that choice, not I."
She added coldly.
Ragaleon's eyes darkened. The faint muscle in his jaw twitched as he stepped closer. Micah felt her courage waver, but she didn't look away.
"So I am to blame?" he asked, his tone edged with mockery.
"I blame no one," she said quietly, though her heart was pounding.
"But don't call it a mistake—not when it was never my will to begin with."
She added, and he lost his cool.
"Do you think if I had a choice you would be standing here?"
He questioned her lurching at her; Micah took some steps backward, gripped with fear.
"You always have a choice, and your decision was as clear as daylight."
Her breath became hitched, her eyes narrowing towards the door. It was but closed; she was trapped.
"You ungrateful woman."
He said with disdain, trying hard to control his anger.
"You had one job, just one!
He said, shooting out one finger to demonstrate his point.
"And that was to remain within the walls of this castle, under my protection. I didn't lay a hand on you, even though you are my wife by custom. Is this how you repay me?!
His voice boomed across the room; Micah's eyes were cold.
"You brought this upon yourself. Didn't I warn you? I didn't ask to be your wife; I asked you to let me go.
I wanted to be free, to live my life as a peasant, but you caged me here, like some kind of beast."
She shot back, not knowing where she got the courage from.
"I don't want your protection or this extravagant lifestyle. I am treated like dirt, made inferior by the mere presence of the other queens."
She was talking so fast she became breathless.
"You do not care about your father's last words?
"Do not bring him into this; he is dead! He made that decision to protect me, but I can survive on my own."
Micah lowered her voice.
"There is still time."
She said with a pleading gaze.
"My father's farm was destroyed, but if you can have your men repair the damages they caused…I will be grateful. This is all I ask from you….."
"Keep quiet!
He roared, aggravated by the fact that she didn't care about the promise he made to her father.
"Do you know what I do to stubborn women like you?" His voice became cold and deliberate as he closed the space between them.
Micah, who was still recovering from the shock of his voice scaring her to death, instinctively glided backwards, but soon her back slammed against the wall.
Now standing in front of her, without warning his hand shot forward. Firmly, he gripped her chin tightly.
She gasped softly. His touch wasn't gentle; it was the grasp of a man accustomed to control.
Slowly, he tilted her face upward until her eyes met his.
"Look at me," he commanded.
She refused to meet his gaze. Her eyes darted everywhere, towards the fire, the wall, the floor—anywhere but him. His fingers tightened around her chin, harshly, enough to bruise her skin.
"Look at me," he ordered.
She resisted, her jaw stiff beneath his grip.
He could feel it, the quiet defiance.
He had always known she was stubborn, but tonight, he was bent on breaking that pride, on forcing her to yield, even if it was only through fear.
His voice dropped lower, colder, each word deliberate.
"Look. At. Me!
Micah trembled, her lashes fluttered, and slowly, reluctantly, she lifted her eyes to his.
Their gazes met, his burning with dominance, hers with wounded strength.
When she finally raised her gaze, he could see that her eyes were red, her lashes wet with tears.
She had tried to hold them back, to stay composed before him, but the weight of it all—his words, the humiliation she had suffered all these months in silence—pressed too heavily on her chest.
Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. Only a shaky breath escaped her.
He brought his mouth close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin. The sudden closeness made her shiver. She shut her eyes instinctively, the tears slipping free and tracing silent paths down her cheeks.
"You will apologize to my mother…."
He was cut off abruptly.
"For what reason? She has nothing to fear, or else the rumors are true, or else she murdered her own husband!
He suddenly released his grip from her chin, and his hand immediately circled around her neck.
Micah's eyes widened as a breathless gasp escaped her lips. Using both her hands, she tried to loosen his grip, but he tightened it more, his dark gaze fixed on her.
He seemed to be enjoying the horror carved on her face.
"Only a few people have seen this side of me, and they never lived to testify to it."
He said as he kept watching her sniff uncontrollably, tears gushing out of her eyes, as she tried to wiggle out of his grip, she was now choking, trying to catch her breath.
"You monster."
The words pressed through her lips; her face was now red.
"You have the right to remain silent, or meet your end."
He warned, but she pressed on.
"Kill me if you must, send me to my father, just end this already!
Kill?
Ragaleon immediately released his grip; he didn't plan on killing anyone. He has had enough blood on his hands; murdering his wife would be the height of it.
The moment he released her, she slumped down, her balance giving way. She sank to the floor, her back hitting the edge of the bed as she tried to catch her breath. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the air sharp in her lungs.
Ragaleon stood over her, his expression unreadable, and without saying a word, he turned around, making to take his leave.
"I hate you!" she screamed, her voice cracking through the chamber as he turned to leave.
She tried to wipe her endless tears away, but it was useless.
Ragaleon didn't stop. His footsteps echoed coldly against the marble floor, growing fainter with every step. He didn't look back… not once.
"Do you hear me?" She cried again, her voice breaking, trembling with fury and pain.
"I hate you!"
Her words bounced off the walls and faded into silence.
The only answer she got in return was the loud bang of the door closing behind him.
With him gone, the weight of everything came crashing down.
She broke down, her hands flying to her face as the first sob tore through her throat.
She pressed her palms against her cheeks, as though trying to hold herself together, but the tears came faster, spilling through her fingers.
Every memory stung.
The insults, the mockery….
The strength she had fought to keep shattered completely, leaving her small and fragile in the silence that followed.
She wept until her voice grew hoarse, until the fire in her heart burned low, and by the time she had stopped weeping, something dangerous in her heart had already awakened.