ELARA'S POV
The wine glass slipped from my hand before I even realized I was dropping it.
Crystal shattered against marble. Red wine spread across the white floor like blood. But nobody moved to help me. Nobody even looked at the mess.
They were all staring at me.
"Daemon?" My voice came out small and confused. My fiancé stood on the stage at the front of the grand hall, but he wasn't smiling. His handsome face looked cold—like I was a stranger instead of the girl he'd loved since childhood.
This was supposed to be perfect. My 24th birthday celebration. The night Daemon would finally announce our wedding date in front of the entire kingdom. I'd waited five years for this moment.
So why did everyone look at me like I was a monster?
"Lady Elara Ashenmere." Daemon's voice echoed through the silent hall. He held up a small black bottle. Even from across the room, I could see the liquid inside glowing with a sick green light. "Do you recognize this?"
My heart started beating faster. "No. What is it?"
"Plague essence." His words hit me like a slap. "The poison that's been killing thousands of our people for three months. My guards found it hidden in your private chambers this afternoon."
The room started spinning. "That's impossible. I'm a healer—I would never—"
"Liar!"
I spun around. My step-sister Celeste pushed through the crowd, tears streaming down her beautiful face. She looked heartbroken. She looked terrified.
She looked like she was acting.
"I didn't want to believe it either," Celeste sobbed, grabbing Daemon's arm. "But I saw her, Your Highness. Late at night in her room, mixing strange potions. When I asked what she was doing, she said..." Celeste's voice dropped to a horrified whisper. "She said the kingdom deserved to suffer for not appreciating her enough."
"No!" I stumbled forward. "Celeste, why are you lying? You know that's not true!"
But she just cried harder, burying her face in Daemon's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, comforting her while glaring at me with disgust.
This couldn't be happening. This had to be a nightmare.
"Father!" I searched the crowd desperately until I found him. My father, Duke Ashenmere, stood near the back with my stepmother. "Father, please. Tell them I would never hurt anyone. You know me!"
My father opened his mouth. For one hopeful second, I thought he would defend me.
Then my stepmother's hand tightened on his arm. He looked away.
He looked away.
"The evidence is clear." A new voice rang out, cold and holy. High Priestess Lavinia swept forward in her ceremonial robes. Her face looked kind but her eyes were sharp as knives. "The gods have shown me visions, Lady Elara. You have been touched by dark forces. Your soul is corrupted."
"No." I shook my head so hard it hurt. "I heal people. I've spent every day for the past three months trying to save plague victims. I've barely slept. I've given everything—"
"To cover your crimes," Daemon interrupted. His voice was so cold it froze my words in my throat. "What better way to hide your guilt than to pretend to be a hero?"
He descended the stage steps slowly. Everyone moved aside to let him pass. When he reached me, he held out his hand.
For one stupid, hopeful moment, I thought he wanted to comfort me.
Instead, he grabbed my left hand roughly and twisted the engagement ring off my finger.
"I trusted you," he said quietly, so only I could hear. But I saw something flicker in his eyes. Not heartbreak.
Satisfaction.
"I loved you," I whispered, searching his face for any sign of the boy I'd known. The boy who used to bring me flowers and make me laugh.
He smiled. It was his handsome, charming smile—the one that had made me fall in love with him.
"I know," he said. Then louder, so everyone could hear: "Lady Elara Ashenmere, you are hereby stripped of your title and sentenced to death by sacrifice. You will be offered to Morven, the Death God, to appease his wrath and end the plague you created."
The words didn't make sense at first. My brain couldn't process them.
Sacrifice. Death God. End the plague I created.
"Wait—" I started to say.
Guards grabbed my arms. Heavy metal chains wrapped around my wrists.
"No! Wait! Please!" I struggled, but there were too many of them. "I didn't do anything! Daemon, please! Someone help me!"
But nobody helped. They just watched with cold eyes as the guards dragged me toward the doors.
"Father!" I screamed one last time.
He finally looked at me. Tears ran down his face. But he still didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't save me.
My stepmother smiled.
The last thing I saw before the guards pulled me from the hall was Celeste. She'd stopped crying. She was standing next to Daemon, holding his hand.
Wearing my engagement ring.
And she was smiling too.
The guards threw me into a cold stone cell beneath the palace. I hit the floor hard, skinning my knees. The door slammed shut with a sound like a coffin closing.
I lay there in the darkness, my mind racing.
This was planned. All of it. The false evidence. Celeste's lies. Daemon's cold betrayal. My father's silence.
They'd plotted this together. Probably for months. While I'd been healing the sick and planning my wedding, they'd been planning my murder.
But why? What did I do to deserve this?
Footsteps echoed outside my cell. I scrambled to my feet, hope flaring stupidly in my chest. Maybe someone had realized the mistake. Maybe—
The slot in the door opened. In the torchlight, I saw Daemon's face.
"Why?" The word ripped out of me. "We grew up together. I loved you. Why would you do this to me?"
He studied me for a long moment. Then he leaned closer to the slot.
"Because Celeste offered me something better than your pathetic kindness," he said softly. "She has real power. Dark magic. With her by my side, I'll rule this kingdom completely. And you?" He smiled that charming smile again. "You were always too good, Elara. Too pure. Too boring. Destroying you was easier than I expected. You never even saw it coming."
The slot slammed shut.
I stood there, shaking. Not with fear anymore.
With rage.
They wanted me dead? They wanted to sacrifice me to the Death God?
Fine.
But if I was going to die, I'd make sure they regretted it.
If there was a Death God up on that mountain, maybe—just maybe—he'd listen to one final prayer.
Not for mercy.
For revenge.