Elara's POV
The chains bite into my wrists as guards shove me forward. My knees crack against cold marble, and pain shoots up my legs. I don't cry out. I won't give them the satisfaction.
Elara Thorne, Lord Cassian's voice echoes through the throne room like poison dripping from a wound. You stand accused of treason, rebellion, and disturbing the peace of our glorious kingdom.
I lift my head and stare directly at him. My body is thin from six months of dungeon rot barely any food, water that tasted like rust, darkness so complete I forgot what sunlight looked like. But my spirit? Still unbroken.
I stand accused of telling the truth, I say clearly.
Gasps ripple through the crowd of nobles watching from the sides of the throne room. Good. Let them remember I'm not afraid.
King Aldric shifts uncomfortably on his golden throne. He's a weak man with a weak chin, and everyone knows the council controls him like a puppet. He won't even look at me.
Cassian smiles. It's the kind of smile a snake makes before striking. The truth? You mean your wild claims that the royal family is hoarding medicine while plague kills our people? Your dangerous protests that nearly caused riots?
It's not wild if it's true. My voice doesn't shake even though I'm terrified inside. I've seen the warehouses. I know you're hiding the cure while children die in the streets.
Lies! Cassian slams his hand on the podium. But his eyes flicker just for a second and I know I'm right. I've always been right.
That's why I'm here. Not because I broke laws. Because I discovered their secret.
The council has made its decision, Cassian continues, pulling out a scroll. For your crimes against the crown, you will be sent as tribute to the Dark King.
The room goes completely silent.
My heart stops.
The Dark King. Kaelen Ash'mor. The monster who lives in the Shadowlands beyond the Whispering Forest. The creature who demands tributes from kingdoms seeking mercy. Twelve tributes have been sent in the last three years.
None came back.
No, someone whispers in the crowd. It sounds like sympathy, but I don't care about sympathy from people who let this happen.
You can't! I finally show emotion, struggling against my chains. I'm not a criminal! I'm a healer's daughter who tried to save lives!
You're a traitor, Cassian says coldly. And tomorrow morning, you'll begin your journey to the Shadowlands. May the Dark King have mercy on your soul?
The guards grab my arms to drag me away, but something catches my eye.
A figure standing beside Cassian's podium.
My sister.
Thalia.
She's wearing a silk dress deep blue with silver embroidery. Expensive. The kind of dress our family could never afford. Jewels sparkle at her throat and wrists. Her hair is styled perfectly.
She looks like a noblewoman.
Our eyes meet across the throne room.
For six months, I rotted in a dungeon. For six months, I waited for someone to visit. To help. To care.
Thalia visited once. Just once. She stood outside my cell, whispered I'm sorry, and left.
I didn't understand then.
Now, seeing her dressed in silk, standing beside Cassian like she belongs there, everything clicks into place.
You, I breathe.
Thalia's face goes pale. She looks away quickly, but not before I see the guilt written all over her features.
She told them.
My own sister told Cassian about my discoveries. About my plans to protest. About everything.
She betrayed me.
Move! A guard yanks my arm hard enough to bruise.
But I can't stop staring at Thalia. My baby sister. The girl I protected our whole lives. The girl I shared secrets with, laughed with, cried with when our mother died from the plague.
She sold me out.
And for what? Silk dresses? Jewelry? A place at Cassian's side?
Thalia! I scream her name. Look at me!
She doesn't turn around.
The guards drag me toward the exit, and I fight every step. Not because I think I can escape. But because I need her to see what she's done.
I hope it was worth it! My voice cracks. I hope your silk and jewels keep you warm at night when you remember you sent your own sister to die!
Still, Thalia doesn't look.
But Cassian does.
He meets my eyes, and his smile grows wider. Satisfied. Victorious.
This was never about justice. It was never about protecting the kingdom from a rebel.
It was about silencing the one person who knew the truth.
And my own sister helped them do it.
The guards throw me down a corridor and through a heavy door. I crash onto cold stone floor, chains tangling around me.
The room is small with a single window too high to reach. A wooden tub sits in the corner, steam rising from water inside. White robes hang on a hook tribute robes. The kind you wear when you're being sent to die.
Two servants enter nervously, eyes downcast.
We need to prepare you for the journey, the older one says softly.
I don't fight as they unlock my chains and help me stand. My wrists are bloody from the metal biting into skin for so long.
They guide me toward the bath, peeling away my filthy prison rags. The hot water stings my wounds, but I don't make a sound.
I'm too numb to feel anything except the cold, hard truth settling in my chest.
Tomorrow, I'll be taken to the Whispering Forest.
I'll be given to the Dark King.
I'll die like all the others.
And my sister the person I loved most in this world made it happen.
The servants scrub my skin until it's raw and pink. They wash my tangled hair. They dress me in the white tribute robes that mark me as a sacrifice.
When they finish, I look at my reflection in the water basin.
A ghost stares back.
But behind my eyes, something burns.
Not hope. Not anymore.
Rage.
If I'm going to die in the Shadowlands, at least I'll die knowing the truth. At least I'll die fighting instead of begging.
The servants leave, locking the door behind them.
I'm alone.
I sink onto the hard floor, white robes pooling around me like a burial shroud.
That's when I notice something.
A piece of paper, folded small, tucked into the pocket of my new robes.
My hands shake as I pull it out and unfold it.
The handwriting is familiar. Elegant. My sister's handwriting.
It says only four words:
Forgive me. He's listening.