The dungeon of the Black Tower was exactly as its name suggested—dark, cold, and smelling of damp stone and old iron. Kaia sat on the thin straw mat, her wrists stinging from the heavy iron shackles. The silence here was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic dripping of water from the stone ceiling.
She closed her eyes, remembering the look on Alaric's face before he shouted for the guards. His eyes hadn't shown hatred; they had shown a deep, agonizing conflict.
"Trust me," he had whispered.
But how could she trust a King whose kingdom she had tried to dismantle? How could she trust the man who had her father executed?
Hours passed like days. Suddenly, the heavy iron door at the end of the corridor groaned open. No guard's heavy boots—this footstep was light, deliberate. A hooded figure carrying a small lantern approached her cell.
As the figure reached the bars, the hood was pulled back. It was Alaric. He looked older than he had hours ago, the shadows beneath his eyes deepening.
"I shouldn't be here," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Kaia stood up, the chains rattling loudly in the small cell. "Then why are you? To see if the 'traitor' is still breathing?"
Alaric didn't answer. Instead, he reached through the bars, his fingers brushing against the iron lock of her cell. "The Council has already signed your death warrant. They want you dead at sunrise. They believe that by killing the daughter of Valerius, they can finally kill the rebellion."
"And what do you believe?" Kaia asked, her voice trembling.
"I believe that if you die, I will never forgive myself," he replied, looking her directly in the eyes. "I have a plan to get you out, but it means you can never return to the rebellion. You will have to disappear. To the world, Kaia of House Valerius will be dead."
Kaia froze. "You would risk your crown for me?"
"I am not risking it for a rebel," Alaric said, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. "I am risking it for the woman who saved my life in the dark, and for the only person who ever saw the man behind the King."
From the floor above, the sound of marching soldiers echoed. The morning patrol was coming.
"Decide now, Kaia," Alaric urged, his hand gripping the bars. "Will you die as a martyr for a dead war, or will you live to find a new path with me