Her once elegant, smooth silver hair was now red and disheveled. Her sapphire eyes were now streaming with flowing tears. Her magnificent white gown—embroidered with gold in every corner and adorned with jewels—was now dyed, soiled, and tainted with her own blood. The precious face she had cared for was now bruised and damaged by the hands of her once-friend and her beloved man.
"Charles... h-how could you do this to me? You promised you would always love me, but why would you do this?" she muttered, her breath fading.
A mocking sigh escaped the girl outside the cell. "You're really stupid, aren't you?"
"J-Jennifer... w-what... are you saying?"
"Remember this?" Jennifer pulled an item from her pocket and presented a golden seal.
"T-that's Father's seal... why do you have it?" The girl in the cell broke into a horrifying scream that caused her to vomit blood.
Jennifer let out a cruel laugh. "Didn't you know? Of course you wouldn't, because you're ignorant. Remember when you drowned? You foolishly accused your fiancé of pushing you into the lake, but was it really his fault?" She laughed again, tears streaming down her hideous face. Her black hair was pinned in a bun with a crown resting on her head.
"Seriously..." She wiped her eyes, still chuckling. "To tell you the truth, it was all me. I'm the one who pushed you into the lake. It was your fiancé who foolishly saved you when you drowned. Didn't you remember?"
What? But it wasn't... I mean, he didn't tell me... I didn't know. I was mistaken.
"Jennifer, step back. Don't come closer to that ugly thing!" Charles strutted forward and wrapped his arms around Jennifer from behind. He was now clothed in the finest noble attire—a dark velvet coat with silver embroidery—with a crown on his head.
Charles, my love... but why is he embracing Jennifer? I don't understand this. And why is he wearing Father's crown? And Jennifer too?
"Charles, what are you doing? Why are you wearing Father's crown?" Sabrina asked, her voice trembling.
He let out a dismissive snort. "This? This is my reward for killing your father, for destroying my rival—the duke's son, Alexander, your fiancé—and lastly, for executing the traitor, the rebel who killed her own parents. It's you, my dear Princess." He mockingly snickered at her.
"You killed Papa? And Alex? Why? Why... why did you kill them, Charles?" Tears and blood mixed on her face as she sobbed. "You love me... didn't you say? But why are you like this, huh? Please tell me this is all a misunderstanding... please..."
She begged him. Her silver hair was now soaked with her blood. The wounds on her back were splitting open further. The whip marks stung. A stab wound in her waist throbbed. Countless slaps had bruised her face. Her breath was running out. Her sight was growing blurry.
Charles leaned closer to the bars, a wicked grin on his face. "Do you want to know what his last words were? He said, 'I love her more than my life. I'll do anything for her, even if it costs my life.' Those were Alexander's last words before he bled out from the torture I personally carried out."
No! No! Please... please someone help me. Please tell me this is all a dream. Please, I beg you... I beg you... Sabrina's cries echoed through the cell, her voice breaking.
He raised a finger as if remembering something. "Ah! Before I end this here..."
Before she knew it, two ruby balls came rolling toward her. Though it was dark, she could clearly identify them.
"N-no!" she screamed as she picked them up. Undoubtedly, they were really his. They were his eyes. Her fiancé's eyes. Alexander's eyes. Charles truly had no mercy—he had gouged out his eyes.
No... Her breath hitched as another sob tore through her chest. No... It's all my fault. I... I did this to you. If only... if only I had believed you back then, this wouldn't have happened to you and my parents. If only... if only...
---
"No... please... please don't. No. No. NO!"
She gasped for air, clutching her chest. It hurts... my heart... it hurts...
"Princess? Princess? Are you okay?" the maid asked, her voice trembling with fear.
"No... no... please don't..." Her voice rose into a frantic scream. "GO AWAY! NOOO... NOOOO!"
It was definitely real. It was real. How could he... She couldn't finish the thought. Another cry tore from her throat. Alexander... Papa... everyone was dead. And it was all my fault. All mine...
"Princess, please calm down. Your Highness, what happened? Why are you—" The maid didn't finish her sentence as Sabrina's screaming cut her off.
"AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!! NOOOO... NOOOO!"
Frightened, the maid rushed out of the room and ran to report to the King and Queen. Alarmed, they quickly hastened to their daughter's chambers, only to find her unconscious on the floor with broken shards of glass stuck in her palms, her nightgown stained with blood. They immediately called for the imperial physician.
---
"Your Excellencies, the condition of the Princess is now stable, but it seems Her Highness has experienced a great trauma. Did she mention anything before this happened?"
The King let out a heavy sigh. "It seems we really need to cancel the engagement, as our daughter said last time."
---
(After the physician's departure)
The King paced back and forth, his brow furrowed with worry. The Queen sat on the edge of their daughter's bed, gently stroking Sabrina's pale hand, silent tears falling from her eyes.
"For three days she has been like this," the Queen whispered, her voice breaking. "Our daughter... what could have done this to her?"
The King stopped pacing. "The physician spoke of trauma. But trauma from what?"
"Perhaps that is the problem," the Queen murmured. "Perhaps we have sheltered her too much."
Silence filled the room. The curtains swayed gently from the evening breeze.
The King walked to the window and stared outside. "When she wakes, she will not speak of it. You know how she is. She hides her pain."
"Then we must help her whether she speaks or not," the Queen said firmly, though her hand trembled. "The engagement... she begged us to cancel it. She said she could not marry the Duke. What if there is something she knows? Something she cannot tell us?"
The King's jaw tightened. The engagement to Duke Alexander had been arranged for years—a union between two powerful families. Breaking it would insult the Duke and his house. But looking at his daughter now—her silver hair matted, her palms bandaged, her face pale—he found that none of that mattered.
"Summon the Duke," he said at last.
The head servant, waiting by the door, bowed deeply. "At once, Your Majesty."
But before he could leave, the King held up his hand. "Wait."
The servant paused.
"Tell me," the King said. "What do you know of the Duke's character? Not the rumors. The truth."
The servant hesitated. "Your Majesty, I have served this palace for thirty years. The Duke does not wear a mask. What you see is what he is."
The King raised an eyebrow. "And the rumors of his cruelty?"
The servant kept his face neutral. "Your Majesty, a man who leads soldiers into battle must sometimes be cruel. But there is a difference between cruelty of action and cruelty of heart. The Duke has never been accused of the latter."
The King was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "Go. Bring him."
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
The servant left, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
The Queen watched her husband. "You suspect something."
"I suspect nothing," the King said, sitting beside her. "But I will not force our daughter to marry a man she fears."
He looked down at Sabrina and gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
"Wake up soon, my dear," he whispered. "Your father will make this right."
---