As Joya moved through the dungeon, hands pinned behind her back, her breath was a bit erratic.
She was yet to recover from what was happening; her thoughts were disoriented. She wished she could just wake up and find out this was a bad dream, but things were as real as they seemed.
The air grew sour with every step, damp with the sting invading her nostrils, pressing down into her lungs.
It was the kind of smell that clung, that refused to leave once it touched you.
From behind iron bars, faces watched her.
Prisoners lay slumped or stood gripping the metal, their features dull and swollen, skin pale and mottled from the suffering they had endured.
Some had hollow eyes that followed her in silence; others stared without seeing; their eyes were too weak to make out what was happening.
Chains clinked softly as she passed each cell.
Even in the face of it all, she stood unfazed, cold blue eyes fixed straight ahead.
"Walk faster!"
The guard shoved her forward. The sudden force broke her stride, and she staggered, feet scraping against the stone as she nearly lost her footing.
She straightened slowly, shoulders squaring despite the restraints, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing her break.
Her expression did not change. Only her jaw tightened, a quiet act of defiance.
She resumed her pace, blue eyes still locked on the darkness ahead.
"What a pompous brat," one of the guards snarled as they came to a halt before an empty cell.
The iron bars loomed, rust-eaten and narrow, barely wide enough for a body to turn comfortably inside.
The guard reached to his waist and drew out a heavy jungle of keys.
He tested one, then another, impatience clear in the rough twist of his wrist, until the right key slid home. With a loud click, the padlock gave way.
Before she could take a full step forward, the second guard shoved her hard. She stumbled into the cramped dungeon, knees kissing the floor as her hands were finally released. The door slammed shut behind her with a final, echoing clang.
Slowly, she pushed herself upright while brushing dust from her dress.
Her eyes were seething with a dangerous malice.
She moved toward the far corner of the cell, as if she were choosing the space rather than being confined to it.
The atmosphere there was darker, slick with walls furred with age and neglect. She leaned back against it, letting the chill seep through her clothes without a sound.
Then she heard it.
Footsteps.
Faint and hollow, echoing through the dungeon corridor.
Not the careless stomp of guards on routine rounds, but something more casual.
The sound slipped through the serenity, growing clearer with each step, carrying intention with it.
She lifted her head just enough to see a shadow hovering beyond the iron bars of the cell she was locked in.
Her fingers curled slowly at her sides in anticipation.
The shadow shifted, just slightly, as though its owner had leaned nearer to the cell, studying her.
She could not see the face, only the outline of a presence that seemed to command the corridor without effort.
Her blue eyes hardened, locking onto the darkness beyond the bars.
She did not ask who it was; she didn't need to, because in less than a few seconds, the shadow emerged fully into the light.
It was him, Vagor.
A signet ring caught the light when he rested a gloved hand against the bars, the emblem unmistakably crafted in Hamstung. She had lived in the streets long enough to know that.
His blue eyes stilled as his predatory gaze remained focused on her from where he stood outside the cell.
"How long did you think you could hide from me?"
His fingers tapped against the iron bars in a rhythmic sound.
His voice was guttural and deep, roughened by authority and something far more lethal.
"Long enough to see you crowned the new king of Hamstung."
Joya's voice carried a note of relish as she rose from where she stood and moved closer.
She stopped in front of the iron bars, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. A faint, knowing smile touched her lips.
"Tell me," she added softly, "does the crown sit as heavy as the blood that bought it?"
One of his brows shot up. ".
"I know you killed him… the king."
She sounded certain.
"He wouldn't have wanted you to rule in his stead, not when he knew you had no plan to produce heirs… because you fancied men."
"Shut up!"
He roared, his voice jagged as he slammed his fist against the iron bars.
The metal vibrated under his touch, echoing like a drumbeat through the cold, empty cell.
His blue eyes bore into her, but she remained unmoved.
"You will pay for what you did," he growled, each word heavy with venom.
"For going behind my back… for revealing a secret I had kept buried for years."
"I didn't do it!" she interjected, her voice laced with devastation.
"I had nothing to gain… nor to lose," she added, stepping closer to the bars, her gaze defiant.
"You're barking at the wrong tree."
A senile smile tugged at the corner of his lips, fleeting but unsettling.
"Then why did you run?" he asked, voice low, almost amused.
"You planned to kill me," she shot back, eyes flashing.
"I overheard your discussion with the assassin the night Princess Omelia died."
A faint grin curved his lips at her words, one that hinted at approval.
"And who killed her, Omelia?" His voice shifted, losing its edge of intimidation, sliding instead into something colder, more mysterious.
"How would I know that?" Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper.
"How could I possibly know who killed…"
"Because you were there."
His voice was low, a growl that wrapped around her like steel. She froze, forced to pause.
Her face fell as logic began to play in her head.
She gazed at him, eyes searching, lips parted, but no words would come.
"I was there."
She admitted it with a knowing nod.
"But you wouldn't know that because no one knew I was in the room at that time, except for the assassin who couldn't get to me.
"You… it was you who sent that assassin to kill Princess Omelia?"
Her teeth clenched as the words escaped, a fragile tremor in her voice.
He said nothing. His eyes studied her.
Slowly, the arch of one brow settled neatly above his lid, a subtle gesture that spoke more than words ever could.
"You killed her! You killed Princess Omelia!"
Her body convulsed with rage as she lunged toward the bars, fingers stretched like claws, desperate to reach him. He stepped back, graceful and controlled, keeping just out of reach.
She slammed into the iron bars, hands clutching them for support, knuckles white.
Her face twisted with fury, eyes wild, almost deranged.
"Be careful what you say."
He murmured the words, elegantly crossing his hands behind his back.
"Accusing your king of such an atrocious act… spells nothing but treason."
"It is not an accusation; it is the truth!"
She snarled, fingers raking across the iron bars in a restless attempt to contain the storm of anger coursing through her.
"Whose truth? Yours?"
He inched closer, stopping just barely within her reach, an inch away.
He wanted the satisfaction of watching her strain, fingers clawing for him, only to realize she could get no closer. Every futile movement of hers seemed to feed him, delight his amusement.
"The crown will never believe you, the words of a commoner, a slave."
His words cut deep, sinking into her chest, igniting a pain she could barely contain.
"Your end has come, Joya. Accept it… embrace it."
Joya's hands loosened around the bars, falling limply to her sides.
"You think I do not know that?" Her voice was fragile yet defiant.
"I know my end has come… I can smell it… I can see it."
She continued struggling to keep herself together as the words sprouted out, each one heavy with resignation.
"But you must keep to your word," she said, lifting her head despite the knot in her chest.
"As a king with honor, you must free the slaves of Hamstung, as per our deal."
"You have no say in that matter."
He declared flatly, his voice stripped of any remorse.
"Not anymore," he added, already turning away.
"No!"
Her scream tore through the corridor as his back faced her.
"You will do it, you will!" she cried, stumbling toward the bars once more.
"Let them go! They have suffered enough. They have been through hell!"
Her hands gnawed at the iron, fingers raw, voice breaking.
"They are treated far worse than slaves," she screamed, grief and fury bleeding into every word.
"They are treated like animals!"
"As it should be," he replied, and Joya felt her world tilt, crumbling slowly.
"If I were you, I would think about your
fate," he continued.
"The mourning for my father's death will last three days. On the last day… you will be beheaded."
His words, which were meant to strike fear, had no effect on her.
She did not fear death, not anymore. She had seen horrors far worse than dying.
She had lived with them. She had face them.
With her eyes brimming with tears she refused to shed, her jaw clenched, and her throat quivered.
"Look at me," she whispered, voice barely audible.
He remained unmoved, his back facing her.
"Look at me!" she shrilled, a raw edge of command in her tone.
He tilted his head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of her cold blue eyes, piercing him with a mixture of fury and sorrow he could not fully ignore.
"I will be back," she said quietly. "In this life… or the next."
He scoffed.
"It would be wise of you to look at this face now. Remember it."
She lifted her chin, forcing him to see her fully.
"Because the next time you see this face," she continued, each word merciless,
"It will be the last time you draw breath."