"I'm not the princess," she spat back, the words sharp, defiant.
Azrayel didn't answer but his hand closed around her arm and dragged her gently but firmly to the balcony, she hadn't notice was under the heavy curtains.
The moment they stepped out, Metheea's heart sank. Below, the nobles of Katarthan had gathered in the garden, their eyes trained on the balcony. Priests, courtiers, even common folk—all were straining to get a glimpse of her.
Metheea stood still, her gaze trained on the crowd below, their voices rising in a tide of expectation.
The people of Katarthan were hungry for a glimpse of her, a figure they had longed for, a princess they had waited for. Her eyes flicked over the sea of faces, each one looking up at her with awe, hope, and something darker—need.
They weren't seeing her, though. They weren't seeing the woman who had fought for her freedom, the one who had just stepped out of the shadows and into the light only to find herself trapped again.
Her chest tightened, and she swallowed hard. Freedom. That was all she had wanted.
Freedom to run.
Every second spent standing here, trapped in this palace, felt like a prison.
Her mind screamed at her to escape, to tear away from the people who expected her to be their perfect princess, their figurehead, their tool. She imagined running through the streets, the wind cutting across her face as she dashed through the places she never seen.
The thought of it was intoxicating—freedom. But there was something in her heart that stopped her from acting.
What would that freedom mean?
She couldn't just run, could she? Would the Dythrid, Makuteya, and Katarthan, let her go so easily?
She could picture herself sprinting through the night, the sound of her footfalls ringing in her ears, but would it really be freedom?
She felt her heart sink as people looked at her. Her feet felt heavy as if the weight of Katarthan's longing had already shackled her, binding her to the kingdom she had never chosen.
Her gaze shifted from the crowd to the polished stone beneath her feet. She wasn't free here. Not really.
If she stayed, what was left for her? She would be trapped, suffocated by the silver and golds, the power and the expectations.
The image of herself in the mirror came back to her, dressed in silks and silver, looking every bit the princess they wanted her to be, but with chains on her feet, invisible chains that could never be broken. Her heart sank at the thought.
I will never be free.
Her gaze flicked back down to the crowd below, their whispers growing louder, calling her name.
They wanted her. The people wanted her.
"Princess Metheea!"
Her heart thudded heavily in her chest, a painful reminder of the choice she was forced to make. The crowd below, their faces full of expectation, called to her as if they already owned her.
This isn't freedom.
Metheea squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to drown out the roar of the crowd. I'm not ready for this.
Her heart clenched, but her thoughts were clouded with dread. The more she stared at them, the more she felt the shackles tightening, the more she could feel her own bones being locked into place.
She could feel it—her feet, her heart, her spirit all bound to the palace, to the people's expectations. She could feel the iron grip of duty sinking in, even though she had fought against it for so long.
The chains were invisible but they were in her heart, in her mind, in the way she couldn't breathe without feeling their pressure.
What should she do?
She had imagined herself escaping, running as far away as possible, but in that escape, she knew there would be no peace.
There would be no freedom.
But could she stay? Could she let them mold her into the princess they wanted? Could she let herself be owned by them, body and soul?
She turned away, her heart pounding. The weight of the choice pressed down on her like a physical thing, suffocating her. She wasn't ready to make this decision—not now, not yet.
"I won't be their princess." She repeated once more.
Azrayel stood behind her, his presence commanding, his eyes focused on the gathered crowd below.
Azrayel's voice cut through, his voice was low and measured, but heavy with purpose. "Look at them, Metheea," he said softly, his words settling like stones in her gut.
"They need you. Katarthan has longed for its princess."
Metheea's heart clenched painfully at the weight of his words.
Their princess. The thought felt like a noose tightening around her neck
Azrayel's voice was almost soothing, yet the words felt like chains. "Do you think you can just walk away from this? They've waited for you, Metheea. The people of Katarthan need you."
His gaze was unwavering as it locked onto hers. "You must stand as the princess they need. The princess they've been waiting for."
Her pulse quickened, the coldness of his words sinking deeper. He wasn't giving her a choice—he was reminding her that she had none.
She had to be the princess. They won't let me go. Not now. Not ever.
"I'm not ready for this."
The sound of the crowd below grew louder, their voices rising as more whispers turned into calls.
"Princess Metheea!" They shouted, their voices filled with a mix of longing and expectation.
"Please... get me out of here."
Azrayel's hand was firm on her back as he led her inside, the doors of the palace closing behind them with a resounding thud.
The sound echoed in Metheea's mind, drowning out the voices of the crowd, the weight of her choices.
Did she really have a choice to begin with? she thought, her heart heavy with the thought of what was to come. But as the doors closed, she wasn't sure.
All she knew was that the choice to be free—that choice—had been taken from her.