The moment the ring touched my skin, my head snapped back. The ballroom, the whispers, the lights—everything bled into a blinding white void.
When my eyes opened, I was no longer in the palace. A man stood before me. He was draped in shadows, with long black hair and eyes as dark as an abyss. I knew him. The familiarity was a physical weight in my chest, yet I couldn't place his name.
I tried to scream, to ask where I was, but my voice was gone.
The man's lips curled into a snarl. "This fight is not over yet," he hissed, his voice echoing like grinding stone. "We will finish this, even if one of us must die… Roxana!"
I gasped, the air lunging back into my lungs as reality slammed into me.
I was back in the ballroom. Richt's hands were clamped onto my arms, shaking me violently. I felt a hot, metallic liquid trickling from my nose and staining the neckline of my black dress.
"Bring the royal doctor! NOW!" Richt's roar shook the walls.
He pressed a silk handkerchief against my face, but I barely felt it. A terrifying heat began to crawl beneath my skin, spreading from my chest to my fingertips.
"Richt..." my voice was a broken whisper. "It burns. It's burning all over."
I looked down at my hands. Beneath the surface of my skin, a faint, golden light began to glow. Panic flared in my chest. What was happening to me?
As my vision began to fail, I caught sight of Dion standing in the crowd. He was smiling—a chilling, satisfied expression. It was the first time I had ever seen a true emotion on his face, and it terrified me more than the fire in my veins.
I drifted in and out of consciousness. I felt the jolting of a carriage, and then the familiar scent of sandalwood and iron. Richt's chambers. He had taken me back to his bed, refusing to let me go.
"Duke, I think it is time," Richt said. His voice was grim, stripped of its usual madness.
"Your Highness, we must ensure no one sees this," my father replied.
What time? What are they keeping from me? I tried to speak, but the heat was consuming my energy.
"Lock every door to this wing!" Richt commanded. "Not a single soul enters without my permission!"
"Father..." I managed to moan.
A hand—rough and trembling—grabbed mine. "Yes, my child. I am here. Your father is here."
The word felt strange. I hadn't called him that in years, yet in my pain, it had slipped out.
"I know it hurts," Father whispered, his voice cracking. "But you must bear it, Pati. For your own sake."
The next few hours were a blur of agony. The fire eventually settled into a dull ache. Father eventually left, and I felt Richt's presence return. He worked in silence, his hands surprisingly gentle as he helped me out of the scorched black dress and wiped the sweat and blood from my skin. He dressed me in a fresh gown and pulled me into his arms, holding me as if I were made of glass.
"Pati... my Pati. Just a little longer. It will be alright."
"You say that... as if you know," I breathed.
A warm tear fell onto my cheek. Richt was crying. He leaned down, kissing the tears from my eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Pati. I wish I could take the pain from you."
I finally fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
When I woke, the sun was filtering through the heavy curtains. I was still pinned to Richt's chest. "Your Highness... are you planning to suffocate me to death?"
He pulled back instantly. His eyes were bloodshot and raw. He looked away, trying to hide his face
He was a psycho, a killer, a monster. But as I looked at him, a memory surfaced—not of the man in the void, but of a small boy hiding behind a tree.
"I remember a child I met a long time ago," I said softly. "I couldn't remember his face until now, but I remember he was a terrible crybaby."
Richt froze. He turned back to me, his eyes wide with a shock that quickly melted into a beautiful, genuine smile.
"You remember," he whispered.