The night air reeked of blood and smoke. The commoners had fallen silent, their frightened eyes darting between their supposed savior and the iron grip of the Empire. Zuleika still knelt on the stones, Aya's lifeless form in her arms, her cloak soaked crimson.
Crown Prince Matthew stood before her, his shadow stretching long under the torches. His voice was calm, laced with arrogance, as though the massacre were nothing but a lesson.
"Princess Zuleika," he began, hands clasped behind his back, "I must confess, I am… disappointed. I had thought Nexus raised its daughters with more dignity than to sneak about in the filth of the streets like some stray dog."
Zuleika's lips trembled, but her grief sharpened her tongue. "If dignity means turning a blind eye to suffering, then I reject it. If nobility means cruelty, then I want no part of it."
Matthew's expression hardened, then curved into a mocking smile. "Spoken like a child who still believes the world bends to ideals. You mistake mercy for strength, Princess. The Empire is not built on mercy—it is built on fear. On obedience."
He leaned closer, his golden eyes cold. "And yet…" His smile widened, dripping with condescension. "Because you are a guest—because of Nexus—I will forgive you this… trespass. Once. Consider it a gift of my patience."
Zuleika's eyes burned, her jaw tight as she spat out, "Forgive me? For what—you murdered them! You murdered her!"
Matthew straightened, ignoring her fury like one swats away a gnat. "You are fortunate my patience is greater than your wisdom. Pray you do not squander it again."
With that, he turned on his heel, his cloak sweeping the bloodstained stones. The knights fell into step behind him, but not all. A handful remained.
And standing at their head was Aquila.
She hadn't moved far during her brother's decree, content to let his words sting. Now, as silence fell heavy, she stepped forward. The torches caught her hair, her pale face carved into a smile too elegant to hide its venom.
Her eyes lingered on Aya's body, then rose slowly to Zuleika's face. "Well," she said softly, her smirk returning. "Isn't this a pretty sight? A princess, stained in peasant blood, abandoned by the very people she sought to 'save.'"
Zuleika lifted her head, her eyes locking onto Aquila's. Grief made her vision blur, but fury burned through the haze, steady and unyielding. Her voice, though shaking, rang clear. "You knew."
Aquila tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Knew what, Princess?" She stepped closer, her smirk widening. "That you slipped into the night like a thief? That you broke bread with rats and fancied yourself their savior?" Her eyes glimmered, a predator's gleam. "Yes. I knew. And I knew it would end in blood. That is the only end for creatures who dare reach beyond their station."
Zuleika's arms shook around Aya's body, her jaw tightening until it ached. "You… you let this happen."
Aquila's smirk became a smile, wickedly beautiful. "Let? No, Princess. I arranged it. Every whisper of your nightly escapades reached me. I told my dear brother. And I waited—for this moment. To peel away your little masquerade and reveal you for what you are: foolish, sentimental, and weak."
The words struck Zuleika like blades, but still she glared back, her tears burning against her cheeks. "Weak?" Her voice cracked but rose with iron beneath. "If weakness means loving those who suffer, then I embrace it. Better weakness than the cruelty that festers in your heart."
The smirk slipped from Aquila's lips for just a heartbeat before returning sharper than ever. She crouched slightly, bringing her face closer to Zuleika's, her silver eyes locking onto hers like daggers. "Say what you like. It will not bring her back. And it will not change this truth: Nexus bends. Nexus breaks. And tonight, you have been broken."
Zuleika's breath shuddered, her heart tearing apart, but she forced herself not to look away. The commoners' whispers filled the silence—fearful, accusing, betrayed. Lei… Princess… she deceived us…
Zuleika's breath shuddered, but she refused to look away. "No," she said, her voice raw but steady. "Not broken. Hardened."
The commoners stirred at the word, their whispers cracking through the silence like brittle twigs.
Aquila's smile faltered again, but she forced it wider, her tone icy. "Hardened? By what? The corpse of a girl you couldn't save? You cradle weakness and call it strength. Look around, Princess. These people—" she swept her hand toward the frightened crowd "—they don't see a savior anymore. They see a liar. A foreigner who played at being one of them, only to bring them more death."
Zuleika's grip tightened on Aya's still body, fury and grief searing through her veins like fire. "No, they see a truth you try so hard to bury. That you rule through fear. That your throne is built on bones. But fear crumbles, Aquila. Bones break. You will break."
Aquila's eyes narrowed to slits, her breath hitching just faintly at the boldness. "Careful, little dove. You dare threaten me?"
"I dare promise you," Zuleika shot back, her voice like steel drawn from its sheath. "I will not forget this night. Aya's blood will not be wasted. One day, your cruelty will end—and I will be the hand that ends it."
The air between them tightened, thick with unspoken challenge. Aquila leaned even closer, her words a hiss only Zuleika could hear. "Then let the game begin, Princess. Nexus against Feltogora. Heart against iron. Let us see which bleeds first."
The silence of the commoners was no longer mere fear—it was awe, dread, the stunned awareness that a war had just been born in front of their eyes.
Zuleika's tears still burned, but her gaze no longer wavered. For the first time, their hatred stood naked between them—two princesses, two kingdoms, their clash inevitable.
Before leaving, Princess Aquila glanced once more over her shoulder at Zuleika—her smirk curling like poison-laced honey.
That look burned into Zuleika, igniting a rage so deep it drowned her grief for a moment. Her nails dug into her palms until blood welled, her teeth clenched until her jaw throbbed.
She wanted to scream. To strike. To tear that smirk from Aquila's face.
But all she could do was sit, Aya's lifeless body cradled in her arms, as the Empire's cruelty pressed down upon her like a vice.
And in the hollow of her heart, one vow was etched—unyielding, unbreakable.
I will never forgive you.