"A crown grasped too tightly draws blood," she said, her voice a low whisper that seemed to swallow the dungeon's echoes. "And the one I'm offered is made of lies."
Her words hung in the stale air, heavier than the chains clinking faintly against Adrian's wrists. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the steady drip of water echoing through the stone hall, each drop striking like the tick of an unseen clock.
Adrian Voss did not move. His gaze, sharp as a drawn blade, held hers across the bars. He looked at her as though she were some strange puzzle, a piece that didn't fit into the picture he thought he knew.
"Pretty words," he said finally, his voice flat. "But words are wind, Princess. What are you hiding behind them?"
Celine let a faint smile ghost across her lips. She could not tell him the truth—that she had lived this all before, that she had choked on betrayal and died with poison in her throat. He would not believe her. No one would. But she could give him something else: a sliver of truth sharpened into a blade, a riddle wrapped around the bones of her intent.
"I hide nothing," she said softly. "Only what is plain to anyone willing to see. The prince's crown is polished, yes, but inside it is hollow. A man with no will of his own wears it as a child wears his father's armor—clumsy, heavy, too big for him. Tell me, Adrian, what happens when a kingdom is built on a hollow crown?"
Adrian's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing.
"You speak treason lightly," he murmured, "for someone about to marry that crown."
Celine's gaze did not waver. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I only speak the truth no one else dares to voice."
For the first time, his eyes flickered—not with belief, not yet, but with the faintest spark of interest. He shifted slightly, the chains rattling softly, his broad shoulders moving against the cold stone wall.
"Truth," he repeated, as though tasting the word. "And what truth drives a princess into a dungeon to whisper bargains to a condemned man?"
Celine drew a slow breath, her fingers tightening around the bars. She had to give him just enough to hook his interest, but not so much that she revealed her rebirth.
"The truth," she said, "is that your death tomorrow serves him. But your life tomorrow serves me."
Adrian's eyes narrowed further, his expression unreadable. "And why would you care if my life serves you?"
"Because the enemy of my enemy is not my friend," she replied, her voice quiet but firm, "but he can be my weapon."
The dungeon was silent again, the weight of her words sinking into the stones. Adrian studied her for a long moment, his stare unrelenting, searching her for cracks, for deceit, for the desperation he expected from a woman in her position.
Instead, he found stillness. Calm. A dangerous patience that mirrored his own.
At last, he tilted his head, his voice lowering to a dangerous rumble. "You speak like someone who has already chosen sides. Tell me, Princess… if you are not your prince's ally, then whose are you?"
Celine's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "Mine."
The word slipped into the dark like a blade into flesh—clean, sharp, and final.
Adrian leaned forward, the chains pulling taut, his gaze catching the faint sliver of torchlight that cut across the floor. In that flicker of light, his eyes gleamed, not with defeat, but with calculation.
"You play a dangerous game," he said quietly.
Celine's answer was plain, stripped of all flourish: "So do you."
They stared at each other across the bars, predator and predator, measuring, weighing, testing.
Finally, Adrian spoke again, his voice laced with skepticism. "Why me? There are others. Knights, nobles, ministers… men with cleaner names and fewer chains. Why wager on a disgraced general, beaten and bound?"
Celine's heart thudded hard in her chest, but she let no hesitation show. Her voice was steady when she answered.
"Because you're the only one they fear."
That struck him. His expression didn't change much, but his silence told her enough.
Celine leaned closer, her voice lowering, her words plain as steel. "I won't give you riddles for this, Adrian Voss. Only truth. Tomorrow, they will hang you as a traitor, and the prince will sleep easier for it. But if you live… if you stand beside me instead of rotting in chains… then you will no longer serve his story. You will serve mine."
The last word rang with finality, an echo that lingered even after she fell silent.
For the first time, something like a spark of intrigue flickered in Adrian's eyes. Not trust, not yet, but interest. Curiosity.
He shifted forward, his voice dropping low, a blade hidden beneath velvet. "And if I choose death instead of your bargain?"
Celine didn't flinch. She met his gaze head-on, her final truth simple and cutting:
"Your death tomorrow serves him. Your life tomorrow serves me. Choose."