I thought I was prepared to see that, prepared to face the inevitable truth of how I would die. But I wasn't. Of course, I wasn't. How could I ever be? It should've been obvious, though, right? I should've seen it coming. It wasn't shocking in the way Avy's death was—a sudden, soul-crushing blow I couldn't escape—but still, it hit me. Hard.
Daisuke Maël Maximillian.
The great Prince among the greatest. The golden boy of Soleil Keeper. The jewel of the Royal Family. It was his dagger that killed me. Somehow, it was his doing. I don't know exactly how it happened, how I ended up in that moment, but the blade was his. And that singular fact—that he will be the instrument of my death—pierced through me more painfully than the dagger ever could.
The worst part? It's going to happen in two years.
Two years. That's all the time I have left. I'll only have one year to truly live, to do whatever the hell I want, because twelve out of those twenty-four months will be wasted. A full year of my life will be swallowed up by that ridiculous competition for the Crown Princess position. A year stolen from me because of him. And in the end, my life will still be his to take.
Daisuke will be, quite literally, the death of me. In every way possible, in every sense of the word. He will end my life, and he will destroy me in the worst way imaginable.
But until then, I can do whatever I want. That's the only silver lining in this gods-damned mess. I've decided—I'm going to follow Avy's example. I'm not going to tell anyone about what I saw. Why should I? It's not like anyone cares, anyway. And if they do ask me? If someone actually dares to question me about it? I can just—
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Rai's voice boomed from the doorway, deep and furious. It cut through the room like a whip, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. Slowly, I turned to face him, ignoring the blood-red tears streaming down my face. They fell freely, staining my clothes and pooling on the floor beneath me. But I didn't care. I couldn't care. Not about that, not anymore.
He stood there, tall and imposing, his features sharp with rage. Surprisingly, he was handsome, even now, even in the midst of his anger. He always has been. He's like a male version of me—golden, wavy hair, fair skin, and striking blood-red eyes. But where I am small and fragile in appearance, Rai is all power and strength, towering over me by at least two heads. His broad, muscular frame and warrior's build make him look like he was carved from stone.
Sharp jawline. High cheekbones. A straight, thin nose bridge. Heart-shaped lips. My brother is undeniably beautiful. Too bad his expression ruins it.
He was glaring at me like I'd personally offended the gods. But why? Why would he be angry with me for seeing my own death? Isn't that what he wanted? His anger was so pointless, so confusing, it almost made me laugh. He's so gods-damned bipolar sometimes.
"What do you want, brother?" I asked, my voice calm, almost detached.
The sound of it made him clench his teeth, his jaw tightening visibly. His rage was palpable, radiating off him in waves.
"Why did you take off that damn thing, Nsomi?" he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. I flinched at the sound of my cursed name. Gods, how I hate that name. And he knows it. He knows it, and he uses it on purpose.
"Don't you realize that every time you look at someone with those vicious eyes of yours, death follows? Death, Nsomi! Do you want more blood on your hands?"
How irritating. How utterly, painfully irritating.
"With all due respect, brother," I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm, "if my eyes are vicious, then so are yours. They're the same, aren't they? And for the record, I wasn't looking at someone else's death. I was looking at my own. So you can stop yelling. It's what all of you wanted anyway, isn't it?"
That shut him up. He froze, his expression faltering. Maybe it was because I never talk back. Or maybe it was because he wasn't expecting me to say the quiet part out loud. Either way, his anger wavered, and for a moment, I saw something else flash in his eyes.
But I didn't care. Not anymore. Fuck it. I'm going to die in two years. Who cares if I speak my mind? I certainly don't.
"Nsomi," he growled, his voice rising. "You've completely lost your mind!"
I laughed at that, loud and wild, like a wicked woman straight out of a nightmare. My lips curled into a psychotic grin, my eyebrows raising in mock amusement. "I just saw my death, dumbass. How do you expect me to react?"
Before he could respond, Aeneas appeared in the doorway, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. Great. Just what I needed—another lecture.
I stared at him, taking in his appearance. He looks like a perfect fusion of our father and his mother. Curly golden hair, light emerald eyes, pale skin. He's built like Rai—tall, muscular, imposing. But where Rai's features are sharp and angular, Aeneas is softer, more refined.
"You saw what?" he asked, his voice sharp. "What's wrong with you? Why did you take that shit off?"
Gods, these two are so funny.
"You two," I said with a smirk, "are absolutely hilarious. Both of you want me dead, just like everyone else. So why are you freaking out? Yes, I can see others dying with my eyes. No, I don't kill them. No, I can't change it. And no, I don't care if you blame me for it. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
They were both silent, staring at me like I'd lost my mind. And maybe I had.
"Look, brothers," I said, my tone cold and sharp, "I don't mind that you hate me. I don't mind that you want me dead. Really, I don't. But you have to remember one thing: these eyes are mine. No one told me to wear the blindfold. I chose to. And if I decide not to wear it anymore, that's my decision. Not yours. So stop acting like it's your problem."
I turned my back on them and faced the mirror again. The blood tears were still falling, streaking down my face, staining everything they touched. I looked like I'd completely lost my mind.
And maybe I had.