Mei's POV
Five years. Five years. The thought of it consumed me—my life, now measured in the number of days that would slowly, inevitably, tick by until my last breath. I would live the next five years with nothing but the sharp sting of guilt and the cold weight of hopelessness. I was already counting the days, each one dragging like a stone sinking to the bottom of the river, until I could finally escape this nightmare.
I had failed. Alas, I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen...
The sound of the guards' footsteps echoed in the damp silence of my cell. Their cold hands gripped my arms, pulling me from the cold stone floor, dragging me out of the room. I didn't resist. I couldn't. It was as if my body had given up long before my heart had.
They shoved me into the open air, and my eyes, still heavy with sleep, stung under the harsh glare of the sun. I was led to the sword fighting arena. The place was eerily quiet, save for the metallic scrape of swords and the distant murmur of the crowd. The Queen Mother, two ministers, and a contingent of guards stood in the center, watching me with cold eyes. At the center of this grim stage stood a chair—a wooden, unforgiving chair with no backrest. A chair made for pain.
"Sit," one of the guards ordered.
I lowered myself onto the chair, my limbs trembling. There was no escape. The atmosphere was thick with a tension I couldn't escape, and my heart pounded in my chest. I was trapped. Trapped in my own fate.
Two guards flanked me. One held a large wooden plank, its surface rough and jagged, while the other stood behind me, a whip coiled in his hand. The Queen Mother sat upon a transportable throne, her eyes narrowing at me as if I were nothing more than an insect beneath her heel.
"Now, I will ask you again," her voice rang out, like the toll of a death bell, "Who is your acquaintance?"
I took a shaky breath, trying to steady my heart. "I've told you, Your Highness. I did not commit this crime. If I were to name anyone, I would be lying. It wasn't me."
She studied me for a moment, the silence between us heavy and oppressive, before she nodded. The signal was given.
"Go!" The command was sharp, cold. And without warning, the guards began.
The first strike from the plank landed on my back with a sickening crack. Oh, spirits—!
Pain shot through me, raw and immediate. My skin felt like it was on fire, the pain so intense that it threatened to swallow me whole. But I refused to scream. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to stay silent. If I gave in to the pain, they would win. If I screamed, they would know they had broken me. I clutched the edge of the chair, my knuckles white. Stay strong. This will end.
But it felt as though the pain would never stop. My body burned, my legs trembled beneath me. Blood soaked into the cloth of my lap, dripping steadily, staining the ground beneath me.
"Tell us," the Queen Mother demanded, her voice cold as ice, "Who is your acquaintance?"
I couldn't answer. It wasn't me... it wasn't me...
And then, without mercy, the guard struck again. The plank hit me with relentless force, again and again. I could feel the skin of my back tear, my legs giving way beneath me. Each strike seemed to echo into eternity.
I held my breath, desperate not to give them the satisfaction of hearing me beg. The sharp sting of the whip wrapped around me, tearing through my flesh, and I felt my strength starting to wane.
"You are lying," the Queen Mother sneered. "Who told you to do it?"
"No one, Your Highness," I gasped, my voice weak, my throat raw. "It wasn't me. Please..." I didn't even know who I was pleading to anymore.
The guard struck again, the sound of the whip lashing against my skin a sharp, vicious cry that ripped through the air. I couldn't breathe through the pain anymore. My vision blurred, my world reduced to the agony of each blow.
This will end, I kept telling myself. This will end. Stay strong, Mei.
And then, I saw him.
Prince Skyro. His presence was like a beacon in the distance, cutting through the fog of pain and despair. He stood at the far edge of the arena, watching me with an unreadable expression. The sight of him, standing there, just outside my reach, filled me with both a desperate hope and a crushing sorrow.
Why is he here? I thought, as the guards stopped for a moment, the echoes of their violence still reverberating through my body. Does he know?
The pain was unbearable. The tears I had been holding back finally came, blurring my vision. But I refused to let myself fall. Not yet. Not when the truth was still buried somewhere deep inside me.
"Please," I whispered into the silence. Please let this end. Please.
Skyro's POV
I rushed toward the arena, breathless with the weight of the moment. The guards had directed me swiftly, but nothing could prepare me for the brutal reality I was about to witness. This was my first time seeing how criminals were made to break. But she was no criminal. She was innocent. She was never guilty.
She stood there, her eyes distant, her once-vibrant presence dulled. She still wore the same clothes, though my coat no longer draped over her shoulders. The cold had gripped her, and I could see the tremor in her frail form, but she wore no protection from the bitter chill. The judge had demanded answers, but she remained silent, her lips sealed in defiance. She had nothing to confess. There was no truth to betray.
A guard approached, his words laced with suspicion.
"Your Majesty, she asked me to give you this, but I fear it may be laced with poison."
"She is not guilty," I snapped the coat I had given her, the words coming out harsher than intended. "Stop assuming the worst." My voice softened, though, as I reached out to take the coat—her coat, the one Naeva should've been wearing. The cold of the arena seemed to bite deeper as I held it in my hands. She was freezing. I could feel the weight of her suffering, her body exposed to the elements, vulnerable in a way that no one should be.
And then they began. The guards, merciless in their duty, whipped and struck her. She didn't scream. She bore it all in silence, the blood dripping from her back and legs, staining the ground. My power enough to command armies, to shape destinies—but here, in this moment, I was powerless. I couldn't protect her. I hated myself. I hated this world that had put her through this. Her glassy eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, her lips curved into a fragile smile—a smile that shattered me more than any blow could. We locked eyes for what seemed like an eternity, and in that silence, I felt the weight of every word we had left unsaid.
Her sacrifice—the way she had denied everything between us, every precious moment we'd shared—just to protect my name, my honor. And what had I done for her? What had I given her in return for her pain?
"What are you looking at? Do you challenge the Prince again?" A guard yelled. She looked away, barely reached me. Her face was a ghostly pale, her features drained of life.
I turned to Boryn, my loyal companion and confidant. "What's on the prisoner's menu?" I asked, though the words seemed detached, as if they belonged to someone else.
"Fried rice, Your Majesty," Boryn replied, but I could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
"Is it meat fried rice?" I asked, barely holding it together.
"Yes," he answered, though he clearly didn't understand the question's deeper meaning.
"No wonder," I muttered under my breath.
"What is it, Your Majesty?" Boryn pressed, his brow furrowing.
"She hasn't eaten since that meal at the café," I said quietly.
Boryn's eyes widened in realization. "She's a vegetarian," I added. "Of course she wouldn't eat the fried rice."
I could feel the weight of my failure in every word. She had been starving herself for days, all to avoid revealing the truth. My mind raced, frantic. "Change the menu. Please, Boryn."
He nodded quickly, stepping away to do as I asked, but I didn't move. I stood frozen, watching the scene unfold before me. My heart ached, each strike she endured another fracture in my soul. Her body was a canvas of suffering, her flesh torn and bruised from the brutal punishment.
Another voice broke the silence—a voice that should have carried power, but instead felt hollow. "Again, who is your acquaintance? Your life could be forfeit if you refuse to tell us," the interrogator demanded, his words sharp, accusing.
She didn't flinch. "Your Highness, no matter how many times you ask, my answer will still—"
And then they hit her again. The sound of the whip cutting through the air felt like a wound to my own heart. Her body jerked under the blow, but she didn't scream. She just collapsed, her body crumpling like a fragile doll. The blood-red stain on the wooden plank was all I could see.
"This is tearing me apart," I whispered through gritted teeth, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My mind screamed for me to stop it, to end the pain, but my body remained rooted, frozen in place by the same helplessness that had paralyzed me since the moment she was dragged here.
Boryn, ever the voice of reason, leaned in close. "She's strong… most would have passed out by now, been carried back to the cells long before this," he said softly, his voice tinged with admiration, but also sorrow.
"What did you say?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"They'll keep going until she passes out, Your Majesty. That's the bitter truth."
"No..." The word tore from my throat. "That can't be true."
"We should leave, Your Majesty," Boryn suggested, his tone gentle but firm. "This is torturing you, and it won't stop. You're watching it tear you apart."
"I'm not leaving her," I said, my voice shaking with the force of my conviction. "I won't leave her. Not now. Not ever."
Fifteen minutes passed. Each second dragged on like an eternity, and still, she held on. Her voice grew softer with each passing moment, her words barely audible. By the twentieth minute, her body gave out. She collapsed to the ground, her fall softened by the snow that had begun to fall in gentle flurries, as though the world itself sought to cushion her pain.
"We'll continue tomorrow," the interrogator finally declared, his voice cold and final. The guards began to withdraw, leaving her broken and lifeless on the floor.
"Come on, Prince Skyro," called Eora, her voice cutting through the fog of my thoughts. I couldn't bring myself to call her the Queen Mother anymore. No Queen Mother would ever speak and do so carelessly, so callously.
"Give me a moment," I muttered, my words distant. "I'll catch up soon."
Once the arena had emptied, leaving only the cold echoes of their footsteps behind, I rushed to her side. Boryn and the guards moved away, but I couldn't be moved. I knelt beside her, my heart pounding in my chest as I gathered her into my arms. Her skin was freezing, her body trembling from the cold and the pain. I tucked her hair behind her ear and helped her sit up, but her eyelids fluttered weakly before she managed a faint smile. The light in her eyes was already fading.
"I… I'm sorry," she stuttered, her voice barely a breath.
"No, no, don't apologize," I whispered, my heart breaking all over again. "You didn't do anything wrong, Naeva. Please, don't say that. I changed the menu. I'll make things right, I promise…"
But before I could finish, she leaned into me, her body giving out as she passed into unconsciousness. I held her tightly, my tears soaking into her bloodied back. "Naeva… I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry…"
I pulled my cloak around her, shielding her from the cold as much as I could, though nothing could shield me from the crushing weight of my guilt.
"Please take her gently," I heard one of the guards say.
"Yes, Your Majesty," they replied, carrying her away as carefully as they could, though I knew they could never be as gentle as I wanted them to be.
My knees buckled, and I collapsed to the cold ground. My heart felt as though it were being ripped to shreds. I couldn't breathe through the crushing weight of it all.
Boryn knelt beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder, "Your Majesty..." he said quietly.
"Boryn…" I choked out, my voice breaking. "Keep her safe. Please, keep her safe. I love her. But why can't I protect her? Why can't I do anything to stop this? I'm the prince, the future king. I have all the power in the world, but I can't save her. She hasn't even said she feels the same towards me but seeing her in pain is already like a thousand knives in my heart."
Mei's POV
I woke up with the haunting certainty that today would be no different. Another day, another round of pain. I could already feel the weight of what was to come, the blows that would be delivered in the name of someone else's honor. But if this was what it took to protect his dignity, to secure his future, then I would endure it. I had no choice. I would survive it—somehow. I had to.
I tried to move, but every inch of my body screamed in protest. My muscles felt like they were made of stone, aching from the torment of the day before. The guards were relentless, dragging me forward with no concern for the pain they inflicted. Each tug made the agony in my limbs flare up again, as if my body were rebelling against its own existence.
When they forced me into the chair, it was as if the world itself had been drained of color. Weakness washed over me—both mental and physical. I felt like an empty shell, hollowed out by the relentless cruelty, my spirit barely holding on.
All I could do was hope that Alas, the one person whose reputation meant so much, would somehow remain untarnished. I couldn't bear to see him humiliated—not when I was doing this for him. And so it began again.
"WHO IS IT?!" a voice thundered, harsh and unforgiving.
"It wasn't me, Your Highness—" I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat.
"Go!" came the command, cold and final.
Before I could even process what was happening, the guards struck again. The wound from yesterday hadn't even had the chance to close, and already the blows were being delivered to the same raw, aching spots. It was like they were cutting into the same wound over and over, never giving it the chance to heal. My back, my legs—every inch of me felt like an open wound, bleeding from the repeated cruelty. Each strike was a fresh wound, a new scar on my already battered body.
The pain was unbearable, but my mind clung to one thing: I'll survive. I must survive. I had no choice but to keep going.
Skyro's POV
She was there, fragile, her body trembling in the cold. The sight of her weakened form struck me like a blade. I wanted nothing more than to stop it all, to rush to her side and end her suffering. But I knew I had to control myself, to wait for the right moment. The time to act had not come yet.
She looked up at me, and through the pain, she managed a smile. It was a smile that shattered me. The cloak I had draped over her, the one that had been the only comfort for her in this hell, was ripped from her by the guards. And then, I saw it—the tears streaming down her face, a silent testament to everything she had endured.
I couldn't do a damn thing. My fists clenched at my sides as helplessness roared inside me. I needed to prove her innocence. I needed witnesses. I needed to expose the truth. I turned to Boryn, my trusted confidant. "Set up a meeting with the best agents in the castle. I need this task handled in secret. Now."
But then, something happened. Something I didn't expect. As the guards continued their brutal assault, a figure suddenly appeared. He was tall—tall as I was—with dark clothes and a mask obscuring his face. Within moments, he moved like lightning, striking the guards with precision, targeting pressure points that brought them to their knees.
Before I could react, he had Naeva. He took her, and just like that, she was gone.