A slap resonated through the dungeons, a sharp crack that sent a tremor through the cold stone walls. Lyric, crouched behind a shadowed pillar, winced as she peeked at her grandmother's cold figure and Given's battered form in the cell. The sharp sting of the sound echoed in her chest, and she felt her guilt crawl under her skin. This was all her fault.
"I will ask you this final time, Given," her grandmother's voice cut through the thick silence. "Did you sleep with my granddaughters?"
The words lingered in the air, but Given remained silent, his face a picture of exhaustion and pain. It was when he didn't answer again that something seemed to snap inside him.
Lyric stumbled backward, barely able to catch her breath as the reality of her actions hit her. Her vision blurred with hot tears, the sting of regret flooding her chest. She didn't care who saw or who heard. She didn't care if the prisoners found enjoyment in her sorrow. She just needed to leave the dungeons, away from the cold, the questions, the pain. Away from everything.
Her feet carried her, stumbling down the stone halls, her sobs strangling her as they came. She couldn't stop the tears. She couldn't stop the hurt.
Why had she lied ? Why ? All because of jealousy ?
She pushed herself against a pillar, clutching onto it for dear support, only for her stomach to betray her again. She bent over, retching violently onto the cold floor, her body trembling with the strain.
"Oh, Given," she whispered through her sobs. "I'm so sorry." The words felt hollow, and yet they were the only thing she could say. She could feel the weight of her lie, gnawing at her insides, making her feel sick. She had betrayed him, and it felt like her very soul was crumbling under the weight of it all.
"Are you okay?" a soft voice called from behind her.
Lyric froze.
The Queen of Lunareth. Her voice, commanding yet filled with warmth, reverberated in Lyric's ears. She had heard it a thousand times, yet now it felt so foreign. She forgot—she was suppose to be their mother. Or rather, their grandmother had made them act as though she was , had twisted their roles, manipulating them into these dark games.
"Lyric," the Queen said again, stepping closer. Lyric felt a warm hand hover over her, about to help her to her feet, but Lyric recoiled, shaking her head, her heart pounding in her chest.
She couldn't do this. Not now. She couldn't let them see her and she couldn't look into their eyes too .
Without a second glance, Lyric ran. She couldn't care anymore that she was running. She couldn't care if the Queen or anyone else saw. She needed to be alone. Alone with her guilt. Alone with the storm inside her.
Her chamber door slammed behind her as she entered, her breath ragged, her heart racing. She didn't even care to take off her dress as she collapsed onto the bed, sitting beside it, her legs curled beneath her. The day had turned to night, the sun long gone, and she hadn't even noticed the time pass. Everything felt like a blur.
Lord Cade's threats echoed in her mind. The thought of Given being punished, worse, killed—it was too much. The people would never understand. They wouldn't know that she was the treasonous one. That it was her fault.
Tears streamed down her face, and she buried her face in her hands. "I am so sorry," she whispered into the emptiness, her voice barely a breath. The wind through her open window carried her apologies, but there was no one to hear them. Not even Given. He would never hear her words.
And when he got out, he would hate her. She knew it. He would never forgive her. Not after what she had done.
A thought struck her suddenly, and for a moment, she sat still, her body shivering from the cold realization. They couldn't just kill the Queen's right-hand man. Could they? Not if she fought for him.
Before she could gather her thoughts, a wave of dizziness swept over her, and Lyric fell to the floor. Her body crashed against the stone, the force of it sending a shock of pain through her arm.
"Oww!" she cried out, her voice breaking as she writhed on the floor. The pain in her arm was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness inside her.
She had spent the entire day without eating anything . In the mornings, Lyric would only sip tea, often skipping breakfast. When Given was around, she might nibble on a biscuit or have a half slice of sandwich, though it was never much. Lunchtime came and went with little more than idle conversation—she preferred to talk rather than eat, her voice filling the air in a way that Evelyn and others often found irritating.
But when Given accompanied her to town, she found herself indulging. They would visit Addie's Bakery, where she would savor freshly baked bread, the warm aroma filling her senses. That bakery held a special place in her heart, and Given seemed to share the same fondness for it. At night, she would often forgo food altogether, preferring sleep or time spent with her bunny Maximus . But when Given was there, she would occasionally share a hearty meal with him—usually a large piece of meat. They would talk, and she would ramble on, unaware of how much she was eating, so absorbed in the conversation that the food was almost an afterthought.
Her teacher's words echoed in her head, cruel and sharp:"No husband will take a piglet of a wife . Eat less . Be perfect. "
But now, she wasn't sure if perfection even mattered anymore. All that was left was guilt. A gnawing, all-consuming guilt that threatened to drown her.
She couldn't even tell when she slipped into unconsciousness. The guards must have come rushing in at some point. They gathered her up, placed her onto the bed, and she vaguely remembered a physician attending to her hand. The pain in her arm was dulled by the medicinal touch, and her handmaids fussed over her, urging her to drink soup.
But none of it mattered.
All that mattered was the storm inside her heart. And the knowledge that no matter what happened next, everything had already changed.