Chapter 20 #2
"Awake?" Her voice rasped like sandpaper on wood. "I thought I'd be waiting longer."
I glared at her, angry sounds muffled in my throat.
"Don't rush to curse me." She approached, crouching before me, trailing the dagger's flat edge along my cheek. "We have plenty of time."
She stood and began pacing the cave. Fast, agitated steps, like a caged beast.
"You know how I've spent these five years?
" Her voice trembled with neurotic intensity.
"Exiled from the palace, spat on by everyone, wandering like a stray dog.
I went to the northern mines and washed dishes for two years.
Fingers rotting in soapy water, every night lying on a hard wooden plank, listening to men snore next door, thinking—this is all your fault. "
She stopped, turned to look at me. Her eyes burned with something that chilled my spine—not anger. Madness.
"If not for you, I'd be Luna by now. If not for you, Zane would love me. If not for you—" Her voice pitched up, shrill as nails scraping a chalkboard. "I could have had everything!"
I looked at her. At this woman I once thought was my best friend. Who stood up for me when I was mocked. Who kept me company when I was lonely. Who—stole everything from me and stabbed me in the back.
Complex emotions surged through me. Anger? Yes. Sadness? Of course. But mostly—a deep sorrow. A bone-deep, seeping sorrow.
Sorrow that she had a beautiful voice but chose to steal someone else's talent. Sorrow that she could have earned everything through her own effort but chose the most despicable path. Sorrow that she stood before me like a broken doll, blaming me for everything, never reflecting on what she'd done.
"You ruined me," she said, voice suddenly calm—that calm more terrifying than her madness. "So I'm going to ruin you."
She approached and yanked the cloth from my mouth.
"Any last words?" She tilted her head, smile sweet as a poisonous flower. "Oh, right, you can talk now. So talk. Say something."
I looked at her. Silent for a few seconds.
Then I spoke, voice hoarse but clear. "Leah, you're pathetic."
Her smile froze.
"What?"
"I said you're pathetic." I repeated it, enunciating each word. "You have a beautiful voice, a pretty face, a smart mind—but you chose to steal. You stole my songs, stole my identity, stole my fated mate. Because deep down, you know you can't accomplish anything on your own."
Her face went deathly pale. The hand holding the dagger started shaking.
"Shut up—"
"You stole everything, but you still lost," I continued, voice calm as stating fact. "Because the things that truly belonged to you, you couldn't keep a single one."
She screamed and lunged at me with the dagger.
I didn't flinch.
The blade stopped an inch from my throat. I felt the cold metal against my skin, raising goosebumps. Her arm trembled, breathing ragged like an enraged beast.
"You think I won't kill you?" She hissed through clenched teeth.
"You can," I said, meeting her eyes. "But you won't. Because killing me would be too easy. You want me to suffer, to wish I were dead. Am I right?"
Her mouth twitched.
Then she laughed. That laugh made my stomach turn—not the laugh of a sane person, but someone completely broken.
"You're right," she said, lowering the dagger, turning a circle in the cave. "Killing you would be too easy. I'll make Zane watch you suffer. I'll make him know what it feels like to lose the most important person."
She walked to the cave entrance where a copper mirror sat—probably left from an abandoned camp. She straightened her hair in the reflection, wiped dust from her face, then turned, flashing me a sweet smile.
"I'm going to invite His Majesty to watch a good show," she said. "You wait here. Don't run off."
She left laughing.
I sat alone in the darkness, rope biting into my wrists. Torches flickered, shadows writhing on walls like grotesque dancers. I closed my eyes, breathed deep, slowed my heartbeat.
Calm down. Mia, calm down. You're not the voiceless girl from five years ago. You can speak, you can think, you can fight back. You won't sit here waiting to be rescued.
I started working my wrists, trying to loosen the rope.
After some time, footsteps echoed outside. Not one person—many.
Torchlight flooded in from the entrance, illuminating the whole cave. I squinted and saw a group enter—led by Zane, his face dark as a storm sky. Behind him: guards and several elders. Their expressions varied—tense, confused, some clearly here for the show.
Leah stood center stage, dagger in hand, wearing a victor's smile.
"Welcome, Your Majesty." She spread her arms like a stage performer. "Welcome to my little theater."
Zane's gaze swept past her, landing on me. Those gray-blue eyes flashed with anger and worry. His jaw clenched, hands balling into fists.
"Let her go," he said, voice cold as winter iron.
"Don't rush, Your Majesty." Leah smiled, pointing the dagger at me. "We have much to discuss."
She turned to Zane, smile twisting. "You know, these five years, I thought about you every day. Your handsome face, your cold eyes, your superiority. I gave you so much—pleased you, catered to you, became what you wanted—but you never truly looked at me once."
Her voice trembled, eyes reddening. "You only saw her. This mute. This useless woman who couldn't even speak. What's so good about her? How is she better than me?"
"She's better than you in every way," Zane said, voice flat as stating fact. "She has a kind heart, a resilient soul, courage that never bows to fate. And you—you only have jealousy and lies."
Leah's expression shattered in that instant.
Not ordinary hurt—something deeper. Like a person's last psychological defense crumbling, revealing the hollow, twisted, inhuman core beneath.
"Fine," she said, voice suddenly light, barely a whisper. "Since you say that—let's make a deal."
She raised the dagger, aimed at my heart.
"Sever your fated mate bond with her," she said. "Then mark me. Make me your Luna. Your real Luna. If you do that, I'll let her go."
The cave fell silent. I heard torches crackling, my own heartbeat, and Zane's breathing—heavy, rapid, like he was desperately suppressing something.
He looked at me. I looked at him.
"Okay," he said.
My heart jumped.
"I agree," he said, voice hoarse. "I'll sever the bond with her. I'll mark you. Just let her go."
Leah's eyes lit up. Not with joy—with sick, fervent excitement. Her mouth stretched into a smile that turned my stomach.
"I knew you'd agree," she said, voice trembling with victory. "Come on. Let's begin."
Zane stepped closer.
Two steps.
Three.
He stopped less than six feet from Leah.
"I need to get close to her to sever the bond," he said, pointing at me. "Let me through."
Leah hesitated, then nodded. "No tricks."
Zane walked to me, crouched down, reached out, and touched my cheek.
The touch was light, brief. But his fingers trembled.
Then he lowered his head, lips nearly touching my ear, voice only I could hear:
"I'll count to three. Roll left."
I froze.
"What—"
"Trust me."
He stood, turned to Leah.
"I need to touch her forehead," he said, voice calm as discussing business. "Severing the bond requires skin contact."