Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mia
I sat on the bench outside, staring at that closed door, feeling like my heart was being squeezed by an invisible hand.
Three hours now.
Behind that door, a team of healers fought to save the asshole who'd taken a knife for me.
Out here, Lily slumped against me, her little hand clutching my dress, fast asleep.
Tears still clung to her lashes—when she'd seen Zane carried in covered in blood, she'd screamed until her voice broke, crying "Zane, don't die" over and over.
That sound had cut through me like a dull blade, sawing at my heart.
I'd never heard her cry like that.
I'd never realized I could be that scared.
Not ordinary worry—this was a cold fear that seeped out from my bones, like someone had thrown me into frozen water and told me I might never see him again.
I sat there staring at that door, the scene replaying in my head—that knife with its magic runes plunging into his chest, blood spraying, his eyes going wide, lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn't.
Then he'd stepped in front of me.
The man who'd let me fall off that cliff had stepped in front of me.
I closed my eyes, buried my face in Lily's hair, and breathed deeply. She smelled faintly of milk and garden grass, settling my racing heart just a little.
The door finally opened.
I jerked to my feet, nearly waking Lily. She whimpered, shifted in my arms, then dozed off again.
The head healer walked out, pulling off blood-stained gloves, giving me a tired but relieved smile.
"He's going to be fine. The blade missed his heart by about two centimeters—just barely. But he's in excellent physical condition, and his werewolf healing is kicking in. He'll need bed rest, but he's not in danger."
My knees went soft.
Like someone had removed the bones from my legs. I leaned against the wall, breathing hard until my voice steadied.
"Can I see him?"
"Yes. But he's still unconscious—the anesthesia hasn't worn off yet."
I nodded, passed Lily to a nearby servant to carry to her room. Then I pushed through that door.
The medical room was dim, just one bedside lamp casting a warm glow over the bed.
Zane lay there, pale as paper, chest wrapped in thick bandages with a hint of blood seeping through.
His breathing was steady, chest rising and falling in an even rhythm, like someone who'd finally laid down all his burdens.
I pulled over a chair and sat.
Looking at him like this, my chest felt stuffed with cotton.
This asshole.
Five years ago, he hurt me. Five years later, he took a knife for me.
What the hell did he want?
I reached out, hesitated, then lightly touched his fingers. They were cool, with that faint warmth sick people have. My fingers traced up along his knuckles, stopping at his wrist—I could feel his pulse, steady but weak.
Alive.
He was alive.
That realization made my eyes sting. I yanked my hand back, swiped at my eyes, and cursed myself a thousand times.
Get it together, Mia. He just took a knife for you. That doesn't mean anything. It doesn't erase what he did.
But that voice—that damn stubborn voice in my head—whispered: But he was willing to die for you.
I didn't answer that voice.
I just sat there, watching him sleep, until the sky outside started turning pale.
Zane woke up the next afternoon.
I was sitting in the chair by his bed, holding a book—actually, I hadn't read a single word, just needed something for my hands to do. When I heard a soft groan from the bed, I looked up to meet those gray-blue eyes.
They were still unfocused, like he'd just been dragged up from deep sleep. He blinked, his gaze sharpening on my face, then his lips curved into a weak smile.
"You're still here," he said, voice rough as sandpaper on wood.
"Where else would I be?" I closed the book and leaned back. "You think I'd run off while you were unconscious?"
"Honestly—I worried about it for a second there."
I rolled my eyes. "Save it. You haven't finished paying your debt yet. I'm not letting you die that easily."
He laughed, but it turned into a cough—jarring his chest wound, his face crumpling, a suppressed groan escaping.
"Serves you right." But I still stood up, poured water, and held it to his lips.
He drank a few sips, then lay back, looking at me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable.
"Leah?"
"Dead... fell off the cliff. The guards found her body."
He was quiet for a few seconds. "And—Elder Alden."
I froze. "What?"
"I saw Edmund's report on the side table earlier.
They found evidence," he said, voice weak but clear.
"Leah could only drug you because she had Alden's help.
And—he also bribed that maid Aila five years ago to frame you, gave you those poisoned flower seeds, told Leah you were pregnant...
and at the end, sent someone to murder your family—"
He paused, breathing deep.
"The disaster that destroyed your family. He did it."
My blood turned to ice.
Elder Alden. That goat-bearded old man with his fake smile. The one who five years ago insisted I be hidden away while Leah played Luna. The one who used "national interest" as an excuse in council meetings to back me into a corner.
It was him.
Always him.
My fingers dug into the armrest, knuckles white. Cold fury rose from my chest.
Him.
"Where is he?" My voice came out eerily calm.
"Already arrested. Waiting for you to decide what to do with him."
I stood.
"Take me to him."
The dungeon was damp and cold, reeking of mold and rust. Torches flickered on the walls, casting twisted shadows. My footsteps echoed through the narrow corridor, each one like a beat on some ancient, heavy drum.
Alden was in the deepest cell.
He sat on a pile of straw, hair disheveled, robes filthy, completely stripped of that superior elder bearing. When he heard footsteps, he looked up. Seeing me, his mouth twisted into a mocking smile.
"Oh, it's you," he said, voice hoarse but still carrying that nauseating arrogance. "Come for revenge?"
I stood outside the bars, looking at him.
"Why?" I asked, voice flat as still water.
He was silent for a few seconds, then laughed. Not repentant, not guilty, but righteously certain, like he'd grasped some truth.
"For the kingdom."
That word again.
"Your parents wouldn't hand you over," he said, tone casual as a weather report.
"They'd rather run away with you than give you up.
Your voice—the Siren's voice—if properly used, could have made us the strongest of the Four Kingdoms. But they refused.
They chose to protect you instead of the kingdom. "
"So you killed them?"
"I did what had to be done."
My fingers trembled. Not from fear—from rage. A cold, pure fury like fire igniting in my veins.
"What had to be done?" I repeated each word through gritted teeth. "You murdered my parents, destroyed my family, made me an orphan to grow up in that home—that's what had to be done?"
"For the greater good—"
"Fuck your greater good!"
My voice echoed through the dungeon, making the torches shudder.
"Alden, you've committed terrible crimes. You'll be sentenced to death."
A crack finally appeared in Alden's expression—seeing the killing intent in my eyes, he realized he might've gone too far.
"You... you can't kill me," his voice started shaking. "I'm an elder—I've served the kingdom for forty years—"
"You've served your own ambition for forty years," I cut him off. "You just used 'the kingdom' as an excuse to hide your greed and cruelty."
I turned away, done looking at him.
"Keep him locked up. When Zane recovers, public trial. I want everyone to know what he did."
I walked out of the dungeon, footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Sunlight made me squint. I stood at the dungeon entrance, breathed deep, feeling years of accumulated poison finally draining from my chest.
Revenge complete.
I thought I'd feel satisfied. Thought I'd feel free. But standing in the sunlight, I only felt hollow exhaustion—like I'd run a marathon, crossed the finish line, only to find nothing there. Just an empty, silent void.
My parents wouldn't come back. Those lost years wouldn't return. Those days in the orphanage being mocked and excluded, those days in the palace being used as a tool, having my dignity trampled—they were gone, unchangeable, irreparable.
I stood there, eyes burning.
Then I felt a small hand grab my finger.
I looked down.
Lily stood beside me, looking up with those gray-blue eyes full of seriousness beyond her years.
"Mommy, are you crying?"
I quickly wiped my eyes, crouched down, and forced a smile. "No, sweetheart. Mommy just—got sand in her eyes."
She didn't call me out. Just reached up with her small, warm hand and gently touched my face.
"Mommy, don't be sad," she said, voice serious as a royal decree. "Lily is here. I will always stay with Mommy."
Something slammed hard into my heart.
I hugged her, buried my face in her small shoulder, breathed in that faint sweet scent from her hair, feeling those empty places slowly filling up.
The next few days, a strange atmosphere hung over the palace.
News of Alden's arrest exploded like a bomb, sending shockwaves through the kingdom. Some were shocked, some furious, some couldn't believe that respected elder had done such things. But the evidence was solid—truths buried for years were finally dug up, exposed to daylight.
Zane's recovery was faster than expected. Werewolf healing really was impressive—by the third day, he could get out of bed; by the fifth, he was back in his study handling paperwork. Sure, he couldn't do anything strenuous, his chest wound still needed changing, but he was sick of lying in bed.
And Lily—well, Lily was completely smitten.