17. Wilted Rose
Chapter seventeen
Wilted Rose
Scarlett
Scarlett was dragged through the endless corridors, chains biting deep.
The guards shoved her into the grand chamber.
The room was enormous, vaulted, lined with mirrors and shadowflame that reflected her exhausted, trembling form a dozen times over.
At the center, a platform of black marble rose like a stage, and before it, Cyrus stood, every inch of him radiating control, cruelty, and predatory authority.
His jagged crown caught the torchlight, shadows curling around him like serpents.
“Here,” one of the guards growled, shoving her onto the platform. She stumbled, knees weak as she stepped up. She had drained every ounce of strength from her muscles, leaving her feeling small and fragile under the weight of his gaze.
Cyrus circled her slowly, eyes tracing every inch of her, his smile sharp and cruel.
“You see, little Queen,” he said, voice low, predatory, “a ruler is nothing without an image. And you—you will become my symbol, a queen to wear my power on display. Every eye in Underland will see you bend. Every heart will know who really controls the Crimson Deep.”
He stopped abruptly, letting the silence stretch, then sneered.
“And you should have no trouble with this, should you? A Heartland whore, after all. You’ve taken a hound of your own court, and a rodent from another, and brought them to bed like…
like some little curiosity. You should be accustomed to it. ”
Scarlett’s chest constricted. Her fire pulsed faintly, but she forced herself to stay upright, trembling against the chains. Cyrus cut the dress Ace had given her from her body. His blade nicked her hip, a single bead of blood pooled before sliding down her hip.
Cyrus’ dark eyes swept over her bare form, watching the blood trickle down her leg.
The attendants approached with the ceremonial gown.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low, venomous.
“Frail, naked, exposed… and yet so eager to think you are strong. Such a pretty body, it will be so easy to bend. Soon, everyone will see it. Everyone will know just how small, how mortal, how… useless you truly are beneath the weight of power you cannot command.”
He stepped away near the window with a glass of wine in hand, while seamstresses swarmed Scarlett like nervous birds, pinning layers of crimson silk into place. The gown was beautiful. A queen's gown.
The attendants forced the gown over her shoulders, the heavy black velvet stitched with sapphire thread, restrictive and cold against her skin.
Scarlett’s fire flickered in resistance.
It couldn't build to anything more than a ghostly pulse along her veins.
Looking at herself in the mirror, this was exactly the cage she feared when Seraphine announced her betrothal to Ace.
Scarlett stood rigid on the platform, her jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
"Too tight," she snapped, as another pin dug into her side.
"No," Cyrus said smoothly. "It fits perfectly."
She shot him a look sharp enough to draw blood. His smile only widened. Gods, she hated that smile.
Cyrus walked closer behind her, eyes glinting with triumph, reflecting in the mirror.
“Do you feel it? The weight of power pressed onto your shoulders, your body, your very essence? When it’s all done, I will decide if you live to see another day—or if your death is the lesson every kingdom will learn about defiance.
You… will be mine, in every way until I have taken everything I want.
” The room seemed to shift with him, servants lowering their eyes as he approached.
"You know," he mused, swirling the wine in his glass, "this isn't quite how I imagined welcoming you into the family."
"I would rather choke on broken glass, than be a part of your family." Scarlett finally broke her silence she’d had enough of his taunting.
"Such a temper."
Scarlett’s lips trembled. The chill in her core was a reminder that she was alive—but Cyrus’ cruelty pressed down like stone. Every breath was an effort. Every heartbeat is a knife twisting in her chest.
"Perhaps that's the problem," he said thoughtfully. "No one ever taught you how to listen."
Scarlett's shoulders stiffened. "I listen just fine."
"Do you?" He circled her slowly, inspecting the gown as though she were a possession he'd purchased. "Because, from where I'm standing, every disaster in your life began the moment you decided you knew better than everyone around you."
"You kidnapped me." She huffed.
"You refused the marriage." He began, raising his voice.
"You murdered innocent people." Scarlett crossed her arms, refusing to back down.
"You defied your mother." The exchange hung between them like drawn steel. Cyrus laughed softly.
"See?" He said, "always arguing." His gaze swept over her, before settling on her face. “Perhaps if your father had survived long enough to raise you properly, things would have turned out differently." The words hit like a slap.
Scarlett froze. Cyrus saw it immediately, of course, he did. The monster always found the wound.
“You don't know anything about my father.”
“No?” His head tilted. “Then remind me. Where is he?”
Her hands curled into fists.
“That's what I thought.” The room had gone deathly silent now. Even the seamstresses had stopped breathing. Cyrus stepped closer.
“A dead father. A rebellious daughter. A kingdom hanging by a thread.” His smile sharpened. “No wonder you struggle with authority.”
“Stop.” Tears were starting to well in her eyes.
“Why?” He asked mildly. “You behave like a child every time someone tells you no.”
Scarlett glared at him. “Maybe because I'm surrounded by monsters.”
His eyes gleamed. “Careful, girl.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Then stop acting like one.” The words dripped with amusement. Cyrus leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“Perhaps by the time this is over, you'll finally learn obedience.”
Disgust crawled through her stomach. “I would rather die.”
For a brief moment, the charm vanished. The darkness beneath it surfaced.
“You'll find, Scarlett, that the world rarely cares what you'd rather do.
" His gaze traveled over the wedding gown.
Over the crown waiting nearby. Over the future he intended to force upon her.
Then, he smiled again. Cold. Certain. And terrifying all at the same time.
“Who knows?” He said lightly. “You may not have married my son, but perhaps I'll have you calling me 'Daddy' before you learn to call me King.”
Revulsion flashed across Scarlett's face. Cyrus laughed at her unease. A deep, satisfied sound.
“There she is,” he murmured. “There's that fire I so enjoy breaking.”
Scarlett met his gaze without flinching. “I'd rather burn.”
His smile widened. “Yes,” Cyrus said softly. “That's exactly why you're going to be so much fun to tame."
The mirrors reflected her image, showing a Queen bound in chains, a puppet of shadow, silk, and cruelty. Cyrus’ eyes gleamed with satisfaction, savoring her humiliation and the knowledge that she was utterly exposed—physically, emotionally, and spiritually—to his control.
And yet, somewhere in the flickering pulse of the Crimson Deep, a whisper stirred—an unyielding ember that would not be extinguished, no matter how cruelly Cyrus sought to bind it.
She was trapped, degraded, alone—but not yet broken.