Chapter 7
The four walls seemed to close in around Ellaryn as she sat before her vanity. Her mind kept racing with thoughts of last night’s dinner, then of Magnus.
That laugh.
She cringed as her reflection stared back at her, somehow more accusing than familiar. It seemed to mock her, holding every thought she had tried so desperately to bury.
He had information; she knew that. Information that had cost Selcrose his soul and Magnus his freedom.
But still she was in the dark.
She had heard nothing. Seen nothing that would permit her to understand the King’s erratic behaviour.
How could she have been so unaware of what was happening amongst the dwellers, beneath her very nose?
The city was where she spent most of her time, down on the streets, making her rounds. She knew its alleys, its markets, its people. Nothing escaped her notice.
Or so she had thought.
The idea of something happening without her knowing should have been laughable.
And yet, perhaps that was exactly the problem.
The dwellers had a habit of sealing their mouths the moment she came too close. When they weren’t keeping their heads down and pretending not to see her, they were running and hiding from her altogether.
How was she supposed to hear whispers from people who were terrified of losing their heads?
Then, before her mind could torment her any further, a knock shattered her thoughts.
“Breakfast, Miss Ruin.” A small voice called from behind the wood. She exhaled a long, trembling breath and rose, opening the door.
A young slave girl dressed in rags spoke softly, and Ellaryn offered her a small smile as she stepped aside to let her wheel in the cart.
The girl set the items on the table, then lifted the silver cloche to reveal this morning’s meal: cheese, bread, and grapes.
Better than usual. The King must have been impressed with her work lately. That thought alone stole her appetite.
“Thank you,” Ellaryn said. The girl bowed and turned to leave.
Ellaryn’s gaze lingered on the girl’s small, malnourished frame; she couldn’t have been much younger than she was.
“Wait. Here—take this.”
She handed her a piece of bread. She wasn’t in the mood to eat anyway.
The girl looked at her with doe eyes, her fingers shaking. She didn’t reach for it. Didn’t move.
“Go on,” Ellaryn reassured her. “It’s not a trick.”
The girl just stood there frozen, fear reshaping her face into jagged edges and mottled skin. Ellaryn sighed, hating herself in that moment. She couldn’t even help. Her reputation preceded her. Even this girl, malnourished and dancing with death, wouldn’t take a chance on her.
“Go,” Ellaryn ordered through gritted teeth. The girl nodded and hurried out of the room as if her life depended on it.
Ellaryn ate what she could, then took the leftovers—a slice of cheese, two pieces of bread, and a small branch of grapes—and wrapped them in a serviette before exiting her room.
When she walked the castle halls, Ellaryn took care not to draw attention to herself. She passed the Royal Council gathered in the library, hunched over ledgers and schematics, crunching numbers, chewing thoughtfully on fountain pens and murmuring amongst themselves. She paid them little mind.
The knights were harder to ignore.
Their quarters occupied an entire wing of the castle, complete with a sprawling banquet hall where those off duty gathered for breakfast and chambers of their own. The King rarely set foot there, which meant they had a freedom they enjoyed nowhere else.
As Ellaryn passed, a chorus of wolf-whistles followed her down the corridor.
She rolled her eyes.
The knights had been making advances at her for years, each more tiresome than the last. She had long since stopped acknowledging their flirtations, though that had never seemed to discourage them.
If anything, her indifference only appeared to encourage them further.
“Not joining us for breakfast?”
She knew exactly who that voice belonged to.
She turned to find Lyon smirking deviously.
“I’d rather eat ash,” Ellaryn called out, and he chuckled, ripping a grape from its stem.
“And here I was, thinking your sword was the sharpest thing in Cinder’s; turns out your tongue is sharper.” He smirked with narrow eyes.
“Careful—one of them actually cuts,” Ellaryn retorted, giving him a wink as she walked away.
“Ah, to be kissed by your blade.” He returned the wink, this time puckering his lips to her, but Ellaryn kept walking.
“What’s that saying? Careful what you wish for.” She flashed the edge of her sword with a smirk, and he teased his lip between his teeth.
“But all my wishes include you,” He charmed, his voice carrying down the hall.
“Fuck off, Lyon.” She sang, not sparing him a second glance, his chuckle reverberating off the marble walls.
“What was that? You want to fuck me?” His words caused her cheeks to tint, and when she turned, his eyes glinted as bright as the embers flitting through the city.
“My blade is partial to cutting off extremities… let’s hope your dick is not as big as your ego; that would be a lot of blood loss.” Her eyes narrowed in on him as they drifted down to the arrogant man standing a few feet in front of her.
“Is that your way of asking me if I have a big cock, Ruin?” He raised a cheeky brow, his lips now stuck in a permanent smirk.
“On second thought… maybe I should cut out your tongue instead.” She drawled, now growing bored of his games.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he returned, plucking another grape from its stem.
“I’ll just threaten you then.” She unsheathed her sword halfway, and Lyon raised his hands in surrender, though the smirk did not leave his lips. “Fuck. Off.” She pointed her sword towards him.
“I love it when you talk dirty.” His eyes stayed fixed on hers, the corners of his mouth lifting flirtatiously.
She paused, exhaling a breath. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for war, or something?”
“I’m always prepared.”
“Nice to know you think so highly of yourself.” She rolled her eyes and spun on her heels.
“There’s something else I think highly of.” His gaze travelled slowly up and down her frame as he walked backwards in front of her. “Or should I say, someone.”
Ellaryn sighed.
“Don’t you have an army to bother?”
“They’re no fun. They don’t talk back.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, smirk unmoving.
“So you’re telling me the silent treatment could have saved me the last five minutes of my life?”
“Don’t go getting any ideas.” He wagged a finger at her, dark hair catching the light, stopping in his tracks.
“Bye, Lyon.” She continued, shaking her head at his audacity.
He didn’t answer, but she could still feel his eyes following her long after his footsteps had faded behind her.
* * *
The cool, damp air of the castle’s prison made Ellaryn shudder. It was among her least favourite places, where prisoners were sent and never returned.
Defiers blocked the door, parting at her presence and letting her pass.
She walked to one of the farthest cells, ignoring the pleas and cries of prisoners sentenced to life within these walls, and slid open the hatch in the door.
As she peered inside, she heard the rustling of movement.
“Ellaryn?” a small voice whispered.
The boy rose to his feet, stepping close enough for his face to appear in the narrow slit of the door.
He was young, no more than nine, his skin pale and his features sharp and bony. His hair was shaved right down to his scalp, a uniform all prisoners were subjected to.
“Yes. It’s me.” Ellaryn said, forcing herself not to linger on how malnourished he looked. “I brought you some food.”
She pushed the serviette through the gap, and he reached out, catching it with trembling fingers, ash from the floor instantly staining the tissue with smudges of black.
“Grapes!” He said excitedly. “You got grapes.”
“Don’t go eating them all at once.” She smiled at his pure innocence, something that was rare in this city and savoured his small smile that wasn’t there nearly enough.
“Thank you,” he murmured, eyes lighting up with each small bite. Her eyes narrowed in on his bony figure, worry consuming her brow.
“They forget to feed you again?” She asked, concerned.
He shook his head. “You should see the types of food they feed us. I think they get it from the bin because I found worms in my bread.”
Ellaryn turned her nose up. She would be sure to leave him more tomorrow if she could get away.
“Still, it’s not so bad,” he said with a shrug. “It’s nice to have some company.”
“You’re not befriending animals again?” she chuckled, shaking her head, despite the sad reality he faced.
“This is Mable, Margery and Malec.” He poked a finger through the peephole, pink dust-covered worms crawling in the palm of his hand.
“That’s a lot of M’s.” Ellaryn mused as his little hand folded them in his palm and pulled them back through the gap.
“Mum was called Mable,” he said, his voice now a mixture of sorrow and innocence.
Ellaryn’s stomach dropped.
Just like that, she was reminded of her ruin.
She had refused to kill him. Years ago, when the King had ordered her to execute Sailen’s family after his father was accused of conspiring against the Crown, she had been given a choice: obey, or suffer the consequences.
She had chosen mercy.
The King had chosen punishment.
He let Sailen live—but not live freely.
Instead, he was condemned to a life of solitude, shut away within four stone walls, never permitted to see the light of day again. A living reminder of the family Ellaryn had been ordered to destroy, and of the mercy she had dared to show.
His cell lay directly beneath her chambers.
Every day and every night, he was there.
Waiting in the darkness.
A punishment neither of them could ever escape.
“It’s a beautiful name,” Ellaryn said, her voice breaking slightly.
“Did you know her?” He asked. “My mum?”
Images flashed behind her eyes—her cries, the way she begged until her last breath. She pushed them down.
“Uh, no.” She said quickly, shaking her head. “But I’m sure if I had, I’d have liked her.”
“She would have liked you too.” He said, so sure it made her skin crawl. Because she knew the truth. “I just know it.” He added.
“I don’t know about that.” Ellaryn shook her head, blinking back her tears.
His eyes flicked up to hers.
“Are you okay? You look upset.” He asked, brows knitted together. He’d asked her this a lot over the years, as if her problems could ever be bigger than his. Alone. Starved in this cell. Day in, day out.
“I-I’m okay, Sailen. Don’t worry about me.” She whispered just loud enough for the boy to hear.
“Did he hurt you again?” he asked, innocence threading through his voice.
Ellaryn thought about the question.
She wished the King had hurt her.
At least then, the pain would have been something she could name.
But what she felt in that moment was internal, buried beneath the composed expression she had perfected over the years. Nothing showed on her face; to the unsuspecting eye, she remained as she always was—cold, steady, untouchable.
Inside, however, the misery that followed every order, every inhumane act she had been forced to carry out, came rushing back to the forefront of her mind. Every face. Every scream. Every life she had taken because someone more powerful had commanded it.
And for all the blood she had spilled, it was the memories that hurt the most.
She wished she were brave enough to refuse him. Strong enough to endure whatever punishment followed. But no matter how fearsome she appeared to the dwellers, no matter how readily they whispered her name like a curse, beneath the armour she wore so carefully, she was not fearless.
She was afraid.
There was a twisted part of her—a part she kept buried so deeply she could almost pretend it didn’t exist—that envied her victims. They had suffered because of her, but at least their suffering had ended.
“No.” That was all Ellaryn said. All she could say… because he hadn’t hurt her. It was she who had hurt so many.
She wanted nothing more than to tell the small boy, to vent out her problems, but she couldn’t. Because then he would know that she was Ruin.
She was the one the city feared.
The one who murdered his family and the reason he was locked up day and night. Then he would think of her as everyone else does—A monster. And she couldn’t bear that, her only friend in the whole city, turning his back on her. So she kept quiet, selfish as it may be.
“So, what’s the matter?” The boy asked, and Ellaryn breathed a long sigh.
“I was just thinking about some things…” She looked around the emptiness of his cell. “Things I would like to forget.”
“I know just what you mean,” Sailen added, and she hated the fact that he did know. The boy had experienced so much pain and suffering in his short life, and it was because of her.
“How about one of your stories to lift the mood?” A small smile danced on her lips at his request. It was the least she could do.
Ellaryn often told Sailen stories, fabricated realities about a peaceful land where its people flourished and wanted for nothing.
She had wanted him to believe that peace was out there, even though it wasn’t.
The stories pulled her back to her childhood, to the nights her father would sit beside her and spin tales into the dark.
She had loved the ones about princesses—princesses who were chosen, who were saved, who were loved fiercely enough to be rescued by their prince charming. She had believed in those endings once.
But she knew now she had been born into a different kind of story.
In hers, she was not the princess.
She was the villain.
And villains didn’t get happy endings.