Chapter 9 - Sugar and Scars
By the next day, the city no longer felt like something I was walking through.
It felt like something I was allowed to belong to.
Not in the way the palace had been, where every step carried weight, where every glance meant something, where even breathing too loudly could be interpreted as weakness or defiance, depending on who was watching. This was different. Lighter. Louder. Messier in a way that felt... honest.
And for the first time in my life
I was not hiding inside it.
I was walking openly beside my husband.
The realization settled into me slowly, not all at once, but in quiet moments, the way people stepped aside when we passed, the way merchants straightened when they realized who he was, the way no one dared look at him for too long and yet somehow always looked at me just a second longer than they should.
Curiosity.
Confusion.
Wonder.
And something softer.
He walked beside me without a cloak, without the heavy armor of his title wrapped around him in layers of shadow and fear. He was still dangerous; he always would be, but here, dressed down, without the weight of court pressing against his shoulders, there was something else beneath it.
Something human.
Something mine.
We spent the entire day moving from shop to shop, from narrow streets lined with vendors to open markets filled with color and noise, and the kind of chaos that felt alive rather than suffocating.
I touched fabrics I had never seen before, soft and light and woven in ways that caught the sun like they were meant to be worn in movement.
I tried sweets from carts that smelled like honey and spice and something warm I couldn't name.
I listened to musicians play in the corners of streets while children danced without fear of being told to stop.
And Achilles...
He followed.
Not reluctantly.
Not impatiently.
But with the quiet tolerance of a man who had never done this before and was trying very hard not to look like he didn't know what he was doing.
He did not haggle.
He did not argue.
He paid.
Which, I learned very quickly, was both a blessing and a problem.
"You are being robbed," Veronica muttered at one point as he handed over far too much coin for something that should have cost half as much.
Achilles didn't even look at the merchant. "If he is foolish enough to risk cheating me in broad daylight, I will deal with him later."
The merchant nearly dropped the coins.
Veronica sighed. "You see? That's not shopping. That's threatening economic stability."
I laughed.
Achilles did not.
But I felt his hand tighten slightly around mine, just enough to remind me he was still there, still watching, still aware of everything, even as he allowed me to wander freely beside him.
By the time the sun began to dip low in the sky, turning everything gold and soft and warm, my feet ached in a way I had never experienced before, not from fear or running or exhaustion, but from simply... living.
It was a strange feeling.
A good one.
And that is how we found ourselves seated in a small restaurant tucked between two larger buildings, its windows open to the evening air, its tables filled with people who laughed too loudly, spoke too freely, and did not lower their voices just because someone important had entered the room.
Veronica ordered before I could even open my mouth.
"I'll have two of everything," she said, waving her hand dismissively at the menu. "Start with the desserts."
The server blinked.
"...two of everything?"
"Yes."
"That's a lot..."
"Yes."
The girl nodded quickly and disappeared.
I stared at Veronica.
"...you ordered desserts first."
"Of course I did."
"That's not how meals work."
"It is how my meals work."
Achilles leaned back in his chair, watching the street rather than the conversation, though I knew he was listening.
Veronica rested her chin in her hand, entirely unbothered by my confusion.
"Life is uncertain," she said calmly. "If I die, I would rather it be after something sweet."
I blinked.
"...that feels dramatic."
"I am dramatic."
"Very dramatic," Achilles said without looking at her.
She ignored him.
"And besides," she continued, turning her attention back to me, "you clearly need a proper education."
"In what?"
"In taste."
I opened my mouth to respond, but the desserts arrived before I could.
All of them.
More than I thought possible to fit on one table.
Plates layered with cakes, pastries dusted in sugar, delicate tarts filled with fruit that gleamed under the fading light, small glasses of cream and honey, chocolate confections shaped like miniature sculptures, things I didn't even recognize but immediately wanted to try.
Veronica lit up.
Actually lit up.
Her entire expression changed, the sharpness softening, the danger dimming just slightly beneath something that could only be described as delight.
"This," she said, gesturing to the table as she had personally created it, "is what happiness looks like."
I laughed softly.
"You like sweets."
"That is an understatement." Achilles mumbles
She reached forward, picked up a small pastry, and placed it directly on my plate.
"Try this first," she said. "It will feel like an orgasm in your mouth ."
"...umm okay? "
I took a bite.
"Oh," I breathed, my eyes widening slightly as the flavor settled across my tongue, sweet but not overwhelming, soft but layered with something richer beneath it.
Veronica watched me like she had been waiting for that reaction.
"I told you."
"That's..."
"I know."
I laughed again, softer this time, something warm settling in my chest as I reached for another piece, and another, and suddenly I understood exactly why she had ordered like this.
Because it wasn't just about the food.
It was about the moment.
The freedom.
The indulgence of something simple that didn't come with consequence.
"You have a sweet tooth," I said.
Achilles snorted lightly. "That is one way to describe it."
She ignored him.
I smiled, watching her for a moment before curiosity settled in.
"How did you and Elias start?" I asked, curious.
She paused.
Not long.
But long enough that I noticed.
Then she leaned back slightly, picking up another dessert as if the question meant nothing at all.
"It was the sweets," she said.
I blinked.
"...what?"
"He bribed me."
Achilles huffed softly. "That's not accurate."
Veronica rolled her eyes.
"He didn't speak to me," she continued, her tone shifting slightly...not softer, but... less sharp. Less guarded. "He would just appear. Hand me something sweet. And then leave."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
I stared at her.
"You just... accepted food from a man who didn't speak to you?"
"I am not foolish," she said flatly. "I tested it first."
"...tested it."
"For poison."
"Of course."
"It wasn't poisoned."
"Obviously."
She took another bite, entirely unbothered.
"And he kept doing it," she continued. "Every time he saw me. Candy. Pastries. Sometimes something ridiculous like sugared fruit. He would hand it to me, say something mildly irritating, and then disappear before I could decide whether to be offended."
I smiled faintly, already able to picture it.
Elias, offering sweets like they were peace offerings.
"He did it every day for six months."
I blinked.
"Six months?"
"Yes."
"And you never asked why?"
She shrugged lightly.
"I didn't need to. It became routine."
Something flickered across her expression then.
Subtle.
Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
"I started expecting it," she admitted. "It was... sweet."
Coming from her, that word felt heavier than it should.
"And then one day," she continued, her voice quieter now, "he didn't show up."
The table felt still suddenly.
The noise of the restaurant faded just slightly.
"A day passed," she said. "Then another. Then a week."
I watched her carefully now.
"He disappeared," she said. "No explanation. No warning."
"...what did you think?"
"That he was moved on, not all good things last."
The answer came too easily.
Too quickly.
Like it had been the only logical conclusion.
"But?" I asked softly.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the fork in her hand.
"But then I saw him again."
Her gaze shifted, unfocused for a moment, like she was no longer sitting across from me but standing somewhere else entirely.
"He wasn't clean," she said. "He wasn't smiling. He wasn't... him."
"He was covered in blood," she continued. "Angry. Loud. Yelling at the king like he had forgotten where he was standing."
I felt Achilles shift slightly beside me.
"He called him a cold-hearted idiot," she added, almost like an afterthought.
Achilles snorted.
"That sounds like him."
Veronica ignored him.
"And then he walked away," she said. "Like nothing else mattered."
"...safe to assume you followed him," I guessed.
"Of course I did."
She lifted her gaze to mine again.
"I wanted to know why he stopped when I did something. If i had offended him, but when I found him..." she said slowly, "he looked at me and smiled."
"As nothing had happened," she continued. "Like he hadn't been gone. Like he hadn't been bleeding. Like the world hadn't shifted under my feet."
"He apologized."
I blinked.
"...for what?"
"For disappearing."
Her lips pressed together briefly.
"And then he handed me a box," she said.
I stared at her.
"A... box."
"A very large one."
I couldn't help it.
I laughed softly.
"That's how he..." stopped and smiled, "he said there was a treat in there for every day he didn't see me."
"And it worked?"
She hesitated.
"Yes."
The word came quieter this time.
More honest.
She looked down at the table.
At the desserts.
At her hands.
"The rest is... history," she said.
But something in her tone said it wasn't that simple.
And I realized..
It never is.
I hesitated, then asked, "Why sweets?"
She went still.
Just for a moment.
Then she exhaled slowly.
"My ex-husband," she said.
"He didn't allow them," she continued calmly. "Said they were unnecessary. Wasteful. Undisciplined."
My stomach turned.
"And you listened?"
The question slips from me before I can stop it, fragile and horrified and far too soft for the weight it carries. I hear it echo in my own ears, and even before she answers, I know how foolish it sounds.
Because I already understand.
Because there are recent versions of myself that would have done the same.
Veronica does not look away.
She does not pretend.
She does not offer comfort.
"Yes," she says.
The word lands like something final.
Around us, the world continues as if nothing has shifted.
Plates clatter. Someone laughs loudly at a joke that does not belong in this moment.
A server passes behind me carrying fresh desserts, the scent of sugar and cream and baked fruit curling through the air in a way that feels almost cruel now, too sweet, too soft, too untouched by the kind of reality settling between us.
Veronica leans back slightly in her chair, her posture relaxed in a way that feels deliberate rather than natural, as if she has long ago learned how to hold herself together even when the past presses too close.
"Let me ask you something," she says, her voice lowering just enough that it no longer belongs to the room but to us alone. "If Achilles had told you, a few months ago, to stop eating sweets..."
Her gaze lifts to mine.
"Would you have fought him?"
My breath catches.
Because there is no hesitation.
"No," I whisper.
The word feels like a confession.
"I wouldn't have," I admit, my fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table, nails pressing into the wood as if grounding myself there might steady the way my chest tightens. "I would have been too afraid."
Afraid of displeasing him.
Afraid of what I didn't understand.
Afraid of the man he was before I knew.
Veronica nods once.
Not in judgment.
Not in pity.
In recognition.
"That," she says quietly, "is why."
Her gaze drifts past me for a moment, unfocused, slipping somewhere far beyond the walls of this place, somewhere darker.
"Not every queen gets lucky," she continues. "Not every king learns how to hold back."
Her lips press together.
"And not every story you hear about a tyrant is exaggerated."
A pause.
"Some stories," she continues, her voice growing colder, sharper, "are only a glimpse of what a man can become when no one is strong enough to stop him."
Silence settles.
Heavy.
Breathing feels... harder.
"I was sixteen," she says.
The number hits me harder than it should.
"I married him at sixteen."
Her fingers were still against the table.
"He was older," she adds.
She does not give a number.
"There was no argument," she continues. "No discussion. No moment where I was asked if I agreed."
Her gaze flicks briefly to mine.
"One day, I was in my village," she says.
Her voice changes slightly.
Not softer.
More distant.
"As I had always been," she continues. "Walking the same paths. Knowing every face. Every voice. Every place where the ground dipped just enough to trip you if you weren't paying attention.And the next day..."
She exhales.
"It was gone."
The words feel too small for what they carry.
"He burned it all," she says.
Her gaze sharpens.
"Every house. Every field. Every person who thought they would live long enough to become something more than what they were."
My stomach twists.
"I remember the smell before I remember anything else," she continues.
Her voice does not break.
"I remember stepping through ash that still held heat," she says. "Through wood that collapsed beneath my feet. Through bodies I recognized only by what remained of them."
My breath falters.
"I remember calling out names," she adds.
A pause.
"And no one answered."
The restaurant feels too small.
Too bright.
Too alive.
"And then," she continues, "they put a crown on my head."
My eyes widen slightly.
"...A crown?"
She gives a faint, humorless smile.
"I was lucky enough to catch the king's eye." The word cuts. "They put a crown on my head and a sword in my hand," she says. "And told me I would rule."
Her eyes meet mine again.
"I was trained," she continues, "not like a queen. Like something meant to endure."
Her fingers tap once against the table.
"Every mistake almost cost me my life."
My throat tightens.
"...i was disciplined for the smallest of things, he loved to hear me scream."
Her lips curve faintly.
"He loves to watch me beg." The words feel wrong. She continues, "drinking while I pleaded for mercy."
My hands tremble.
"He liked it when it lasted longer," she adds. "When exhaustion didn't take me, it made for a good show ."
I feel sick.
"He said it was more entertaining that way."
"I learned quickly," she says, "that pain was not something worth reacting to."
Her gaze sharpens.
"Because reacting made it worse."
A long silence stretches.
"I was a queen by title," she says.
And for a moment...
There is something bitter in it.
"I had a court," she continues. "A throne. A kingdom."
Her smile returns.
Cold.
"But the reality that everyone ignored was that I was a slave with a crown on my head."
My chest aches.
"I was used," she continues. "When he wanted. How he wanted." My breath falters. "There were nights I did not sleep," she says. "Days i did not speak, weeks I could not move because my body was too weak or broken."
The words sit heavy.
"There were days I could barely breathe," she adds. "And it didn't matter."
"And when he brought home mistresses..."
Her lips twitch slightly.
"I was relieved."
I stare at her.
"Because it meant I was not the one he would touch."
The truth of it cuts deeper than anything else.
"They would arrive smiling," she continues. "Beautiful. Proud. Certainly, they had gained something."
Her gaze hardens.
"And within days..."
A pause.
"They understood."
I close my eyes briefly.
"I felt sorry for them," she admits.
Her fingers curl slightly.
"But there was nothing I could do."
Because she was trapped too.
"I had children," she says.
The shift is sharp.
But I couldn't love them properly," she adds, her voice firm now, fierce. "Not like a mother should"
There is something protective there.
Something real.
"But I tried ."
I believe her.
"The Gods know i tried, I gave them everything i just couldn't give them love," she continues.
"...why?"
Her gaze meets mine.
And for the first time...
There is something there that feels like it hurts.
"They look like him."
The words are quiet.
"They carry his face."
Her jaw tightens.
"The same face that taught me to pain ... was the same face attached to such an innocent thing begging for my love. And protection, so i protected them the only way i could."
I don't know what to say.
I don't think there is anything to say.
"I ended it."
The words come suddenly.
Final.
My breath catches.
"How?" I whisper.
Her gaze darkens.
"I waited," she says. "I taught him."
Her fingers curl slightly.
"One night... he thought he was safe."
Her lips curve faintly.
"He always thought he was safe."
A pause.
"All I could smell was blood," she continues. "Even before I touched him."
My stomach twists.
"I remember how warm it was," she says. "When the blade went in."
My breath stutters.
"I remember the way his body reacted," she continues. "The way he tried to understand what was happening."
Her eyes lock onto mine.
"Like he couldn't believe something he owned would dare fight back."
My throat burns.
"And I smiled," she says softly.
The words hurt more than anything else.
"I smiled while I pushed the blade deeper."
Silence.
Heavy.
"I didn't stop," she says, "until there was nothing left of him that could ever hurt anyone again."
My hands shake.
"And then I left."
Just like that.
"I had found a king stronger than him," she says. Her gaze flicks briefly toward Achilles. "And I gave him everything."
A pause.
"I had sold my kingdom."