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Titus’s pallor became as sickly as Percival’s was moments ago. He tried to step back, only to bump into the solid armoured chest of a Soldazt.

‘No. Please. Aerileas!’ Titus tried to shake off the Soldazt’s grip. He turned his pleading gaze to the king, and Areanel watched in delight as what was happening finally set in. ‘She’s lying. You know she’s lying!’

The General of Andrea fought with just as much ferocity as she had a year ago in this very throne room—to no avail. He thrashed, pulling out of the Soldazt’s tight grip and rushing toward the crowd. There, Areanel’s brothers stepped forward, blocking his exit.

Elmrynn—the eldest of the royal siblings—smirked down at the trembling male, slowly backing him towards the Soldazt. Areanel, however, did not move. Not yet.

The Soldazt finally regained their hold on Titus. Dragged to the foot of the steps, the General was thrown onto the floor with a force that no doubt rattled his bones, and Areanel marvelled at how the giant of a man could look as insignificant and pathetic as a measly insect. He would be so easily squashed; it made her wonder why she hadn’t done this sooner.

Sweat beaded across Titus’s marred skin, and Areanel watched as the droplets ran down the exposed, smooth surface of his bald scalp, inked with ghastly swirls and runes she didn’t quite understand.

Titus begged and wept his innocence, and the sound was music to Areanel’s ears.

‘Mercy! In the name of our God, Edre, I beg for your mercy, Your Grace!’ Crawling on his hands and knees, Areanel realised how ridiculous Titus looked. He was finally paying for his sins, and she took pleasure in the action. A monster like him deserved far worse, but this would do for now.

Titus’s gaze swung to hers, as though he could feel her delighted glare. For a split second, she allowed herself the satisfaction of seeing him wither, like a flower devoid of nutrients. He had finally lost all favour with the king, whom he called a friend. Even as he clawed at the floor, scraping his nails into the marble steps leading to her father’s throne, Areanel could see that he knew: his fate was inevitable.

King Aerileas trusted no one.

She let that malicious glint shine in her eyes, and by the bleak horror that overtook his face, she knew he’d figured it out.

‘You! You vicious, lying, scheming bitc—’

A blur of movement. That was what she became as she struck. His words had barely finished leaving his cruel, wicked lips when…

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Titus’s head bounced to the floor.

Areanel lowered the scythe. Rymedur’s weapon was surprisingly light in her grasp—a welcome weight. She hadn’t even remembered unsheathing it from his back, but the splattering of the thick red substance grounded her in the present.

Titus wasn’t the traitor. Areanel knew that.

But, as she picked up his decapitated head by the disgustingly long braid of his brittle beard and sneered in his face, all Areanel could see were the monstrous things he had done—the ones she witnessed and the ones she hadn’t. She saw the way he had grinned wide and wicked—just as she did now—when she had been dragged out of the throne room to The Pit. Had seen the bear-like paw he had placed high on her brother’s thigh that day, and the smug, victorious glint in his eyes as he’d challenged her. What are you going to do now? The words had ingrained themselves into her brain.

Titus hadn’t known it then, but that question—that look—had served as her driving force and a reminder that she had to survive. And so she had.

Every tormenting second of The Pit, Areanel had fought and survived.

She’d planned and waited. She’d been patient—if only to show him exactly what she could do. Titus’s demise had been a long time coming, and it did not disappoint.

There was a traitor amongst them, but Areanel had already dealt with them. She simply couldn’t stand by and watch her brother suffer any longer—and by the appreciative look Percival gave her, she knew she had done the right thing.

She only wished she could have done it sooner.

Utilising her greatest assets, Areanel had been able to carry whispers of treason and rebellion through the winding mountain halls. She’d used the servants to carry those rumours, poisoning the ears of the council. At her order, Ryyen had planted the incriminating evidence. The same evidence that the king had just seen. And it had worked.

Gratitude shone in her Percival’s silver-lined gaze, and his chest shuddered as he released a breath, throat working as he held back a sob of relief. With a subtle but sure nod, he silently sent her his thanks for ridding Idyssa (and him) of the monster that was Titus.

Areanel turned back to the head that dripped blood onto the once-pristine floor. Blood splattered her face, her wedding dress—dripped in rivulets across her hand and through her fingers. She made no move to wipe it away. Instead, she sneered in the dead man’s face.

With a final fuck you, Areanel carelessly tossed Titus’s head onto the once-pristine, white floors.

‘I wished to hear him confess first, Selyë.’