26

"This is ridiculous! We can't kill her. She hasn't done anything!" Amara yelled, glaring at the girl locked in a small cage like an animal. The girl looked like a beggar—young but dirty, with black hair and brown eyes, her clothes tattered and covered in grime.

"Amara, that's enough," Maxwell said, focused on the paperwork before him.

"But this is not right! I searched her around the village. She's only healing people with her medicine. We can't kill her!" Amara pleaded, defending the girl, who appeared to be around 16 or 17 and had been forcefully dragged and beaten by soldiers.

"Amara, she is dangerous. We have to kill her," Maxwell insisted.

Nearby, other soldiers whispered among themselves. "Just because she's his fiancée, she thinks she can do whatever she wants. What a brat."

"Yeah, I don't understand why the captain proposed to someone like her," another scoffed.

Amara had been hearing such comments for a year now, and it was growing tiresome. "Sir, what I mean is—" she started.

Max stopped her with a raised hand and stood up. He turned to the three soldiers who were whispering. "All of you, get out," he commanded.

They bowed and exited, but as they left, they cast lingering glances at Amara, continuing to gossip in hushed tones.

"What are you doing, Amara?" Maxwell asked, his tone sharp. He looked angry.

"Doing what?" she replied, frustration evident in her voice.

"You're driving me nuts, Amara! What you're defending is the race that kills our people!" Max exclaimed.

"I'm not defending them; I'm defending this girl!" she shouted back.

"She is not human!" Maxwell yelled, frustration mounting.

"She is human!" Amara insisted, her voice rising in defiance.

Max was filled with exasperation. For over an hour, she had been trying to convince him to let her go, and he was growing tired of the nonsense.

"Amara, enough! I can't believe I'm trying to convince you about this. We need to finish this quickly and go back home; we're already late for the wedding preparations. This is ridiculous," Maxwell said, frustration evident in his voice.

"We're talking about the life of this girl right now! Don't be heartless," Amara replied, her tone firm.

"Amara, she killed people! Blood is on her hands, just like anyone else we've dealt with. We're going to kill her. It's that simple," Maxwell insisted.

"No, Maxwell Aiden, I told you to look into this girl's case! She didn't kill anyone; she didn't even know anything about her race until we arrived. It's not simple to just kill one human," Amara argued.

"She is not human, Amara!" Maxwell yelled, his patience wearing thin.

"And I'm telling you she is—" Amara began, but Maxwell cut her off.

"Amara orwa Waverly, this is an order: you will kill this woman tomorrow, and that's final."

Amara looked into his eyes, fury burning within her. "Yes, sir," she replied.

Amara stormed out of the tent, her anger boiling over as she walked quickly toward her own. But as she approached, she hesitated. "I can't go in; I need to calm down," she muttered to herself. Instead, she turned and headed to her friend's tent.

She pushed through the flaps and found Mary resting inside. "Mary, he refuses!" Amara blurted out.

"Who? What?" Mary replied, startled.

"He refuses! I can't believe him! I showed him everything—every resource. Just because she's from that race. He is so annoying!" Amara exclaimed, pacing.

"Amara, calm down a little," Mary urged.

"Mary, she is innocent!" Amara insisted.

"How can you be so sure about this?" Mary asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Look at this paper! I'm going to read this to you," Amara said, her voice rising with urgency.

"Her name is Evren, given to her by the workers at the orphanage where she grew up. They don't even know who she really is! She grew up in the village, and the villagers loved her. She helped them like a doctor. I even spoke to the families she helped; all of them said they begged me to forgive her. We can't kill her just because of her ancestry," Amara pleaded passionately, desperation lacing her words.

"But Amara, we can't do anything about this," Mary said, worry etched on her face.

"Maybe we can," Amara replied, determination creeping into her voice.

"Amara, you'll get in trouble! Don't even think about it," Mary warned.

"But Mary, what if it was you?" Amara countered, her eyes pleading.

"Amara, please, the timing isn't right. You have a wedding ceremony to prepare for. I don't even know why we're here," Mary said.

"I don't even know why we're doing this ceremony! We're already married," Amara replied, frustration bubbling over.

"For the people you love?" Mary asked gently.

"What people? My mother and brother hate me. They're happy because I'm marrying the future grand duke. My father doesn't want me to marry him; he says I won't be peaceful with him. My friends hate me, except for you. They all seem to be in love with him. His family hates me, and the guests! All the women have a crush on him and detest me to death, even duchess Dewhurst " Amara said. " Isn't she like 50 " Mary said. " She is 55 " Amara said.