III - Gilded Cage: A Night of Tears and Sacrifice

The moment Hydra, her voice a fragile whisper against the heavy silence of the throne room, uttered her reluctant acceptance, a wave of relief, sharp and almost tangible, rippled through the assembled royals. King Theron and Queen Elara exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment of their dark victory. Their plan, a cruel and intricate design, a tapestry woven from threads of desperation and ambition, was unfolding with chilling precision. It was a scheme born of whispered anxieties and shadowed corners, a desperate gamble to secure their crumbling kingdom's future, a future they believed hinged on Hydra's sacrifice.

A feverish energy, a disturbing blend of ghoulish delight and grim determination, seized them. They moved with an almost frantic urgency, their voices echoing through the cold stone halls as they composed their reply to the Emperor of Crystallia. The parchment, smooth and cool beneath their fingertips, became a canvas for their carefully crafted deception. Each letter, formed with meticulous care, was a lie, a grotesque parody of joy and anticipation. They wrote of a willing bride, a maiden consumed by romantic fantasies of her impending union, her heart fluttering with excitement, her soul yearning for the grand adventure that awaited her. It was a performance, a carefully orchestrated deception designed to mask the bitter truth of Hydra's sacrifice.

Hydra, confined to the cold grandeur of her new chamber, endured their theatrical pronouncements with a growing sense of dread. The chamber itself was a study in contrasts: opulent and suffocating, beautiful and imprisoning. High, arched windows offered a panoramic view of the kingdom, a vista that now felt like a taunt, a cruel reminder of the freedom she was about to lose. Their voices, laced with a false enthusiasm that grated on her ears like nails on stone, echoed through the stone halls, each word a fresh wound. She cringed, her stomach churning with disgust, her heart aching with a profound sense of loss.

The inability to read or write, a consequence of her humble upbringing, now felt like a cruel irony. Rafael and Maria, in their poverty, had been unable to provide her with an education, focusing instead on the necessities of survival: food, shelter, and the unwavering bonds of familial love. Now, she yearned for the ability to pen a letter to them, to explain her sacrifice in her own words, to pour out the love and despair that consumed her. She imagined their faces, their kind eyes filled with worry, their weathered hands clasped in anxious prayer. The thought of a life within the opulent walls of the Xaven palace, severed from the only family she had ever known, was a bleak and desolate prospect, a future stretching before her like an endless, shadowed corridor.

Far from the cold stone of the palace, on the outskirts of the crumbling kingdom of Xaven, lay the humble cottage of Rafael and Maria. Their home, a small, dilapidated structure with a sagging roof and crumbling walls, seemed to lean wearily against the harsh landscape, as if seeking solace from the unforgiving elements. It was a testament to their poverty, a stark reminder of the constant struggle for survival that defined their lives. Yet, within its fragile walls resided an abundance of love, a warmth that transcended material wealth, a bond that no amount of hardship could break.

Rafael, his weathered hands calloused from years of laboring in the fields and forests, had just returned from gathering firewood, his shoulders hunched with the weight of the day's work. Every line on his face told a story of resilience and sacrifice, of a life lived in service to his family. Maria, her face etched with the lines of time and hardship, her hair streaked with silver, prepared their evening meal: spicy beans, a dish Hydra adored for its fiery kick and comforting familiarity, and warm corn flour tortillas, their aroma filling the small cottage with a sense of home.

"Hola mi amor! I'm home with some more chopped wood. Thankfully this will keep us warm for weeks," Rafael announced, his voice a gentle rumble that filled the small cottage, chasing away the chill of the evening. His eyes, though tired, held a spark of contentment, a simple pleasure derived from providing for his family.

"Oh, hola mi amor! Gracias! Los frijoles con chile are almost ready, extra spicy, just the way she likes them!" Maria replied, her eyes crinkling with affection as she greeted her husband with a tender kiss. It was a simple gesture, a silent language of love spoken between two souls who had weathered countless storms together.

Their home, a cramped two-bedroom cottage that seemed perpetually on the verge of collapse, its walls whispering tales of hardship and resilience, was a stark contrast to the opulence of the palace, a world of difference measured not in gold and jewels, but in the immeasurable wealth of love. Yet, within its imperfect walls resided a wealth of love, a lifetime of cherished memories woven around their small family, a tapestry of shared laughter, quiet tears, and unwavering support. Both of Hispanic descent, Rafael and Maria had embraced Hydra as their own, seeing not an omen or a freak, but a beautiful miracle, a precious gift that filled the childless void in their lives, a daughter sent to them by fate or the gods. Their hair, grayed from their old age, seemed to mimic the white platinum silver hair their daughter bore, a silent gesture of solidarity, wanting her to not feel alienated and feel that she was theirs in every way that truly mattered.

Hydra had returned home, given the only one-time permission to visit her parents one last time, to gather whatever meager belongings she needed, and then quickly return to the suffocating confines of the palace. The king and queen, in their paranoia and distrust, had ensured she didn't try to escape with her parents, sending the chariot driver and a faithful knight as her escort, their presence a constant reminder of her gilded cage. 

Hydra had already broken the news to them, her voice trembling, tears streaming down her face like a mournful rain. She had insisted that despite the king and queen's claims and the circumstances of her birth, Rafael and Maria were her only true parents, the only family her heart recognized. She told them she wouldn't be coming home, not for a long time, perhaps not ever, her words hanging in the air like a death knell. She spared them the gruesome details of her sacrifice, unwilling to burden them with the knowledge that she was to marry the reincarnation of the Lord of the Demons, the Emperor of Crystallia, a truth too horrific for their gentle hearts to bear.

Moments later, a messenger from the Xaven court arrived, his chariot rattling to a halt outside their dilapidated home, the sudden intrusion shattering the fragile peace of their evening. He brusquely informed Hydra that the king and queen were impatient and that she must pack and bid her farewells immediately, his tone leaving no room for argument or delay.

Hydra assured him she wouldn't be long, her voice tight with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. Turning to Rafael and Maria, she choked out the words that tore at her heart, each syllable a shard of glass. "No matter what happens, I am eternally grateful to have you as my parents. I will always love you," she said, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes searching theirs for a flicker of hope, a sign that this wasn't truly the end.

Rafael and Maria, their faces etched with sorrow, their eyes reflecting a lifetime of love and loss, embraced her with what little strength their frail bodies possessed. It was an embrace that spoke volumes, a silent promise of unwavering love, a desperate attempt to hold on to the last vestiges of their family. Hydra clung to them, a desperate need to hold on, a premonition that this might be their final farewell washing over her like a cold wave, chilling her to the bone. But she steeled herself, remembering the promise she had made, the better life she hoped to secure for them, the fragile thread of hope that sustained her in this moment of despair.

Her meager belongings, a single old gray dress Maria had sewn with loving hands, each stitch a testament to a mother's care, a dark navy blue hooded cape worn from years of use, its fabric softened by time and love, a worn burgundy tunic, a pair of old brown boots that had carried her through countless journeys, their soles worn thin but their leather still sturdy, and a single pair of light beige trousers, were quickly bundled into an old blanket, the worn fabric a silent witness to a life of hardship. As she prepared to leave, Maria, moving with the slow, deliberate steps of old age, her movements heavy with grief, reached out, her hand trembling on Hydra's arm, her touch conveying a lifetime of unspoken love. Her eyes, filled with a desperate plea, begged Hydra to stay, to defy the cruel fate that had been thrust upon her, to remain with the only family she had ever known.

"Mi niña… Por favor... antes de irte, ven a sentarte y cenar. No quiero que te vayas sin el estómago vacío, incluso le puse mucho chile en tus frijoles... justo como te gusta." Maria spoke in their native tongue, her voice thick with unshed tears, each word a caress, a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable, wanting to feed her, but most of all, wanting her to remain, to keep her safe within the familiar embrace of their love.

"Tu madre tiene razón, mija. Por favor, ven a comer con nosotras. Has trabajado mucho después de un largo día de trabajo... Deberías venir a comer tus frijoles con chile. Tu mami incluso se aseguró de añadir más frijoles a tu plato…" Rafael added, his voice cracking with emotion, his heart breaking with the knowledge that this might be the last time they shared a meal as a family. He rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate, pulling out another for Hydra, a silent invitation to join them for a final meal, a last moment of togetherness before the darkness descended.

"Mami, papi... I'm sorry... but I can't keep them waiting. Please, eat your fill. I want you to have everything." Hydra insisted, her voice breaking, fighting back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, each word a painful admission of her powerlessness. She couldn't risk the messenger incurring the wrath of the king and queen, couldn't jeopardize the fragile hope of a better future for her parents. "Besides... I'll make sure I eat at the palace. And I'll make sure you're both well cared for when my new... situation... is settled. But I have to go... goodbye... Los quiero mucho…" She turned away, unable to bear the sight of their pain, the image of their broken hearts searing itself into her memory.

"Por favor... no te vayas…" Rafael pleaded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his voice a raw whisper of anguish.

"No te vayas, por favor... Quédate con nosotros... Sé que nunca podremos ofrecerte el lujo que el rey y la reina te darán en el palacio. La vida que nunca tuviste como princesa de Xaven... Y sabemos que no compartimos la misma blood... but you are our baby, our daughter, our special Hortensia... So, please... don't go…" Maria begged, her voice a tearful whisper, clinging to Hydra's hands, her touch frail but firm, as if she could hold her daughter back with the sheer force of her love. Rafael joined her, his hands covering Hydra's, both their gazes pleading, trembling with age and grief, begging her to stay, to choose love over duty, family over fate.

Hydra's resolve crumbled. Tears escaped her eyes, streaming down her face like a torrent, each one a testament to the unbearable weight of her decision. She knew they were stalling, desperate for more time, unwilling to let her go, their hearts breaking with the knowledge that their family was about to be torn apart. She yearned to stay, to remain with her only family, to bask in the warmth of their love for just a little longer, but she knew that lingering would only worsen their plight, and make her own departure even more agonizing. Summoning a strength she didn't know she possessed, a will forged in the crucible of despair, she finally met their gaze, her own filled with a sorrow that mirrored theirs, a shared grief that transcended words. Gently, she disengaged their hands from hers, her touch lingering for a moment, a silent promise of eternal love.

"Lo siento…" Hydra murmured, her voice barely audible above a whisper, a broken sob that echoed the shattering of her heart. She turned and fled, rushing towards the waiting chariot, her back to the devastation she left behind, the image of her parents etched into her mind's eye, a haunting reminder of the love she was leaving behind.

"Take me back to the palace, please," Hydra told the messenger, her voice flat and empty, devoid of all emotion, a mere husk of its former vibrancy.

"Right away, my lady! I'm guessing everything went well?" The young driver said, trying to sound genuine and caring, but his words rang hollow in the face of Hydra's obvious distress.

"No... But it's fine, it's better this way. And don't call me lady... I'm not a lady," Hydra said sadly, and bitterly, the title a cruel reminder of the life she was forced to embrace, a life that felt alien and unwanted.

"Oh... I'm sorry... I was just-"

"If I really go through with this, will the king and queen keep their promise and aid my parents, granting them a better life??? Granting them a life they deserve??" Hydra said upfront, her voice sharp with a desperate urgency, wanting to confirm the deal that she had made with the royals, the only sliver of hope in this otherwise bleak situation.

"Er... Yes, they have promised to do so if you married the emperor of Crystallia," he said, sounding sure as he remembered the deal she struck with the king and queen, but his confidence wavered slightly under the intensity of her gaze.

"Good… then let's just leave it at that. I made my decision, and want nothing more but to see both my parents living better and happy," Hydra told the driver, her voice resigned but firm, yet she knew that she wouldn't be happy, that her own happiness was a sacrifice she was willing to make, as she is soon to be the bride of the reincarnation of the evil lord of the demons.

As they departed, Hydra watched her small home recede into the distance, the image blurring through her tear-filled eyes. She saw Rafael and Maria emerge, as if to chase after the chariot, their movements slow and desperate, a silent testament to their grief, their figures growing smaller and smaller until they were just tiny specks on the horizon. The sight of them, clinging to each other for support, their forms bowed with sorrow, broke her heart, shattering it into a million pieces. Hydra turned away, burying her face in her hands, unable to witness their pain any longer, the weight of her decision crushing her. "Perdoname... Adiós," she whispered, her voice a broken prayer carried away on the wind, a single tear escaping her eye and tracing a lonely path down her cheek.

Guilt gnawed at her, a relentless torment that consumed her from the inside out, a constant reminder of the love she had left behind and the uncertain future that awaited her. Yet, she clung to the fragile hope that her sacrifice would secure their future, that the king and queen would honor their agreement, and that Rafael and Maria would finally know a life free from poverty and hardship. She repeated the mantra to herself, a desperate attempt to find solace in her decision: "This is for them. This is the only way. This is for the best."

Upon their return to the palace, the queen awaited Hydra outside the imposing palace stairs, her expression a mask of barely concealed fury. Fuming, she wondered why Hydra had taken so long, her impatience growing with each passing moment. Seeing the small bundle Hydra carried, her perfectly sculpted face twisted with disdain, her eyes narrowing with disapproval.

"Is that everything you packed? Not much, if you ask me," the queen said coldly, her voice laced with thinly veiled disgust, her words dripping with condescension. "My sons have just returned from the academy. We're having dinner, celebrating their return…" she added, her tone shifting to a near-excited lilt as she spoke of her beloved sons, before being interrupted by the loud rumbling of Hydra's stomach, a stark reminder of the commoner standing before her.

The queen's perfectly sculpted eyebrows arched in disapproval, her lips pursing in distaste. "Wait, did you even eat before you left?" she asked, her gaze sweeping down from her elevated position on the palace stairs, her eyes lingering on Hydra's simple attire, her expression a mixture of pity and revulsion. Hydra shook her head, her stomach providing another, louder, confirmation of her hunger, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.

The queen rolled her eyes, a gesture of supreme displeasure, her patience wearing thin. "Ugh! Fine! I suppose you can join us for dinner. But you can't possibly dine with the royal family looking like that." The queen's words dripped with disdain, emphasizing Hydra's perceived inadequacy, her commonness a stark contrast to the refined elegance of the royal court. "Go to your chambers and dress the part. Once you're done looking presentable, come down and join us. And for gods' sake, remove that ridiculous bonnet. We are well aware of your…abnormal hair color." With that final, dismissive decree, she turned and swept into the palace, her silk robes rustling behind her like the whisper of a cold wind, leaving Hydra standing alone on the steps, feeling utterly lost and alone.

Hydra stood for a moment, the queen's harsh words echoing in her ears, each syllable a barbed arrow piercing her heart. Confusion and a profound sense of loneliness washed over her, engulfing her in a sea of despair. She didn't know where her chambers were, nor did she have any concept of the elaborate rituals and expectations of courtly life, the intricate dance of power and deceit that defined the royal court. 

The queen, growing increasingly impatient, her anger simmering beneath a veneer of regal composure, had finally resorted to a more direct approach. She retrieved a delicate, perfumed handkerchief from the pocket of her ornate dress, her movements precise and deliberate. With a visible distaste, as if touching something unclean, she used it to grasp Hydra's wrist, avoiding any direct contact with her bare skin, her touch cold and impersonal. She then yanked Hydra into the palace, her grip surprisingly strong, a testament to her barely concealed fury, her nails digging into Hydra's flesh.

The queen strode through the long, echoing halls, her heels clicking sharply against the polished stone floor, the sound a staccato rhythm of power and disdain, each step a declaration of her authority. Hydra stumbled in her wake, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the palace, its grandeur a suffocating weight upon her soul. The soaring ceilings, adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes of gods and heroes, the elaborate tapestries woven with threads of gold and silver, and the glittering chandeliers that illuminated the vast corridors with a blinding light were a world away from the humble comforts of Rafael and Maria's cottage, a stark contrast that only served to deepen Hydra's sense of alienation. Finally, the queen reached an empty room and thrust Hydra inside, the force of her shove causing Hydra to lose her footing slightly, her body colliding with the cold, unyielding stone.

"This is your room," the queen stated curtly, her voice echoing in the unfamiliar space, devoid of any warmth or welcome, each word a chilling reminder of Hydra's isolation. "Remember it well, so you can find your way back here. My maids have prepared a bath for you. Take it, and for the love of the gods, change into something more proper and wearable than those rags. Once you're done looking presentable. My maids will arrive to your facial appearance and to help you get into your dress. Come down and join us for dinner afterwards." Then, with a final, dismissive glare, a look that spoke volumes of her contempt, she turned and swept out of the room, leaving Hydra alone in the unsettling silence, the heavy door closing behind her with a resounding thud that echoed like the closing of a tomb.

Hydra stood for a long moment, her heart pounding in her chest like a trapped bird, her breath catching in her throat. Slowly, she walked towards the large, ornate bed, its silken sheets and plush pillows a stark contrast to the roughspun blankets she was accustomed to. She set down her meager bundle of belongings on its plush surface, the worn fabric a stark contrast to the luxurious surroundings, a reminder of the life she had left behind. The reality of her situation crashed down upon her with renewed force, the weight of her sacrifice pressing down on her like a physical burden. She was trapped, a pawn in a game of power and ambition, a sacrifice on the altar of her kingdom's survival. The Emperor of Crystallia, her future husband, the embodiment of darkness and ancient evil, would arrive in Xaven in two weeks' time. The thought sent a shiver of dread down her spine, a cold premonition of the horrors that awaited her.

With a heavy sigh, she wiped away the remaining tears, her eyes red and swollen. She carefully hid her few belongings under the bed, a small act of defiance, a desperate attempt to cling to the last vestiges of her former life. Then, her gaze fell upon the dress laid out for her, a stark contrast to her own simple attire, a garment of silk and lace, a symbol of the life she was now forced to embrace. Not wanting to waste any more time, she removed her worn clothes and went to take her bath, the warm water a temporary respite from the cold reality of her situation, a brief moment of peace in the storm that had engulfed her life.

At the dining table, the king, the queen, Vidalia, and her two older brothers, Kegan and Irwin, awaited her arrival. The two sons had returned from a long voyage from a prestigious academy far from the lands of their kingdom. Both princes, still in their formal academy uniforms, had just arrived back home and would be staying for the holidays, their return a cause for celebration, a brief respite from the troubles that plagued the kingdom.

Kegan was a striking figure, a tall champion whose looks seemed plucked from a fairytale. His copper blonde hair cascaded to his shoulders, framing a face sculpted with both strength and gentleness. His light peach skin glowed with a subtle warmth, complementing his light brown eyes, like polished amber, held a quiet intensity, capable of both piercing observation and soft understanding. His jawline was a study in contrasts: sharp enough to suggest a warrior's resolve, yet softened with a subtle curve that hinted at a gentle soul. It was a face that could launch a thousand sonnets, a blend of a noble bearing and approachable warmth, and whispered promises. He carried himself with an air of quiet confidence, a natural leader destined for greatness.

Their second son, Irwin, possessed a dreamy charm that drew the eye, a quality often remarked upon by the castle maids. His short, strawberry-blonde curls, like spun sunlight, framed a face with a light peach complexion, radiating warmth. Behind his rounded spectacles, soft hazel eyes glimmered with gentle curiosity. A smattering of freckles danced across his button nose, adding a touch of playful innocence to his otherwise refined features. He exuded a blend of scholarly gentleness and boyish allure, a face that invited confidence, hinted at hidden depths, and suggested a keen and inquisitive mind.

"Oh, I'm so happy to have my handsome boys back home! How I've missed my handsome princes!" their mother, the queen, exclaimed, her voice filled with pride as she gazed upon her sons at the dinner table, her tone almost theatrical in its display of affection, her words ringing with a practiced warmth.

"Calm down, Mother, it's only been twelve months since you last saw us. Besides, we're back home for the holidays, so that should be nice," Irwin replied sheepishly, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks at his mother's effusive praise, his modesty a stark contrast to her dramatic pronouncements.

"You're only here for a month, how is that enough time for me to find you two decent and suitable ladies for you two to marry?!" Their mother said almost excitedly, her eyes gleaming with a calculating light as she considered the potential alliances and advantages such unions could bring, her mind already racing with schemes and plots.

"Mother... You shouldn't worry about such things like that. Irwin and I will find someone who we will eventually marry in the future. What's the point in rushing such an important decision?" Kegan told his mother, his voice calm and steady, trying to soothe her anxieties with a patience born of long experience, his words reflecting a wisdom beyond his years.

"Your mother is only thinking what's best for the good of both of you boys. And for the good of the kingdom," their father interjected, his voice smooth but with an underlying current of cold calculation, his words revealing the political machinations that lay beneath the surface of their family life, the pawns and players in his grand game. "After all, it's better to quickly pick a spouse with a background of a family with handsome wealth and having bewitching good looks. Otherwise, there will eventually be talk in the kingdom as well as other neighboring kingdoms, that my own sons are gay... or something horribly wrong with them. And I honestly want neither of the two to be true," Their father then stated, his words of opinion laced with false concern and filled with venom, his prejudice a stark and ugly contrast to the refined atmosphere of the royal dining table.

"Oh no! There won't be any sort of talk! Not from our own son! They are both just... not experienced with girls yet... so they need some training with their father. Which would do them great, as you will teach them how to 'act' in being the perfect partner and showing them the experiences of how to behave and be towards a woman. While you train our daughters how to act their parts of being the ladies of the home, and how to act the part in being the perfect wife for their husbands!" The queen interjected, replying and suggesting some ideas to her husband on how to teach their sons how to act and behave around women, her words revealing a chillingly pragmatic view of marriage and gender roles, her daughters mere tools in her schemes.

"That's a wonderful idea! I could train our sons how to 'act' in being the perfect partner and showing them the experiences of how to behave and be towards a woman. While you train our daughters how to act their parts of being the ladies of the home, and how to act the part in being the perfect wife for their husbands!" The king said excitedly, agreeing with his wife with the idea, his enthusiasm highlighting the disturbing nature of their plans, his words painting a grim picture of their manipulative control.

Both princes, who were feeling deeply uncomfortable by the disgusting conversation that their parents were having, shifted uneasily in their seats. They averted their gazes, their appetites waning as they listened to their parents' callous pronouncements, their words revealing a world where love was secondary to power and where individuals were mere pawns in a larger game, their hearts heavy with a sense of unease.

"Daughters?" Kegan finally asked both his parents, his brow arched in confusion as he sought clarification, his voice laced with a hint of disbelief.

"Apparently, we have an older sister that our dear parents have been keeping us in the dark about," Vidalia muttered with a sad, mopey expression, a hint of defiance in her voice as she toyed with her food with her silver fork. She still felt guilty that their older sister had agreed to marry the emperor in her place. And was bothered by both her parents' comments of how they wanted their own children to act and behave based on their gender, their words a stark reminder of the limited roles assigned to women in their society. She wore her beautiful blue dress, her chestnut blonde hair up in a neat braided bun, dressed for her older brothers coming home for the holidays. But was still upset by the circumstances she had put their older sister, that she just had learned hours ago, hey light brown eyes staring down her plate of food she kept playing with.

Hydra had entered the dining room, all eyes were on her. Both king and princes couldn't take their eyes off of her. Her thin yet curvy body was encased in a deep crimson red dress the queen had instructed her maids to provide. The maids had helped fix her hair, having it neatly half up and half down. Her eyebrows were trimmed, making them look neatly thick and defined, the maids had also applied smokey eyeshadow and makeup on her face. Hydra didn't like the heavy feel of the makeup, and she didn't like being seen in the dress nor liked wearing it. It felt tight on her, and it revealed a bit too much cleavage. The princes gulped as they were struck by her divine beauty, wanting to know who this white hair, tan and elf eared stranger was? 

The king couldn't stop staring down her large chest, and was feeling a disturbing mix of lust and possessiveness when he saw her in the alluring red dress. He cleared his throat and presented their sons to their older sister, "This here boys... is your older sister. Hydra, is to play the part of your younger sister, and is to be married in two weeks' time to the emperor of Crystallia. So try to be 'nice' to her and teach her everything there is in becoming a proper princess, as well as helping her get ready to be a decent wife for the emperor." He said as he kept catching glimpses at her body, mostly her chest.

A heavy silence descended upon the table, the clinking of silverware replaced by the uncomfortable shuffling of feet. Kegan and Irwin exchanged bewildered glances, their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief. Both princes both felt awkward for thinking such thoughts of an older sibling, especially one they had not before, wanting to forget such a thing had happened. 

Vidalia, her gaze fixed on her plate, felt a wave of guilt wash over her. The king's words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the cold, calculated nature of their family's actions.

"An older sister?" Kegan finally managed, his voice a low murmur, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Wait… isn't she that maid you quietly worked in the palace? She's actually our older sister? And she's to pretend to be Vidalia and marry…the Emperor of Crystallia?"

"Yes," the queen replied, her tone sharp, cutting through the awkward silence. "It's a necessary arrangement. For the good of the kingdom."

"Necessary?" Irwin echoed, his voice laced with skepticism. "By forcing her to lie who she is and forcing her into a marriage with…him? That's insane!"

"Insane or not, it's happening," the king retorted, his voice hard. "And you two will treat your sister with the respect she deserves. Since she's doing all this for Vidalia, and mostly to grant us a better life, saving us from poverty. She needs to learn how to behave, how to act like a proper lady. So be sure that you all help her to do her part." He said lastly as he slithered his hand on her lap under the table.

Hydra, her face flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation, remained silent, her gaze fixed on the table. The king's words, though intended to assert his authority, only served to deepen her sense of isolation. She was a pawn, a tool to be used and discarded, her own feelings and desires utterly irrelevant.

The dinner continued in a strained silence, the air thick with unspoken resentment and awkwardness. Kegan and Irwin, still reeling from the revelation of their sister's existence and her impending marriage, struggled to reconcile the gentle woman before them with the monstrous reputation of the Emperor of Crystallia. Vidalia, consumed by guilt and a sense of helplessness, picked at her food, her appetite lost in the turmoil of her emotions.

The king, oblivious to the discomfort he had created, continued to make subtle, predatory advances towards Hydra, his touch lingering too long, his gaze too intense. Each unwanted contact sent shivers of revulsion down Hydra's spine, fueling her growing sense of dread. She felt trapped, a prisoner in a gilded cage, her fate sealed by the whims of those who saw her as nothing more than a political pawn.

As the days flew by, she grew more depressed and miserable. Suffering inside the palace where she was supposed to feel at home, but felt more like a prison. The queen, obsessed with transforming Hydra into a proper princess and lady of the palace of Xaven, began a rigorous training regimen. Her goal was to have Hydra prepared to play the role of a princess, soon to be empress.

But all the training and studies seemed to be a greater challenge than the queen anticipated. Hydra, who had served the royals since her youth, had never been given such privileges or lived the life of a privileged princess. She had to strain every fiber of her being to even attempt to play the part.

With every mistake from these lessons, the queen would take it out on Hydra, punishing her for every misstep. Every slap on the face and lashings on the back from an old whip that was used for horses, became a routine. The queen's methods were brutal, a relentless cycle of instruction and punishment. Etiquette lessons became exercises in humiliation, each mispronounced word or clumsy gesture met with a sharp slap or a stinging rebuke. Dance practices were agonizing, Hydra's calloused feet struggling to navigate the intricate steps, each stumble drawing the queen's scorn. Language studies, filled with unfamiliar words and complex grammar, became a source of constant frustration, the queen's impatience growing with each failed attempt. The queen even labeled Hydra a "cripple", for not having the mentality and calibur to do anything right.

The physical pain was only a fraction of Hydra's suffering. The queen's words, laced with contempt and thinly veiled disgust, cut deeper than any lash, reminding Hydra of her perceived inadequacy, her "commonness" a stark contrast to the refined elegance of the royal court. The king's presence, a constant, looming shadow, added another layer of torment. His eyes, heavy with lust, followed her every move, his comments, though subtle, filled with a predatory undertone that made her skin crawl. He would often find ways to touch her, a lingering hand on her arm, a "casual" brush against her hip, each contact sending shivers of revulsion down her spine. She felt trapped, a prize to be coveted, not a person.

Kegan and Irwin, despite their initial awkwardness, were deeply troubled by what they witnessed. The bruises that bloomed on Hydra's skin, the haunted look in her eyes, the queen's relentless cruelty – it all painted a stark picture of injustice. They watched as their sister, a woman they had only just met, was systematically broken down, her spirit crushed under the weight of their mother's expectations and their father's insidious desires.

One afternoon, after a particularly brutal training session, Kegan found Hydra alone in her room, her face swollen, her body aching. He hesitated at the door, unsure of what to say, but the sight of her pain spurred him forward.

"Hydra," he said softly, his voice filled with a rare tenderness. "Are you alright?"

Hydra looked up, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and resignation. "I'm fine," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

Kegan stepped closer, his gaze lingering on the bruises that marred her skin. "You're not fine," he said gently. "This…this is wrong."

Hydra looked away, her gaze fixed on the worn cloth she clutched in her hands, a remnant of her old life. "It's for them," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "For my pare-... for Rafael and Maria."

"But it shouldn't be at your expense," Kegan insisted, his voice filled with a quiet anger. "You shouldn't have to suffer like this."

Irwin, drawn by the sound of their voices, entered the room, his eyes filled with concern. "He's right, Hydra," he said softly. "This has to stop."

Hydra looked at them, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and doubt. "But how?" she asked, her voice trembling. "The king and queen…they won't let me go. They won't let me leave. They're making me do this."

"We'll find a way," Kegan said, his voice firm, a newfound resolve hardening his features. "We have to, it's the least we can do after all these years with… our parents. They took you away from knowing you, from your real family! I… we don't want you suffering anymore. And… we also don't want to suffer anymore either… So we have to do this!"

Vidalia, who had been listening from the doorway, stepped into the room, her eyes gleaming with determination. "And we'll do it together," she said, her voice filled with a quiet strength. "We won't let them take you from us. And we will escape together!"

The carefully laid plans of Hydra and her siblings, a plan they orchestrated three days ago, a fragile hope against the overwhelming darkness, were shattered in the cold light of betrayal. A loyal maid, her allegiance firmly rooted in the king and queen's power, had overheard their whispered plotting, their desperate dreams of escape and a life together. The information, a poisoned arrow, was delivered to the royal couple, their faces hardening into masks of cruel satisfaction.

Night, a shroud of darkness, fell over the kingdom, but Hydra and her siblings, fueled by a desperate hope, slipped through the hidden servant corridors of the palace. Hydra, her heart filled with a bittersweet joy, thanked her siblings for their unwavering support, for their willingness to defy their parents for her sake. She even dared to dream of a future where Rafael and Maria would become their parents too, a family forged in love and defiance.

But their fragile hope was brutally extinguished when they reached the humble cottage of Rafael and Maria. The door, splintered and broken, hung open like a gaping wound, the windows shattered, the interior ransacked. A chilling premonition gripped Hydra, her heart pounding with dread.

"Well, well, well... look who finally arrived home."

The king and queen emerged from the shadows of the woods, their figures looming like malevolent specters. Their knights, their faces grim and unyielding, held Rafael and Maria captive, their bodies bruised and battered. Hydra's breath caught in her throat, a wave of nausea washing over her as she saw her mother's swollen black eye and her father's broken nose.

"Did you honestly think that you would go back on our agreement? And what's worse is that our children have done all this just to help you. But looks like it was all for naught. Well... now that we're all here, and seeing that your own words mean nothing for our deal.... I guess that means these old bastards don't deserve to live at all." The king's voice, cold and devoid of emotion, sent a chill down Hydra's spine. He signaled to one of his knights, who drew his sword, the blade glinting ominously in the moonlight.

The knight held the blade to Maria's throat, the cold steel a stark reminder of their impending doom. "No!!! Wait!!! Please don't hurt them... They... don't deserve this... please spare them." Hydra pleaded, her voice trembling, her eyes filled with desperate tears. She fell to her knees, her pride shattered, her dignity abandoned. "I... I promise to go through with your plan, I won't run... I will obey and listen to anything you ask... I'll... I'll even marry the emperor of Crystallia... But please... spare my siblings... and please spare my parents."

The king and queen exchanged a cruel glance, a silent acknowledgment of their power. "Oh, alright. We'll let them go. How disappointing, you made it boring… But, at least you now know that we don't make empty threats." The king's words, laced with a chilling indifference, were a stark reminder of their ruthlessness.

The knights released Rafael and Maria, their bodies trembling, their eyes filled with fear and confusion. Hydra rushed to them, embracing them tightly, her tears falling like a mournful rain. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice choked with guilt. "I should have stayed at the palace. I should have complied with their demands… I should have never put you in danger."

The king and queen, their faces devoid of remorse, turned and headed back towards the palace, their children following in their wake, their expressions a mixture of guilt and helplessness. The knights, their duty done, prepared to escort Hydra back to the palace.

Before she left, Hydra turned to her parents, her eyes filled with a desperate apology. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you everything. I'm sorry I put you in danger." She kissed their cheeks and foreheads, her touch lingering, a silent promise of eternal love. Then, secretly, she channeled her faint goddess abilities, healing their wounds, mending their broken bones.

"Lo siento, sé que ustedes me dijeron que no usara mis habilidades. Pero no puedo dejarlos así... Los quiero mucho a los dos... Por favor, cuídense." She whispered, her voice filled with a desperate plea.

With a heavy heart, she turned and joined the knights, her steps leaden, her spirit crushed. As she climbed into the carriage, the king and queen delivered the final, crushing blow. "Oh, and by the way, the emperor is to arrive in three days. So be ready for your big day!" The queen said gleefully, showing Hydra a letter that she had sent and received from the emperor, the queen telling her that had told the emperor to schedule the wedding two weeks early. Now it's been three days.

The carriage rumbled through the night, carrying Hydra back to her gilded cage. But her mind was consumed by a single, agonizing thought: her parents would not be there to witness her forced wedding, her father would not walk her down the aisle. The wedding, a symbol of her sacrifice, was now tainted with the bitter taste of loss and despair. She was to marry a man she didn't love, and she was to do so alone.