Chapter 17: Meeting Justice

Kena felt small, dirty, and out of place in her dusty green cloak. Justice Veldric loomed in front of her, his dark eyes cold and his laugh still ringing in her ears.

He'd just told her to get out, like she was nothing—a bug he could squash.

Her face burned with anger and shame, but she clenched her fists and stayed put. She wasn't leaving. Not after everything.

"You don't get it," she said, her voice shaking a little.

She hated how scared she sounded, but she pushed on.

"I'm cursed," Kena explained. "I need your kiss to live. I've got less than half a month left. Do you hear me? I'm dying."

Justice crossed his arms, his black robe swishing around him.

He was tall and handsome, just like the photo she carried—sharp jaw, dark hair, strong shoulders.

But his sneer twisted his face, made him ugly in a way the picture didn't show.

"I don't help strangers," he said, his voice smooth but mean. "Especially rude ones who barge in here like they own the place."

"Rude?" Kena snapped, her temper flaring.

She took a step closer, her boots loud on the floor.

"I've been through wolves snapping at my heels, soldiers chasing me with swords, and fire birds screaming in my face to find you! I'm not leaving! I can't!"

Hope stepped forward beside her, his hand resting on his sword. The iron mask hid his face, but his voice was steady, calm.

"She's telling the truth," he said. "She'll die without you. You're her only chance."

Justice glanced at Hope, his eyes narrowing like he was sizing him up. "A masked fool," he said, his lip curling. "Why should I trust you? Who are you anyway?"

"Doesn't matter," Hope said, not moving an inch. "Help her. That's what matters."

Justice laughed again, sharp and mean, like a knife cutting through the air.

"No," he said, waving a hand like he was shooing a fly. "I don't kiss random girls who show up begging. Get out before I call the guards."

Kena's heart sank, heavy as a stone in her chest.

She'd fought so hard to get here—days of walking, running, hiding—and he was a jerk. A selfish, rotten jerk.

She wanted to yell, to hit him, to wipe that smug look off his face.

But then she saw the guards by the door—big men with wide shoulders, holding spears that glinted in the light.

She couldn't fight them all. Not even with Hope. "Fine," she muttered, turning away.

Her throat burned, and her eyes stung, but she wouldn't cry. Not here. "You're a creep anyway."

Hope followed her out, quiet as always. The guards watched them go, their faces hard and blank.

The palace doors slammed shut behind them with a loud bang that made Kena jump.

She stood there on the street, breathing fast, her hands shaking. Then she kicked a pebble hard, sending it flying into the dust.

"What a waste!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "He's awful! Just awful!"

"He's cold," Hope said, standing beside her. "Like they said he'd be."

Kena glared back at the palace, its golden walls shining too bright in the sun.

"Cold?" she asked. "He's ice. No, he's worse than ice—he's a block of frozen mud. How am I supposed to get a kiss from that? How?"

Her voice broke, and she hated it.

"We'll find a way," Hope said, his tone even. "You don't give up. I've seen that."

Kena sighed, her shoulders slumping. She felt tired, so tired, like all the fight was leaking out of her.

"I don't know anymore," Kena said. "Maybe I'm done. Maybe this is it."

She pulled the photo from her pocket—Justice's stupid, perfect face staring back at her.

She wanted to rip it up, tear it into a hundred pieces and let the wind take it. But her hands wouldn't move.

She just shoved it back into her cloak, her fingers clumsy.

They started walking into the golden city's streets.

People moved around them, laughing and talking, their voices loud and happy.

Kids ran by, chasing each other with sticks. Women carried baskets of bread that smelled warm and good.

Men shouted about fish for sale. But Kena felt heavy, like she was dragging a rock behind her.

The glowing buildings and floating lanterns—little balls of light bobbing in the air—didn't cheer her up.

She'd met Justice, and he hated her. Her time was running out, slipping away like sand in her hands, and she had nothing to show for it.

"Let's find a place to rest," Hope said, breaking the silence. "Think later. You need a break."

Kena nodded, too tired to argue. Her legs ached, and her stomach growled.

They wandered a bit, past shops with bright signs and stalls selling apples and cloth.

Then they found an inn near the market—a small place with a red roof and warm light spilling out the windows.

It looked cozy, like a hug she didn't deserve. Hope pushed open the door, and a bell jingled.

Inside, it smelled like bread and wood smoke. He paid with a gold coin that glinted in his hand, and the innkeeper—a round woman with a big smile—gave them a room with two beds.

Kena climbed the creaky stairs behind Hope, her boots heavy.

The room was small, with wooden walls and a little window showing the street below.

She flopped onto one of the beds, the mattress soft under her.

She stared at the ceiling, at the cracks in the wood, and let out a long breath.

Her green cloak smelled like dirt and sweat, sharp in her nose, but she didn't care. She was too worn out to move.

"He's the worst," she said, her voice flat. "I crossed a whole world for him—mountains, forests, rivers—and he laughs in my face. Like I'm a joke."

Hope sat on his bed across from her, his mask still on. She wondered what he looked like under it, but she didn't ask.

"He's a prince," he said. "Princes can be cruel. They're used to getting their way."

"Yeah, well, he's the king of cruel," Kena said.

She rolled over, propping herself on her elbow to face him.

"Why are you still here, Hope?" she asked. "Look at me—I'm a mess. Falling apart. You don't have to stay with me. You could go."

Hope's eyes met hers, dark and steady through the mask's slits.

"I said I'd help," he said. "I keep my word. That's how it is."

Kena blinked, surprised. Her chest felt warm, just a little, like a tiny fire starting.

"Okay," she mumbled, looking down at the blanket. "Thanks."

She didn't know what else to say. He was weird, with his mask and quiet ways, but he hadn't left her.

Not once. That meant something—more than she could put into words.

She lay back down and closed her eyes, her mind spinning like a wheel that wouldn't stop.

Justice's sneer stuck in her head, sharp and mocking. She saw his face every time she blinked—those cold eyes, that twisted smile.

She'd have to try again—she had no choice—but how? How do you make someone like that care?

Sleep pulled at her, heavy and slow, and she let it come. She dreamed of home—of green fields and her mom's voice, soft and far away—and a kiss she might never get.

The next morning, Kena woke to Hope shaking her shoulder.

"Get up," he said, his voice low but urgent. "Something's happening."

She sat up fast, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles. The room was dim, the light outside still gray.

"What?" she asked, her heart thumping already.

"Outside," he said.

He grabbed his sword from the floor, the blade catching the faint light, and headed for the door.

Kena scrambled after him, her boots untied, her cloak tangled around her legs. Her heart pounded harder now, waking her up.

They stepped into the street, and it was loud—people shouting, running, their feet slapping the stones.

Guards marched past, their armor clanking like pots banging together.

Kena peeked out the inn's window and saw Justice on a balcony above the market.

He stood tall, holding a gold cup that shone in the morning sun. His face was smug, like he owned the world.

"He's throwing a feast," a woman nearby said, her voice excited.

She was short, with messy hair, carrying a basket of apples. "For the city. Everyone's invited. Free food!"

Kena looked at Hope, her mind racing. "A feast? Maybe I can talk to him again. Get him alone or something."

"Maybe," Hope said, his hand still on his sword. "But be careful. He's tricky."

Kena nodded, a plan forming in her head like a spark catching fire.

"I'll make him listen," she said, her voice stronger now. "One way or another. I'm not letting him laugh me off again."

She grabbed her cloak, shook out the dust, and marched out the door. Hope followed close behind, his steps quiet but sure.

Justice was a jerk, a cold-hearted creep, but he was her only shot. She wasn't giving up yet—not today, not ever.