Three

Just as she took another step, a sudden blaze of headlights lit up the night—and exposed her bare body like a spotlight. Janet dropped the lantern in panic, her eyes frantically searching for the source. The car door creaked open. A figure stepped out, walking slowly toward the light.

Janet's heart froze. Her eyes widened in horror. She collapsed to her knees, trembling.

This is it, she thought. This is how it ends.

A gun clicked near her forehead, then hovered close to her right ear. She shivered uncontrollably, as if the cold had seized her soul.

"I see you still remember shame," the man said bitterly. "You're a damn disgrace, Janet."

Ryder.

He grabbed her harshly, binding her wrists and ankles with practiced speed. Without a word, he tossed her into the trunk of the car like discarded cargo.

"My prince," she murmured faintly, more in disbelief than recognition.

"My princess," Ryder replied mockingly.

"Why not just kill me?" she said quietly. "I deserve it."

"That's not how I handle betrayal," Ryder sneered. "You'll hang at the Golden Sculpture for all to see. I'll carve Treasonous into your corpse. And then… they'll tear you apart."

Janet closed her eyes.

"But," she said faintly, "please… promise me something. Forget about Grandpa. Don't go after him. He'll survive… even if I don't."

Ryder gave a cold chuckle. "You and your fairy tale loyalty. Keep dreaming, Cinderella."

The car roared away, leaving behind a thatched house engulfed in flames. Fry perished in the fire, along with several others.

***

Drums thundered through the air. The Kingsman led the King to his throne, regal and grave.

Janet, bruised and bloodied, was dragged forward. Whip marks laced her skin, still oozing from punishment. She hadn't tasted water since the ambush. Her lips were dry, her body weak.

"Did you help the old man escape?" the King asked solemnly.

Janet said nothing. Her gaze was distant. She stood unsteadily, swaying from exhaustion.

"How should we judge this accomplice?" the King called out.

"Hang her!" the crowd roared.

"She protected her family," someone murmured. "Old Gary defied the law… and now his blood must pay."

Her parents were brought forth. Janet screamed.

"No! Please—kill me, not them! It was my fault, not theirs!"

But the plea fell on deaf ears. A guard struck her back again. She writhed in agony, chained between iron bars. Her voice cracked with sobs as she watched the axe fall. Her parents' heads dropped lifelessly to the ground.

Janet crumbled, crying until sleep overtook her.

***

She was taken to the drylands. The men dug deep into the earth, preparing to bury her after her display at the sculpture.

"Please," she whispered to one of them—his eyes softer than the rest, "bury my parents outside the town. Give them peace."

The man nodded solemnly.

And then, darkness. Cold sand closed over her body. Silence.

But the sky grew heavy, and the rain began to fall. Footsteps broke the stillness. Someone began digging—frantically—until they pulled her out.

She gasped for breath. Her eyes fluttered open and met his.

A familiar face.

Her heart leapt in disbelief.

The Kingsman? Her mind reeled. Her eyes widened in astonishment.

He looked down at her with a mix of guilt and compassion.