Chapter Two – The Letter and the Lie

Metheea bolted down the corridor, skirts snapping around her legs, breath ragged in her throat. She didn't stop until the familiar carved wooden door of her chambers loomed in front of her. She pushed it open with trembling hands.

Inside, Lerima stood by the window, arms crossed, expression sharp.

She wasn't just her maid. She was her watcher and handler. Queen Tilde, her mother, had put her in place to make sure Metheea didn't slip, didn't falter, and didn't ruin the fragile charade.

"You're late," Lerima said, her voice flat.

Metheea paused, breath still shallow. Should she say it? That she had met her brother? That she had kissed him?

No. That wouldn't help her. If she told the truth, she'd be on the next caravan back to Dythrid. Caged again. Watched. Married off.

Her freedom—gone.

So she said nothing.

Lerima's eyes drifted to the wine-stained fabric of her dress. Her expression darkened. But she didn't speak.

Metheea turned toward her bed, only to spot a letter laid carefully on the table.

"A letter came," Lerima said.

She walked over and stared at the seal.

Count Verry of Matekuya Kingdom.

Her betrothed.

The memory of the kiss returned—unwanted and sharp. Oh god, she kissed her brother. Her stomach twisted. She slapped a hand over her mouth. Her stomach lurched.

That pull she felt—what was it? Some ancient, rotten instinct? Was it just the blood they shared? The idea made her sick.

"He's a good man," Lerima said.

"Is he?" Metheea muttered, eyes still on the seal, hands on her mouth. She sat down silently and opened the letter. This was better than remembering that kiss.

Inside, the Count reminded her of her duties as a fiancée. Of her role and of her obligation to remain pure, obedient, and ready to become his wife.

She gripped the letter tighter until the parchment wrinkled.

The words felt like shackles.

She was sold to ensure a trade agreement between Dythrid and Matekuya. As a princess, she should've accepted it.

But she couldn't.

All her life, she had appeared the perfect, poised princess of Dythrid, even if her people never fully accepted her because of her Katarthan blood.

And now, she was expected to play her part again and prove loyalty to the very people who never respected her. It made her blood boil.

She turned back to Lerima.

"Send word to my mother," she said. "I want to transfer schools. Anywhere but here."

"You know what the Queen said," Lerima said. "This is the safest place for you. Now that your engagement is announced, the Katarthans will hunt you. And no one expects you here. Not under their noses."

Metheea clenched her jaw, anger swelling inside her. She said nothing, but the silence screamed. It was helpless furry. 

She needed air.

She stood up and crossed the room to the window. Opening it with clenched teeth.

Then she saw him.

Or thought she did.

There was a figure below in the courtyard shadows.

Azrayel?

She must be losing her mind.

She slammed the window shut and sagged against it, heart hammering.

Lerima snapped, "What are you doing?"

Metheea whispered, "I don't know what I'm doing."

And for the first time in years, it was the truth.