I sat where they left me.
That was the cruelest part—not the guards outside my door, not the silk dress still clinging to my skin like a mockery, not even Griselda’s words poisoning my thoughts. It was the waiting. The way the room felt smaller every time I replayed her voice in my head.
Rostamir already has a wife.
He only agreed because of protection and wealth.
Odessa sent him after you.
Lies.
Or truths dressed as lies.
I pressed my fingers into the mattress, nails biting through the fabric. My ankle throbbed in protest when I shifted, a sharp reminder of how foolish I’d been to run. To believe escape was still an option.
The door opened softly.
Isaac slipped inside with bandages and a small jar of salve, his expression careful in the way it always was when he sensed danger that could not be fought with steel. His eyes flicked to my face, then to the far side of the room.
“Griselda?” he asked.
“Gone,” I said flatly.
He exhaled, relieved too quickly. That alone made my chest tighten.
Isaac knelt in front of me, setting the supplies down. “You shouldn’t be putting weight on that ankle. Physician says it’ll heal clean if you stop trying to flee the palace like a tragic heroine.”
I didn’t smile.
His hands paused mid-wrap. Slowly, he looked up at me. “Zaeran?”
“Did you know?” My voice surprised even me—quiet, stripped of its usual sharpness. “About Rostamir.”
Isaac stilled completely.
That was answer enough.
I laughed then. Once. It came out brittle. “Of course you did.”
“Zaeran,” he said carefully, “it isn’t what you think.”
“Then tell me what to think,” I snapped, pain flaring as I shifted again. I hissed and grabbed the bedpost, breathing through it. “Tell me why everyone seems to know the truth about my life except me.”
Isaac stood. He looked older suddenly, the humor drained from his face. “Rostamir does not have a wife.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He was betrothed once. Years ago. The woman died during a border purge in the Veil. The alliance collapsed with her funeral pyre.”
My heart pounded. “Then why would Griselda—”
“She is not lying for sport,” Isaac interrupted, jaw tightening. “She is lying for a reason.”
That was worse.
I leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. “So which part is true?” I asked quietly. “Did my mother promise him power for me?”
Isaac hesitated.
Once again—an answer.
I turned my head slowly to look at him. “Get out.”
“Zaeran—”
“Get. Out.”
He didn’t argue. He bowed his head once and left, closing the door behind him with agonizing gentleness.
I was alone again.
I reached beneath the mattress and pulled out the crumpled note. Smoothed it with shaking fingers.
Don’t believe what Griselda says.
I didn’t know who to trust anymore.
Not my mother, who bartered my future like a treaty clause.
Not Griselda, whose loyalty now tasted like rot.
Not Isaac, who chose silence over honesty.
And certainly not Rostamir.
A tyrant. A prince. A stranger who carried me like I already belonged to him.
I folded the note carefully and hid it deeper this time—inside the lining of my pillow, close to my head. If lies surrounded me, then I would learn to sleep beside them without swallowing a word.
Let them plan their wedding.
I would plan my survival.
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70Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpkrLoxCrGe
and then Add to home screen.