Chapter 8

I slapped her. Once on each cheek.

“Keep your poison to yourself,” I spat.

She staggered slightly, one hand flying up to cradle her face. Her eyes widened, stunned and furious.

“You slapped me? Your own sister — the princess — because of a slave?” she hissed.

Her voice dripped with disbelief, the insult heavy in every syllable.

“Shut up and get out of here,” I snapped. “Useless sister.”

She stared at me, lips parted as if she couldn't believe what she'd just heard. For a moment, we both stood frozen — her disbelief clashing with my simmering rage. My patience had snapped long ago, and I wasn’t about to give her more.

“I said LEAVE!” I roared, and finally, she turned her gaze to the girl. Her eyes narrowed into deadly slits.

“I promise you this,” she whispered, voice low but laced with venom. “Death. You will die, slave girl.”

I glanced back at her. “I added coldly, “I’ll kill you too. You’ll join her in the grave there. Sister or not — I don’t care anymore.”

With that, she stormed off, her heels echoing down the corridor like the ticking of a time bomb.

I turned, about to head inside, but they were still there. Valentina and the girl. Still standing like statues.

SLAP.

Valentina's head jerked to the side from the force of my palm.

“What the hell are you two still doing here?” I barked.

Valentina immediately bowed her head. “S- Sorry, my Prince.”

I glared at the girl, still silent, still broken. I had to remind myself of her name.

“Hey… what’s your name?”

Her lips barely moved. “Em… Emily,” she stammered, voice hoarse and cracked.

“Rubbish,” I muttered, disgusted, and walked off without another word.

Emily’s POV

Valentina didn’t speak as she dragged me back to the cell. Her grip on my wrist was firm but not cruel. Maybe she pitied me — or maybe she was just following orders. It didn’t matter.

Inside, she shut the gate without a single glance back. I was alone again.

I looked down at myself. My body was still stained with blood. My thighs were sticky, the shirt too long and too thin to be comforting. I wanted to scrub every inch of my skin until it burned, but no one even mentioned a bath.

Minutes passed. Then Valentina returned — this time carrying a large plate.

I stared.

On it were various foods — steamed rice, seasoned meats, fresh bread, fruit, even a drink. My stomach growled painfully. I felt like I was about to devour the plate whole.

But just as I reached for the food, Valentina smacked my hand away and handed me a glass filled with something dark. It wasn’t water.

I looked up at her silently. She looked back, her expression unreadable.

“It’s a traditional concoction,” she said flatly. “Drink it. Before forty minutes pass.”

I blinked.

“If you get pregnant,” she added, her tone now sharp, “there’s no option of abortion. You’ll be executed. So drink it.”

My hands trembled as I took the glass. I didn’t hesitate. I drank every drop, the bitter liquid burning my throat.

She said nothing more and left.

I turned to the food and ate. I didn’t think. I didn’t chew slowly. I devoured it like an animal — my body desperate for energy, my soul aching for comfort.

Afterwards, I leaned back against the wall, my body finally still, though the pain lingered deep in every bone. Tears welled up and spilled silently down my cheeks.

What kind of life is this?

I had always dreamed of a beautiful wedding night — flowers, laughter, gentle kisses under the stars. I imagined love, a white dress, the warmth of family.

But here I was. Stripped. Defiled. Humiliated. Used.

They hadn’t even let me bathe.

I closed my eyes, sinking into memories, trying to escape this nightmare.

Flashback – Emily’s POV

“We heard you’re going in for surgery tomorrow,” a soft voice said.

I turned toward the speaker — a boy, maybe sixteen — sitting under the old tree by the riverbank. His tone was gentle. Curious, but kind.

“Can you tell us how you went blind?”

I gave a soft smile, adjusting the walking stick I’d used for the last five years.

“I lost my sight when I was fifteen,” I began, my voice quiet, filled with the weight of memories. “It was my birthday. Leena — my best friend at the time — brought me a drink. Said it was a special birthday surprise.”

I paused, remembering that day as clearly as I could, even though I couldn’t see.

“I drank it… and everything went wrong. My body reacted violently. I collapsed, and by the time I woke up, everything was dark. Permanently. The doctors said there was a chemical in it — not something anyone should drink.”

There was a murmur of shock among the group, but I continued.

“Leena said she didn’t know. She told me she was sorry. Then she brought me to some old herbalist — said she found a natural cure. I believed her. But the herbs only made it worse. They destroyed whatever was left of my sight.”

A lump rose in my throat, and I swallowed hard.

“I never saw her again. A few weeks later… I heard she’d been in a car accident. She didn’t survive.”

And I really missed her.

Silence hung heavy in the air.

“She hurt you,” someone muttered. “Why pity her?”

I shook my head slowly. “She was my best friend. I choose to believe she didn’t mean to. Maybe it was all just a mistake.”

Another boy scoffed. “You’re too forgiving.”

“Maybe,” I replied, “but I’ll see the world again. That’s all that matters now.”

I stood, using my stick to guide me. “Thank you for the company. I should get home.”

“Take care,” they called after me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, tapping my way forward, carrying the hope of vision — and the weight of betrayal — with every step.