Chapter 2

By the time I wiped away the last drop of bloodstain from the floor, my wounds had fully healed.

Inside the castle, the servants had begun their night-shift routines.

Lazarus emerged from his chambers slowly, a vivid, deliberate bite mark glowing crimson on his neck. His gaze fell on the mop, already stained deep red, and a flicker of something unreadable, something not quite indifference, lingered in his eyes.

“Why is there so much blood?” His voice was cold, but the furrow between his brows betrayed a flicker of unease, not disgust.

I bowed my head, my body hunched in deference, and replied in a low, hollow whisper: “I’ll clean it at once.”

Not far away, two maids raised their voices deliberately, their words sharp and venomous.

“Did you hear? That lowly siren actually asked me how to win the lord’s favor—how delusional can she be?”

“She’s nothing but a prisoner, yet she dares to covet the lord? If it weren’t for her, the lord’s parents would never have died so mysteriously. She’s the murderer who killed them!”

I wanted to flee, to vanish into the shadows, but Lazarus’s hand suddenly clamped down on my wrist. He dragged me roughly toward the castle’s underground torture chamber.

The iron chair in the underground chamber was carved with silver runes. The moment they strapped me down, a burning pain spread through my limbs, draining every ounce of strength from my body. Lazarus sat across from me beneath the dim torchlight, like a king passing judgment on a sinner.

“I almost forgot. It’s been a month since I last interrogated you.” His voice was calm, but his fingers tightened around the remote, a telltale sign of his inner turmoil.

“Tell me. Where did you hide my parents, all those years ago?”

“I don’t know.” My voice was steady, even as my heart ached.

The words had barely left my lips when the silver runes flared beneath me, burning through flesh and bone alike.

I couldn’t hold back a shrill scream, my body convulsing violently against the restraints, pain searing every nerve.

Lazarus stood abruptly, his eyes blazing with rage.

“Speak up!” he roared.

I coughed up a mouthful of blood, spattering the cold metal, and shook my head, my resolve unbroken. “I won’t.”

He signaled to a servant, who stepped forward with a handful of mermaid pearls—my people’s pearls, the ones I had hidden in the cracks of the stone walls, hoping to keep them safe. My pupils constricted, and I began to tremble uncontrollably, fear coiling in my chest.

“Lazarus, what are you going to do?!” My voice cracked, raw with terror.

He picked up one pearl, held it between his fingers, then smashed it hard against the stone floor.

He ground it into dust beneath his boot.

“Was this your father’s, or your mother’s? I’ve heard that to kill a mermaid, you have to crush their pearl—otherwise, they’ll rise again.” His voice was cruel, but his hands were shaking.

“Tough little thing… still not going to talk?”

I screamed, a gut-wrenching, broken cry, tears of blood streaming down my cheeks. “Lazarus, I hate you!”

In the next instant, he lunged forward, gripped my face, and kissed me with desperate violence, his fangs grazing my lip as if love and hatred had both driven him mad.

It was a kiss that tasted of blood and regret, of a time when we had been happy, before the lies, before the betrayal.

I almost forgot, in that moment, the disaster that had torn us apart. I almost forgot that once, he had declared me his only love, his future queen, when we were children, innocent and unburdened.

Until the conspiracy unfolded, until all the evidence pointed to me, and that love turned to bone-deep hatred. He hated me, I knew that the love was still there, buried beneath the rage and grief.

But I couldn’t tell him the truth—not yet.

I had to get close to him, for my people. So many times, I had wanted to blurt out the truth. But I couldn’t. The cost was too high.

But it didn’t matter. Soon, I wouldn’t have to endure it any longer.

I looked up at him, a numb, relieved smile tugging at my bloodstained lips. “Lazarus, I’m dying.”

Those words shattered his composure entirely. He went mad, rummaging frantically for a vial of powerful healing potion, prying my mouth open and forcing it down my throat, his voice cold but trembling, panic oozing from every syllable.

“You are not allowed to die. Not without my permission!”

He chained me to the bedpost, like a lowly pet, but his touch was gentle as he fastened the chains, as if he was afraid of hurting me further. Isolde curled up in his arms, her eyes fixed on me, mouthing silently, her lips forming the words:

“Aurora, I want you dead.”