Chapter 20: The Contract

Camela backed away, her heart pounding. “What does it mean?”

Vincent did not flinch. "It means they are done waiting."

"I don't want this," she whispered.

"You've never had a choice."

He reached forward, took her hand, and attempted to guide it to the throne.

Camela pulled her hand away. "Do not touch me."

"If you do not place the ring, the contract will burn, and so will everyone in this room," he said.

A red-masked figure stepped out of the smoke. "You broke the last oath."

"You were given the fox. The bride. The Throne."

"I never asked for any of it!" Camela shouted.

"You accepted the rose," the man said coldly. "It is the first contract.

Camela shook her head. "I wasn't sure what I was accepting."

"You wore the ring. You took the mask. You danced the flame."

"Because I was forced!" she exclaimed. "Vincent lied to me. You all did."

Vincent raised his brow but did not speak.

The red-masked man lifted a scroll. It glowed with fire around the edges.

"Then sign the final one," he added. "Seal your fate. Or vanish with the rest."

"What is this?" Camela inquired, looking at the scroll.

"A contract," another masked figure answered.

She turned around to face Vincent. "What contract?"

He smiled. "The one you were destined to fulfill."

"A name trade," he said quietly. "You become her. Fully."

"You want me to abandon who I am?"

"You already have," he replied. "You've just not admitted it."

Camela felt her chest tighten.

She gazed at her hands, marked with black ash. Her fingertips trembled. On the floor, her reflection shimmered; it wasn't her anymore, but her mother.

"Once you sign," the red-masked man explained, "you will no longer be Camela Castellano."

"I'm not her," Camela stated, backing away. "I am not my mother."

"But you have her voice," Vincent whispered. "And her crown."

Suddenly, a deep sound echoed through the walls, causing the hall to tremble. Someone emerged from the shadows near the broken mirrors.

"Camela." a voice called.

She turned around quickly.

Daniel—the boy she once loved.

She blinked her eyes; it was neither a vision nor a dream.

His clothing was torn. His face was pale and dirty. His eyes widened in disbelief.

"What are you doing here?" she exclaimed.

"I was looking for you," he said. "They dragged me here, and said I had to watch you burn."

Camela rushed towards him, but the red silk rope yanked her back.

"Do not touch him!" Vincent let out a bark.

Daniel glared at Vincent. "You did this to her?"

Vincent smirked and replied, "She chose this."

"No, she didn’t!" Daniel shouted. "She was forced into it, tricked and lied to"

"She said yes," Vincent said. "And now she is ours."

Camela stepped back. The red silk ropes dragged on the floor, cutting into her skin.

"I've never agreed to anything," she stated.

"You were born under a promise," Vincent explained. "Your blood has signed it. Your mother made sure of that."

More glass fell from the ceiling, and Camela flinched as a shard cut her shoulder. She grabbed it tightly, and it cut into her skin, blood ran down her hand.

“Then let my blood burn it,” she said fiercely.

Vincent tilted his head. “That’s not how it works.”

“Tell me how it works,” she snapped.

“You place the ring. You sit on the throne. You take the vow. You become her.”

Camela blinked. “Become who?”

Vincent’s expression grew darker. “The Bride.”

“I’m not her!” Camela cried out.

“You will be. Or you’ll die like the others who tried to refuse.”

Her jaw clenched. “How many?”

Vincent didn’t utter a word.

She pointed the bloody shard at him. “How many girls before me?”

Camela took a step forward. "Tell me," she said, threateningly.

He looked up at the burning banners and then back at her.

"Seventeen,"

Her breath caught. "Do you mean all those names on the mirror?"

"They were brides in training. Failed, broken, and burned," he replied.

Her knees weakened. “What happens if I say no?”

"They'll chain you to the throne, place the ring on your finger, and start the fire,” Vincent responded without blinking.

The glass shard in her grip trembled. "I don't want to be like her.”

“Then don’t be her,” he whispered. “Be better.”

"You are lying."

He stepped closer to her. "Am I?"

Camela looked around and every masked figure focused its gaze on her. The throne still sat empty but she could feel the heat rising.

“Let me go,” she begged.

"Do you still think this is a cage?" Vincent asked.

She turned to him, her voice enraged. "What else is it?"

He smiled softly. "A mirror."

The shards on the floor started to move. They slithered towards the throne, cutting through the red carpet like blades.

Camela stared at her reflection in each one. In all pieces, she saw herself but older, with a crown on her head and blood streaming down her face.

"No," she muttered under her breath. "I will not be her."

"You are already," a voice said from behind her.

She spun.

Her mother stepped through the smoke without a smile. Her red mask shimmered.

"Don't fight it," her mother said. "You were born to do this."

"I do not want your life."

"You don't get it," her mother replied. "You are inheriting it."

Camela looked down at the ring in her hand. It pulsed with light. The silver burned hotter.

"What if I crush it?" she whispered.

"Then the entire house falls," her mother replied. "Your body will be the ash on which they rebuild."

Camela clutched her fists, feeling her breath tremble. Her thoughts raced as she glanced at Vincent.

"Why have you brought me here?"

He didn't respond.

She turned to her mother. "Why did you lie to me?"

Her mother smiled. "You never asked the correct questions."

Camela's heart raced. "Was this always the plan?"

"Even before your birth,"

She stepped back. "No. I am not signing anything. I refuse."

The flames in the mirrors flared. The throne cracked and the masked watchers gasped all at once.

Vincent grabbed her arm. "Camela…"

"No!" she screamed, pulling away.

The red silk ropes around her feet were set on fire. She collapsed to the ground, screaming, as heat enveloped her body.

The ring fell from her hand and rolled right to the foot of the throne. The fire suddenly went out, causing smoke to rise.

Camela looked up and saw someone sitting on the throne. A figure in red silk stood still and silent, with a face hidden in the shadows.

“Who is that?” she whispered.

Vincent appeared shaken. "That...shouldn't be possible."

Her mother took a step back, her eyes wide.

The red-masked man of the tribunal bowed his head.

“She returns,” he whispered.

Camela rose to her knees. "Who is she?"

The figure on the throne lifted a hand. Long fingers adorned with a single ring on the middle finger—black, old, and familiar. Her voice echoed throughout the entire room.

"I'm the Original Bride."

Camela felt a chill run through her veins. She tried to say something, but no sound escaped her lips.

The original Bride rose to her feet, and her veil flowed behind her like a stream of blood.

"You broke the contract,"

Camela shook her head. "No. I did not sign anything.”

"You refused," the Bride spoke calmly. "Now you must be punished."

Vincent rushed between them to shield Camela and said. "It was my fault. I pushed her. I should have…"

"Silence," the Bride ordered.

He stopped talking immediately and stood frozen like a statue.

Camela turned towards him. "Vincent?"

But he didn't blink or move.

"Stop it!" Camela shouted. "Leave him alone."

The Bride's eyes met hers. "Do you care for him?"

No!" she replied too quickly. But her face was burning with guilt.

"Then why are you protecting him?"

"Because nobody protected me!" Camela snapped.

The hall fell silent, and only fire crackled around the throne. The Bride moved closer.

Camela stood up slowly, her knees weakened and her voice hoarse.

"What do you want from me?"

The Bride tilted her head. "You've broken the circle."

Camela looked down. The ring had stopped rolling. It fit perfectly in the middle of a black seal burned into the carpet.

"I did not mean to…"

"But you did," the Bride interrupted.

A sound echoed.

Camela looked up. A giant clock ticking appeared on the wall behind the throne.

The Bride moved her hands backwards. "You now owe us," she said.

"Owe you what?"

"Obedience."

Camela stepped back. "No."

"Service."

"No."

"Sacrifice."

"Stop."

The Bride's voice lowered. "Your heart."

Camela gasped.

The ring beneath her feet lifted into the air and began to spin. Vincent's body dropped to the ground, lifeless like a puppet with its strings cut.

Camela rushed to his side. He was on the cold marble, still breathing faintly but alive.

She bent down close to him. “Vincent?”

He coughed softly and said, "Don't say yes..."

The Bride raised her hand again.

In a protective gesture, Camela shielded him with her own body.

"Please," she pleaded, "I'll do anything...just don't hurt him!"

The ring stopped spinning.

Everything went silent.

Then—

The Bride spoke.

"Anything?" she asked.

Camela nodded, her cheeks streaming with tears.

"Then seal the contract."

"How?"

"With your mouth," the Bride said.

A parchment appeared before her—black ink and red signatures with a blank space below. Camela blinked in surprise.

“How do I sign?” she asked, her voice shaking. “No pen?”

The bride smiled coldly. “You don’t need one. Just use your mouth,” she replied.

Camela felt warmth rise in her chest, and her skin glimmered as the ring floated near her lips.

“Speak your name,” the Bride commanded. "And the contract will be sealed."

Camela glanced at Vincent, who shook his head weakly. Her mother stepped forward, urging her and said.

“Do it. End this.”

Taking a deep breath, Camela faced the ring and opened her mouth.

And then—

Everything went black.