Beneath Her Mercy Chinese Drama Novels & Stories

The only sound was the crackle of a log in the fireplace. "I didn't want to be free if it meant watching someone disappear like that," she said softly. "I saw you down there in the dark, Demetrius. Not the King. Not the man who sent soldiers to my village. I saw a man who was drowning. And I couldn't just stand on the shore and watch." "I don't deserve your mercy," I said. It was the truest thing I had ever spoken. "Probably not," she said, and a tiny, tired smile touched her lips. "But mercy isn't about what people deserve. It’s about who we want to be. I don't want to be a killer. I’ve had enough of death."

A corner of Dominika's lips twitches ever so slightly as she calls out after me, "Wielding authority may seem easy at first, koshka, but using it is hard—especially when you realize there are consequences for every action you take." The Kuzma Fedorov painting, stacks of art books, and plush high-end furniture clash in a conflicting environment—one with tension and luxury intertwined as I enter my old room. Dressed in my jeans, Mercy sits in a chair by the window, her face set inan expression of anger and hurt. Her hostile glare overpowers the room's lavish wealth. "Mercy," I speak cautiously. "You didn't eat anything?" She waves her hand impatiently as if to swat away my annoying concern. "S

she said, moving to stand in front of him, her head tilted up to meet his gaze, “you didn’t kill him. You could have, but you didn’t. You chose something different.” His jaw tightened, the conflict in his eyes unmistakable. “I let him live because of you. Because you begged me to. That’s weakness, Sienna. And in my world, weakness gets you killed.” “Maybe it’s not weakness,” she challenged. “Maybe it’s strength. The kind of strength your enemies don’t understand.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Strength? You think showing mercy to a man who sold his own daughter is strength?” “I think it’s human,” she said softly. “And that terrifies you, doesn’t it? The idea that you might be more

She buried herself under her blankets, letting the silence consume her as she tried to ignore the pounding of her own heart. In the dimness of her room, as daylight faded and the shadows grew long, Channary clutched her pillow, sinking deeper into her shame. The Moon had betrayed her, left her vulnerable, her mate unclaimed. She was the Alpha’s daughter, Moon-Kissed and blessed, yet here she was, abandoned and marked only by the emptiness of broken promises.

His shoulder was still wrapped, his movements slower than before, but he was healing, after being bruised and battered for single mistake while with Donga. I respected his silence, the way he didn’t ask me what I was planning. He knew. Sarah was upstairs, asleep. Safe. That word had meaning again. I’d seen the color return to her cheeks, the haunted look fade from her eyes bit by bit each day, but I knew she wouldn’t be truly free until Donga was ash. Until the last place he called “stronghold” was rubble beneath the rain. I took out my phone and dialed. The line clicked once.

Her new husband treats her and their daughter well and she was currently carrying a second baby. It hurt him to hear that she was already happy in the arms of another man, but the sacrifice he--and the others--have made were neccessary to ensure the continuous survival of the nation against the threats that they have no knowledge of. Better that way than to face apocalypse anytime sooner. Lukas stood up from his seat when he heard a knock. He slipped the image underneath his pillow and approached the door. He opened it to see Sergeant Alice Abantay, her bandage over her forehead was gone.

“My family abandoned me first when my father sold me into marriage.” “You are ungrateful! I was going to marry you to a wealthy man who would have given you a good life if you had not whored yourself out before your wedding!” “You could at least welcome her back, Hubert.” The weak plea came from Maja whose eyes were still closed. She rolled her head to the side and looked through heavy lids at Penny and smiled. “You have grown so beautiful, darling. You maintained the blonde I see, it suits you.”

“You’d be better off staying here instead of running off into the woods every chance you get. Your husband isn’t going to allow you to shift all day and ignore your duties at home.” “I’m not married yet, Mercy.” She crosses her arms over her breasts, scowling at me. Her dark brown, glossy hair is swept back away from her impossibly beautiful face. She’s tall and lithe. Graceful. Lovely. But her soul is rotten, and she’s the biggest bitch I’ve ever met in my life. “You will be after this year’s Harvest Festival. Hardan of Navvan is going to give father six goats for you.” I wipe my bloody hands on my dress, turning to her. “And to think I’m only worth four. He must really like me.”

She touches her chest where the mark glows, unaware that every time it flares, it sends a tremor into my waters. She doesn’t know what she’s feeding. I could end it now. Draw the tide over the cliffs, let the sea swallow the fortress whole. But as I raise my hands, the waves hesitate. They remember her face. The reflection of what I once was. “She isn’t ready,” I whisper. The tide stills, listening. “She still thinks mercy is strength.” A voice answers, not mine not the sea’s. Something beneath both. It rumbles like the deep shifting. “Then teach her what mercy costs.”

Mercy Mercy was glad to see Isabella. She was so kind and refreshing. She’d brought Mercy some clean clothes and made sure she was able to take a shower without any help. She’d also brought her a snack, which was great, even though Cleo had brought her a full breakfast. Mercy felt like her stomach was turning inside out, she was so hungry. Now, she was sitting on the bed, feeling comfy in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. They smelled like flowers and fresh cotton and made her skin feel all soft and snuggly. There was something going on with her hair, though, and it was bothering her almost as much as the fact that she couldn’t remember anything. The urge to flip her hair back over her sho