June 11 2026, 3:15pm
The crowd gasped in unison, even Rhys, too, gasped.
His eyes widened as he took in the twisted scene before him. But do you know what surprised Rhys even more than Draven’s sudden outburst?
His reaction.
He could remember that only a minute ago, he was sitting comfortably on his throne— maybe he was not entirely comfortable, but he was in his chair with his eyes narrowed while he wondered why the presence of this godforsaken girl was making his insides churn with weird emotions. But the next moment, which is when he finally came to, he realized to his utmost shock that he was standing protectively behind Draven.
But it wasn’t Draven that he was protecting. It was her.
Shame slammed into him like a ton of bricks.
It twisted at his guts, causing his chest to burn until there was nothing left but a vast hollowness festering inside his heart.
He was protecting the girl.
His sister’s murderer.
The thought was enough to drag him back to reality, and clamping his hands around Draven’s free wrist, he hissed into his brother’s ear; "Let go."
Draven blinked at him, and then as if suddenly realising what he had almost done, that he had protected someone cursed to die, he slowly lowered his head and Rowan to the floor.
His voice was barely above a whisper, made to only be heard by Rhys as he drawled; "I didn’t mean to—"
"I know," Rhys answered coldly, in understanding, "I know."
The crowd, which didn’t hear the exchange between them, was plunged into silence, watching the scene like it was something out of a movie, and as Rhys led Draven away from Rowan and away from the girl altogether, no one dared to move or speak. No one even did as much as look in the wrong direction. The hall was as quiet as a graveyard.
As Rhys quietly helped his brother to his chair, not missing the stiffness in his muscles nor the way his eyes seemed to stare hollowly into space, he couldn’t help but feel torn. Enraged. Disappointed.
Draven felt wronged.
Just like Rhys did.
And for some reason, Rhys couldn’t help but imagine the moon goddess staring down at them with her index finger pointed towards them while she laughed her head off. I mean, who wouldn’t?
Who wouldn’t laugh at this bizarre situation?
Who wouldn’t laugh at the fact that only two nights ago, his— their— sister had been killed? Pushed off from the top of a rooftop library... and now, her murderer was his mate?
Their mate?
The image of Leilani’s broken body was enough to kill whatever affection may have bloomed in the past minute, and turning away from Draven, Rhys seethed; "All evidence gathered at the scene of our sister’s murder points to her, and for that reason, she shall be executed."
Draven almost sprang out of his chair. Azriel and Kieran, who had been extremely quiet the entire time, did too, but he paid them no heed, instead, he continued;
"She has been confirmed to be the wench responsible for throwing Princess Leilani off the rooftop, and for that reason, she is sentenced to dea—"
"She will not be killed!" Kieran shot in, interrupting Rhys. His sudden outburst made everyone turn to him with shocked expressions on their faces. Their eyes met briefly before he turned away, rose to his feet, and continued; "...but she shall be condemned to a fate worse than death, and shall be tortured until she asks— begs— for death..."
"And no one will grant that to her." Azriel completed, his face a mask of stone.
Their words made the agitated crowd grow even more agitated. A few people nodded in agreement. Others looked excited, but Rhys knew... Rhys of all people knew the reason they had agreed to do this.
And it wasn’t only because they wanted to torture her. It was because they did not want her dead. Just like Draven... and him.
She is their mate. This cursed girl.
Rhys’ anger knew no bounds and goddess, for the first time in a long time, he had this irresistible urge to snap someone’s neck.
Hers.
This urge compelled him to look in her direction and when he realized that she was still fast asleep. That she was still so oblivious to everything happening around her, his blood boiled.
He gritted my teeth and barked; "Someone wake her up!"
But no one moved an inch, especially not after what happened when Rowan tried to touch her. "She needs to be awake while she is being sentenced to her fate." He added,
Still, even after he said that, no one made any attempt to go close to her. He guessed they could feel the tension rolling in the air from his brothers and him like a gathering thunderstorm and could sense just how close their beasts were to breaking free.
In annoyance and the realization that no one would try to go near her, Rhys shot out of his chair and walked straight to the sleeping girl, scrunching his nose in irritation when a foul smell hit his nostrils.
He didn’t notice before, but seeing her now, like this... from this close range made him realise just how fragile she really was. How delicate...
How dirty.
She looked like someone who hasn’t bathed in days or weeks, if not more, and her hair was so matted, a bird could literally live in it comfortably.
Ignoring all of this, Rhys kicked her arm— softly. Gently. Goddess, why is he being so gentle with her?— and hissed;
"Hey, Nyx’ara!" But she wouldn’t stir, "...wake up!"
Nothing he said, no matter how loud it was, made her move. She wouldn’t even budge.
"BITCH!" He tried again, kicking her feet, but still... nothing.
He frowned.
Rage and frustration twisted inside of him, and in one last desperate attempt to wake her up, he crouched beside her, completely ignoring the foul stench emanating from her unwashed body, and hissed;
"If you don’t wake up now, I will be forced to douse you in icy wat—"
However, his words got stuck in his throat when— just as his fingers brushed against the smooth creaminess of her face, her eyelids slowly fluttered open and he was met with the bluest, fieriest eyes he had ever seen in his entire life.
His breath caught.
Only for a moment before the confusion on her face morphed into fear and her hand came swinging, clipping my ear with a loud echoing sound.
*SMACK!*
Rhys’ ears rang for a full minute, stinging with a kind of heat that he was unaccustomed to. It took him several minutes before the realization of what just happened finally dawned on him, and he realized to his horror that she had just smacked him in the face.
Right in front of everyone.
No woman has ever dared to do that before.
Rage coiled deep in his guts, spilling out to the base of his throat. He frowned so deeply that he could feel the corners of his face strain under the force; and in a bid to control the rage twisting deep inside his soul, he clenched his hand tightly into a fist, only to cock his eyebrows when she screamed out in pain.
He frowned again.
"Let go of my breast!" She cried out, "...or I’ll slap you one more time!"
He froze.
It wasn’t until he heard her say that that he finally looked down at his hand and he realized to his horror that he was holding onto her left breast, and from the looks of it, he may have been holding onto it for quite some time now.
Shame and embarrassment slammed into his guts, and in an attempt to save face, he quickly retracted his hand but by this time, it was already too late.
She lunged at him.