Neria felt heavy. Her entire body felt like it had been filled with stones, every limb refusing to move the moment she tried. There was a burning sensation near her chest, persistent and deep, it showed no intention of leaving anytime soon.
So... she was still alive?
Neria slowly opened her eyes, immediately squinting at the pale light above her. The ceiling was there, she knew it was, but everything around her looked strangely distorted. Darkness rimmed the edges of her vision, swallowing whatever little detail she could make out. She blinked several times, hoping her sight would clear.
It didn’t.
Somewhere beside her, she heard the muffled whispers of two men. Their voices sounded distant, almost as if she were still underwater.
"I cleaned up her wound... She’ll be fine." She recognized that voice. She just couldn’t place who exactly it belonged to.
"I would have left her to die." That was the bitter voice of the Grand Duke. She would recognize that voice in a chorus.
Neria tried to push herself up, but the movement immediately sent a sharp pain through her chest. Her breath caught, and a quiet groan escaped her as she sank back against the soft mattress. Her head throbbed with every movement, the pain spreading from her temples down toward her neck.
The two men stopped talking.
Neria slowly turned her head toward where their voices had come from. She could make out two blurred figures standing nearby, but their faces were nothing more than shadows beneath the dim light.
She lifted a trembling hand and rubbed at one of her eyes, blinking rapidly.
Nothing changed, the room remained a mess of blurred shapes and patches of light.
A strange fear settled in her chest.
Before Neria could process what was happening, a large hand suddenly clamped around her upper arm, forcing her upright. She startled, her other hand immediately reaching for the wrist holding her.
She only made out who it was when he pulled her closer. His blurred figure slowly became more defined, and the familiar outline of his face finally came into focus.
The Grand Duke.
"Do you have any idea what you’ve done?" His voice was sharp, anger lacing every word. His fingers tightened around her arm, his nails started to dig into her skin, deep enough to hurt but not break skin
Neria stared at him, still struggling to see his face properly. When she didn’t answer immediately, his temper flared. "Answer me!"
His voice made her flinch.
Neria looked around the room again, trying to understand where she was and what had happened. Nothing made sense. Her head felt heavy, her chest burned, and she couldn’t see properly.
She turned back toward him, blinking once more.
"It seems..." Her voice came out weaker than she intended. She swallowed before continuing, her brows furrowing as she tried to focus on his face. "I partially lost my vision."
"What?"
He clearly didn’t believe her. Neria heard him scoff before his hand moved from her arm to her chin, his fingers wrapping around it as he pulled her face closer.
"What game are you playing now?" Her lips parted, but she had nothing to say. His fingers dug deeper into her skin as he studied her face, his expression impossible for her to make out properly through her blurred vision. "So you’re a murderer and a liar."
"The people I killed weren’t innocent," she said sharply, and despite her blurred vision, she glared in his direction. "But I am not a liar."
The figure behind him shifted slightly before clearing his throat, reminding them both of his presence.
"Should I examine her, Your Grace?"
Oh.
Now she remembered the voice. It was the physician.
Darian released her with a push, making her fall back against the pillows. She watched his blurred figure turn his back toward her, his voice dropping into a cold tone that sent an unfamiliar chill through her.
"No. Let her stay like that for a while."
Neria stared after him.... Well his figure.
She heard his footsteps moving toward the door, each one growing fainter until he crossed the threshold without another word. The door slammed shut behind him, followed by a decisive click that made her stomach drop.
He had locked her in.
Neria slowly pulled her legs closer to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she stared at the floor she could barely see. Her palms still burned from the cuts she’d gotten the night before, though she couldn’t remember much of what happened after the red-haired man died.
His friend probably died too.
She swallowed.
She didn’t think she was supposed to survive. She had expected to die with them.
Maybe that was what she had wanted. At least then she would get to see her pod again.
Nerissa too.
Her chest tightened at the thought, and suddenly the room felt much too small and suffocating for her.
Why did she survive? Why was she still here when everyone else was gone? Neria lowered her head, her fingers tightening around her knees.
Why didn’t I die?
Why?
A shaky breath escaped her.
"I don’t want to be alone..."
___
Saving the Calypso felt stupid and reckless.
She had murdered seven people with that stunt she pulled at the ball. Seven. Five innocent souls lost because of her misdirected anger, and somehow she was still alive.
According to Astravia’s laws, she was supposed to be publicly hanged. Yet she was lying in one of his guest rooms, breathing because he had ordered the physician to save her.
Darian felt stupid for it.
He felt stupid when he ordered his men to clean up the mess she had left behind and remove the bodies before anyone outside the palace could learn what happened. He felt stupid for allowing the physician to treat her when the sensible thing would have been to let the consequences of her actions take their course.
He had underestimated her and that was what bothered him the most.
He had thought she was nothing more than a frightened Calypso thrown into his estate as another one of Erik’s cruel games. Something helpless that needed protecting.
He had been wrong.
He still didn’t know what exactly she was capable of, but whatever that song was, it wasn’t natural. Calypsos weren’t supposed to have magic. And yet seven people were dead because of her.
The door opened behind him.
Hartley stepped into the room, his expression unusually serious as he approached.
"They sent compensation to the families," he reported.
Darian didn’t answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the papers spread across his desk. "Does Erik suspect anything?"
The old steward shook his head. "So far, our men have reported nothing."
Hartley paused, allowing the words to settle before continuing.
"And what do we do with the Calypso, sire?"
Darian’s jaw flexed.
His thumb rolled slowly over the ring on his index finger, a habit he had whenever he was thinking through something he didn’t particularly like.
"She’s not remorseful." He glanced toward the closed door. "She’s too defiant... too dangerous."
Hartley remained silent.
Darian leaned back in his chair, his expression hardening.
"She leaves me no choice." For a moment, he said nothing. Then his voice turned cold. "Starve her for the time being."
Hartley’s expression shifted slightly enough for Darian to notice.
"She needs to understand that this isn’t her home," he continued, his fingers still turning the ring around his finger. "She doesn’t get to kill people under my roof and expect to be treated as though nothing happened."
He looked back toward the door.
"That will be the first step to breaking her."