It's been four days since Saelow was brought here.
Four days of pacing outside the keep, of excuses and rehearsed speeches I never had the courage to say. But the ball is tomorrow. I can't avoid him forever. And I won't let fear make my choices for me anymore.
I descend into the dungeons alone but for Emelia and the two silent shadow guards who trail me like ghosts. The stone walls grow colder the farther down we go, the torchlight flickering against damp rock. The corridor reeks of mold, wine, and despair.
Saelow sees me before I reach him.
"Well, well," he drawls, rising unsteadily to his feet. "Here comes the People's Queen. To what do I owe the pleasure? Come to gawk at your brother in a cage like some mangy circus beast?"
I stop in front of his cell. He's thinner than I remember, his hair unkempt, clothes wrinkled, eyes bloodshot. There's an empty mug in his hand.
"Saelow," I begin, steadying my breath. "You're going to stand trial."
He lets out a harsh laugh. "Trial? Don't be ridiculous. You've got Kaelen twisted around your little finger—can't you flutter your lashes and beg for mercy on your poor brother's behalf?"
"Are you drunk?"
"Drunk?" He lifts the mug, peers into it like it betrayed him. "Maybe one drink. Or three. Or ten. Who's counting?"
I turn to the guard. "No more wine. He's had enough."
"Who are you to deny me anything?" Saelow snaps, hurling the mug at the bars. It clatters to the ground, spilling nothing but echoes. "You're nothing but a traitor. You let that savage into your bed before Father's corpse was even cold!"
"Enough!" My voice cracks like a whip, sharper than I meant. "I came to help you."
"I don't want your help! I'm in this cell because of you!" He jabs a finger toward me. "You and that bleeding heart of yours. Aldamer left. Then Tharion. Victory was mine—mine—and you ruined everything."
My hands curl into fists. "You lost Aldamer because you misled to him. Tharion left because you acted without thought or care for anyone but yourself. When will you take responsibility for your own failure?"
"Failure?" His voice rises to a shriek. "The only thing I regret is not killing more! I should've razed that wretched city to ash!"
I feel sick.
"And you know what else I regret?" he sneers, stepping close to the bars. "Not handing you over to Aldamer when I had the chance. You'd be rotting in his manor like the spoiled brat you are, if Father hadn't stopped me."
"Father wasn't cruel like you," I hiss.
"Father was a fool. A man chipping away at mountains while Craven built fortresses. He'd never have won, not in a thousand years."
"And yet you couldn't last a single battle without someone else carrying you," I snap.
His smile twists. "You think you're so righteous. So beloved. You just spread your legs for the savage who conquered us—"
"Not another word!" My voice rings through the corridor like a blade. "You are in no position to insult me."
"I came here," I say, my voice trembling, "with a sliver of hope that I might find my brother still inside that madness. But you're gone. And maybe you've been gone for longer than I ever wanted to admit."
He scoffs.
"I silenced myself for years. For peace. For loyalty. Even when I saw how cruel you were becoming. To others. To me. I wanted to believe you would change."
I take a breath that tastes like rust and regret.
"You're just like Grandfather," I whisper. "You don't see people—you see tools, pawns, obstacles. The people we swore to protect, you look down on them like they're insects. But they're not. They're human. They feel. They hope."
"They're weak," he snarls. "And you've been brainwashed by that savage. You listen to me, sister—mark my words: in this world, you either do the stomping, or you get stomped. And once they're done using you, Kaelen and his ilk will grind you beneath their heel like the pest you are."
I stare at him for a long time, letting the silence stretch.
Then I say, quietly: "If they do... at least I'll know I tried to be better."
And I turn and walk away.
The stairway back to the keep feels twice as long as it did on the way down. I keep my eyes on the stone under my feet, barely aware of Emelia's soft footsteps behind me or the torchlight dancing across the walls.
When we reach the upper corridor, I stop and turn to her.
"Go," I murmur. "I want to be alone for a while."
Emelia hesitates, concern flickering in her eyes, but she doesn't press me. She bows her head and leaves without a word.
I don't return to the Manor. Not yet. Instead, I slip into the small chapel nestled between the east tower and the armory—a place hardly anyone visits anymore. Dust clings to the altar cloth, and the old window panes fog with breath and age, but the silence is exactly what I need.
I sit on the cold bench and finally let myself exhale.
My hands are trembling. Not from fear, not anymore—but from grief. Not for Saelow. For the version of him I kept alive in my heart far longer than he deserved. The loyal brother. The protector. The one who used to stand between me and the storm.
That boy is gone.
Maybe he was never real.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, letting the stillness fill the hollows inside me.
I could go to Kaelen. Let him fold me into his warmth, take this weight from my shoulders. But I won't. Not this time. Not because I don't want comfort, but because I need to learn to stand.
I've spent too long looking for someone to fix everything.
I'm not that girl anymore.
Outside, bells chime the hour—just one. Afternoon is slipping toward evening. The ball is tomorrow. The court will be watching. The people who once used to bow to my grandfather, the ones who now whisper behind my back, will line the hall, waiting to see what kind of queen I am becoming.
Let them look.
Let them wonder.
I rise from the bench, spine straight, chin high.
If Saelow is right and the world only has room for the stomped and the stompers—then let them see that I can stand without being either.