The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the sharp rhythm of Percival's boots crushing the forest floor.
He didn't waste a single breath. Without hesitation, he bent and lifted Fanaza onto his shoulders as if she weighed nothing, though she fought him with every ounce of strength left in her trembling body.
"Let me go! Let me go!" she screamed, her voice tearing through the still night. Her fists slammed against his back, her legs kicked wildly, but Percival didn't stop. His arms were firm, his jaw tight, his heart pounding with something between anger and desperation.
Her cries echoed through the trees like wounded birds. "Let me go!" she screamed again, but her pleas only made his stride faster, heavier.
When they reached his horse, the animal neighed nervously, sensing the chaos between them. Percival's breaths came in sharp bursts as he set her down, forcing her wrists together.
His leather gloves tightened around the rope as he tied her hands to the horse's strap so she wouldn't run.
"Stop this, Percival!" she shouted, twisting in panic. Her hair clung to her damp face, her eyes wide with disbelief.
He said nothing. His silence was louder than any words. He swung himself onto the horse and pulled her up against him before driving his heels into the stirrups.
The horse galloped forward, hooves hammering the ground like thunder. The wind lashed against them. Fanaza's dress whipped behind her, her body jolting with each stride.
She struggled to free her hands, nails scraping the strap until they burned.
"Please! Let me go!" she cried again, but Percival only gritted his teeth and rode harder.
The forest blurred around them—dark trunks and flashes of silver moonlight. Fanaza's heart raced. Her chest tightened with fury and helplessness. She kicked and fought, thrashing so hard that the horse stumbled.
It all happened in a heartbeat. The horse reared—its cry piercing the night—then came crashing down. The ground rushed up, and suddenly there was the sound of cracking branches, a scream, a sickening thud.
Pain and silence.
Fanaza hit the earth hard, her head striking a jagged stone. The world spun around her, a whirl of shadows and leaves. Her vision blurred, and warm liquid trickled down her forehead. When she touched it, her fingers came away red.
Percival groaned and rolled over, dirt clinging to his tunic. For a moment, his fury still blazed… until he saw her. She lay half-conscious on the ground, blood sliding down her temple, her lips trembling with pain. His expression faltered.
He stumbled toward her and dropped to his knees, the anger in his eyes replaced with alarm.
"Let me see that," he said quietly, reaching for her head.
Fanaza flinched, then slapped his hand away, her voice sharp and trembling. "Get away from me! You monster! You ruined everything! You destroyed everything!" Her scream broke the air. "You monster!"
Her words cut deeper than the slap.
Percival's chest heaved; his hands froze mid-air. Then a bitter laugh escaped his lips, low and cold. "You think I'm the monster?" His voice cracked with wounded pride. "That bastard with the disfigured skin is the monster! Why would you love something that hideous? Are you that blind?"
Fanaza's tears spilled over. Her eyes glistened with fury and heartbreak.
"At least he treats me well!" she yelled. "Not like some animal you royals toss aside! He makes me feel special—he shows he cares! But what did you ever do? Try to sleep with me? Forcefully make me yours? Insult me? Disrespect me?" Her voice trembled as she hurled each word like a knife.
Percival's jaw tightened. His hands clenched. "That's enough!" he snapped. "You can't speak to me like that."
"Why? Because you're the Crown Prince? The king-to-be?" she shot back through tears, her voice shaking. "You preyed on his weakness, Percival! You had no idea what he'd suffered or why he was like that—but you used it against him! Why are you this way? Why so heartless?"
For a long, tense moment, the forest fell silent. Only their uneven breathing filled the air.
Finally, Percival muttered, his tone cold and tired.
"I've heard enough of your talks. Let's go." He grabbed her wrist, trying to pull her to her feet, but she pushed him back. Rage flickered in her eyes as she slapped him—hard across the face. The sound echoed like thunder. Before he could react, she spat on him.
Percival froze, eyes darkening. His entire body went still, the only movement the twitch of his jaw. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet hers, his expression unreadable.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, dangerous, trembling with fury he was barely containing.
"Listen to me," he said, gripping her wrist tightly. "You are betrothed to me. That makes you mine. I'm only tolerating this silly attitude of yours because I love you. If not, I would have killed you with my own hands."
Fanaza's voice was barely a whisper. "To hell with your love. I hate you so much, Percival."
The words hit him like a blade. For a moment, he didn't move, didn't speak. His breathing slowed. The anger faded into something hollow—something almost human. He finally stepped closer and took her hands gently this time. "It's getting dark," he murmured. "We have to go."
"I'm not going back with you," she said defiantly, her eyes wet but burning.
"You want to go back to him?" he asked sharply. "Are you blind or just stupid? He sent you away, Fanaza. He doesn't want you. Can't you get that straight?"
"You don't get to tell me that! You have no right to say that!" she fired back.
Percival's tone softened, a trace of defeat breaking through. "Let's just go back… please." His voice cracked slightly at the end. And though Fanaza still looked away, her resistance wavered.
The forest around them grew quiet, the sky deepening into purple dusk. She no longer fought as he helped her up, both of them trembling—two broken hearts walking through the dark.
The woods swallowed them in silence.
******
Rwaine stumbled through the dim forest, his vision hazy, his breath shallow. He could still feel the strange energy humming beneath his skin—the smooth, flawless skin that was no longer his own.
The moonlight followed him, pale and watchful, until he reached the mouth of the cave that had always been his prison and his home.
He paused there, catching his breath, and touched his face again. It was smooth. No scars. No cracks. No memory of what once marked him.
"It's really gone," he whispered to himself, voice trembling.
Then came footsteps. Slow. Familiar.
Moaz stood at the entrance, holding a lantern. Its soft glow flickered across his weathered face, and when his eyes landed on the figure before him, he froze. The flame shook in his hand.
"Father," Rwaine said softly, stepping forward. The word sounded fragile, uncertain.
Moaz's voice came out like a warning. "Stay where you are." His eyes narrowed, studying the stranger that looked like his son but didn't feel like him. "Who are you?"
"It's me. It's Rwaine," he said, his tone pleading.
Moaz's voice quivered. "What have you done?"
"What do you mean? I got rid of it—of the curse!" Rwaine said quickly, desperate to make him understand. "Now we can live like everyone else. We don't have to hide anymore. We don't have to live in fear."
Moaz's grip on the lantern tightened. "Why did you do this to yourself?"
Rwaine blinked, confused. "What? Father, I thought you'd be happy. We can finally live without fear. We can meet people—be free!"
Moaz's voice rose, filled with pain instead of anger. "You can't break the laws of this land, Rwaine! Do you even know what you've done?"
Rwaine's breath caught. "For the first time in my life," he whispered, "people looked at me without disgust or pity. They admired me. They smiled at me. And now you're telling me it's wrong?"
Moaz slammed his walking stick into the ground. "You don't understand! You can't break the laws, Rwaine! The moment you altered what was given to you from birth, you'll invite something darker than you can imagine. There is always a cost."
Rwaine's lips trembled. "I thought you'd be proud, Father. Maybe even cook something for us tonight." His voice cracked. "But I should've known better. I feel… empty. Like something inside me left when the old skin vanished. I thought you'd tell me I did the right thing."
He took a step back, eyes glistening with hurt. "I was wrong."
"Rwaine!" Moaz shouted as the boy turned and ran into the darkness. Moaz tried to follow, but his foot caught a rock, twisting his ankle. He fell hard, groaning in pain.
"Rwaine!" he called again, voice breaking, but the only answer was the wind. He could only watch his son's fading silhouette vanish into the endless dark.
******
By the time Percival and Fanaza returned to the palace, the torches had been lit. Their light flickered against the marble pillars and gold-engraved walls, casting long shadows that followed them like ghosts.
Fanaza's dress was torn, her hair tangled, her face pale and streaked with dried blood.
Sally spotted her from across the courtyard.
"My Lady!" she cried, running to her. She wrapped her arms around Fanaza, her voice trembling with concern. "My Lady, what happened? Did he hurt you?"
Fanaza's lips parted, but no words came out. Percival's footsteps echoed behind them as he turned away, his cloak sweeping the ground, his silence sharp as a blade.
Sally's eyes hardened as she watched him leave. "Did the Crown Prince do this?" she asked, anger simmering in her tone.
"No," Fanaza sobbed. "It was all my fault."
Sally cupped her face gently. "Tell me what happened."
"He found Rwaine and I," Fanaza said in a whisper, her voice barely holding together. "He told him about the arranged marriage, and Rwaine got angry."
"Oh no…" Sally whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. "This is bad."
"Not as bad as discovering the person I was in love with had a huge secret," Fanaza cried softly. "He had scars all over his body, marks that looked painful. He hid it from everyone because he was afraid people would judge him. I wish he never had to hide, Sally. I wish he never felt that pain."
Sally's voice softened. "My Lady… I want to tell you something, and I need you to listen carefully. Your marriage with the Crown Prince is real. It is happening. And you are lucky he didn't kill you—that would have been called treason against the royal house."
"I really love Rwaine," Fanaza whispered, eyes wet again.
"I know you do," Sally said gently, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "But you two come from different worlds. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be to move on. Please, my Lady, protect yourself. If anyone finds out about you two, not only will you be in danger—you'll put Rwaine and his family in danger too."
"Really?" Fanaza asked faintly.
"Yes," Sally replied firmly. "Now come, let's get you ready. The King has requested your presence for the royal dinner tonight."
"Seriously? And you didn't tell me earlier?" Fanaza asked with a small, tired laugh through her tears.
"I'm sorry, my Lady," Sally said with a gentle smile.
Sally led her upstairs. The room smelled of roses and sandalwood. Warm water filled the bath, and petals floated lazily on the surface. Fanaza slipped into it slowly, her body sinking beneath the warmth.
For a moment, she wished she could disappear under the surface and never come up. But she did. She rose, water glistening on her skin, her heart heavy with what she'd lost.
Sally dried her carefully and dressed her in a gown of soft gold silk that shimmered like sunlight. When Fanaza caught her reflection in the mirror, she barely recognized herself—beautiful, flawless, and utterly broken inside.
"Act like nothing happened," Sally said softly, catching a tear before it fell. "Don't let it drop."
Fanaza nodded silently.
******
The dining hall glowed beneath crystal chandeliers. Long golden drapes swayed with the evening breeze. The scent of roasted lamb and spiced wine filled the air. Silver plates and goblets lined the table, and laughter from the nobles echoed faintly—until the doors opened.
Fanaza stepped in.
Her golden gown shimmered with every step, catching the light like rippling water. Her hair fell gracefully behind her shoulders, her expression calm but empty.
The room fell silent as all eyes turned toward her. The King, the Queen, the princes—every gaze weighed upon her.
She bowed low. "My King, my Queen. My princes."
"You're late," the Queen said sharply, her eyes narrowing with disdain.
"Forgive me for my indiscipline," Fanaza said, lowering her gaze. "Please punish me accordingly."
"Sit beside your husband," the King said.
Her heart lurched. She froze for half a breath before stepping toward the chair beside Percival. He didn't look at her as she sat. The silence that settled between them was thick, suffocating.
"Is anything going on between you two?" the Queen asked, glancing between them. "The atmosphere feels tense."
"No, my Queen," Fanaza said softly.
"The wedding date has been decided," the King announced.
Fanaza's hand jerked. The words hit her like a slap. She coughed once, then again, until her throat closed. Panic rose in her chest as she began choking. Her hand flew to her neck, eyes wide, breath trapped.
Percival shot up instantly. He came behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing hard below her ribs in quick, firm motions.
Her body jolted until she gasped, coughing out the lodged piece of food. Tears streamed down her face as she sucked in a shaky breath.
Fanaza trembled, unable to speak.
The King leaned forward. "Are you all right?"
Percival turned sharply. "Father, you didn't tell me about this! Why would you decide something so serious behind my back?"
"I didn't decide it alone," the King replied evenly. "The council agreed. The wedding will be held next weekend."
Fanaza's world tilted. The sound of voices faded. Her vision blurred at the edges. Next weekend. The words echoed until they became a single ringing hum in her mind. Her chest tightened, her fingers went cold.
Then, silence.
Her body went limp. A dull thud echoed through the hall as she collapsed, her golden gown pooling around her like wilted petals.
Fanaza had fainted.