Soraya's POV
The courtyard was already full when they brought me out.
Stone beneath my bare feet. Cold air brushing against skin that still remembered yesterday's wounds. The sky above was bright—cruelly so—as though the world itself refused to acknowledge what was about to happen.
I stood in the center of it all, wrists bound, head lifted not in defiance but in refusal to bow to shame that wasn't mine.
The king sat high upon the dais, his expression carved from stone. Authority weighed on his shoulders like a crown made of iron. Beside him stood Princess Elowen, her posture delicate, her face pale and wronged—every inch the picture of a victim.
Princess Pamela stood on the other side, lips curved faintly, eyes sharp with anticipation.
Alderon was there too.
So was Seraphine.
That hurt the most.
