Aleah sat unmoving upon the cold, unforgiving cobblestones, her body trembling despite her desperate attempts to still it.
She could no longer tell whether the shaking came from the cool, bitter night air, the blood slowly seeping through her ruined gown, or the terrible, all-consuming realization that everything she had ever believed in had been a lie.
Perhaps it was all three.
Her body was fighting against itself. Every breath felt like a battle, every movement sent fresh waves of pain through her limbs, and somewhere beneath the ringing in her ears, she could hear the uneven, frantic beating of her own heart.
It was a strange thing, she thought distantly, how desperately the body fought to survive even when the heart had already given up. Even when she struggled to find a reason to keep breathing, breath managed to flow through her lungs.
The alleyway smelled of damp stone, rotting refuse, and something metallic that she knew, with a detached sort of horror, was her own blood.
Her once-beautiful gown lay in tatters around her. The delicate embroidery, painstakingly sewn by hands that had loved her, was now obscured beneath layers of mud and filth. One of her slippers had disappeared somewhere during the struggle, leaving her stockinged foot exposed to the cold.
She could not bring herself to care.
Not about the gown.
Not about the blood.
Not even about the indignity of sitting in the filth of a street like some common criminal awaiting execution.
Once, the mere thought of appearing in public with a single hair out of place would have sent her scrambling for a mirror. Once, she had been the sort of girl who apologized when someone else stepped upon her foot.
Once, she had been a good girl.
Aleah nearly laughed.
The sound that escaped her throat was something far uglier.
Good.
What a terribly useless little word.
She had spent her entire life being good.
A good daughter. A good sister. A good granddaughter. A good friend.
And, perhaps most foolishly of all, a good woman to the man standing before her.
She had been obedient when obedience was demanded of her. Patient when patience was expected. Forgiving when forgiveness was neither deserved nor requested.
She had swallowed her anger until it burned like poison in her stomach. She had smiled when she wished to weep, bowed her head when she wished to scream, and offered kindness to people who would not have spared her a moment's consideration had their positions been reversed.
Because that was what good girls did.
Good girls did not hate.
Good girls did not hold grudges.
Good girls certainly did not seek revenge.
And Aleah had always been, above all else, a good girl.
Even when she had finally learned the truth, even when the pieces had begun falling into place and the terrible shape of their betrayal had become impossible to ignore, she had hesitated.
She had possessed the opportunity.
She had possessed the means.
For one brief, shining moment, she had even possessed the will.
And still, she had hesitated.
Not out of love.
No.
She refused to grant him that final victory.
Perhaps she had hesitated out of fear. Perhaps some small, pathetic part of her had hoped that there had been a mistake, that someone would step forward and explain everything away.
Or perhaps the answer was simpler.
Perhaps, after a lifetime of being taught that goodness would always be rewarded, Aleah had simply been incapable of accepting that sometimes goodness was the very thing that destroyed a person. Perhaps she had been unable to accept a reality where being good meant nothing.
And now it was too late.
The opportunity had passed.
The revenge she had imagined, the justice she had briefly allowed herself to crave, had slipped through her fingers like water.
There would be no retribution.
No moment of triumph.
No satisfaction in watching those who had wronged her suffer even a fraction of what she had endured.
There would only be this.
A dark alley.
A ruined wedding gown.
And the man she had once loved holding a sword against her throat.
How?
The question rose within her, small and bewildered.
How had this happened?
It was not supposed to be like this.
This was not the future she had imagined.
This was not the life she had chosen.
This was not what they had promised her.
And it was certainly not what he had promised her.
Her eyes drifted toward the sword.
She knew that blade.
Of course she knew it.
She had watched him practice with it on countless mornings, standing beneath the shade of the courtyard trees while he moved with that effortless grace she had once found so beautiful.
She had polished its scabbard herself once, laughing when he told her that a lady of her standing had no business tending to a warrior's weapon.
She had kissed the scar upon his hand where that very sword had once slipped during training.
And now its edge rested against the delicate skin of her neck.
How absurd.
How utterly, impossibly absurd.
Aleah had imagined dying for him before.
During the war, when the world had seemed determined to tear them apart, she had believed there could be no greater proof of love than sacrificing her life for his.
She had fought for him.
Bled for him.
Killed for him.
Nearly died for him.
And he had known.
He had known every sacrifice, every terrible choice, every night she had spent praying for his safety while her own world crumbled around her.
He had held her afterward.
Had pressed his lips to her forehead and told her that one day, when everything was over, she would never have to be afraid again.
I will protect you.
She remembered those words with painful clarity.
Whatever happens, Aleah, you will always have me.
Liar.
The accusation formed so suddenly that she nearly choked upon it.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
Her fingers curled against the filthy cobblestones.
She wanted to throw the word at him. Wanted to scream it until her throat tore, until the entire sleeping city woke and came to witness what he had done.
But she could not seem to make her mouth obey.
Instead, she stared at him.
At the face she had loved.
At the eyes she had trusted.
Indigo.
Such beautiful eyes.
She had always thought them beautiful.
As a young girl, she had once been convinced that no other person in the world possessed eyes quite like his. She had teased him about them, telling him that the gods must have stolen pieces of the evening sky to create their color.
He had laughed.
She could remember that laugh.
Warm. Low. Almost boyish when he forgot himself.
She had loved making him laugh.
She had loved everything about him.
Even the things she should not have.
Especially those.
And now those same indigo eyes regarded her with a coldness so complete that she wondered whether she had ever truly known the man behind them.
He looked at her as though she were a stranger.
No.
Worse.
He looked at her as though she were something disappointing.
Something that had failed to meet his expectations.
Something that needed to be disposed of.
Aleah's lips parted.
"Why?"
The word was barely audible.
He did not answer.
Of course he did not.
She wondered whether he had already decided that she no longer deserved an explanation.
Had he ever loved her?
The thought struck harder than any blow she had suffered that night.
Had any of it been real?
The stolen kisses beneath the garden arbor? The letters he had written when duty kept them apart? The way he had sought her hand beneath the table during long, tedious dinners, his thumb tracing little circles against her palm?
Had he meant it when he told her that she was the only place in the world where he could find peace?
Or had those moments been another part of the trap?
A beautiful, carefully constructed lie designed to keep her exactly where he wanted her?
Aleah closed her eyes.
She did not want to know.
And yet, she desperately did.
Because if even those memories were false, then what did she have left?
There had been a time when Aleah had been as close to a princess as a girl could be without possessing royal blood.
She had been cherished.
Not merely tolerated or admired from a distance, but truly, wholeheartedly cherished.
Her mother had brushed her hair each evening when she was little, weaving ribbons through the strands while telling her stories of brave heroines and faithful lovers.
Her father had called her his little star, lifting her into his arms even when she had grown far too old to be carried.
Her brothers had been infuriating and overprotective in equal measure, forever stealing sweets from her plate and threatening any boy who dared look at her too long.
Her grandparents had spoiled her shamelessly.
Her cousins had filled her childhood with laughter, mischief, and secrets whispered beneath blankets long after they were supposed to be asleep.
She had never doubted that she was loved.
Not once.
Love had been as natural to her as breathing.
It had surrounded her so completely that she had never imagined a world without it.
She had grown up believing that if she loved others sincerely enough, if she remained kind and loyal and true, then those she loved would offer her the same in return.
How terribly naive she had been.
Her family had loved her.
Hadn't they?
They had told her so.
Her mother had kissed her cheeks and called her precious.
Her father had promised that no harm would ever come to her while he lived.
Her brothers had sworn that anyone who hurt their sister would answer to them.
And the man before her—
The man before her had promised to marry her.
Tomorrow.
No.
Not tomorrow.
Aleah blinked, struggling to grasp the passage of time.
The bells had already rung midnight.
It was her wedding day.
In only a few hours, servants would begin preparing the chapel. Flowers would be arranged along the aisle, candles would be lit, and guests would gather in their finest clothes to witness the union of two people who, according to every whispered tale in the kingdom, had overcome impossible odds to be together.
Her wedding gown was supposed to be waiting in her chambers.
White silk.
Pearls at the sleeves.
A veil her mother had carefully preserved for years.
Aleah had tried it on only yesterday.
She remembered standing before the mirror while her attendants fussed over the hem, laughing as one of them insisted that she would be the most beautiful bride the kingdom had ever seen.
She had blushed.
Actually blushed.
How embarrassing that seemed now.
She had spent the evening wondering whether he would smile when he saw her walking toward him.
Whether his hands would tremble when he took hers.
Whether he would kiss her before the priest had finished granting permission.
Such foolish, innocent little worries.
And now—
Now she was kneeling in an alleyway, dressed in the ruined remnants of the gown she had worn to their final private meeting, with his sword pressed against her throat.
Would the flowers still be delivered?
Would the musicians still arrive?
Would her attendants search her chambers, confused by the empty bed?
Would anyone wonder where she had gone?
Or had everything already been arranged?
Perhaps the wedding had never been intended to take place.
Perhaps everyone had known except her.
The thought made her stomach twist.
No.
Surely not everyone.
Surely someone would have warned her.
Someone would have loved her enough.
Wouldn't they?
Aleah searched her memories with growing desperation.
Every conversation.
Every strange glance.
Every warning she had dismissed.
There had been so many moments when something had felt wrong, hadn't there?
A silence that lasted too long.
A door closed too quickly.
A letter she had not been permitted to read.
A conversation that stopped when she entered the room.
She had noticed.
Of course she had noticed.
She was not stupid.
She had never been stupid.
But she had trusted them.
And trust, she was discovering, could make a fool of even the cleverest person.
Trust had the ability to make you blind. It had the ability to kill.
She had believed the explanations offered to her because the alternative had been unthinkable.
She had defended him when others questioned his intentions.
She had fought for their future when the obstacles seemed insurmountable.
She had stood beside him even when doing so cost her friendships, security, and pieces of herself she would never recover.
And for what?
For this?
Her gaze lifted slowly.
He was still watching her.
Still silent.
Still holding that cursed sword.
"Was it worth it?"
Her voice sounded strange to her own ears.
Hoarse.
Small.
Nothing like the clear, confident voice that had once commanded crowded rooms.
His expression shifted.
Only slightly.
But she saw it.
Aleah had spent too many years studying his face not to recognize the smallest change.
For one fleeting instant, something moved behind those indigo eyes.
Regret?
Pain?
Perhaps even shame?
Hope stirred within her before she could stop it.
It was a pitiful, instinctive thing.
Even now, some part of her wanted him to lower the sword.
Wanted him to kneel beside her and tell her there had been a terrible misunderstanding.
Wanted him to take her into his arms and make the world right again.
She hated herself for it.
Hated that after everything, after all the blood and lies and betrayal, she still knew exactly how his embrace would feel.
Still remembered the warmth of his hand against the small of her back.
Still wanted, with a desperation that made her sick, to be loved by him.
"Was it worth it?" she repeated, louder this time. "Everything you did? Everything I lost?"
His jaw tightened.
"Aleah—"
She flinched.
Her name.
He had no right to say her name.
Not like that.
Not in the same voice he had once used when waking her from nightmares.
"Don't."
The word came out sharp enough to surprise them both.
"Don't say my name."
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Aleah laughed.
A broken, terrible sound.
"Do you know what the worst part is?"
He said nothing.
"Even now, I cannot decide whether I hate you."
Her eyes burned.
"I should. I know I should. I should hate you more than anyone in this world."
Her voice began to tremble.
"But I remember you bringing me flowers because you knew I was homesick. I remember you sitting beside my bed when I was ill. I remember you holding my hand when I was frightened."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"I remember you telling me you loved me."
The silence stretched between them.
"And I cannot understand how the man who did those things can be the same man standing here."
Her breath hitched.
"Tell me."
His grip on the sword tightened.
"Tell me which one was real."
He looked away.
And somehow, that was worse than anything he could have said.
Aleah stared at him in disbelief.
He would not even give her that.
Not the truth.
Not an apology.
Not one final scrap of dignity.
Something inside her began to fracture.
It was not a sudden breaking.
Not the clean, decisive snap of a branch beneath too much weight.
It was slower.
More terrible.
Like the foundations of a great house giving way stone by stone, until everything that had once seemed permanent began to collapse.
She had been loved.
She had been protected.
She had been good.
And none of it had saved her.
Her mother's lessons had not saved her.
Her father's promises had not saved her.
Her brothers' fierce devotion had not saved her.
And the man she had loved more than life itself—
He was the one holding the sword.
Aleah looked at him one final time.
Really looked.
At the familiar slope of his shoulders.
At the dark hair she had once threaded her fingers through.
At the mouth she had kissed.
At those impossibly beautiful indigo eyes.
She had loved him.
Gods help her, she had loved him.
And perhaps some wounded, foolish part of her always would.
But as she knelt there, trembling in the cold, Aleah finally understood something she had spent her entire life refusing to believe.
Love did not make a person good.
And being good did not mean that one would be loved.
A sob escaped her.
Then another.
She tried to swallow them, tried to force herself into the composure that had been drilled into her since childhood.
Do not make a scene, Aleah.
Do not raise your voice.
Do not embarrass yourself.
Be gracious.
Be dignified.
Be good.
No.
No, she was so tired of being good.
She had been good when she was frightened.
Good when she was grieving.
Good when she was betrayed.
She had smiled through pain and offered forgiveness she did not feel because she had been taught that anger made a woman ugly and bitterness made her unworthy.
Well, look at her now.
Filthy.
Bloodied.
Abandoned.
What had all that goodness bought her?
A sword at her throat.
And suddenly, Aleah was angry.
Not merely hurt.
Not merely frightened.
Angry.
Furious in a way she had never allowed herself to be.
At him.
At them.
At every person who had taught her that kindness was the same thing as weakness, that obedience was the same thing as virtue, that love required endless sacrifice.
At herself, for believing them. She was furious.
At the gods, if there were gods, for allowing it.
She wanted to live.
The realization came with startling force.
She did not want to die here.
Not in this alley.
Not at his hands.
Not before she had learned why.
She wanted another morning.
Another summer.
She wanted to see her brothers grow older. Wanted to sit beside her mother in the garden. Wanted to hear her father's laughter and feel the sun upon her face.
She wanted the life that had been stolen from her.
And she wanted—
Oh, how desperately she wanted—
For someone to come.
For someone, anyone, to find her.
To choose her.
To save her, just this once, when she could no longer save herself.
But the alley remained empty.
No footsteps hurried toward her.
No familiar voice called her name.
No one came.
Only he stood before her.
The man who had once sworn to protect her from every danger in the world.
The man who had become the greatest danger of all.
Aleah raised her chin.
The blade pressed more firmly against her skin.
A thin line of warmth slipped beneath her collar.
She did not look away.
"If there is another life," she whispered, "I hope I never meet you."
For the first time that night, his composure broke.
His eyes widened.
Just a fraction.
Just enough.
And Aleah, who had once known every expression that crossed his face, recognized the hurt.
It should have satisfied her.
It did not.
Because she had loved him too much for too long, and there was no victory in finally managing to wound someone who had already destroyed her.
Her lips trembled.
"I hope," she continued, her voice breaking, "that I am born somewhere far away from you. Somewhere I never learn your name. Somewhere I never have to wonder whether the people who love me are lying."
A tear fell from her chin.
"I hope I am selfish."
She drew a shaking breath.
"I hope I am cruel when I need to be. I hope I learn to say no. I hope I stop forgiving people simply because they ask me to."
The words were coming faster now.
"I hope I am never a good girl again."
His lips parted.
"Aleah, please—"
"NO!"
The scream tore from her throat before she could stop it.
It echoed against the stone walls, startling birds from the rooftops.
"No! You do not get to ask anything more of me!"
She was crying openly now, her breath coming in ragged, painful gasps.
"I gave you everything!"
The words ripped through the night.
"Everything! And it was never enough!"
She thought of her family.
Of all the people she had loved.
Of the life she had believed was waiting for her.
She thought of the little girl she had once been, sitting at her mother's feet and listening to stories in which goodness was rewarded, love conquered all, and the wicked always received their punishment.
What would that little girl think if she could see her now?
Would she recognize the woman kneeling in the dirt?
Would she understand?
Would she forgive her for failing?
Aleah hoped not.
She hoped that little girl would be angry.
She hoped she would scream.
And so Aleah screamed for her.
She screamed for her mother, whose arms she would never feel again.
For her father, whose promises had proved powerless.
For her brothers, who would never know how desperately she had wanted to return home.
She screamed for every sacrifice that had gone unnoticed, every kindness that had been exploited, every warning she had ignored because she wanted so badly to believe in the goodness of those she loved.
She screamed for the woman she might have become.
For the future that would never exist.
For the wedding that would never take place.
For the children she would never hold.
For the years she would never live.
And, finally, Aleah screamed for herself.
Not the dutiful daughter.
Not the obedient bride.
Not the kindhearted girl who had always placed everyone else's happiness before her own.
Just Aleah.
A frightened, furious, heartbroken young woman who had wanted nothing more extraordinary than to love and be loved in return.
She tilted her face toward the narrow strip of sky visible between the buildings.
The stars shone coldly overhead.
Indifferent.
Beautiful.
Cruel.
Her scream rose toward them, carrying every last fragment of her shattered heart.
And then—
The sickening, slick sound of steel tearing through flesh rang out through the night.
For one suspended instant, Aleah felt nothing at all.
Then the world tilted.
The stars blurred.
And the beautiful indigo eyes she had once adored disappeared into darkness.
Her final thought was not of forgiveness.
Nor of love.
It was a single, desperate wish.
Please.
If I must live again…
Let me be loved enough that I never have to beg for it. Let me be loved so deeply that questioning it would only be ludicrous.
And then there was nothing.