*Valka*
Prince Cyrus left without me. Without a goodbye. I wasn't surprised by it.
Because by the time I finally roused from the bed, eyes puffed, soul drained, body sore, the rumor had spread through the castle like wildfire.
The maids who washed me talked about it in hushed whispers. They laugh at me when I transverse the hallways the next day. The courtiers stare and point, hiding their laughter behind their fingers. They say I bled the king's sheets red. They say I'd done so horribly in his bed that I'd lost his favour. Some say he was so disgusted by me, he couldn't stand the sight of me.
I'd never had a good reputation here to start with. But I preferred being a prisoner, being known as the one who killed men, than a tramp who parted her legs like a common whore and got ditched right after.
But never looked at me.
