The iron door slammed shut behind her, the echo reverberating like the toll of a funeral bell. Vasiliska sank to her knees on the damp stone, her wrists raw from the chains, her blood-red hair falling like a curtain around her face. The scent of rust and mildew filled her lungs. The cell was nothing more than a pit—rats skittering in the corners, water dripping from cracks overhead.
This was her reward. The cell of criminals. After years of conquest. After bathing the soil of Bravenna in her enemies' blood for him.
Her chest burned with rage, but her heart—her heart ached so violently she thought it might split open. Soreth's words replayed, cruel and cold, each one an arrow buried deeper. The blood of an assassin's whore.
Her mother's face flashed in her memory. Lady Italia—beautiful, dangerous, always standing at her father's side like a blade ready to cut throats. She had never been called "wife," only "concubine." A tool. Just as she herself had been turned into one.
The scrape of iron broke her spiral.
The cell door groaned open.
And in the flickering torchlight, a familiar figure glided in, silk trailing against the filthy floor as if even the dirt bowed to her.
Reyndis.
Her half-sister's golden hair gleamed, perfect even in the shadows, her gown a pale shade of ivory that mocked the grime surrounding Vasiliska. Behind her trailed two guards who did not move, who did not even blink—men who now bent knee to her instead of their true general.
"Reyndis…" Vasiliska hissed, staggering to her feet, her chains clinking. "Come to gloat?"
A smile bloomed across Reyndis's lips, sweet as poisoned honey. "Gloat? Oh, sister… no. I came to see you off."
Her delicate fingers traced the iron bars as she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that slithered into Vasiliska's ears.
"Do you know what he told me, when he kissed my hand tonight before the court?" Reyndis tilted her head, eyes gleaming with malice. "He said I was his salvation. That without me, he would still be chained to a weapon he could never love."
The words sliced deeper than any blade.
Vasiliska's breath hitched, but she forced her voice out in a snarl. "Lies. He loved me. He swore it to me. I bled for him, fought for him—"
Reyndis's laugh was soft, lilting, cruel. "And that was all you were good for. Bleeding. Fighting. Killing." She leaned close enough that Vasiliska could see the smug glow in her blue eyes. "But when he wanted peace, when he wanted to build a throne worth kneeling to—did he look to you? No. He looked to me. The daughter of Lady Yekaterina. The noble blood. The true daughter of Bravenna."
The chains rattled as Vasiliska lunged, fury igniting her veins. "You think I'll let you take him? You think I'll stand by and—"
The guards yanked her back, forcing her to her knees. Reyndis only laughed, a silken hand covering her lips as though she were sharing a joke only she understood.
"Oh, but you will stand by. You will watch, caged like the animal you are, while I wear the crown you dreamed of. You will hear the cheers when I give him heirs that the court will adore. And when the history books are written…" Reyndis crouched before her, her gown untouched by the filth, her breath hot against Vasiliska's ear. "…your name will not even be mentioned."
Vasiliska trembled violently, every nerve screaming to tear her sister apart. Her emerald eyes blazed with unshed tears and rage. "Reyndis… you will choke on that crown. And I will be there when it breaks your throat."
For the first time, Reyndis's smile faltered—but only for a heartbeat. Then she stood, smoothing her gown, her composure flawless.
"Enjoy your cell, sister. You should be grateful—you're still alive. Soreth was merciful. I would have had you executed."
She turned, her perfume lingering in the foul air as the guards followed her out.
The door clanged shut again, leaving Vasiliska in suffocating silence.
Her shoulders shook, her chains rattling with the tremors of her fury and despair. She pressed her forehead to the cold stone wall, teeth gritted until her jaw ached.
Her people hailed her as a hero. Her soldiers had wept for her forgiveness. And yet here she was, discarded like her mother before her.
The silence after Reyndis's departure was suffocating. Vasiliska's chest rose and fell unevenly, the weight of betrayal pressing harder than any battlefield wound. Her chains dragged as she leaned against the cold bars, emerald eyes shimmering under the torchlight.
Two guards stood stiffly by her cell. She knew their faces—men who once shouted her name in victory parades, men who once trusted her to lead them into war. Now, they avoided her gaze, as if meeting her eyes would break them.
Her lips parted, a trembling breath escaping. "Tell me… was it all for nothing?" Her voice cracked, soft yet raw. "The battles I fought, the blood I spilled, the years I carved away for Bravenna… Was it all so meaningless?"
The guards flinched, but remained silent.
She gave a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. "No, I don't blame you. You stand there because you must. You obey because you fear for your families. That much I understand."
Her eyes softened as she studied them. "I would never ask you to betray your children's lives for mine."
Finally, one of the guards, his jaw tight, dared to glance at her. "General…" The old title slipped out before he quickly corrected himself, shame burning his face. "Lady Vasiliska… please forgive us. We—" His voice wavered. "We respect you still. More than you know."
The second guard's voice broke as he added, "If it were only our lives, we'd have followed you into death itself. But the Emperor holds our families' throats in his hands. One wrong step and they…" He trailed off, bowing his head.
Vasiliska's heart clenched. She saw the torment in their eyes, and it mirrored her own. She slid down the bars until she sat upon the cold stone floor, her chains pooling around her like broken laurels of victory.
"Do not beg for forgiveness," she murmured, her voice fragile but steady. "You've done nothing wrong. It is I who should ask forgiveness… for leading men like you into a world where loyalty means nothing, and sacrifice is repaid with chains."
The guards lowered their heads, grief flickering in their eyes.
Vasiliska lifted her face to the shadows of the ceiling, her blood-red hair spilling around her like a banner long abandoned. "If this is the justice of Bravenna," she whispered, "then perhaps the gods were cruel to let me live long enough to see it."
For the first time since she had been thrown into chains, tears welled in her eyes. Yet even as they slipped down her cheeks, her soldiers' words gave her a sliver of strength—she was not forgotten. Her people still remembered. Her men still honored her.
Her voice, though trembling, carried a quiet vow as she pressed her chained hands to her chest. "One day… one day, I will rise again. And when I do… no crown, no throne, no serpent's smile will stop me."
The guards remained silent, but one of them pressed a fist against his chest—a soldier's salute, subtle and fleeting, as if to promise her in secret that her fire still burned in their hearts.
And Vasiliska, though broken, allowed herself the smallest, saddest smile.