(TW—violence and LOTS of imagery to pair with it!! **Also Feedback is GREATLY appreciated!)**

Orien lay on the ground, blood splattered across his face like a cruel artist’s final stroke. A deep wound carved from his chin to his brow, a jagged mark of his downfall. His body twisted beneath their boots, bent in ways no man should endure. And yet—he did. He endured.

_You should help him_, the voice whispered, curling through my mind like smoke.

A part of me—the part that still remembered him before the betrayal—_ached_ to listen. But I would not. I could not. I stood tall, the silk of my gown cold against my skin, the weight of my crown pressing down on me like a thousand suns as the guards crushed him further, their fists meeting flesh, their laughter ringing through the night.

His eyes found mine through the haze of blood and pain, green irises flickering like dying embers. There was something there, something that sent a tremor through my chest—a soft, _sickening_ twist, deep in my ribs.

_You love him_, the voice taunted again, sharp and cruel. This time the truth closer than I had thought to believe.

I swallowed the thought whole, biting down on the burning ache that spread through me like wildfire. _No_. I felt no such thing for this man. Only hate. Hate as they struck him again. Hate as a single tear slipped down his bloodstained cheek, a silent betrayal of his pride.

_We_ were _enemies_. That was all we would ever be.

He had tried to take my throne. My kingdom. Caught conspiring with traitors, plotting rebellion in the shadows, whispering of a crown without me. A foolish, desperate attempt to tear down what I had built, to drag me from my rightful place. And now, he paid the price for such betrayal.

“Can’t get up, lad?” one of the guards sneered, stepping closer, the sick pleasure in his voice curdling the air. He spit in Orien’s face, then wondered why he was so angry. “Maybe your queen will save you?”

Their eyes flicked to me—my crown, my gown, the sharp edge of my name. Orien’s gaze did not waver, though his body trembled beneath the strain. Pleading. Begging. A foolish hope.

I inhaled slowly, my chest tight with the weight of what I knew I had to do. The silence stretched, suffocating, before I spoke, my voice a threadbare weapon.

“Continue.”

The whip cracked through the night.

My fingers curled into the delicate fabric of my gown, the silk wrinkling beneath my grip. The sharp burn in my chest was not of anger—but of something else. Something I could not name, something I would not allow to consume me. Not here. Not now.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The scent of blood filled the air, thick and cloying. His body shook with the force of every lash, but he did not cry out. He would not give them that. He had lost everything—his strength, his dignity—but not his silence.

Still, my hands remained at my sides. My face, a mask of cold indifference, betrayed none of the storm raging within me.

Because this was my kingdom.

Because I was queen.

Because I would not—could not—fall in love with a man who dared to betray his queen.