Princess zetulah Viridian POV:
"You're not meant to be here."
The Emberclaw warrior's voice wavers—just a fraction—but I hear it. See it. The flicker of hesitation in his crimson eyes. The way his fingers twitch on the hilt of his sword, like he's just realized who I am.
I don't give him time to dwell on it.
My dagger finds his throat before the words fully leave his lips. A sharp gasp—then silence.
The body crumples. Blood seeps into the dirt. Another one. But I push the thought down, stepping over him. There's no time for guilt. No time for anything but survival.
The air is thick with the stink of blood and burning fur, the battlefield a ruin of corpses. House Viridian's banners lay trampled in the mud, our warriors reduced to bodies in the dirt. My people—my bloodline—slaughtered like animals.
And standing in the middle of it all—completely at ease, as if the massacre belongs to him—is Oryn Moriba.
The Viper of the East.
Christ, he's still standing there—ankle-deep in the mess he's made of the Emberclaws, flicking blood off his blades like it's rainwater. No, not blood—chunks. I swallow bile.
He tilts his head, and I hate how my pulse stutters—not from fear, from recognition.
Same eyes as the Emperor.
Same eyes I'll see in my nightmares.
"You look disappointed," he muses, voice smooth. Unhurried. "Thought you'd at least put up a fight."
I tighten my grip on my blade. "I was fighting," I snap. "You just got in my way."
Oryn tilts his head, smirking. "That so? Because from where I'm standing, you were about three seconds from becoming another pretty corpse in the dirt."
Rage coils in my stomach, twisting with something colder. I hate that he's right. I hate even more that I need him.
His boots crunch over the dead as he strides toward me. Casual. Effortless. He moves like a shadow slipping through cracks, like the air itself bends to him.
That's when I see it.
One of the Emberclaw warriors—a man I know was standing, sword raised, just moments ago—still grips his blade. But he's not moving. His breath is locked in his throat. His eyes…
Vacant.
A cold shudder runs through me. Mind-bending.
Oryn doesn't just kill with steel. He kills before the fight even begins.
He steps past the frozen warrior and, with infuriating ease, slits his throat. No hesitation. No wasted movement. Just the quick, casual ending of a life. The body drops.
I clench my jaw. Monstrous.
"Come with me, Princess," Oryn says, wiping his blade against his cloak. "Before you bleed out like the rest of them."
I force my chin up. "And if I say no?"
His smirk deepens. "Then I watch you die. Either way, it'll be entertaining."
I grit my teeth. "Why would a Moriba help me?"
He exhales sharply, amused. "Help you? No. I'm doing this because it benefits me." He steps closer, lowering his voice. "But if you really want to die on your feet, be my guest. I'd give you… maybe ten more minutes before Emberclaw cuts that pretty throat of yours."
My pulse thunders. I can't trust him. I shouldn't trust him.
But my options? Bleed out here—or follow the viper into his den.
My fingers tighten around my dagger, then—reluctantly—loosen.
"Fine," I grit out. "But if you try anything—"
"Then kill me." Oryn flashes a sharp grin. "If you can."
I hate the way my heart stutters at the challenge. I hate that—somewhere deep inside—I don't entirely want him dead.
I don't trust Oryn Moriba.
But for now, I'll walk beside the viper.
And pray I don't get bitten.
—---------------
The forest wasn't breathing.
Neither was I.
No rustle of leaves. No wind. Just the thud-thud-thud of my own lungs screaming for air as I ran—stumbled—through the dark. My legs burned. Hell, they were eating themselves alive. But stopping? That'd be signing my death warrant.
Too close. They were too godsdamned close.
Their stench—smoke and old blood—clogged my throat, thick as rot, like licking a funeral pyre. The world blurred at the edges, but I wove through the trees, clawing at bark for balance.
Mistake.
Because there he was.
Not Emberclaw.
Worse.
Oryn.
He stood like the trees had grown around him, not the other way around. Gold eyes cut through the dark. No tension. No rush. Just... watching.
Like I was some drunk dancer, stumbling through a tavern act.
"You look like shit," he drawled. "Running's not your color."
I didn't break stride. "Move."
"Manners, princess."
Even with death breathing down my neck, he turned this into a joke.
I shoved past him. His hand rose—two fingers grazing my shoulder. Barely a touch.
The world—fuck. Shattered.
Darkness. No trees. No cold. Just falling. Falling into nothing.
His voice curled around me, velvet and poison.
"I could make you forget you're running."
A breath against my ear.
"Forget you ever existed."
Then—snap.
Air punched back into my lungs. My knees buckled, but Oryn was already gone—already facing the Emberclaw scout who'd crashed through the brush.
A kid.
Armor singed, fire flickering at his fingertips. He saw me—really saw me—and grinned.
The kind of grin hungry wolves wear.
Then Oryn spoke.
"Too late," he sighed. "She went south. Ten minutes ago."
A lie. Simple. Stupid.
And then—
The scout froze. Breath hitching. Pupils swallowing his eyes whole.
Confusion. Then—
He dropped.
Shaking. Trembling. Hands clawing at his own skin, like he could peel the lie off.
"No," he rasped. "No, no, no—"
Oryn crouched. Head tilted.
"You killed her." A whisper. "You."
The kid convulsed. Fingers tearing at his chest like he could rip out his own heart.
"I didn't—I swear—"
Then the scream.
Gods.
Like his soul was being shredded.
He curled into a ball. Sobbing. Begging forgiveness from someone who'd never existed.
Oryn patted his shoulder. "You'll meet her again." A pause. "Promise."
Then he stood. Brushed dirt off his pants like he'd just hauled firewood.
"Ready?"
I should've bolted. Should've vanished into the trees.
But my feet? Rooted.
I stared at the kid—just a kid—crumpled in the dirt, drowning in a nightmare Oryn spun from air. My gut churned.
When I looked up, Oryn was already watching.
Gold eyes gleaming. Something in them—something that turned my blood to sludge.
"You're wondering… can I do that to you too?" His voice softened. "Aren't you?"
I didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
His smile sharpened.
"Good."
The night felt... wrong. Thick. The air tasted like lies.
And for the first time since this nightmare began—
I couldn't tell where the lies ended.