The heavy rain lashed against the palace that night, drumming on metal and glass roofs—loud yet strangely soothing, mocking the suffocating silence of endless stone corridors. From the barred window of the damp prison cell, I smelled wet earth mingled with rust and moss. The cold air bit deep, seeping into my bones like knives. Chains on my wrists creaked whenever I moved, a cruel reminder of what I had become. No longer Prince Kieran of Cerylia, heir to a fallen throne—only a captive beneath the feet of Empress Draxenia, the woman who had conquered my homeland and stolen my crown.

In front of me, a young Draxenian maid staggered, her frail body trembling. Blood dripped from a deep wound on her arm, spreading into the grooves of the cold stone floor. She had no business in this passage, yet she had ended up trapped by my cell. Her breath came ragged, eyes dimming with death’s weight.

I could have turned away, let her rot. It would have been fair retribution for serving my enemy. But my body moved before thought. I tore a strip from my garment, fabric ripping harshly. Sliding my hand through the bars, I pressed against her wound. Her blood, hot and sticky, spread on my skin as she groaned weakly.

“I’m not doing this for you,” I muttered, my voice rough from silence. “I just can’t stomach watching a human rot away like that.”

My hands bound the cloth tightly. The iron bars bit into my shoulder, sparks of pain shooting, but I tied the knot firm. For a brief instant, our eyes met—confused yet relieved, two souls sharing mercy in a place starved of it.

Then came the sound that froze my blood: heels striking stone, steady, relentless. The very corridor seemed to hold its breath.

The maid flinched pale.

The cell door screeched open. My hand was seized in an iron grip. A chain snapped around my neck, the first pull nearly strangling me. I was hurled out, crashing onto the corridor floor. The stone tore at my knees, blood mixing with rainwater seeping through cracks. My lungs burned, but her pull was merciless. Each jerk wrenched me forward, stumbling, choking. The chain clattered, my gasps fractured. My shoulder slammed into the wall, my lip split, leaving a trail of blood across marble.

At last, her private chambers. The double doors slammed open. Warmth from a roaring fire met me, but it carried no comfort. Shadows leapt sharp and menacing across the walls.

I was flung onto the crimson carpet. My back struck hard, ribs shuddering with pain. I writhed, dragging in air, breath rasping in the silence.

Her voice cut cold and precise, each word a lash. She accused me of betrayal—for showing loyalty to another. She called me a dog, and dogs, she said, looked only to their master.

Blood dripped from my mouth, staining her carpet. I bowed my head, shoulders heaving. Then I lifted it slowly, chain straining at my throat. My gaze locked with hers, unyielding.

My fingers, slick with blood, trembled as I raised them slightly. The maid’s blood clung red under firelight. “Was it wrong?” I rasped. “To stop a woman from dying? Or was it wrong because it wasn’t you I saved?”

A cracked, bitter smile tugged my lips. “Or perhaps I wanted to see how far you would burn if I shared my humanity with someone else. You call me your dog, but even a dog chooses whom it turns to.”

The fire snapped loudly, mocking both truths. The chamber felt tighter than any battlefield. I was chained, bruised, bleeding—yet in that fleeting instant, it did not feel as if I was the one defeated.