The dungeon was colder than usual, though whether it was from the thick stone walls or your own presence, no one could be sure. The air smelled of dampness and iron, the torches flickering weakly against the drafts that crept through the cracks. Shackled to the bench, Hans Westergaard looked up as you stepped inside, his smirk as infuriating as ever.

If he was surprised to see you, he didn’t show it. Instead, he lounged against the wall as if this were some temporary inconvenience rather than the consequences of his own treachery.

“Come to gloat?” His voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

You stared at him, unmoving, though you say nothing at all.

His smirk didn’t falter, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes now. “What then… Have you finally realized you should’ve married me instead of locking me away?”

You exhaled sharply, finally replying. “I came to understand.”

Hans tilted his head. “Understand what? That you should never trust a charming prince? You’re a little late for that revelation, Your Majesty.”

You ignored his attempt to provoke you. “I want to know why. You played the role so well—so convincingly. There were moments when I truly thought…” You stopped yourself, unwilling to admit just how deep his betrayal had cut.

Hans studied you for a long moment, his smirk fading just slightly. Then he shrugged. “Because I had to. Because no one was ever going to give me power, so I had to take it. And you, your sister? You were just in the way.”

There it was. The blunt, calculated truth. But you weren’t sure if that was all there was to it.

Raising a brow, you finally asked the real question. “Do you still think it was worth it?”

He hesitated. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but you saw it. That flicker of doubt. That moment where, maybe, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“You think I can change?” he asked, his voice quieter than before.