𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥 (𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐃)

Chapter 64: The Taste of the Bitter Sweet

Silence lay heavy in the room, thick as dust after a storm.

I entered without sound and closed the door behind me. Lamplight stretched long shadows across the floorboards, trembling with each flicker.

Phoebe sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twisted in the fabric of her skirts, eyes red and brimming.

I hadn't even taken three steps when Phoebe suddenly kneeled before me.

"Your Majesty," she said, voice shattered at the edges. "Please. Spare him."

I paused, unmoving. I didn't tell her to rise.

"He has changed," she urged, the words tumbling out as though held too long. "When I woke up in this life, I was just as furious. I thought I couldn't forgive him. I wanted to see him break. But then he showed me that a man can unmake himself and build something new. In this life he has done nothing but atone. He hasn't planned another rebellion. He hasn't even spoken of it. He's been trying to make amends."

I tilted my head, studying her. "What? Are you telling me that he's sorry?"

"Yes," she whispered. "He knows his sins are beyond forgiveness, but he's truly sorry."

"To you," I replied. "Not to me. Not to Arsen. Not to the dead whose names he never learned."

Phoebe flinched, but didn't falter.

"Just like you," I added. "Have you ever felt sorry for me, Lady Phoebe?"

"I am," she said, bowing her head until her forehead nearly touched the floor. "I made a grave mistake back then. I do not dare to ask for Your Majesty's understanding because I have no excuse for what I did. But I will repent for the rest of my life. I swear it. I will never stop."

I didn't answer right away, taking a quiet satisfaction in the terror radiating from her.

"You may raise your head," I said, my tone smooth and detached. "It grows tiring speaking to the crown of your hair."

She lifted her head slowly. Her eyes were red and swollen.

I raised an eyebrow, a flicker of dark amusement dancing in my eyes. "Tell me, Phoebe, did the agonizing poison that ended your life in the dark corners of your room feel as cold as the iron blade that severed my head from my shoulders?"

She shrank back, sinking lower to the floor in desperation.

"I was wrong, Your Majesty," she said. "But it was never my intention to hurt you."

My amusement was replaced by a sudden, terrifying fury.

"Then what was it, if it's not intentional?"

She hesitated. "A mistake."

CRACK.

The sound of the impact echoed sharply in the room.

My hand swept across Phoebe's face, hitting her cheek with such raw, unbridled force that her head snapped to the side, her body collapsing sideways onto the hard marble floor.

Silence descended upon the room once more, broken only by Phoebe's ragged, terrified gasps as she held her burning, rapidly bruising cheek.

I remained standing directly over her, looking down with cold, unblinking eyes. Then I slowly lowered my hand, smoothing down the front of my immaculate silk gown without taking my gaze off the fallen girl.

"This," I said, voice dropping into a deadly, quiet hiss, "is what you call intentional."

Phoebe trembled violently, staring up at me through a blur of tears.