Corruption

Chapter 2

I lost track of how many nights I spent in the medical unit. Without windows or a clock, time blurred into one long, sterile nightmare. My wounds were healing—slowly. The nurses changed my bandages once a day, always with the same quiet efficiency. The pain lingered, but I had learned to live with it. Embrace it, even. It reminded me I was still human in this hellish place.

I knew it was mealtime only when a nurse came in. I rarely ate. The guilt clawing at my chest dulled my appetite. Survivor's guilt, they'd call it. The only one left. The last fragment of a shattered world.

"I know you must be hungry. Is there something specific you want?" the nurse asked gently as she picked up my untouched tray.

I didn't look at her. Just kept my eyes locked on the blank wall across from my bed. A canvas for every memory I couldn't forget.

She sighed. "You'll have to eat something eventually. Or you'll starve."

I let out a dry, hoarse laugh. "A girl can only dream."

The steady beeping of the monitor beside me grated on my nerves. It was maddening, but I couldn't do a thing about it—not with the wires and tubes tethering me to the bed. I had no restraints, but I didn't need them. I wasn't a threat, not like this. Unarmed. Broken. That was all the security they needed.

The door hissed open with a sharp mechanical sound. I flinched and turned my head, every muscle in my body tensing.

Ren.

He stepped inside, a black-clad specter with a helmet like a metal skull. He looked like a creature forged from smoke and violence. Each step of his boots echoed across the floor like thunder.

"Princess," he said in that deep, distorted voice.

The word made my stomach churn. When he said it, it wasn't a title. It was mockery wrapped in silk. I didn't answer. Just stared into the gray floor, willing my breathing to stay steady.

"Still ignoring me, I see," he went on, the sound that followed almost a chuckle—low and humorless.

Yes. I was.

"You can't ignore me forever."

I shrugged without looking at him. "I can always try."

Silence fell, thick and suffocating. For a second, I wondered if I'd pushed him too far. Would he hurt me for speaking back? Or worse—would he try to break me?

"You certainly could," he hummed, moving closer. I could hear the soft rasp of his gloves. "But I wouldn't recommend it. You see, Princess, I can hear what you're saying... whether you use that pretty little mouth of yours or not."

I froze. My breath caught in my throat. The Force.

I'd heard the stories—old bedtime tales spun by parents to impress their children. I never believed them. Magic that could read minds and move planets? It had always sounded like myth.

I was wrong.

"What could you possibly want from me?" I whispered, venom in my voice. "Everything I had, you already took. As you said—here, I'm nothing."

His stance shifted. Still, quiet. Then he began to move, circling the bed like a predator sizing up its prey.

"When I brought you here," he said, each step deliberate, "you had gold lines painted on your face. What were they for?"

He stopped at the foot of my bed, his dark visor locked on me like a blade to my throat.

I narrowed my eyes. What game was this? Why did he care?

He clenched his fist, the fabric of his glove stretching with the motion. "I can retrieve the answer with or without your consent. I'm simply giving you a chance to cooperate."

Fine. If it stopped his probing.

"There are three lines placed on the face of the heir during her crowning," I said bitterly. "One for solicitude, one for prowess, and one for honorability."

I took a shaky breath.

"You and your soldiers stormed my coronation before the final rites were finished. I was going to be queen. Now..." My voice cracked. "Now I'm just a prisoner."

A tear slipped down my cheek. I clenched my jaw, trying to hold the rest back. I wouldn't let him see me cry. I wouldn't let him know he was getting to me.

But he stood still. Watching. Unreadable.

I stared down at my lap, praying he was done, that there wouldn't be another question. Not today.

Without a word, he turned sharply on his heel and strode toward the door. His footsteps hit the floor with measured finality.

"Where are you going?" I asked, startled by the sudden shift.

"I no longer wish to speak with you," he said coldly. "I'll send a nurse to check your vitals."

The door slid open.

He paused and looked back at me—just for a moment.

Then he was gone.

The silence returned. Heavy. Oppressive.

That one tear turned into another, and another, until my chest was heaving with sobs. I buried my face in my hands and let them fall freely.

I wanted to wake up. I wanted to open my eyes and find myself back in my room, back on Rhymna, with my sisters and my father and the scent of flowers in the air.

But I wouldn't.

They were gone.

And I wished—God, I wished—I was too.