"My punishment began with her corpse."
Soraya couldn't remember the exact moment the world stopped tilting beneath her.
One second she was standing in the hidden tunnel—heart pounding, breath stuck in her throat—
and the next…
Marble floors.
Cold air.
A palace too silent to belong to any living kingdom.
A cold, wrong feeling crawled under her skin, warning her she should have never stepped into that tunnel.
Her knees hit the ground as the room steadied around her. She barely had time to inhale before a rough hand clamped around her arm and yanked her upright.
Damien.
He didn't speak at first. He dragged her down a dim corridor, boots echoing like a war drum. Soraya stumbled, trying to keep up, trying to breathe, trying to understand why every instinct in her body screamed at her to run.
He stopped at a door—massive, carved with old symbols—and shoved it open with one hand.
Then he pushed her inside.
Soraya hit the floor with a soft thud, palms stinging.
Before she could get back up, Damien grabbed her by the jaw, forcing her head toward the bed in the center of the chamber.
"Look," he growled.
His thumb dug into her cheek, tilting her face until her eyes landed on the figure lying perfectly still on silk sheets.
Soraya's breath shattered in her chest.
A woman.
Beautiful.
Peaceful.
Dressed in royal blue, skin glowing faintly from the magic that preserved her. Diamonds shimmered on her wrists. Her hair was combed, her lips painted, her hands folded gently over a rounded stomach.
A pregnant woman.
Damien's Luna.
There was a stillness to her—too perfect, too untouched—like the room itself refused to admit she was dead.
Soraya's stomach plummeted, nausea curling sharp and sudden at the back of her throat.
Damien's voice scraped the back of her neck—quiet, deadly, trembling with a rage he didn't bother hiding.
"Your brother did this."
Soraya froze.
Her heart stopped.
Every thought in her head exploded into white noise.
"W–what?" Her voice cracked. "No… no, Zephran—my brother would never—"
"He killed her." Damien's grip tightened. "He killed my wife. My unborn child."
His voice didn't crack—but the silence afterward did.
"And you—" he leaned closer, breath cold against her ear, "you are going to pay for what your family destroyed."
Soraya shook her head frantically, tears already spilling.
"N–no, please—Damien, I didn't know—he never told me—"
"Of course he didn't." Damien shoved her backward, letting her fall. "Weak men hide their sins behind their sisters."
Soraya's spine slammed against the cold marble, the shock stealing what little air she had left.
Her vision blurred with tears and disbelief.
"This is your punishment," Damien said, voice like a death sentence.
"You will stay here. With her."
He pointed to the lifeless Luna.
"You will look at what your brother stole from me."
"No—please—please, don't do this—"
He ignored her, gesturing to his guards.
"Lock the door."
Panic shot through Soraya. She scrambled toward the doorway, fingers brushing the threshold just as it slammed shut.
"Please!"
Her fists pounded the wood.
"Please let me out! Please—"
Her voice echoed back at her, thin and desperate, swallowed by the stone walls.
Silence.
Her breathing turned shaky, fast, broken. She pressed her forehead to the door, sobbing. Her tears soaked the cold wood.
Hours bled into each other.
The air grew colder.
The room darker.
The presence of the dead woman heavier.
Soraya curled up in the corner, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around herself. She tried not to look at the bed—but every few minutes, her eyes drifted back against her will.
The Luna's face looked peaceful. Too peaceful.
As if she would wake any moment.
A sudden creak made Soraya jerk upright.
The door opened only a crack.
A maid stepped inside—expression sharp, hateful, eyes full of blame that wasn't even hers.
She tossed a plate onto the floor. It skidded across the marble and stopped near Soraya's feet.
"Eat," the maid snapped. "You deserve nothing better."
Soraya didn't move.
The maid's gaze darkened.
Her lip curled. "Our Luna was loved. You and your cursed blood are a stain on everything she stood for."
The door slammed shut again.
Soraya stared at the plate—cold meat, stale bread, something watery in a cup.
She wasn't a dog. She wasn't an animal.
But her stomach twisted painfully. Hunger clawed at her.
After a long minute, she picked up the bread with shaking fingers.
Her tears hit the stone floor, one after another, soft and helpless.
The dead woman lay inches away.
Soraya wrapped her arms around herself and forced the food down, her throat tight, her breaths uneven.
She didn't sleep.
She couldn't.
Every time her eyes closed, she saw his face.
His fury.
His grief.
His promise.
I'll destroy you.
Soraya shivered violently, curling tighter into herself.
She didn't know it yet, but this night—this room—this punishment—
was only the beginning.