SAMANTHA
I had lost track of time. The throne room was dark, lit only by the dim glow of dying torches. My body was a canvas of pain, each lash mark burning like a brand. The chains bit into my raw wrists, and my knees had long gone numb against the cold stone floor. But I refused to break. I refused to give them the satisfaction.
Then I heard footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. Someone was approaching.
I lifted my head, squinting into the shadows. A figure emerged from the darkness, his silhouette tall and imposing. My heart lurched with a desperate, foolish hope.
Jayce.
He walked toward me slowly, his expression unreadable. His clothes were still disheveled, his hair still wild, but there was something different in his eyes. Something cold. Something cruel.
"Jayce," I whispered, my voice hoarse and raw. "Please. You have to believe me. I didn't do any of this. Vera framed me."
