Page 122 of Brutal Crown
Tears fall from his lashes and splash onto my cheek.
“You would rather die than be mine?” he whispers again.
I don’t answer right away. I can’t. The words claw at my throat, but I’m choking on ash and pain and a thousand invisible chains, but then I feel it. A kick. A flutter, deep inside my belly—my child, alive inside this hell on earth.
No.
I inhale shakily. My lips tremble, but the words come anyway.
“I would rather die free,” I speak for the first time today.
The stares burning into my back feel hotter than the coals, but I don’t care.
Let them watch.
Let them see what defiance looks like.
Gritting my teeth, I rip my arm free from Marco’s grip and lift my chin toward the Elders on their elevated thrones. My voice is steady—sharp enough to cut through the firelight.
“I refuse this match. The child I bear is Francesco’s. Not his.”
Gasps ripple through the chamber, sharp and collective, like the air itself has been struck.
A sharp crack follows as one of the Elders slams his hand against the table. Silence falls, heavy and absolute.
The Elders lean forward, golden masks glinting in the firelight. The one crowned highest rises, the flames spilling over his robes until he appears ablaze.
“Marco Romano,” his voice booms, echoing through the temple walls, “the girl has spoken. Is it true… or do you still claim her child as your own?”
Everything is silent except for the crackle of coals and the ragged rasp of my breath.
The others lean forward. Some expect him to lie. To force it. To finish what was started.
Marco’s chest rises once, then falls, like he’s breaking himself open. His gaze drags over me—over the blisters, the blood, the rebellion etched into my skin—and the ruin in his eyes is a living thing.
His mouth parts, soundless at first, before the words finally tear free. “Was it really worth dying… for him?”
Then, he closes his eyes and says the words that will change everything.
“It’s true. I release her… from all claim and obligation. From this moment, she stands apart from me. Let no punishment be sought for the breaking of our vows.”
His arm falls from my waist. His hand drops from my back. Like he’s peeling himself away piece by piece.
Chaos explodes around us. Voices rise like fire. The Elders pound their staffs against the stone, trying to restore order, but it’s too late. The choice has been made.
The final words to break this union. The ritual binds only if both parties consent—but refusal carries a price. For both of us.
For me, it may be death. For him, the loss of the Keeper’s seat.
I close my eyes. My body is broken. My heart is bleeding. But for the first time, I feel something close to peace.
Not because it’s over. Because I chose.
They can punish me. Kill me, even. But they can’t take this moment from me.
I said no. I walked through fire and said no.
The lead Elder raises his hand, and silence crashes back into the room. His golden mask tilts slightly, and though I can’t see his eyes, I feel the heat of his judgment burn through the veil.
