39. Saoirse

Saoirse

T he cell's oppressive darkness had become a familiar companion, wrapping around me like a second skin. My body ached, but my spirit felt even more bruised than my flesh. Time had lost all meaning in this place; every moment dragging into the next with excruciating slowness. They had fed me finally, and the irony of serving me old pastries from my own bakery was not lost on me.

The sound of footsteps approaching broke the monotonous silence, and I almost found myself excited for a little slice of human interaction. Or perhaps it was the guards coming in to laugh or gawk at me in my still tattered clothing, both of which had already happened. The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. It wasn't a guard.

"Len?" I croaked, my voice hoarse from disuse. My heart pounded as he moved closer, his angular face illuminated by the dim light of the torches dotting the walls.

He knelt beside the bars, his eyes taking in my bruised and battered body with a pained expression. "Saoirse, I—"

"What the hell are you doing here?" I interrupted, struggling to sit up. Whatever the queen's guard had done to me, it had helped, but not nearly enough. The effort to move sent a sharp pain through my ribs, and I winced, biting back a groan.

Len's expression hardened. "I had to see you. To explain."

"Explain?" I laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in the small cell. "I should have trusted my gut. You knew what we were planning, didn't you?"

I didn't actually know if the assassination and our capture were his doing, but I'd had enough time in here alone to relive that day, those moments over and over in my mind, and it was the only conclusion that made sense.

He flinched at my words, the guilt deepening in his eyes. "I didn't know it would go this far. I overheard your plans, Saoirse. I thought... I thought I was protecting you."

" Protecting me ?" My voice reached an octave it had never before, the incredulity of his statement nearly knocking me on my ass. "By selling us out? By letting us get locked up and tortured ? Your father is dead, you know. And where is Xan? Is she okay?"

Len's face twisted with pain and regret. "I didn't want this," he said, his voice breaking. "I thought Kian would help. I thought if he knew the truth, surely he would do what had to be done to convince the others, so that no blood had to be shed at all. Instead, he used it as a power play," he said bitterly. "Your sister is fine. The wedding has been... postponed. I am so incredibly sorry."

His apology hung in the air between us, heavy and inadequate. I wanted to scream at him, to reach through these bars and slam his face into them, to make him feel a fraction of the pain that he has caused. But the anger drained out of me, my mother's words echoing around my empty cell.

Life imprisonment .

I had spent my whole life hiding from the sun, avoiding the thing that had shunned me first, and now I was feeling emotional about never being able to feel its kiss on my skin again. A deep-rooted sorrow took the place of my rage, simmering the fire to only burning embers, soon to be snuffed out completely.

It didn't matter what Len had done. It was already over.

Len's eyes searched mine, desperation and guilt etched across his features. "Saoirse, please... I didn't know. I thought I was helping. You have to forgive me."

"Helping?" I spat, my voice cold and hollow. "You handed us to them on a silver platter. I'm going to be in here for the rest of my life, Len. You and your apologies can go to hell."

"Vane's trial is tomorrow," he told me, as he stood with a crumpled sigh. "They'll likely sentence him to death."

His words cut to the bone, and my breath left me in a rush. "No," I whispered, shaking my head as if that could change the truth, alter the trajectory that my life had taken. "They can't! He didn't do anything wrong."

"He attacked so many soldiers in the great hall," Len said, his voice heavy with regret. "Not to mention they think he was the assassin. No one saw him before they appeared and killed my father. They'll make an example out of him."

"You can't let that happen!" I cried at him, a frustrated tear spilling over. I was honestly surprised that I was still able to produce tears with how dehydrated I was. "It was him, wasn't it? He had your father killed. Tell them the truth."

It was the only thing that made sense. He was next in line for the throne, being forced into a marriage that maybe he didn't want as well. I wouldn't pretend to know what the Ocea princes' relationships were like with their king, but if it was anything even remotely similar to mine, murder wasn't entirely out of the question. The only question was, who was the Darkwing that had killed him?

"You know I can't do that," Len whispered softly, his shoulder slumping.

"Why not?" I demanded, my voice rising despite my lack of energy. "You want to make things right? Then tell the truth. Save Vane's life."

"It's not that simple," Len said, his eyes pleading. "If I accuse Kian, it'll be my word against his. And with my father dead, he has the full support of our kingdom. He is a prince no longer, and an accusation against a king comes at a very serious price. It will only make all of this worse."

"Worse?" I scoffed, bitterness burning my tongue as I struggled to even look at him, disgusted. "How could it possibly get any worse? I knew you were never going to be a king," I hissed as I painfully stood, wanting to look him directly in his eyes when I delivered my verbal blow.

Len flinched as if I'd slapped him. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, then opened it again like a fish. Then, he simply nodded, his face beet red, even in the poor lighting. "Goodbye, Saoirse. I'm sorry."

The door had just enough time to click shut before the metal tray I had aggressively thrown at the bars of my cage clattered to the floor.