The halls of the palace had never felt more suffocating.
Alina moved through them without seeing, her mind clouded by the storm of her own thoughts. She had gone to Prince Sheen demanding a confession, expecting fury or a cruel dismissal. Instead, he had left her with something far worse — doubt.
You will decide what I am.
His words echoed in her mind like an unanswered question, unravelling the certainty she had clung to so desperately. She had called him ruthless, a tyrant. But was she right? Had she been too quick to believe the worst?
She found herself in the servants' courtyard, sitting beneath the low branches of an old cypress tree. The scent of damp earth clung to the air, and the distant hum of palace life carried on around her. Yet she felt utterly apart from it all.
Madam Jia, ever perceptive, approached and settled beside her with a sigh. "You look troubled, child."
Alina hesitated. "Madam Jia… have you ever known a man to be both just and cruel?"
The older woman studied her for a long moment before answering. "A ruler must often be both. Mercy is a gift few can afford."
Alina's fingers dug into the fabric of her skirt. "But what if it isn't mercy? What if it's power? What if someone commands out of fear rather than righteousness?"
Madam Jia exhaled slowly. "Then you must ask yourself—who planted that fear? The one who wields the sword, or the ones who forced his hand?"
Alina's chest tightened. Who planted the fear?
The court saw Prince Sheen as a tyrant, but they were the same nobles who whispered behind his back, who spoke of removing him from power as though he were an obstacle rather than a man. He had not been the one to threaten first.
He had been defending.
Hadn't he?
Her head ached from the weight of her own uncertainty. How could she have been so sure of herself only hours ago, only to have her own convictions crumble with a few carefully spoken words?
She had accused him. She had thought him cruel. But what if she had misjudged him?
What if she was wrong?
That night, as she lay awake in her small servant's quarters, she turned his words over in her mind again and again.
You will decide what I am.
It was not a declaration of innocence, nor an admission of guilt. It had been an invitation.
A challenge.
Alina realized, with a slow and unsettling clarity, that she was no longer merely an observer in this world.
She had a role to play. And soon, she would have to choose which side of the story she believed.
For better or worse.