The imperial dungeons didn't just smell like rot. They smelled like waiting.
For exactly three hundred and sixty-two days, my only company had been the dripping water from the ceiling and the frantic scurrying of rats. I hadn't seen a mirror in a year, but I was fairly certain I looked less like the Duchess of del Marque and more like a feral raccoon.
My fingernails were cracked and caked with dried mud. My once-blonde hair was a matted, graying nest.
But the physical degradation was nothing compared to the silence.
I didn't know where my family was. I knew they were here, somewhere in the bowels of the Imperial Prison. My mother. My father. My twin younger brothers, who were only fifteen. I spent my nights pressing my ear against the freezing stone walls, hoping to hear my brothers arguing over something stupid, just to know they were still breathing.
But there was only silence. Tomorrow was the execution day. The Emperor's political purge would wipe House la Blanche from the face of the earth.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The sound of heavy, polished boots echoing down the corridor made my head snap up.
Guards didn't wear shoes that sounded like that. That was the sound of a man who owned the very ground he walked on.
The heavy iron door of my cell groaned open, spilling harsh, blinding torchlight into my tiny cage. I squinted, raising a trembling, bruised hand to shield my eyes.
Two figures stood in the doorway.
My husband, Duke Cesare del Marque, looked exactly as he always did. Pitch-black hair, an immaculate tailored navy coat with silver epaulettes, and those terrifying, predatory golden eyes. He looked like a god of war who had just stepped out of a portrait.
And standing next to him, clutching his arm, was Ornella de Lancaster.
She was wearing a vibrant emerald silk gown. Her honey-blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, shimmering with diamond pins. She looked radiant. She looked like she was heading to a tea party, not the lowest level of an execution block.
But that wasn't what made the breath leave my lungs.
It was the way the emerald silk clung to her figure.
Ornella placed a delicate, manicured hand over her stomach. Her very round, very obvious, heavily pregnant stomach.
Something inside my chest, something I thought had already died months ago, shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.
"Oh, my," Ornella gasped, covering her nose with a lace handkerchief. "It really does smell terrible down here. Cesare, are you sure we had to come in person?"
I didn't look at her. I couldn't. My hollow eyes were locked entirely on Cesare.
I had been rotting in a lightless box, eating stale bread and terrified for my family's lives, while my husband was playing house. While he was making a family with another woman.
"We are still married," I whispered. My voice was raspy, scratching against my throat like sandpaper. "I never agreed to a divorce."
Cesare stared down at me. There was no pity in those golden eyes. Just a chilling, flat indifference.
"You have been locked in a treason cell for almost a year, Eris," Cesare drawled, his voice a low, cold hum that vibrated through the damp air. "The fact that you have been rotting down here for that long is enough to say we are divorced in the eyes of the Empire."
I dragged myself upward, my chains rattling loudly as I gripped the iron bars separating us.
"You framed my family," I gasped out, the injustice of it burning like acid in my throat. "You stood by the Emperor and handed him the forged letters. Why? Why her?"
Cesare didn't even flinch. He reached out, gently placing his large, calloused hand over Ornella's on his arm. The tenderness of the gesture made my stomach heave.
"Ornella is my first love," Cesare said simply. He said it as if it were an undeniable fact of the universe, like the sky being blue. "She was always the one I was meant to marry. Therefore, she is the only woman who will ever carry my child."
A hysterical, broken laugh clawed its way up my throat.
"Then why marry me?" I screamed, the sudden burst of energy tearing at my vocal cords. "Why court me? Why hold my hand and swear before the altar if you already had her? Was I just a shield? A convenient political pawn to throw to the wolves?"
Cesare looked away, his jaw tightening.
"You..." I choked on a sob, my knees finally giving out as I slid down the iron bars, my head resting against the cold metal. "You were my first love, Cesare. You were my everything."
Silence fell over the cell. The dripping water seemed to stop.
I looked up through my matted hair.
Cesare was frozen.
His eyes—those terrifying, unblinking golden eyes—had widened. The flat indifference was gone, replaced by a sudden, violent fracture. He looked startled. He looked entirely lost, like a man waking up from a deep, suffocating sleep and not recognizing his own hands. His breathing hitched, and he took a half-step toward the bars.
"Eris—" he started, his voice suddenly sounding raw.
"Cesare," Ornella said sharply.
She didn't just speak. She reached out and firmly gripped his wrist. Her emerald eyes flashed, and her manicured nails dug slightly into his sleeve.
Instantly, Cesare stopped. The conflict in his face vanished like a blown-out candle. His posture stiffened, the cold mask slamming back into place so quickly it gave me whiplash.
"Let's go," Cesare said, his voice flat and robotic once more. "The guards will come for her at dawn. Wait for me at the top of the stairs, Ornella. The damp is bad for the baby."
He turned on his heel, his heavy boots echoing as he marched away, leaving me in the shadows. Leaving me to burn.
Ornella lingered.
She waited until his footsteps faded completely before she took a step closer to the bars. The sweet, haughty expression melted off her face, replaced by a smug, venomous smirk.
"It really is a tragedy, Eris," Ornella whispered, kneeling down slightly so we were at eye level. "But you were always so naive."
"Go to hell," I spat.
Ornella laughed. It was a light, tinkling sound that belonged in a ballroom, not a prison.
"Oh, I won't be going to hell. I'll be sitting in the Grand Duchess's seat tomorrow, drinking tea while I watch you and your precious little brothers turn to ash on the pyre."
She leaned closer, the scent of expensive rose perfume making me nauseous.
"Do you want to know a little secret, Eris? Do you want to know why I can walk around the Imperial Palace without fear, even though my family was involved in the same rebellion plots as yours?"
I glared at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of an answer.
"It's not just Cesare's protection," she whispered, her eyes gleaming with malice as she patted her round stomach. "It's the law. Imperial Decree, Article Four. The mother of a child bearing the Emperor's royal bloodline is granted absolute, unquestionable immunity. The Emperor himself couldn't put me on that pyre even if he wanted to."
She stood up, smoothing down her silk skirts.
"That's the difference between us, Eris. I made myself untouchable. You just made yourself a martyr."
With a final, pitying look, Ornella turned and walked away. The heavy iron door slammed shut, the lock sliding into place with a deafening thud.
Immunity.
The mother of royal blood... gets absolute immunity.
The words echoed in my head, bouncing around the stone walls until the sun finally broke through the tiny, grated window at the top of my cell.
When the guards came for me, I didn't fight.
When they dragged me to the central plaza, the roar of the crowd deafening, I didn't look at the sky.
I looked at the pyre. I looked at the three other posts where my parents and my brothers had already been tied, their faces bruised and weeping.
And up on the high balcony, looking down at us like ants, stood my husband. His arm was wrapped protectively around Ornella's waist.
The executioner brought the torch.
The heat was instantaneous. It wasn't like slipping into sleep. It was agonizing, blinding pain. The flames licked at my dress, blistering my skin, turning the world into a bright, screaming orange.
As the fire consumed me, stealing the oxygen from my lungs, only one thought burned brighter than the flames.
If I had known.
If I had just known the rule... I would have used him. I would have used his blood.
The pain reached a crescendo, tearing my consciousness apart. Everything went black.
---
Gasp!
My eyes flew open.
I shot up, my chest heaving, my hands frantically patting my face, my arms, my chest.
There was no fire. There was no smell of burning flesh or damp stone.
The scent of lavender and fresh linen filled my nose.
I looked down. My hands were perfectly clean, resting on a thick, embroidered silk quilt. The morning sunlight was streaming through large, pristine glass windows, illuminating a room I hadn't seen in over three years.
My maiden bedroom in the la Blanche estate.
I threw off the covers and stumbled toward the vanity mirror, my legs feeling like jelly.
Staring back at me was a nineteen-year-old girl. Pale blonde hair, perfectly clean. Unbruised cheeks. Wide, terrified cerulean eyes.
I grabbed the calendar sitting on my vanity.
It was three years exactly. Three years before the execution.
I stared at my reflection, the phantom heat of the pyre still warming my skin. Slowly, the terror in my eyes faded. My hands stopped shaking.
Immunity.
I didn't need to run.
I just needed to find the Duke.