Saria sluggishly opened her eyes. The reality was slowly slipping through the fog clouding her mind. Her entire body felt heavy, her limbs felt numb.

It was like she was drowning in a thick liquid. It was clinging to her, restricting her. Just like those dreams when she tried running, but couldn’t.

She raised her head, keeping it up with great effort, and looked around.

Her vision was still a little blurry, but she saw a small empty room bathed in the flickering light of torches.

The memories started flowing back to her.

Running through the crowd at the plaza. The narrow alley she took as a shortcut. A dart had stabbed her neck.

And the fear that she wouldn’t reach Lysandra in time.

Lysandra.

The thought was like a bucket of ice water, pulling her consciousness together, forcing her to her feet. But when she tried to get up, she realized that she was tied to a chair.

Metal cuffs chained her arms and legs, immobilizing her completely.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good. I was beginning to worry the tranquilizer dose was too strong,” a voice came from the dark corner of the room.

Sulla.

“You,” Saria growled, “I know you. You are that pathetic little man who tried to buy me from Lysandra.”

Praetor winced at the offense but decided to push his wounded ego aside for now.

He replaced the scowl with a fake friendly smile as he approached her. “Yes. It was me. I’m glad you remember. It will make things easier.”

“You didn’t get what you wanted, so you decided to kidnap me anyway?” Saria asked with disgust, trying to force herself free.

“I didn’t kidnap you!” Sulla exclaimed, “I merely created an opportune moment for us to speak freely without that… woman around.” He spat the word as if it tasted bitter.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, then continued. “You can be honest now. You don’t want to be her pet, don’t you? I have already prepared everything. Just say the word and it shall be done.”

After his visit to the Palace and the abhorrent disrespect he experienced, he was certain that this slave was being forced to decline him.

It was then that he made a decision to arrange everything. It took him quite a while to find a perfect opportunity to get to her, but today, she was finally all alone.

Saria’s crimson eyes focused on him with full attention. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Just a word?”

“Yes! Just a word,” Sulla chirped full of hope.

The smirk on Saria’s face turned into a wide grin. Her crimson eyes were almost glowing with the fire burning within.

I’ll give you more than that.

“Fuck. You.” The growl echoed in the chamber. The disgust on her face turned into pure rage.

She didn’t have the time for this.

For all she knew, Lysandra was in danger, and every second wasted on this pest was risking losing her.

The blood-red eyes, filled to the brim with disgust and fury, glared at the man. Her fingers clawed at the armrests of the chair imprisoning her, despite the numbness that wouldn’t subside.

“You’d better kill me now and make sure I stay dead,” she continued.

“Because I swear to every god in this world that the moment I free myself from these shackles, I will rip you to shreds.” Her voice was thick with rage. The expression on her face left no room for doubt.

She meant every word she said.

Whatever hope Sulla had to simply convince her to stay with him turned to embers under the fire raging in her eyes.

“What did she do to break you so much?” he asked, though he didn’t expect the answer.

But it came nonetheless.

“Break me?” Saria scoffed, “She saved me, you piece of shit.”

“I see,” he stated simply. His face contorted from disappointment. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but this… obsession runs too deep. You leave me no choice.”

“Come in,” he yelled, turning to the door.

Another man entered the room and approached a table she hadn’t noticed before.

From a row of metal tools, he picked up a hammer and something looking like a thin chisel.

“Make sure not to damage her too much. Her fighting skills are the most important. You can wipe everything else,” Sulla said to him.

“Yes, sir.”

He pushed her head back and hovered the chisel over the corner of her eye socket.

The blood rushed to her head, her heart thundering in her chest. She was almost out of time. She had to free herself before it was too late.

Her hands felt numb, but she forced all of her strength into trying to rip them free from the shackles.

The thick metal dug into the skin of her wrists. The wooden handles creaked from the force.

Small cracks started forming around the cuffs caging her arms.

The hammer hovered in the air.

A single drop of sweat rolled down her face.

The chisel flickered in the light of torches.

Saria held her breath.

Her instinct stirred.

She sensed them even before the sounds reached the chamber.

A group of people entered the property. Among them, one presence stood out.

Familiar. Close.

Special.

Her lips curled up and she burst out laughing.

She’s here.

The man standing in front of her looked at her, shocked. The hammer in his hand hovered over the chisel in hesitation.

“What are you—” The sounds of fighting cut Sulla off.

The door burst open, and armed guards bearing the Royal Palace emblem spilled into the room.

They grabbed the stunned Sulla and went for the other man. Seeing the chisel in his hand, they cut him down in one strike.

Among the armed men, Saria noticed a familiar face. Alkaios.

He grabbed the key from the table and came over to free her from the shackles.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m glad to see you,” she grinned at him while massaging her sore wrists.

Alkaios laughed and patted her shoulder. “I’m glad to see you in one piece, too.”

Behind him, Saria noticed the guards parting to make way for the last person to enter the room.

Lysandra walked in, the beautiful, flowing pale-blue dress made her stand out even more in the den they were in.

Her golden eyes found Saria right away. Seeing the change from worry to relief in them made her heart skip a beat.

She walked over and cupped her face in her hands.

“Are you alright? Did he do anything to you?” she asked, scanning her from top to bottom.

Saria smiled, relieved. “I’m alright. You came before he had the chance to do anything. What about you? I was worried something had happened when you didn’t come back to the Palace.”

“It was nothing big. Thanks to your message, Therion was able to help me out. But I’ll explain the details later,” she said, turning her gaze to Sulla. “First, let me deal with him.”

“Put him in the chair,” Lysandra told the guards and walked over to the table.

Her eyes swept across the crude, worn-out tools laid out in a disturbingly even row. Most of them carried old stains of blood that crept into the crevices and dried out, forever becoming a part of the tool that drew it.

Anger filled her heart at the thought that not only were they used to hurt, gods only know how many other innocent people, but also that they were about to be used on her Saria.

“Your Highness, I can—” Sulla tried explaining, but Lysandra quickly cut him off.

“Did you know, Praetor, that my mother was Shahrezi?” she asked calmly, her gaze not leaving the torture instruments before her.

“I-I didn’t know,” he answered, equally confused and scared.

“Mm… She was born in Sarāb, but moved to Aelius when she married my father,” Lysandra continued.

“I visited her homeland on a few occasions. A beautiful place.” Her fingers brushed against the cold surface of a dull, worn-out axe.

“One of the most impressive things about Sarāb is how safe it is. People aren’t afraid to leave their homes open or their merchandise on the streets unsupervised. Crimes rarely happen there,” Lysandra continued her story as she was following alongside the table.

The mood in the room turned heavy with anticipation.

Saria watched Lysandra closely, surprised by the sudden shift in her presence. There was no sign of her usual kindness, no mischief. Only unyielding authority.

“Do you know why, Praetor?” the Princess asked.

“N-no… Your Highness.”

“It’s because the crime is always punished accordingly,” Lysandra said and walked over to Sulla, cowering in the chair. It was the first time she cast her gaze upon him.

And from what he saw in the cold golden eyes, made him realize just how much he had underestimated her.

Her gaze burned so fiercely that he did not doubt that she would turn the world to cinders if it stood in her way.

“Do you know what kind of punishment awaits those who dare to steal in Sarāb, Praetor?” Her voice turned to an icy, indifferent monotone.

Sulla didn’t answer. Every word he tried to say turned into a pitiful whimper.

Lysandra leaned over to meet his eyes.

“They have their hands cut off.”

“N-no… pl-please… please…” Tears rolled down Sulla’s thin face when the full weight of what he had done hit him.

She looked at him with disgust and took a step back.

“Do it.”

The guard didn’t hesitate. He unsheathed his sword. Flames ignited from the blade.

In one clean strike, he cut off both of Sulla’s hands.

Agonizing screams filled the chamber and echoed through the corridors. Driven more by the sheer horror he felt than the pain.

Sulla watched helplessly as the fire enveloping the blade melted his flesh and closed the wound.

He knew it wasn’t from the goodness of her heart. It wasn’t to keep him alive. It was to make sure that he wouldn’t be able to undo it, even with the power of magic.

Nevertheless, Lysandra wasn’t done with him just yet. She stepped closer and forced him to look at her.

“Dare to reach out for what’s mine one more time, and it will be more than hands that I take from you,” she growled.

On that day, Praetor Sulla understood that his hubris made him blindly believe the pretense of ignorance that Lysandra carefully crafted.

He let his ego guide him.

And it was the price he had to pay for it.