Amara, captured in the cold chamber Anwar had prepared to keep her imprisoned, stood before him. A faint breeze slipped through the windows, reminding her how far she was from freedom—and from Asier. She knew every second was crucial, but she also understood that Anwar was no ordinary enemy: he was cruel, calculating, and above all, cunning.

  Anwar stood in front of her wearing an arrogant smile. He was dressed in a white cloak that emphasized his imposing presence, and a crown gleamed atop his head under the dim light. Amara looked at him with disdain, though she couldn’t stop herself from clenching her hands as she fought to control the trembling that betrayed her.

  She kept her head held high, even as her fists revealed the inner battle she was waging to maintain her composure. Her dress, once immaculate, now bore the marks of captivity, but her dignity remained intact.

  “What am I doing here?” she asked, her voice firm despite the fear threatening to surface.

  Anwar’s lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes.

  “Amara,” he said her name as if savoring every syllable. “Your na?veté is almost touching. Did you truly believe Nivara’s movements would go unnoticed by me?”

  Silence spread between them like a heavy cloak, broken only by the distant crackle of torches in the castle corridors.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Amara replied, meeting his gaze with determination.

  Anwar’s laughter echoed through the room, hollow and menacing, sending a chill down Amara’s spine. He approached her with deliberately slow steps, like a wolf stalking its prey.

  “You know,” he continued, his voice tinged with false admiration, “at first, you really fooled me. Your marriage to Emperor Asier seemed like a coincidence—a desperate move by a woman with nothing left to lose in Aeloria.”

  Amara’s face remained impassive, though her heart pounded violently inside her chest. Each of Anwar’s words was like a dagger threatening to shatter her calm fa?ade.

  “That’s how it was,” she replied, the words escaping before she could stop them.

  Anwar stopped just a few steps away from her, his presence overwhelming. The scent of sandalwood and power that emanated from him made her stomach turn.

  “It makes sense that you sought refuge in his arms,” he said with calculated cruelty. “After all, your parents sold you to me without hesitation, forcing you to give yourself up before a wedding that never took place.”

  The laughter that followed echoed against the walls, thick with perverse pleasure, making bile rise in Amara’s throat. Her nails dug into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks in her skin.

  “In any case, don’t underestimate my intelligence, Amara. For months I’ve been aware of the preparations your beloved Emperor Asier has been making—gathering his entire army, magical creatures, provisions, weapons… as if he were about to invade a kingdom!” He leaned toward her until his face was only inches from hers. “My father, the good King Richard, refused to act against Nivara. He said it was better to avoid war. But when he died, I saw my opportunity. I sent spies to Nivara, and what I discovered was… fascinating.”

  Amara’s eyes widened slightly, betraying her surprise. Anwar smiled, pleased with her reaction.

  “My father, the benevolent King Richard,” he continued, his voice dripping with contempt, “refused to see the threat Nivara represented. ‘War must be avoided at all costs,’ he said. But his death gave me the freedom to act. My spies in Nivara have provided me with information… fascinating information.”

  Amara stared at him in disbelief. Anwar noticed and went on, like an actor delighting in his performance.

  “When I understood what was happening, I knew I couldn’t waste this opportunity. But instead of waiting for Asier to move his pieces, I decided to strike first. And what better way than to attack where it hurts him most?”

  He paused to study her reaction. Amara tried to keep her expression neutral, though fear was beginning to coil inside her.

  “You,” Anwar continued with a twisted smile. “You are his weakness, Amara. Kidnapping you was as easy as it was clever. Now he will suffer, writhing in desperation to rescue you.”

  Fury boiled in Amara’s chest.

  “You won’t get away with this, Anwar. No matter what happens, Asier will win this war. He is the strongest man I’ve ever known, and his magic far surpasses yours.”

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  Anwar clenched his teeth, then quickly smoothed his expression into a cynical smile.

  “Strong? Perhaps. But he will never reach Aeloria. I’ve prepared traps along every path. Your dear emperor will likely die before he even comes close to the castle.”

  Amara struggled to remain calm, though worry for Asier gnawed at her. Noticing her unease, Anwar stepped closer and caressed her face with a gesture meant to be gentle—but it filled her with revulsion.

  “And if by some miracle he survives,” he whispered cruelly, “I’ll make sure you witness every moment of his fall. You’ll see the life leave his eyes, his blood staining the ground red. And then…” His eyes gleamed with desire and malice. “Then you’ll be mine. That’s why I broke my engagement to Sofia. You will become my queen, whether you want it or not.”

  Amara jerked away, her eyes blazing with rage.

  Anwar advanced, his expression twisting into a mix of anger and sadism. He reached out and stroked her cheek with a softness that clashed horribly with the cruelty in his gaze.

  “Your rejection is… frustrating. But also intriguing.”

  He moved with the speed of a serpent, pinning her against the wall. His hands roamed her body with a familiarity that made her stomach turn. When he tried to lift her dress, Amara’s survival instinct kicked in. Without hesitation, she raised her knee and slammed it into his groin with all her strength.

  The king doubled over in pain, retreating with curses. Amara seized the moment to pull away, her chest heaving with ragged breaths.

  “Never!” she shouted, her voice echoing against the stone walls. “I will never submit to you! Asier will come for me, and when he does, you’ll regret every second of this!”

  Fury transformed Anwar’s face into a mask of pure hatred. He recovered with alarming speed and grabbed her arm violently, forcing Amara to bite her lip to keep from screaming.

  “Do you really think you have a choice?” he growled, dragging her toward the door. “When Asier dies, there will be no one left to protect you. You could spare yourself so much suffering if you simply accepted your fate.”

  “You’re disgusting,” Amara spat, struggling against his grip. “Every time you touch me, my skin crawls. Asier is the only man I will ever love, and I will wait for him until my last breath.”

  Anwar’s expression darkened further. Without a word, he dragged her out of the room with barely restrained violence.

  “If you insist on behaving like a common prisoner, I’ll treat you as one.”

  The castle corridors grew darker and damper as they descended. The air thickened with the stench of rot and despair. At last, they reached the dungeons, where the clanking of chains and distant moans created a nightmarish atmosphere.

  Anwar shoved her into a particularly damp, dark cell. Rats scurried through the corners, and mold crept across the walls in green and black patterns. Amara fell to the stone floor, scraping her palms.

  “Perhaps some time here will help you reconsider your attitude,” Anwar said, slamming the heavy iron door shut with a crash that echoed throughout the dungeon.

  Amara remained on the ground, trembling with rage and despair. She hugged her knees, fighting not to give in to fear. She thought of Asier—his determination, his love. He would come for her. He had to.

  Hours later, Anwar returned—but he wasn’t alone. Two guards accompanied him, dragging a pair of chained figures. Amara looked up and, to her horror, recognized her parents, Emilia and Víctor. They were pale and frightened, their clothes dirty and torn.

  “What does this mean?” Amara demanded, glaring at Anwar.

  “Oh, I thought you might feel lonely down here,” Anwar replied sarcastically. “So I decided to bring you some company.”

  The guards threw Emilia and Víctor to the ground without ceremony. Amara rushed to them, helping them up.

  “What have you done to them?” she shouted, turning back to Anwar.

  The king ran a hand through his immaculate hair, as if bored. “Only what they deserved,” he replied with studied indifference. “After your… hasty departure, your parents came crawling to me, begging for forgiveness. My father, ever so merciful,” he said the word with disdain, “allowed them to continue their miserable lives—under certain restrictions. But now that he’s gone…” His smile widened, baring his teeth like a predator’s. “Let’s just say the rules have changed.”

  Emilia tried to speak, but her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. Víctor kept his head bowed, shame and fear evident in his defeated posture. Amara watched them, noticing for the first time how old and fragile they looked—so different from the proud, authoritarian parents she remembered.

  “You’re sick,” Amara said, her words slicing the air like blades of ice.

  Anwar laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “Perhaps,” he admitted, stepping closer. “But don’t worry too much about them. I don’t plan to kill them… yet. For now, they’ll be your cellmates. Consider it a constant reminder of the consequences your actions have on others.”

  With an elegant flick of his hand, Anwar turned and left the cell. The guards shut the door behind him, the metallic clang sounding like a final sentence.

  Emilia crawled toward Amara, extending a trembling hand. “Daughter…” she began, her voice breaking with suppressed sobs.

  “No,” Amara cut her off, her voice cold as ice. “I don’t care what happens to you. The only thing that matters to me is that Asier is safe and that he comes for me.”

  The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the steady dripping of water and the distant murmurs of other prisoners. Amara retreated to a corner of the cell, as far from her parents as possible. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on Asier—on the warmth of his embrace, on the strength of his love.

  In the darkness of the dungeon, while rats scurried through the shadows and the cold seeped into her bones, Amara began to pray in silence. Not to the gods—she prayed for Asier to find his way to her safely, to overcome Anwar’s traps, to arrive before it was too late.

  And as she prayed, a small flame of hope burned in her heart, refusing to be extinguished by the darkness surrounding her.