CHAPTER 444: MIRA’S CHOICE

Turik’s hand lifted, a sharp command in the air that froze his men in their tracks before they could haul the royals deeper into the darkened underchambers. The torchlight carved jagged shadows across his scarred face as his grin returned—wicked, wolfish, hungry. His eyes locked on Mira, and she felt the weight of his attention like chains tightening around her throat.

He advanced with deliberate leisure, each step of his armored boots striking the stone floor like a drumbeat of doom. When he reached her, he bent low, his gauntleted fingers tilting her chin upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. His thumb grazed the line of her cheek, tracing slowly as though she were not a woman but prey he was deciding how best to devour.

Mira’s stomach knotted, revulsion flooding her veins, but she held her expression still. She had watched Helga flare with fury, Reuben spit defiance—and each had earned Turik’s cruelty. She would not make the same mistake.

"I wonder," Turik murmured, his tone musing, almost playful. "What is it in you that he found... worthy? He turned from his princess consort, from beauty itself, and chose you instead. You are pretty, yes. But compared to the crown princess..." His eyes slid toward the unconscious princess, then back again, glinting with malice. "You are but a pale shadow."

The words struck deeper than his touch. Mira flinched, her cheeks igniting—not from his liberties, but from the venomous comparison. Her chest ached with a humiliation she dared not reveal.

Helga’s arms tightened around Amielle’s limp form, her voice breaking into the stillness like a whip. "Enough! You’ve proved your sickness. If you think—"

Turik cut her short with a single finger raised, his voice dipping into a serpentine whisper. "Not yet, my Queen. The night is young. The gods have not yet tasted the fullness of your grief. The game is not finished. I have only just begun."

He moved toward Amielle, looming for a heartbeat, then pivoted back to Mira. His boots rang against the flagstones, echoing through the chamber like tolling bells. Mira tried to retreat, but soldiers seized her, their rough hands clamping on her arms, dragging her down until she knelt before him.

Turik crouched low, his face so near she could smell the iron tang of blood on his breath. His eyes gleamed with cruel delight. "Your husband chose between his wives and he chose you. Now it is your turn, little flower."

Mira’s eyes went wide, the torchlight reflecting the terror brimming in them. "M-my turn?"

"Yes," he whispered, his voice curling like smoke through the chamber. He extended his hand, pointing first at Reuben—bloodied, broken on his knees—then at Mira herself. "One of you dies tonight. You... or your dear husband. Choose."

Silence fell like a shroud. Even the torches seemed to shrink back, their flames sputtering as though afraid to breathe.

Reuben’s head jerked up, disbelief and horror etched into his battered face. Blood slicked his lips, dripping down his chin. The sheer cruelty of it struck him harder than any blow. He knew then with cold certainty: they would not leave this chamber alive.

A bitter laugh burst from him, wild, broken, until tears streaked through the blood on his cheeks. "You never intended to release us. You’re nothing but a scoundrel!"

Turik’s hand shot out, his armored fist crashing into Reuben’s jaw. The crack echoed like thunder. Blood spattered across the stones as Reuben reeled.

He leaned close to Mira again, whispering like a demon at confession. "Well? What will you say? Will you lay down your life for your dear husband, or cling to it as all cowards do?"

Mira trembled, her breath ragged, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her gaze darted between Reuben, whose hollow eyes betrayed his hopelessness, and Helga, whose face burned with fury and despair. For an instant, hope flickered—hope that Mira would defy Turik, spit in his face, and embrace death with dignity.

But the silence stretched too long. Mira’s lips parted, and the word spilled out like venom.

"I... don’t want to die. I choose... to live."

The sound of Helga’s gasp split the chamber. Reuben’s expression collapsed, pain contorting his bloodied features. Betrayal struck him harder than any of Turik’s fists. He had chosen her—protected her—and she had cast him aside like refuse.

Somewhere deep within, he knew he should not be surprised. Mira had always been selfish. However, the truth still shattered him because he had come to truly love her. He regretted that he had chosen her over Amielle.

Turik threw back his head and laughed, the sound booming through the chamber like the laughter of devils echoing in hell.

"Yes! That’s the truth of all things, isn’t it? When at the brink of death, when the noose tightens—survival is king. Even a princess will sell her husband’s life for one more breath."

Mira looked down in shame only to straighten her back right after. I only want to live. I don’t need to feel guilty or ashamed.

He straightened, his grin gleaming like a predator’s. "But why would I spare you? The prince is right. None of you will walk free tonight."

Mira sobbed, words tumbling out in panic, as though to justify herself. "I-I can still serve you! I can still—"

Turik’s head cocked, interest sharpening in his eyes. "Serve me? How, child?"

"I..." Mira swallowed, her voice trembling, but quickened now, desperate to live. "I... I know the healing arts. I know herbs, tinctures—my maternal grandfather trained me. I... I can make poisons too. Subtle ones. Fast ones. Ones no tongue could taste."

Helga’s eyes widened, horror freezing her breath. Not only Mira’s selfishness, but the dark secret she had kept hidden, was now unveiled to save her own skin.

Reuben stared at her, unrecognizing, as though a stranger stood before him and not the woman who warmed his bed. His heart twisted. Had she bewitched him all along? Was his love nothing more than the slow drip of her medicines in his veins?

"Mira..." he whispered, broken.

Turik’s smile stretched wider, sharp and hungry. "Ah, the flower has thorns. Good. Very good. Perhaps you are not so useless after all. You can also be my woman."

He rose to his full height, towering over the broken family, savoring the ruin before him. His voice rang out, triumphant.

"You see, Queen? Your house is already rotting. A son drowning in weakness, a daughter-in-law quick to betray, another collapsed in despair. This is no dynasty. This is carrion. And carrion draws crows."

Helga clutched Amielle closer, her teeth bared, her eyes wet with rage. "You will pay for every word, Turik. Every cruelty you force upon us will be carved into Zura’s tombstone."

Turik only laughed again, a sound like steel grinding bone. "Then pray you live to carve it, Queen Helga. For tonight, I will drag you all through hell—until you beg me for death."