CHAPTER 132: THE FALL OF THE PRINCESS (PART TWO)

Aiden POV

It was almost dawn when she started shaking.

I had just sat back down, exhaustion turning my limbs to stone, when I heard her breath hitch—and then the tremble began. A subtle twitch in her hand. Then her leg. Then her entire body began to spasm beneath the blankets I’d wrapped around her.

"No, no, no—shit," I muttered, instantly at her side, pulling back the covers. Her eyes were fluttering beneath closed lids. Her skin was now burning, blazing like fire against my fingertips. Her lips were dry, cracked, and she was muttering something incoherent through clenched teeth.

"Alexia!" I barked, gently shaking her. "Hey, hey—look at me. Stay with me. Damn it, don’t do this."

Her body arched slightly off the couch, muscles tightening in jerky spasms. She whimpered. Then growled. A fucking growl.

The doctor had warned me.

Rabies.

The infection was bad—too far along. He wasn’t sure if it had reached her brain yet, but if it had, we were in dangerous territory. Neurological symptoms meant panic, disorientation, hallucinations, and fear of water. Paranoia. Agitation. Rage. All of it.

And if she started showing signs, there was no guarantee she’d come back.

"William!" I yelled, standing halfway and shouting toward the hallway. "William, get the doctor back! Now!"

I didn’t wait for the answer. I couldn’t. I turned back to her and cradled her face, careful not to apply too much pressure. She looked like she was burning alive. Her body jerked again, another seizure-like tremor that made me curse under my breath and grip her wrists gently but firmly.

"Stop," I whispered. "Stop this. I’m right here. You’re safe."

She didn’t hear me.

Instead, her eyes cracked open just a sliver.

And for a second... a heartbeat... I thought she saw me.

But her eyes were wild—glass over fire. No recognition. Just terror.

She flinched like I’d struck her. Started babbling—something that sounded like a language I didn’t understand. No, not gibberish. It sounded... ancient. Foreign. Familiar.

Then it hit me.

She wasn’t here.

She was in the past.

She was back there—in that gilded cage, on a marble floor, before a throne and a crowd and a crown that weighed too much on her brow. She was lost in the past life. Reliving it.

And so was I.

I remembered it now—all of it.

Her screaming at me to kneel. Her sobbing alone in her chamber after executing my sister. Her hand shaking as she signed the decree that ended lives.

And then her eyes—the way they looked at me the night before the rebellion, before her death.

Begging.

Haunted.

Human.

"Alexia," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Come back."

She turned her head away, trembling like a trapped animal. "Don’t touch me," she murmured, over and over, a litany of fear. "Don’t touch me, don’t—"

"I’m not going to hurt you," I said, even though the hypocrisy of that statement gutted me. "Not this time. Not again."

The tremors faded slightly, just enough for her to collapse into my arms, unconscious once more. Her breathing still labored. Her heart pounding erratically beneath her fragile ribs. But the worst of the seizure had passed.

I held her. I couldn’t stop myself.

My arms wrapped around her shaking body, pulling her into me like I could shield her from the world—from everything she’d done, and everything I was too late to stop.

"You stupid girl," I murmured, pressing my cheek to her damp hair. "You beautiful, infuriating, broken thing..."

And me?

What was I?

The man who’d wanted revenge so badly, he’d almost let her die to get it?

I couldn’t tell anymore if I wanted her to live for her sake... or mine.

But one thing was clear.

She wasn’t off the hook.

If she survived this, we were going to war.

Not the kind with swords or cruel orders or royal declarations—but one made of raw words, shattered truths, buried scars. A war that might tear both of us apart. Or rebuild something we never thought we could have.

Love?

No.

It was never that simple with us.

It was everything.

Too much.

Too dark.

Too real.

I’d sent the doctor off hours ago, but I stayed by her side. The room had gone quiet except for the slow, steady beep of the heart monitor and the soft rasp of her labored breathing. I hadn’t moved. Couldn’t. Not with her lying there like this. Too pale, too fragile—like one wrong breeze could carry her away.

Her body was drenched in sweat, tangled in the silk sheets I’d pulled up to her chin, and despite the medication, her fever hadn’t broken. I stared at her face—flushed, lips cracked, eyes twitching beneath closed lids. She looked haunted even in sleep.

Then, without warning, she flinched.

A soft whimper escaped her lips.

I tensed. "Alexia?" I whispered, leaning in.

Her eyes stayed closed, but her mouth began to move again. She mumbled first—disjointed, incoherent. Then the words came clearer, trembling and small, like a child’s voice trapped in an adult’s throat.

"Mama... I’m hungry..."

My breath caught in my throat.

Alexia shifted violently on the bed, her arms flailing weakly, a tear slipping down her temple as her lips quivered again.

"Please, Mama, not that again... I said I’m hungry..."

Then a sob—real and raw—ripped through her. She turned her face toward the wall, curling in slightly.

"It hurts... please, Mama! That hurts! The fire... it’s burning me—!"

My blood ran cold.

She wasn’t hallucinating the past life anymore.

This was something else.

I froze, my pulse roaring in my ears. Slowly, my eyes drifted down to the curve of her waist, to the familiar spots I had once noticed during one of their passionate nights—strange, dark round marks across her lower belly and side. I’d seen them when she arched beneath me, soft gasps on her lips, and I’d dismissed them as some god-awful tattoo. I hadn’t thought twice about it.

Until now.

"No, Mama... not again... I’ll be quiet, I promise! Don’t burn me..."

She cried out, limbs twitching as if she were truly being held down.

I yanked the blanket back in one swift motion, pulling up the hem of her nightshirt. The marks were there. Three of them. Ugly, circular scars that hadn’t faded with time.

Cigar burns.

My breath hitched in my throat. My hand hovered above them, trembling.

She wasn’t making this up. She hadn’t imagined this. She had lived it.

And she had never told me.

All this time... I thought I was the only one haunted by my past. The only one carrying invisible scars. But hers—hers had been branded into her flesh.

"Please, Mama... not my arm... it’s still hurting from last time..."

I bit down on my lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing myself not to scream. A thousand emotions collided in my chest—rage, heartbreak, guilt, helplessness.

This was the girl I had wanted to punish.

The woman I had sworn to make suffer like she had made me suffer.

And here she was—broken long before I’d ever touched her.

I couldn’t stop myself from brushing my knuckles against her cheek. "You didn’t deserve that," I whispered, voice ragged. "You didn’t deserve any of that..."

But the bitterness still clung to my ribs. She had done terrible things. In another life. I couldn’t forget that.

And yet...

She didn’t get to choose who she was born to in this life.

I got to escape my past.

She never did.

I looked at her again, soaked in sweat, shaking like a leaf, and whispered, "You have to survive this. I need you to wake up, so I can be angry at you properly... so I can hate you to your face..."

My hand slipped into hers.

She didn’t stir. But her grip—weak as it was—tightened just a little.

*******

Fever Dream

It was warm. So warm. Sunlight spilled through stained glass windows, dancing across polished marble floors. Laughter echoed through the halls—her laughter. Light and unburdened.

Her hands were small, soft, and covered in gold bangles that jingled with every move. She wore silks that shimmered like water under moonlight, her feet bare as she ran down the corridor.

"Papa!" she squealed, giggling when strong arms lifted her into the air.

"Careful, little moon," her father chuckled, pressing a kiss to her brow. "You’ll break the floor with all that stomping."

"I’m a warrior princess!" she declared, swordless but proud, puffing her chest. Her two brothers stood behind him, grinning, dressed in matching uniforms. Even her mother—graceful and elegant in robes of deep crimson—smiled gently as she adjusted Alexia’s crown.

"You are our sun and moon, little one," her mother said. "But soon, you’ll be more than that."

Her little heart fluttered with joy.

She was loved.

Wanted.

Safe.

But then the color of the dream began to fade. Gold shifted to ash. The laughter turned to murmurs. Her mother’s smile grew tense. Her father no longer lifted her. Her brothers no longer played. The days grew quiet... too quiet.

She stood before a mirror now, older. A young woman. The crown was heavier. Her eyes, duller.

"You will marry the King of Macadeno," her father said firmly, not meeting her eyes. "It is done."

"He’s old," she whispered, voice cracking. "He’s... ancient. His stomach looks like it’s about to burst. He smells like vinegar and mothballs—"

"Enough," her mother snapped. "This alliance will protect our lands. Our people."

"But what about me?" she asked, desperation clawing at her chest.

No answer.

No one cared what she wanted.

The next scene came in flashes—engagement silks too tight, a crown that dug into her skull, the heavy, calloused hand of a king twice her age gripping her wrist during the ceremony. Her face frozen into a practiced smile while her soul screamed.

And then...

The cruelty began.

She didn’t even recognize herself.

She watched—trapped in her own head—as she ordered a servant girl to kneel for dropping a goblet. Another to be whipped for speaking out of turn. One poor stable boy was locked in a storeroom for three days because she didn’t like the way he looked at her.

It amused her. Or rather, it dulled the pain.

Power was all she had left.

Her heart had long been hollowed out, but lording over others made it feel less empty. If she could not be free, then no one could. If she was to be treated like property, then she would own others.

She laughed as a girl wept. She yawned during a public execution. She gave orders with a tilt of her head and never looked back.

And deep down, she knew it was wrong.

But it felt better than the helplessness.

The dream twisted again—blood now on her hands, staining her silk sleeves. She stood above a man, a slave she couldn’t name... yet his eyes haunted her. So full of hate. So familiar.

And next to him—his sister, her neck bent at an unnatural angle.

Executed... because of jealousy.

No, no—she didn’t mean to—

The dream blurred.

Faces of servants she’d tormented began to appear. They surrounded her, whispering her sins, grabbing at her, pulling her down into darkness.

"Monster."

"Witch."

"Princess of Pain."

And then... she saw herself.

Eyes wild. Smile cruel. Crown tilted on her head like a mockery.

"You did this," her reflection hissed. "You can never come back from this."

Her real body twitched violently in the bed. Sweat rolled down her forehead like tears. She let out a strangled sob.

Inside the hallucination, she screamed.

"I didn’t want this! I didn’t want any of this! I just wanted to be loved!"

The world cracked around her. Flames licked the edges of her vision. The throne room burned.

And in the distance... she saw him.

Aiden.

Standing there, watching. Silent. Cold.

She reached for him, stumbling over broken tile, crown slipping from her head.

"Aiden, please—don’t leave me here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

But he turned.

Walked away.

And the flames swallowed her whole.