Chapter 3 Already Dead

The door to Neoma's chambers slammed shut behind her.

She stood in the darkness, her back pressed against the cold wood, her chest heaving. The sound of the music had faded the moment she left the great hall. The laughter, the whispers, the cruelty all of it had followed her down the corridors like a shadow that would not let go.

And now, in the silence, there was nothing left but the truth.

She had destroyed and humiliated him.

The thought hit her like a physical blow. Her knees buckled. She caught herself against the doorframe, her fingers gripping the wood until her knuckles went white. Her breath came in ragged gasps, uneven and sharp, as if she had been running for miles.

She had destroyed him.

Neoma pushed herself away from the door. Her legs felt weak. She stumbled across the chamber, past the untouched bed, past the vanity with its silver mirror, past the gowns laid out for the next day's events. She reached the window and gripped the sill, staring out at the darkened gardens below.

Orion had walked away because of her.

She had made him believe every moment was a lie.

She had told him she felt nothing.

She had watched the hope drain from his eyes, and she had not stopped.

"I loved you."

His voice echoed in her skull.

"That was your mistake."

Neoma's forehead dropped against the cold glass. The windowpane fogged with her breath. She closed her eyes, and behind them she saw his face: the confusion, the disbelief, the moment when something inside him finally broke.

He had loved her.

And she had murdered that love in front of a hundred witnesses.

"My Lady…?"

The voice came from the doorway. Soft. Uncertain.

Neoma did not move. She could not. Every muscle in her body felt locked in place, held together by nothing but will.

"My Lady, it's me."

The door opened fully. Mira stepped inside, her face pale, her hands trembling as she held a candle. She had not bothered to knock.

"I saw everything," Mira said quietly. "I was in the back of the hall. I heard everything."

Neoma's grip on the windowsill tightened.

"Leave me."

"No."

The word was soft but final. Mira set the candle on the nearest table and crossed the room slowly, her footsteps careful, as if approaching a wounded animal.

"I saw the way you looked at him," Mira said. "I saw your hands trembling after you withdrew them. I saw you take a breath before every line you spoke. You prepared each word. You forced yourself to say them."

Neoma's reflection stared back at her from the dark glass. Pale. Hollow.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know you," Mira said. "I have served you since we were a child. I know when you are performing. And tonight, you were performing."

Neoma's jaw tightened. Her fingernails dug into the stone of the windowsill.

"Leave me, Mira."

"Why?"

The question hung in the air. Neoma's reflection did not move. Her eyes stayed fixed on the darkened gardens below, on the shadows that moved in the wind, on the trees that had seen her walk with Orion countless times.

"Why did you do it?" Mira pressed, stepping closer. "Why did you call him here? Why did you give him hope and then take it away? I know you loved him. I saw you with him. I saw the way you looked at him when you thought no one was watching."

Neoma's shoulders shook.

It was a small movement, barely perceptible. But Mira saw it.

And then Neoma's composure shattered.

Her legs gave out. She slid down against the window, her body folding in on itself as the first sob tore its way out of her throat. The sound was ugly, raw, ripped from somewhere deep inside her. She pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to stifle it, but the tears came anyway, hot and relentless, carving tracks down her cheeks.

Mira dropped to her knees beside her.

"My Lady…"

"I had to make him leave," Neoma gasped, her voice breaking apart. "I had to make him hate me. If he still loved me, he would have followed me. He would have tried to save me. And they would have killed him."

Mira's hands found Neoma's shoulders. "Who? Who would have killed him?"

"Everyone." Neoma's voice cracked. "The court. The nobles. The people who need this marriage to happen. Do you think they would have let me walk away with a stable hand? Do you think they would have let him live?"

Mira's face went pale. "My Lady…"

"I had to destroy him," Neoma whispered. Her tears were falling freely now. Her breath came in gasps. "I had to make him hate me so much that he would never look for me again. If he follows me to Drakoria, they will kill him. If he tries to save me, they will destroy him. The only way he survives is if he forgets I ever existed."

Mira's hands tightened on her shoulders. "Did he know? About the arranged marriage? About the kingdom?"

"He knew I was being married off," Neoma said. "But he didn't know how bad it was. The kingdom is dying, Mira. The coffers are empty. We are drowning in debt. The marriage to Drakoria is the only thing standing between us and ruin.”

"Isn't it?" Mira asked softly.

Neoma finally looked at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed, swollen from tears. The crown had slipped from her hair at some point and lay discarded on the floor beside her.

"Love does not feed people," Neoma said. "Love does not pay debts. Love does not stop an army. Love does not save a kingdom." Her voice cracked again. "I am being sold, Mira. Sold to a stranger to save everyone I love. And I have to live with that… I am willing. But at least I will not drag him down with me."

Mira was silent for a long moment. Then she sat back, her hands falling to her lap.

"But he loved you," she said quietly.

"I know," Neoma replied

"He would have followed you anywhere." Mira's voice cracked, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she stared at her lady.

"I know." Neoma's whisper was hollow, barely audible, as if saying the words aloud made the weight of them even heavier.

"Would he have wanted you to do this?" Mira asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of sorrow and desperate hope, as if she was searching for any reason this could have been the right choice.

Neoma's face crumpled. Her lips parted, but no words came. She stared at the floor, at the crown lying in the shadows, at the scattered tears on the stone. Her hands were shaking against her knees.

"I don't know," she finally whispered. "I don't know what he would have wanted. But I know what I could not let him have. He deserves a life. A good one. With someone who can love him freely, without chains."

Mira reached out and took Neoma's hand. "And you?"

Neoma's breath caught.

"I will marry a stranger," she said, her voice barely audible. "I will go to Drakoria. I will smile. I will bear his children if I must. I will play the part of a Queen until I forget who I used to be."

She looked up at Mira, her eyes hollow.

"And if I can forget, maybe it will stop hurting."

Mira shook her head slowly. "My lady, you will never forget. You will always carry this."

Neoma's lips trembled.

"I know," she whispered. "I know."

She pulled her hand away from Mira's and pressed it against her chest, over her heart.

"I can still feel him here," she said. "Even now. Even after everything I said. I can still feel him. And I know... I know he is out there, somewhere, hating me. And that is the only comfort I have."

Mira stared at her, her eyes wet.

"He will not hate you forever," she said.

"I hope he does," Neoma said. "I hope he hates me enough to forget me. I hope he finds someone who can love him the way I cannot. I hope he lives."

She drew a slow, shaking breath.

"Because I am already dead."