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She stood before him with false composure—shoulders straight, chin barely raised. But inside?
Everything was trembling.
The throne he sat on, the aura of authority surrounding him, the silence blanketing the grand hall… it all looked like a masterful painting—one that hid the stench of blood beneath its beauty.
At his side stood his right hand, the devil's servant—the Prime Minister—staring sharply at Irene.
As for the king, he did not raise his eyes immediately.
He busied himself signing a paper before him, then gently placed the quill down with deliberate calm and said in his icy voice:
— "The agreement proceeds as planned… They accepted. Lucky for you."
She didn't reply. Didn't even flinch.
But her breathing grew heavier, as if her chest had suddenly tightened.
He finally lifted his gaze… eyes of pale gray, devoid of warmth—eyes in which no one could see their reflection.
Then he continued:
— "Their envoy will arrive in two days… to receive the official answer."
Two seconds passed. Then three.
He then whispered, his tone sharper:
— "Any hesitation… any resistance… will cost you more than you can imagine."
He stepped once, closing the distance to the edge of the platform where she stood below, and added:
— "You're here for one purpose only."
Her lips trembled, but she remained silent.
He then raised his hand and gestured to one of the guards. A stern-faced elderly man in dark garments entered and bowed with reverence.
— "This is your new instructor.
He will teach you everything about the royal family you are to become a part of.
Their dress. Their speech. Their religion. Their food. Their secrets…"
Then, coldly, he added:
— "And you… will learn how to hide every feeling you have. Just like you're doing now."
He paused, then abruptly shifted his tone:
— "Do you know why you're here?
Do you know why I didn't end your life the night you arrived at my palace—shattered, crying, filthy…?"
Her knees trembled.
But he didn't wait for an answer.
— "I could've killed you easily. No one would've questioned it.
But I saw something useful in you… something that could be used."
His voice grew harsher:
— "Had this truce been rejected… had they not agreed to the marriage…
You would've been dead by now.
Even before your official debut.
Do you think I presented you as my daughter because you deserved it? No… I did it because it was time to turn you from a hidden disgrace… into a visible tool."
He then looked at her for a long moment, as if she were a stone between his hands.
— "You've spent your life in hiding… and I kept you there, because I hadn't yet decided…
Should I kill you? Or use you?"
Her throat dried. Her eyes began to glisten… but no tears fell.
— "My other daughters?"
He let out a faint, mocking laugh:
— "They carry the legitimate blood of the kingdom. They are noble. I will not offer them easily to a nation we fought for centuries… years soaked in blood.
But you? This is your fate. This is the price your mother paid."
He paused, then looked at the long wall behind her, as if the past was being painted upon it, and said:
— "Your mother… that woman who betrayed me, who fled while carrying you in her womb.
Years she hid—like a rat…
And when we found her, you were the only thing I could use to punish her."
Finally, her lips parted, and her voice came out weaker than she had expected:
— "And… if they hadn't agreed… would you have killed me?"
Her question wasn't defiance—it was the question of someone who had lost their last lifeline.
But his answer… offered not a drop of mercy.
King Arkson did not answer immediately. He slowly moved beside the throne and spoke without turning around:
— "Do you think I gave you a private wing and a physician for your recovery… because you are my daughter?"
He then turned to face her, eyes locking with hers—a single look, deadlier than any blade.
— "I preserved you the way a hunter preserves bait."
He stepped forward until he stood directly before her. No barriers. No illusions.
And with a voice soft enough to crush the chest, he said:
— "Do you know what I've done to others who failed me?
How many villages were burned? How many tongues were cut? How many traitors had their hands and feet severed?"
He paused… then slowly added:
— "I would've done worse to you—just to punish your mother."
Irene stood frozen, as if her feet had fused with the ground.
Her heart pounded violently. The air felt heavy—refusing to enter her lungs.
But the scene wasn't over yet.
Beside him, the Minister—the man who never smiled—stepped forward and said in his deep, gravelly voice:
— "You now have one task.
To provide us with everything about them… their movements, intentions, what's said behind closed doors."
He continued, eyes glinting with cold cunning:
— "This truce was never about peace. It was about infiltrating deeper into their land.
We will turn their magic against them."
Then he added sharply:
— "Everyone here suspected your mother was one of their spies… ever since the King announced the escape of a traitor from his palace who had deceived him."
At that moment, the King took another step closer to her. His voice crushed her ears:
— "Do you understand now?
You are merely a pawn… in my hands.
Any wrong move… any hesitation… will cost you your life."
He turned to the old tutor and said firmly:
— "Teach her everything.
How to eat with them.
How to smile at them.
How to observe them… and bring us back every secret they hold."
…
Silence.
At that moment…
The Minister took another heavy step forward, gazing into her eyes like a man challenging the last trace of her humanity, and said with merciless coldness:
— "Do you understand?
Or does your life mean nothing to you?"
She didn't answer.
She didn't back away.
But the question echoed inside her… like a wound that doesn't bleed, but reopens an ancient scar.
Her heart was screaming. Her mind was slamming against its own walls. But she told herself, in a voice only she could hear:
> "This isn't the time to think… not the time to break down.
I'm in attack mode now.
Calm down, Irene… calm down."
She drew in a long, slow breath until the trembling in her chest subsided, then lifted her head with practiced steadiness and looked first at the Minister… then at her father, a man she no longer saw as a father.
And in a calm, measured voice—devoid of emotion:
— "Understood.
I am at your service."
There was no submission in her words… only temporary compliance. Like someone entering the game only to take full control later.
The Minister gave a wordless nod.
As for the King, he stared at her for a moment, as if trying to pierce into her very soul… then turned his back and told the guard:
— "Take her."
…
And Irene left the hall.
But she did not leave as she had entered.
She walked out… with something new born inside her.
Silent. Heavy. Unforgiving.
She didn't move when the head servant left. The door closed behind him… and the room returned to its heavy stillness.
But inside her, there was no stillness.
Something was screaming… pounding against her bones from within.
She stepped toward the vanity, placed her palms on the cold wood, and leaned in, staring into the reflection.
It wasn't the face of a princess.
It wasn't even the face of a girl.
It was… the face of someone reborn from ruin.
She whispered faintly, the words echoing on the glass:
> "If this was your plan all along…
How did I not see it?"
She fell silent, then clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white.
> "Would I have been able to get revenge if they hadn't agreed?
Would I have been buried in silence, and everything would have died… before it even began?"
Her lips quivered, her eyes near bursting… but she didn't allow it.
> "And now? They want to carve the word I hate most into my story… 'Spy'."
She slowly raised her head and looked herself in the eyes.
This was no longer the child who cried under her pillow at night.
This… was a woman forged in fire.
She whispered it first… then said it aloud, her voice hoarse but sharp as a blade:
— "You'll all pay for this."
The words echoed in the room like a forewarning…
A warning of something that can no longer be stopped.
"I'll do it…"
She said it silently this time, with the calm of ice before an avalanche:
"I'll become what you want… and do what you ask…
But the only truth that will be written in the end…
Is that I'm not the pawn.
I'm the hand that moves the board."
She stood by the window, watching the sky slowly shift in color… as if the light was climbing toward her with nothing to offer.
Minutes passed… then hours.
Time seemed to collapse within her chamber, trapped in her chest.
By late afternoon, there was a soft knock, followed by a gentle door creak.
A familiar-faced servant entered—
He bowed politely, without lifting his gaze, and spoke in a respectful tone:
— "My Lady… I was sent by the chief steward to inform you that your first lesson with the royal tutor has been postponed to tomorrow morning.
It will be held at seven o'clock, in the main royal library."
She studied him for a moment…
He bore a face neither threatening nor curious.
Just another bearer of orders in a kingdom where news wasn't shared—commands were.
She gave him a quiet nod.
"Understood."
She walked to her bed and sat down slowly.
Then took her usual sleeping pills.
She lay down and told herself:
Tomorrow?
Let tomorrow come… Let the game begin.