Lelusha remained silent, a cold dread settling in her stomach.
“Even for a king,” he continued, his tone clipped, “appearances matter. You, Lelusha, have become… inconvenient. An indicator that I no longer require your services. Does that answer your unspoken question?”
A single, choked question echoed in her mind: ‘Was this who you truly were, or a masterful deception?’
The weight of the revelation pressed on her chest. She had elevated this man, a man demonstrably undeserving, to a pedestal fit for a god. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of offering herself so freely, only to be discarded by someone so utterly worthless.
The prince she cherished, the one with a kind heart and captivating smile, was a mere phantom. The years spent clinging to a fabricated image turned to ash in her mouth, revealing the bitter truth beneath.
She wished she hadn’t asked. Ignorance, she realized, would have been a fragile comfort. Without this knowledge, she could have held onto the cherished memories, a shield against the encroaching darkness. Death held no fear compared to the agonizing weight of regret and disillusionment.
His words, flippant and callous, echoed in the cavernous silence: “Items that have served their purpose are best discarded. Keeping them around just clutters the space.”
Items. The word scraped against her raw emotions, a dagger twisting in her gut.
Memories, once vibrant hues of affection, bled into shades of regret and desolation. “Lelusha, what a beautiful name,” his voice used to caress. Now, it was a hollow echo.
The declarations of love, the stolen glances, the tender touches – all tainted, twisted into instruments of her disillusionment. Each loving memory felt like a fresh wound, a betrayal that carved deeper into her soul.
The warmth that once resided in her chest had been extinguished. A glacial emptiness settled in its place, radiating a chilling cold that permeated her entire being.
“Your Majesty,” Odette, the silent mistress, finally spoke, her voice laced with veiled mockery disguised as concern. “In hindsight, forcing the Queen to take her own life seems… excessive. I feel sorry for her…”
The King scoffed. “Odette, she hardly deserves your sympathy.”
“Even so,” Odette pressed, a sliver of arrogance peeking through her feigned compassion. “Would it not be merciful to allow someone else to take her life? Despite her severe lack of qualifications as a Queen, she served the royal family for two years. Wouldn’t you agree, Your Majesty?”
Her watery eyes, though seemingly brimming with empathy, held a glint of disdain – a reflection of Jocelyn’s own duplicity. Odette, despite her public image of grace, was just another viper in a nest of vipers.
“Besides,” Odette continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “the perfect executioner is right here.”
Following Odette’s gaze, Jocelyn found it landing on Matthias, the unassuming figure who had remained silent throughout the exchange. A sly smile played on Jocelyn’s lips.
“Indeed, clever Odette,” she purred. “Matthias, come closer.”
Matthias, who had been a silent observer until now, took a barely perceptible step closer.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Matthias remained a statue, his face an unreadable mask. Jocelyn darted her gaze between him and Lelusha, a flicker of unease igniting in his chest.
“Matthias,” the King’s voice echoed, heavy with a chilling finality, “take the Queen’s life.”
Lelusha’s breath hitched. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and a strange acceptance, locked with Matthias’.
“You wouldn’t think leaving her as a mere fallen Queen is enough punishment, would you?” The King’s voice dripped with cruel amusement. “The gallows await her regardless. As a devoted disciple,” he emphasized the word, “wouldn’t it be a mercy for you to grant your mentor a swift end? A far kinder fate than the public spectacle that awaits.”
Matthias rose with a slow deliberation that sent shivers down Lelusha’s spine. He lowered himself until his gaze met hers, an uncharacteristic flicker of moisture glistening in his usually stoic eyes.
“Teacher,” his voice was a mere rasp, a stark contrast to his usual confident baritone.
The single word, devoid of accusation or judgment, held a universe of unspoken emotions. Lelusha felt a hollow ache bloom in her chest, a strange premonition chilling her to the bone.
“You lived your life in vain,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper.
Lelusha’s breath caught in her throat. For the first time, a flicker of vulnerability crossed Matthias’ impassive facade. A single, slow blink, a held breath released, a silent apology hanging heavy in the air.
Suddenly, a sharp cough wracked Lelusha’s body, a crimson stain blooming on her lips. A searing pain, white-hot and agonizing, erupted from the point of impact, spreading like wildfire through her veins. The metallic tang of blood filled her senses as consciousness began to slip away. Her body, succumbing to the cold embrace of death, slumped forward.
Matthias, with a swiftness that belied his earlier deliberation, caught her. His broad shoulders, once a source of comfort, now felt like a cold, hard cage. He brushed away the blood from her lips with a tenderness that felt utterly incongruous with the scene. Then, in a gesture both familiar and horrifyingly final, he intertwined his fingers with hers, a final echo of a bond both beautiful and tragically broken.
A choked whisper escaped his lips, “Teacher…”
“Even though it ends like this…” he continued, voice weak, “…may your next be free from such burdens.”
His voice, a soft murmur, held an unsettling tenderness. “Remember this feeling, teacher,” he said, squeezing her hand.
The pressure in their grasp, the unnatural coldness radiating from his skin – even on the precipice of death, these sensations burned into her memory, a final, chilling plea not to forget.
As darkness claimed her, a ghost of a kiss touched her forehead.
