ELARA'S POV
I woke to the sound of footsteps—dozens of them, marching toward my cell.
My eyes flew open. Gray morning light filtered through the tiny window. My whole body screamed with pain from sleeping on cold stone, but I forced myself to sit up.
The cell door crashed open.
Guards flooded in, but they weren't alone. Behind them came nobles, priests, and citizens—so many people crowding into the corridor that I could barely see the back of the crowd.
This wasn't a private execution. They were making it a show.
"On your feet, prisoner." The head guard grabbed my arm and yanked me up. I stumbled, my legs weak from a night without food or water.
Then I saw her.
Celeste stood at the front of the crowd, dabbing her eyes with a white handkerchief. Her face was puffy from crying, her voice broken with sobs. She looked devastated.
She looked like the perfect, heartbroken sister.
"I still can't believe it," she whimpered to the people around her. "My own sister. I shared a home with a monster and never knew."
Rage exploded in my chest. "You liar!"
I lunged forward, but the guards held me back. Celeste flinched dramatically, and the crowd gasped.
"You see?" The High Priestess Lavinia stepped forward, her holy robes sweeping the floor. "The darkness has completely consumed her. She would even attack her own innocent sister."
"Innocent?" I laughed, and it sounded wild even to my own ears. "She's the one who planted that bottle in my room! She's been planning this for months!"
But the crowd's faces turned colder. They didn't believe me. Why would they? Sweet, gentle Celeste couldn't possibly be a villain.
"Please, everyone." My stepmother pushed through the crowd, one hand pressed to her heart. Lady Seraphine's face was pale with "shock." "This is my fault. I should have seen the signs. I should have protected both my daughters from this evil."
Both daughters. Like she ever treated me as her real daughter.
"Mother, no." Celeste grabbed Seraphine's hand. "You couldn't have known. Elara hid her true nature so well. She fooled all of us." Then Celeste turned to me, and for just a second—so quick nobody else could see—she smiled.
It was a smile of pure victory.
My blood turned to ice.
"Father!" I searched the crowd desperately. "Father, please! You've known me my whole life. You know I would never hurt anyone!"
Finally, I found him. Duke Ashenmere stood near the back, his face gray and tired. Our eyes met.
"Father," I whispered. "Please."
He opened his mouth. His hand lifted slightly, like he wanted to reach for me.
Then Seraphine's sharp gaze cut to him. Just a look—that's all it took.
My father's hand dropped. His mouth closed. He turned his face away.
Something inside me shattered completely.
"How much did she pay you?" I asked him quietly. The crowd went silent, everyone straining to hear. "How much did Seraphine pay you to abandon your real daughter? The daughter your true wife died giving birth to?"
Seraphine's face went white with rage, but my father just looked... broken.
"I'm sorry, Elara," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."
Sorry. He was sorry. Like that would fix anything.
"Your apology means nothing." My voice came out cold and hard—a voice I didn't recognize as my own. "You're a coward. And when they come for you next, Father, remember this moment. Remember that you taught them it's okay to destroy innocent people."
"Enough!" Lavinia's voice cracked like a whip. "This corrupted soul has spoken enough blasphemy. It's time she faced divine judgment."
Two priests stepped forward carrying a wooden box. When they opened it, I saw chains inside—but not normal chains. These glowed with a sickly red light and had sharp barbs all along them.
"These are binding chains," Lavinia announced. "Blessed by the gods to contain dark magic. They will ensure Lady Elara cannot harm anyone else on her journey to the mountain."
Journey to the mountain. To the Death God's altar. To my execution.
This was really happening.
The priests wrapped the chains around my wrists, and the barbs bit into my skin immediately. I gasped as hot pain shot up my arms. The metal burned like fire.
"It hurts because your soul is corrupted," Lavinia said calmly. "The pure would feel nothing."
Liar. These chains would hurt anyone. But nobody questioned a high priestess.
"Wait!" A voice called out from the crowd. "Please, wait!"
An old woman pushed her way forward. I recognized her—Mrs. Chen, whose grandson I'd saved from plague fever just two weeks ago. Hope sparked in my chest.
"My lady didn't do this," Mrs. Chen said, her voice shaking but determined. "She saved my grandson. She sat by his bed for three days straight, using her own magic to keep him alive. A person like that couldn't create plague!"
"I remember too!" A young man stepped forward. "Lady Elara healed my sister for free when we had no money. She's the kindest person I know!"
More voices joined in. People I'd helped over the years, people whose lives I'd touched. They were defending me. Tears burned in my eyes.
Maybe not everyone believed the lies. Maybe—
"Silence!" Daemon's voice cut through the murmurs. He appeared beside Celeste, and they stood together like the perfect royal couple. "Those defending her are either fooled by her deception or secretly corrupted themselves. Guards, take names. We'll investigate them later."
The voices stopped immediately. Fear replaced sympathy on those kind faces. Nobody wanted to be investigated for corruption.
Just like that, my last hope died.
"Take her," Lavinia commanded.
The guards dragged me toward the door. The crowd parted to let us through, and I got one last look at the people who'd destroyed me.
Celeste leaned into Daemon's side, my engagement ring sparkling on her finger.
Seraphine smiled coldly, finally rid of the stepdaughter she'd always hated.
My father stared at the floor, too ashamed to even watch.
And Lavinia... Lavinia's eyes met mine for just a second. In that brief moment, I saw something that made my blood freeze.
She wasn't sad about my fate. She wasn't even satisfied.
She looked excited.
Like this was all going exactly according to plan.
As the guards hauled me into the cold morning air, one thought kept repeating in my mind:
What if the plague, the false evidence, my sacrifice—what if it was all connected? What if someone wanted me on that mountain for a reason that had nothing to do with justice?
The chains burned hotter, and I bit back a scream.
Three days. That's how long the journey to the Mountain of Eternal Winter would take.
Three days until I met the Death God.
Three days to figure out the truth.
Or three days until I died without ever knowing why they really wanted me dead.