The Villainess Awaits Death

The cell was quiet, save for the slow drip of water echoing from the far wall. It had been dripping all night. Maybe longer. Time didn’t move the same down here. Cold stone, rusted iron, and the scent of forgotten lives — that was all Lady Elira Valestria had left.

She sat in the corner, her once ivory gown stained with blood and dirt, her long silver hair matted at the ends. Her hands, bound at the wrists, trembled only when she wasn’t paying attention. But she was always paying attention. Because if she let herself fall apart now, she feared there would be nothing left to gather.

The guards used to whisper when they walked past her cell.

“The poisoner,” they called her. “Snake in a noble’s skin.”

Now they didn’t speak at all. The empire had made up its mind. The villainess would die tomorrow at dawn.

Elira didn’t cry. That would’ve been easier. It would have meant she still believed someone, anyone, would come for her. But she knew better.

Cassian wouldn’t. He had left her in the courtroom, eyes wide with fear, not love.

Her father had sent no letter.

Her mother had likely fainted for the performance and gone back to bed.

The truth didn’t matter. The truth was quiet. And no one listened to quiet things.

She had been framed — that much she was certain of. But she also knew that in the eyes of the court, certainty without power was just a prettier word for delusion.

She closed her eyes. The memory came again.

---

The banquet. The prince. The scream. The cup. The fall.

She hadn’t touched his glass. She hadn’t even looked at the crown prince, yet he had collapsed mid-toast — and the room turned on her like wolves catching the scent of blood.

Princess Seraphine had screamed her name.

Cassian had dropped her hand.

And Elira... had smiled.

Not because she was guilty. But because it was the only thing she could do to keep her face from cracking in front of them all. The villainess had smiled as her world shattered. How appropriate.

---

A sudden clink broke her trance. She opened her eyes slowly. A key turned in the cell door. She didn’t move. It was probably the warden. Maybe he wanted to gloat one last time.

But the figure who stepped in was... not a guard.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. A dark military coat lined in gold. His presence filled the space like thunder in a chapel.

Elira stared, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. “...Duke Leonhart?”

Kael Leonhart. The Empire’s war hero. The man known as the Northern Wolf. What could he possibly want from her?

“I wasn’t aware the execution drew celebrity attention,” she said coldly.

He said nothing. Just walked closer, the click of his boots sharp against the stone. When he stood before her, he looked down with eyes like onyx — still, unreadable.

“I’ve come to offer you a deal.”

She laughed, bitter and hoarse. “Is that what nobles are calling pity visits now?”

“I don’t pity you, Lady Valestria,” he said plainly. “You’re not the type who deserves pity.”

“Then I must not deserve much at all.”

His gaze flicked toward the dried blood on her gown, then to the bruises on her wrists. His voice dropped, just a little. “You don’t deserve what they did to you, either.”

Elira narrowed her eyes. “Say what you mean, Duke. I’m not in the mood for poetry.”

“I believe you were framed,” Kael said, without hesitation.

That silenced her.

She blinked once. “Why?”

“Because poison has a trail. And I’ve followed it. The servant who fetched the wine that night never existed in the palace records. The cup was placed by someone else. The one truly responsible vanished before dawn.”

He crouched before her, his face now level with hers. “And because I’ve seen what the Empire does to women like you — too sharp, too quiet, too noble. They either marry you off to silence you or execute you to make an example.”

Her throat burned. She didn’t want to believe him. Couldn’t afford to.

“So what?” she said, barely above a whisper. “What do you want in return for this... belief?”

Kael stood. “Your name. Your cooperation. And your silence — for now.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Explain.”

“I’m being forced into marriage by the Emperor. The throne wants to keep my bloodline loyal. But I have no intention of becoming another pawn. So, I’ll marry you instead — a woman they believe is broken and disgraced.”

Elira gave a cold laugh. “You want to save your political freedom by tying yourself to a woman they’re about to execute?”

He didn’t flinch. “They’ll delay the sentence if I propose. It will buy time. Time I can use to gather more evidence. And if I’m right, we can expose the entire conspiracy.”

She shook her head slowly. “You’re asking me to play wife. Again.”

He paused. “I’m offering you a choice. Die as a villainess, or live as one — and eventually prove you never were.”

The room spun. Her hands trembled now, despite her best effort. She looked down, then back up. “You’re insane.”

“Likely.”

“Arrogant.”

“Definitely.”

She stared at him for a long moment. The idea was ridiculous. Dangerous. But for the first time in days, the ice inside her chest cracked — just slightly.

A sliver of warmth.

A sliver of something like… hope.

“If I agree,” she said slowly, “I want full control over my public image. You’ll give me protection, a sword at my side, and the power to choose which court rats I burn first.”

Kael didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “So you do bite.”

“Only when cornered,” she said softly.

He extended a gloved hand.

She looked at it for a long time — then, slowly, placed hers in his.

“Very well, Duke Leonhart,” she whispered. “Let’s show them what a villainess is truly capable of.”

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