Valerie returned to the castle at dusk, when the light was fading and shadows stretched along the corridors. No one stopped her. No one asked where she had been. It was as if the castle itself chose silence granting her a space she had never truly been allowed.
In her chamber, she closed the door softly.
She did not lock it.
She walked to the dressing table and sat down. The large mirror reflected a figure that felt unfamiliar, a pale face, eyes too calm for soone who had just made a life-altering decision. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her lips dry, and beneath the neat gown there was a body that was no longer entirely her own.
Valerie studied herself for a long mont.
"Wicked woman," she whispered, barely audible.
The word did not make her chest tighten. There were no tears. No denial. Only a flat acknowledgnt, like soone who had grown too tired to keep refusing the truth.
She imagined what people would call her if they knew.
Cruel. Heartless. A failed mother before she had ever beco one.
Her hand moved slowly to her abdon.
"I’m sorry," she whispered, not knowing to whom.
She knew well enough if the world judged her, it would not care for her reasons. The world would see only one thing, a woman who wanted to end the life growing inside her.
But Valerie also knew another truth no one ever said out loud:
not all won want to be mothers, and not all lives arrive at a ti that allows soone else to survive.
"I don’t have a choice," she said quietly to the reflection. "I can’t live with this."
The image in the mirror did not answer.
In her mind, Demian appeared his face, his voice, the way he always said as long as I’m here, you don’t have to fear anything. Once, those words felt like protection. Now, they sounded like a cage lined with gold.
She rembered what it was like to stand beside Demian, always being pulled back, always bound to promises that were never truly resolved. Ivanka. The bond. Blood. Empire. Things far larger than her yet always demanding her body and her life as the price.
"I can’t do this," Valerie whispered again.
Not because Demian was cruel. Not because he had never cared.
But because with Demian, her life was always waiting, waiting for soone else’s decision, waiting for bonds to be broken, waiting for the world to grant her permission to leave.
She exhaled deeply, then let out a small laugh a hollow sound that vanished almost at once.
"I want to go," she told the mirror. "As far as possible. From Demian. From my father. From blood. From everything that presses on my chest until I can’t breathe."
If the child remained, she knew, she would never truly leave.
She would always be bound. Always pursued. Always found.
Valerie closed her eyes.
She did not want to live with guilt for the rest of her life but she was more afraid of living with sothing she had never chosen. More afraid of waking every day in a body that rembered how her own will had once been overruled.
When she opened her eyes again, her gaze was steadier not because she felt peace, but because she had accepted the path she had chosen.
"If this makes wicked," she said softly, "so be it."
She stood, turned away from the mirror, and sat on the edge of the bed. Outside the window, the sky darkened. The castle slowly sank into the silence of night.
With painful clarity, Valerie understood one thing:
She was not running from responsibility. She was saving herself even if the world would never forgive her for it.
Valerie was still standing near the bed when her chamber door opened.
The footsteps were far too calm to be coincidence.
"If soone must be punished," Valerie said softly, as if speaking to the air itself, "then let it be ."
The sound of the door closing made her body tense.
"What?"
Demian’s voice.
Valerie startled. Her heart seed to stop for a brief instant before racing again, too fast. She turned and saw him already several steps inside the room his expression calm, yet his gray eyes sharp, catching sothing that should not have been there.
"Who," Demian asked quietly, his tone flat but dangerous, "is going to be punished?"
Valerie swallowed. "It’s nothing," she said quickly. Too quickly. "I was just talking to myself."
Demian did not respond. He stepped closer, his boots stopping directly in front of her. The distance between them was far too small for such a thin lie.
"Say it clearly," Demian said, his voice low. "What do you an?"
Valerie turned her face away. "It’s nothing."
Silence.
Demian exhaled softly but instead of easing the tension, it made the air feel heavier. "I don’t like being lied to, Valerie."
His voice was not loud. Not angry. And that was precisely what made it frightening.
Valerie clenched her fists. Her nails dug into her palms, as if the small pain could keep her from falling apart. "I’m not lying," she whispered, though her voice trembled. "I just... don’t want to talk about it."
Demian studied her face for a long ti. Too long. Like soone piecing together fragnts of truth from what was left unsaid.
"You spoke of punishnt," he said quietly. "Why?"
Valerie lifted her face. Her eyes t Demian’s and for a mont, she almost told him everything. About Lena. About the potion. About the child that could not be touched. About her desire to leave, to truly leave.
But her tongue felt heavy.
"I only ant," she said at last, "that if I’ve done sothing wrong... I’m ready to accept the punishnt."
Demian frowned slightly. "Done sothing wrong?" He stepped half a pace closer. "What mistake do you believe deserves punishnt?"
Valerie fell silent.
What filled her mind was not a small error. Not a breach of etiquette or simple disobedience. It was a betrayal that had not yet occurred but whose intention alone was enough to make her feel unclean.
"Whatever it is," she said finally, her voice barely audible. "I’m ready to be punished."
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