Page 122 of Decimation

“Colours?” I repeat, confused.

The woman holds out an array of ribbons and beads, and realise he means for my braids. He wants me to choose them for that. I reach out, my fingers brushing against the purples and blues that match closely with the colours swirling around him.

Is this a mistake? Am I giving in?

I don’t have time to contemplate that because she’s already picking them up, weaving the ribbons in and then slowly adding the beads to the ends.

I watch in the mirror as she does it, watch as my hair transforms from a frizzy mess into something organised, something beautiful, something almost like art.

When she finishes, I stare at my reflection, and my breath catches in my throat. For the first time I’m not sure if it’s Ines’s face staring back at me, but it’s not my face either.

Who am I?

I feel so hollow, so confused, so fucking lost.

A tear streaks down my cheek before I can stop it, and I know he sees it. I know he sees everything.

He steps forward, his gaze meeting mine in the mirror. “You’re beautiful,” he says softly.

I don’t respond, I don’t know what I could possibly say back. Beautiful? What does that even mean anymore?

He reaches out, his hand brushing against my cheek. “You’re safe now,” he says.

Safe? I don’t know what that means either.

“Where is my mother?”

I shouldn’t ask. I know that, but no one has even mentioned her. Is she alive? Is she locked up somewhere in this wretched house?

“She’s dead.”

I spin in the chair, feeling my hair pull from the woman’s hands as I do it.

“Dead?” I repeat.

His eyes narrow in a gesture of sympathy. “She died not long after you were brought here.”

I know who did it. I know Konstantine murdered her. It’s another heinous act that man will not have to face justice for. I clench my jaw, dig my nails into my palms and it’s all I can not to collapse into a complete wreck.

She’s dead. The only person in this world who has ever cared for me. The only person who has ever risked their life for mine… but that’s not true, a voice in my head whispers back. This man right here has risked everything for me. He’s orchestrated a coup for me. I will make you queen of everything. Those words echo in my head, but right now they feel more like a curse than a declaration of love. What does he want with me? What could he possibly want with someone so used, damaged, and broken?

He stares back at me as if he understands that question, and I wonder if he can hear the literal voices in my head. I can’t trust him, can I? I can’t… and yet, some weak, pathetic part of me still wants to.

It’s been weeks of meetings, weeks with a nonstop parade of ambassadors, diplomats, and world leaders. Each demanding my attention, my reassurance, my lies. I sit behind the grand oak desk in what is now very much my office. The air is thick with the scent of polished wood and the faint tang of ink from the documents scattered across the desk.

I’ve spent hours playing the part of my brother to perfection. It’s a delicate dance, one that requires precision and control. Every word, every gesture, must be calculated to maintain the illusion.

The man seated across from me, a representative from one of the European powers, drones on about trade agreements and alliances. I nod along, my mind only half-present. My thoughts drift to Leandra, to the fragile trust I’ve been trying to build with her. She’s been resting up, recovering her strength, and I’ve given her space, hoping she’ll come to see that I’m not the monster she believes me to be.

Luckily for her, patience is one of my best attributes. I am nothing if not patient. Afterall, it has taken me how many years to finally get my revenge on both Konstantine and Ines?

The man’s voice fades into the background as I think of Antonio. He’s in Scotland now with his wife, Grace, and their newborn son. I’ve given him leave to stay there after we talked on the phone. It’s useful to have him out of the way, to focus on his family while I am busy consolidating power here.

The man across from me clears his throat, pulling me back to the present. I offer him a polite smile, nodding as if I’ve been listening intently when really, I don’t give a fuck.

It helps that a few errant countries have been at war with one another, it’s helped cover the chaos of the last few weeks. No one has noticed the changing of the guard; no one has noticed our fuckups when it feels like war is brewing. And it helps grease the wheels now for my coup, because they’re so busy focusing on that they don’t bother to look closer at what the inner workings of Brethren are like.

“Of course,” I say, my tone smooth and diplomatic. “We’ll ensure trade routes remain open. Stability is our priority.”