Chapter 191

Chapter 191
Citlali's POV

The third day began like the second.

The same silent girl brought breakfast.

The same lavish food that tasted like ashes.

The same sounds of guards patrolling, women working, physicians checking on the pregnant ones.

I was beginning to understand the routine of this place.

The pattern of horror that repeated day after day.

Then, mid-morning, my cell door opened.

Two guards stood there, their expressions businesslike.

"You're being moved," one of them said. "We need the space."

They grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet.

I didn't resist. There was no point.

They dragged me down the corridor to another cell.

This one already had an occupant.

A small figure huddled on the bed, facing the wall.

The guards shoved me inside and locked the door behind me.

"Behave yourselves," one of them said, and they walked away.

I stood there for a moment, catching my balance.

Then the figure on the bed turned around.

And my heart nearly stopped.

"Layla?!"

Her eyes went wide, her mouth falling open in shock.

"Citlali?! You... how are you here?!"

We rushed to each other, colliding in a desperate embrace.

I pulled back, my hands frantically checking her for injuries, looking for any sign that they'd hurt her.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? What have they done to you?"

Layla shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

"I... I'm okay. I'm not hurt."

But her voice trembled, and I could see the fear in her eyes, the exhaustion.

The question I dreaded asking stuck in my throat.

Finally, I forced it out: "Have they... have they touched you? Have they..."

I couldn't finish, but Layla understood.

She shook her head quickly, and relief flooded through me so intensely it made me dizzy.

"No. Because I'm only nine. They said I'm too young to bear a child."

She saw my expression and added quickly, "They make me work instead. Chores and things."

I pulled her close again, my arms trembling with the need to protect her.

To shield her from this nightmare.

"What kind of work?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Layla's voice dropped to a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard.

"I serve the men when they come. Bring them wine and water. Help them with their coats."

She swallowed hard.

"And I clean the rooms after they... after they leave. Change the sheets. Wash the blood out of the linens."

Her voice broke on the last word, and I felt rage surge through me.

"I also serve the guards," she continued, her voice small. "Bring them food, clean their quarters. But they don't... they just make me work. Nothing else."

"Yet," I said grimly, and she flinched.

But we both knew it was true.

She was only safe because of her age. Once she got older...

I pushed the thought away. We would be out of here long before then.

We had to be.

"Tell me about the men who come here," I said, settling onto the bed beside her.

"Who are they?"

Layla's expression darkened.

"Nobles. Court officials. Rich merchants. All very powerful people."

She paused, choosing her words carefully.

"They're... they're evil, Citlali. They like to hurt the women. Not just... not just do that to them. They like to tie them up, hit them, make them cry."

Her whole body shook.

"I've seen things. Heard things. Things I can't forget."

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"I know. I've heard them too."

We sat in silence for a moment, sharing our horror.

Then I asked the question that had been burning in my mind.

"The guards mentioned a prince. Who is he?"

Layla looked up at me, her expression complicated.

"Prince Snow."

She hesitated.

"He doesn't come here often. Not like the others."

"Is he...?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"He's... different," Layla said slowly, as if trying to figure out how to explain.

"He's gentler. He talks to the women, asks how they're feeling. Tries to make them comfortable."

She saw my expression and quickly added, "Not that it makes it better! He's still... still doing it to them. Still forcing them."

"But he doesn't hurt them like the others do. Doesn't tie them up or hit them. He's almost... kind. In a twisted way."

I felt sick.

"So he's a kinder rapist. How noble of him."

Layla nodded miserably.

"The women say he's the best of them. That if you have to... if you have to be with one of them, you hope it's him."

She paused.

"And he doesn't go with most of the women. He has someone he prefers."

Something in her voice made me tense.

"Who?"

Layla took a deep breath, as if bracing herself.

"Kira."

The name hit me like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs.

"What?! Kira?!"

I couldn't believe it. Couldn't process it.

Kira was here? In this place?

Layla nodded, watching my reaction carefully.

"She was captured too. We were in the same prison cart on the way from Red Town to here."

My mind reeled with questions.

"Is she... is she okay? Did they hurt her?"

Layla's expression became even more complicated, a mix of emotions I couldn't quite read.

"She's... different now. Not like the rest of us."

"What do you mean?"

Layla shifted uncomfortably, as if unsure how to explain.

"When she first arrived, she was terrified. Just like all of us. Crying, fighting, begging."

She paused, gathering her thoughts.

"But then the prince came to her. The first night."

"And after that... something changed. She stopped fighting. Stopped crying."

"She started looking at him differently. With these eyes, you know? Soft and... and inviting."

Layla's voice dropped even lower.

"She started saying sweet things to him. Touching him. Offering herself."

"And he... he fell for it. Completely."

I stared at her, trying to understand.

"Why would she do that? Why would she..."

Layla shrugged helplessly.

"To survive? To get special treatment? I don't know, Citlali. Maybe she just found a way to make it bearable."

"What kind of special treatment?"

"Everything," Layla said, her voice tinged with something that might have been envy.

"She doesn't have to stay in a cell anymore. She lives in the prince's chambers, in the palace."

She counted off on her fingers.

"She has beautiful dresses. Good food whenever she wants it. Servants to attend her. She can move around freely."

Each word was like a knife to my chest.

"So she betrayed us," I said flatly. "Betrayed the wolf packs. Became his... his whore."

Layla flinched at the harsh word but didn't disagree.

"There's more," she said quietly.

"The prince made her... he put her in charge of managing the prisoners here."

I felt my jaw drop.

"What?"