CHAPTER 317: BLOODSHED OF COURT-II

Lastor began to sweat. Of all people, he knew the past best, perhaps too well. And he had withheld its full truth not out of malice, but fear. Fear that the same mistakes might be repeated. He had hoped that by burying the truth, it might die quietly with time.

But lies, he realized, always have an expiration date. And no matter how many more he piled on, Arabella wouldn’t be convinced. She was seeing through him now.

"Who was it that tricked Circe? Answer me, Lastor!" Arabella’s voice rang with unexpected firmness. She could tell he was still searching for another convenient half-truth.

People often claimed lies were protection. But to Arabella, that was just the coward’s excuse. Lies dressed up in prettier names still festered, they became even bigger, even more impossible to fix. They still hurt. They still broke and perhaps broke even worse than before.

"Rafael," Lastor finally muttered, barely above a whisper. "How much do you already know... Princess?"

"A lot more than you think," she replied, her voice unwavering. "Circe never loved Rafael, did she? It was always Atlas."

The way Lastor’s lips pressed into a thin, tight line told her she was right.

"Then why?" Arabella stepped closer, her tone rising with urgency. "Why would she fall for Rafael’s deception if her heart was with Atlas?"

Lastor shut his eyes tightly as though trying to hold back time. When he opened them again, guilt weighed heavy in his expression.

"Because Rafael poisoned Atlas," he said quietly. "Not all at once. Just a little at a time... for years. Long enough that it went unnoticed, even by Circe."

Arabella’s breath caught.

"She tried," Lastor went on. "She searched endlessly for a cure, anything to undo the damage. But the poison had soaked too deep into his body. It had been administered in such small doses over such a long time that reversing it became almost impossible."

His eyes fell to the ground.

"She knew," he whispered. "She knew if she did nothing, Atlas would lose everything. His mind. His senses. His body. Bit by bit, he’d be trapped inside himself, unable to speak, unable to move, unable even to blink. A waking death. And Circe... she couldn’t bear to let that happen to him."

"But she placed him in that glass coffin," Arabella argued, her voice strained. "She must’ve found a way. There had to be a reason, she didn’t have to be tricked by Rafael or obey his commands."

Lastor’s head snapped toward her. His green eyes widened with something dangerously close to horror. That was a secret, one known only to him and his mistress, Circe.

"You don’t understand," he whispered, voice breaking. "That glass coffin does nothing, Your Highness!"

Tears welled in his eyes, and his hand gripped his chest, tapping hard over his heart like he was trying to keep it from tearing apart.

"It doesn’t protect him," he went on, voice shaking. "It doesn’t heal him. It was never meant to. That coffin... it’s just a prison of lies... something she created so he wouldn’t know that she was leaving soon."

Arabella stood still, her breath caught in her throat.

"There was no cure," Lastor said, almost pleading. "Not for a poison like that, crafted from a mermaid’s scale and cursed by a siren’s dying breath. Even Circe, with all her brilliance, couldn’t undo it."

He looked at her, hopeless and hollow.

"If she couldn’t find a solution... then tell me, Your Highness, who in this world could possibly undo the damage that’s already been done to him?"

Arabella’s heartbeat took a pace for some reason, as if she had been shot by an arrow created by Lastor’s words.

"Then what... what has she done?" Arabella whispered, her voice barely above the crackling of the fire.

Lastor only smiled, a broken, wistful curve of his lips.

"Don’t you know," he said quietly, wiping the corner of his eyes, "a woman is most terrifying when she’s consumed by desire?"

He stared ahead, lost in memory, as if reliving a nightmare.

"She told Rafael she had no more use for Atlas," he murmured. "She pretended to fall in love with him, just enough to lower his guard. She didn’t care about the world anymore, Princess. Atlas was her world. And when she knew he would die, die in agony, she chose to destroy everything and everyone... all at once."

Arabella blinked slowly, her throat dry. "Then how could she have been tricked?"

"There were only two ways to undo the poison," Lastor replied. "The first, she had to kill and cook the flesh of the person who slew the mermaid and the siren. But that person wasn’t Rafael. No one could confirm who it was, and time was slipping through her fingers. So she abandoned the idea."

Arabella’s eyes narrowed. "Then what was the second?"

Lastor’s smile vanished.

"Sacrifices."

A chilling silence blanketed the room.

Arabella stared at him. Something flickered in the corner of her vision—firelight dancing against stone, but her focus was locked on his eyes.

"What kind?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"It’s not what kind," Lastor said grimly. "It’s how many."

She didn’t breathe.

He met her gaze, and in a voice quiet as ash falling on snow, he said:

"One thousand and one lives... for one man."

A small gasp caught in Arabella’s throat. She stared ahead, unseeing, as the weight of Lastor’s words settled over her like a heavy shroud. Her lips parted, but for a moment, no sound came. Then, almost in disbelief, she whispered, "But that means... she didn’t have to be tricked by Rafael—"

Lastor gave a tired, hollow laugh.

"To be honest," he said, "she was never tricked."

Arabella’s gaze snapped to him.

"She knew, Princess," he continued, his voice low, almost reverent with fear. "She knew Rafael had consumed a piece of mermaid’s flesh... not to strengthen himself, but to curse his own killer."

Arabella’s breath stilled.

"To protect his soul from vengeance, he made sure whoever killed him would be cursed, bound to one place for the rest of their life, their body rotting but never truly dying. Like a prison made of flesh and time. But it wasn’t just for the one who struck the blow."

Lastor looked up, his green eyes gleaming like glass under candlelight.

"The curse extends to their bloodline. Every child. Every grandchild. All fated to bear that same mark. Because she’s a witch, that curse extend to all the sorcerers who had drank her blood as an oath to follow her into her coven. That same curse extended over to Morpheus and I."

Arabella took a step back, her mind reeling.

"So you see," Lastor finished quietly, "she didn’t spare him because she was fooled. She spared him because if she killed him... she’d be condemning everyone she ever loved to a fate worse than death."

"And despite knowing that, she put Atlas into sleep, letting him believe that she was going to start a new life with Rafael and kills Rafael once he was asleep?" Arabella muttered in silence, realizing that the ending to the once romantic story was a tragedy.

"yes," Lastor answered quietly.