Breaking The Fate

Chapter six

I cry in the bathroom again, hoping this is the last time, but knowing deep down it won't be. It never is. I hate this life, this cage I've been shoved into, and I hate myself for staying in it. People outside these walls think August is the perfect king, the kind of man legends are written about, but they don't see him when the cameras are off, when it's just me and him. They don't hear the words that cut deeper than any blade or see the emptiness that swallows him whole.

I hate that while I'm crumbling on the bathroom floor, people are out there cheering for him, praising him for putting his people first. They don't know the truth. He doesn't put me first. He never has. And maybe he didn't choose this marriage any more than I did, but that doesn't make me any less human. Doesn't make me any less worthy of love.

The cold tile bites into my legs as I fold myself into a ball, my hands trembling as they press against my face. The sobs come in waves, drowning me over and over. I want to go back. Back to the States, back to a time when life felt like it belonged to me. But I can't. I don't even know who I am anymore.

A knock at the door shatters the silence, and I flinch like I've been caught doing something I shouldn't. "Ma'am?" It's Maria, her voice gentle, but I can hear the worry she's trying to mask. I don't answer. What could I even say? That I'm fine? That I'll be out in a minute? Lies. All of it. So I splash cold water on my face, trying to erase the evidence of my breakdown, but the mirror doesn't lie. My eyes are swollen, my cheeks streaked with red. I don't look like a queen. I look like a ghost of the girl I used to be.

I sink back down, lying flat against the freezing floor. It's uncomfortable, but it's something I can control. Something I can feel. I stare up at the ceiling, my chest hollow, my mind heavy. The darkness swirls around me, whispering things I don't want to hear but can't shut out.

How much longer can I do this? How much more of myself can I lose before there's nothing left? My parents left me here to fight this alone, and I'm starting to hate them for it. They didn't just abandon me; they threw me to the wolves. And August... I can't even say his name without feeling the weight of everything he's done. The cruelty, the indifference.

Little by little, I'm suffocating in this life. Little by little, I'm growing bitter. I hate my parents for letting this happen. I hate my siblings for living their lives like I never existed, like I wasn't once their sister. Like I wasn't the girl who laughed with them, fought with them, loved them. Now, I'm nothing more than a stranger to them.

And maybe that's what I've become to myself too. A stranger. Someone I barely recognize, trapped in a story I never wanted to be a part of. Betrayed by my family. Forgotten by the world. Tortured by the man everyone worships.

I used to believe in love. In hope. In happy endings. But here I am, on the cold bathroom floor, knowing none of it was ever meant for me.

*

I couldn't stand to watch them pack up my life and move it into August's room. Just the sight of those boxes, the sound of their footsteps, the quiet efficiency of it all—it was suffocating. Like they were erasing the last scraps of me and replacing it with something that fit his world. So, I left. I didn't say a word. Just grabbed my bag and headed for the one place that still felt like mine: the beach.

When I got there, it was completely empty. Not a single soul in sight, and for once, that didn't make me feel lonely. It made me feel... free. Like the universe had carved out this tiny pocket of space just for me, where I could exist without expectations, without rules. The waves stretched out endlessly before me, calm and steady, like they understood exactly what I needed.

I'd convinced Ben to drive me here, swearing him to secrecy with a look that said I wasn't kidding. "Don't let him know," I told him before I bolted from the car. August was probably holed up in some tense meeting with his father, arguing over politics or diplomacy or whatever else kings and princes argue about. He wouldn't notice I was gone. And if he did, well, I'd deal with it later.

Now Ben's sitting in the car, probably scrolling through his phone or listening to one of those crime podcasts he's always talking about, while I stand here, letting the salty air sting my skin. It's not exactly warm, but I don't care. The sea has this way of making everything else seem small. Like it knows all the secrets of the universe and doesn't give a damn about the things that keep me up at night.

There's someone else here, though. He's near the shore, a little ways off, just standing there like me. Watching the waves, motionless, as if he's trying to have a conversation with the ocean. I don't know who he is, and honestly, I don't care. For once, I don't feel the need to fill the silence.

I wonder what brought him here. Maybe he's like me—carrying something too heavy to hold, something he doesn't know how to let go of. Maybe the sea is his only confidant, too. Or maybe he's just here for the view.

I let out a long sigh, heavy with the weight of everything I can't say out loud. I hate this life. I hate that it feels like I'm living someone else's story, like my own choices don't even matter. Why can't we just be happy? Why does life have to feel like this endless cycle of pain and survival? Why are we here if we didn't even choose to be?

It's maddening, the way the world keeps spinning no matter how much it hurts. The way people like August can carry on with their perfect facades while the rest of us drown quietly, unnoticed. I stare at the waves, feeling the questions churn inside me, unanswered and unrelenting.

I want to scream. To cry. To ask the ocean why it has all the answers and I have none. But instead, I just stand there, silent and still, letting the sea swallow my thoughts. For a moment, I feel like I'm part of something bigger. And then, just as quickly, I feel smaller than ever.

Flashback

Logan stood in front of me, his arms slung casually around my shoulders like they'd always been, like nothing in the world was about to change. But everything was. His voice was soft, almost teasing, but there was an edge of truth to it that made my chest ache. "I'm probably going to miss you."

"Probably?" I raised an eyebrow, trying to lighten the heaviness that was settling between us. "You better miss me! I'll haunt you if you don't."

We were standing in the narrow hallway, caught between two worlds. Behind me, the kitchen buzzed with my mom and Iris chatting over coffee, their voices carrying that forced cheerfulness I'd grown used to. In the living room, my dad, August's father, and the rest of my brothers were deep in conversation. They were talking about me. About the changes I was about to face. About how I, an average American girl with no training and no say in the matter, was going to become a queen.

Logan smirked, covering his mouth with one hand like he was holding in a secret. "You know, Alex was crying last night."

"What?" I grinned, the thought of my tough older brother tearing up filling me with warmth. "No way."

"Swear." He chuckled, lowering his voice. "Just don't tell him I told you."

I laughed softly. "That's why he's my favorite brother."

Logan's face twisted into a mock scowl. "Shut up. I'm your favorite brother, and you know it."

The laughter faded, and we stood there in silence for a few seconds, the weight of everything sinking in. I broke it first, my voice quieter now. "I don't know why I agreed to this... why Mom and Dad won't let me decide if I want this life. It feels like they're just handing me over."

Logan's expression softened, his usual playful demeanor replaced with something serious, something protective. "Me neither, Leah. Look, August can be... difficult. I've known him long enough to say that much. You'll have moments where you feel alone, I'm not going to lie. But you're not really alone, okay? I'm always one call away."

I stared at him, my emotions bubbling to the surface. "If you know he's difficult, if you know he's not a good guy, why aren't you saying something? Why aren't you defending me? How can you just... let them do this to me?"

Logan sighed, his hands moving to my shoulders, grounding me. "Leah, listen to me. August is a good guy. He's just... human. No one's perfect. Everyone has a dark side. And yeah, being a king doesn't erase that. But it doesn't make him a monster either. He's not as bad as you think he is. He's—"

"Complicated?" I interrupted, crossing my arms. "You're saying he's complicated, and I'm supposed to marry him, just like that?"

Logan rolled his eyes. "You're already married to him. I'm not trying to defend him or anything. I'm just saying... he's not going to hurt you, Leah. He wouldn't. First, because that's not who he is. And second, because he knows you're my sister, and I'm his best friend. If he so much as makes you cry, I'll be on the first flight from the States to take care of him, king or not."

His words brought a small, involuntary smile to my lips. "You mean that?"

"Always."

Flashback ends.

A voice suddenly pulls me back to the present. It isn't Logan's or anyone familiar- unfortunately. I glance to my side and see the man standing there, his eyes fixed on the waves like he is looking for answers in their endless motion.

"If you could ask the universe one question," he says, his tone distant yet heavy, "what would it be? And would the answer change anything?"

I want to tell him to leave me alone. To remind him how strange it is to approach a stranger with such a question. But instead, I find myself answering. "Does free will truly exist?"

He nods, not looking at me, and then adds his own. "What happens after we die?"

His words stir something in me, and before I can stop myself, I say, "Will I ever find peace?"

He turns to me, just for a moment, and there is something in his eyes I couldn't place—something fragile. "What is the purpose of my existence?"

The weight of his question hangs in the air, and for reasons I can't explain, I feel an ache for this stranger. "Are you okay?" I ask softly.

He chuckles, the sound more bitter than amused. "If you could live forever, would life still have meaning?"

I don't answer. I don't know how to. So, I stay silent, letting the lull of the waves fill the space between us.

Finally, he breaks the silence again. "Do you ever wonder why there are so many questions left without answers?"

I shrug, my voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe it's to keep life interesting. If we knew everything, there'd be nothing to wonder about, nothing to chase. Maybe it's the questions, not the answers, that keep us moving forward."

He doesn't respond right away. But when he finally does, his voice is quieter, softer. "Maybe you're right."