Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 159 - Hundred And Fifty Nine

"No," Derek whispered. "I won’t let them take you. They will hurt you."

"I have to," Marissa said. Her voice was calm, almost soothing. "I am innocent. Running makes me look guilty. Fighting makes you a criminal."

She looked into his eyes.

"Trust me," she whispered. "I can handle whatever they intend to do to me."

She stepped out from behind him. She walked toward Captain Odis. She held out her hands, wrists together.

"I will go with you," Marissa said loudly, so the crowd could hear. "I have nothing to hide."

Captain Odis nodded. He signaled to one of his men. The guard stepped forward, holding a pair of heavy iron shackles.

Derek watched as they clamped the iron around her delicate wrists.

The sound of the lock clicking shut—snap—echoed in the silent hall, a definitive end to her freedom.

Derek stood frozen, his eyes wide with a mixture of horror and disbelief. He stared at the chains binding his wife, the woman who had laughed with him in the market square just hours before. The woman who had worn his wreath of flowers.

"Mari," he whispered.

The name slipped out unconsciously. It wasn’t the formal "Marissa" he used in public, nor the "Duchess" he used at court. It was the intimate name he used only in their quietest moments. Now, spoken in this room full of enemies, it sounded like a prayer.

Marissa looked at him. She saw the rage building in his eyes, a dark storm gathering behind his pupils. She saw his hand twitch toward the hilt of his sword, his fingers curling around the leather grip. She saw the way his muscles coiled, ready to spring, ready to cut down anyone who dared to touch her.

She knew she had to stop him. If he fought now, here, against the King’s own men, it would be over. They would both be branded traitors. He would be executed, and she would rot in a cell.

"This is suspicious," Marissa spoke, her voice low and calm, meant only for him. She stepped closer, ignoring the guards who tensed at her movement.

She looked around the room, her gaze sweeping over the weeping dancers, the angry patrons, the guards with their hands on their weapons.

"Someone did this to frame me," she continued, her mind working quickly, analyzing the trap even as it closed around her. "It is too perfect. The timing. The witnesses who saw ’me’ when I was with you."

She looked back at Derek, her eyes locking onto his.

"I can’t defend myself now," she said urgently. "My word means nothing against a dead girl and a grieving mother. The court will see a tyrant abusing her power. They will see what they want to see."

She leaned in slightly, her shackled hands pressing against her stomach.

"Only you can find the evidence to clear my name," she whispered. "You are the only one who can move freely. You have to be my eyes. You have to be my sword."

Derek looked at her. He saw the strength in her posture. He saw the trust in her eyes. He looked at the men waiting to take her away, their faces grim. He looked at the mob, hungry for justice, their anger fueled by lies.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to let go of his anger. He unclenched his hand from his sword. He nodded slowly.

"Don’t worry," Derek said, his voice thick with emotion. "I will get you out. I promise. Even if I have to tear down the palace stone by stone."

Marissa nodded. She gave him a small, brave smile. It was the same smile she had given him in the garden, the one that said she believed in him.

She turned to the guards. One of them, a burly man with a scar on his cheek, reached out to grab her arm, intending to drag her like a common criminal.

Marissa raised her shackled hands, stopping him. Her glare was sharp, regal. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

"I can walk myself," she said coldly. "Do not touch me."

She turned and walked toward the door, her head held high. The crowd parted for her, their anger mixed with a strange kind of awe. Even in chains, she looked like a queen. She didn’t stumble. She didn’t weep. She walked with a dignity that shamed them all.

She walked out into the cool night air. The Judiciary carriage was waiting. It was a dark, iron-barred wagon, meant for prisoners. It looked like a cage.

She climbed inside without hesitation. She sat on the hard wooden bench.

The door slammed shut.

Bang.

Darkness swallowed her.

Inside the Golden Swan, the tension broke. People began to talk, to shout, to cry. The mother of the dead girl wailed, collapsing into the arms of the other dancers. The patrons argued about what they had seen.

But one patron remained calm.

She was a woman dressed in a simple, nondescript cloak, standing near the back of the room, hidden in the shadows of a pillar. She had been watching the arrest with a quiet intensity, her face obscured by a hood.

She smiled.

It was a small, cold smile.

She turned and slipped out the side door, moving quickly into the shadows of the alleyway. The noise of the crowd faded behind her.

Once she was alone, hidden from the street lamps in the damp darkness of the alley, she stopped. She leaned against the brick wall.

She reached up to her face.

She dug her fingernails into her skin near her ear. She pulled.

With a soft rip, a layer of skin peeled away.

It wasn’t skin. It was a mask. A magical mask, crafted from fine, enchanted silk, that had changed her features just enough to blend in, to look like a common noblewoman, to look like anyone she wanted to be.

She held the mask in her hand. It shimmered faintly in the moonlight, the magic fading now that it was removed.

Then, it began to smoke.

A small flame sparked at the edge of the mask. It burned with a strange, blue light, consuming the fabric rapidly. The magic was consuming itself, destroying the evidence.

Senna watched it burn. She watched her disguise turn to ash in her palm.

Her true face was revealed. Her amber eyes glittered with malice. Her lips curled into a triumphant smile.

"I have finally brought you down, Marissa,"

Senna whispered to the dying flame.

She opened her hand, letting the last few specks of ash drift away in the wind. They swirled in the air like dark snowflakes.

"You took my home," she thought, her mind replaying the fire, the humiliation at the gate. "You took my dignity. You took my Duke. You made him look at me with disgust."

She looked toward the palace, where the carriage carrying Marissa was heading.

"But now," Senna murmured, "I have taken your freedom. I have taken your name. I have taken your life."

She imagined Marissa in the dungeon. She imagined the cold, the rats, the despair.

"Enjoy the dungeon, Your Grace," Senna whispered. "I hope it is cold. I hope you scream."

She turned and walked towards the palace to relay a job well done to Lady Jane.

Now, all that’s left is to wait for the execution.