Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 199

Chapter 199: Moon Goddess
Ahcehera’s fingers brushed over the spines of the ancient books, her eyes scanning their titles in the dim morning light that filtered through the palace library’s high windows.

She had come here alone, her thoughts tangled from the night before, searching for any hidden knowledge about the mate bond, about its origins, its power, and perhaps, its undoing.

Her fingers stilled on a leather-bound tome with no title. Something about it called to her, an inexplicable pull. When she opened it, a rush of silver light consumed her.

The library vanished. The floor beneath her shifted, and when her vision cleared, she was no longer in the palace.

Instead, she stood in the heart of an ancient forest, surrounded by towering trees whose silver leaves shimmered under an unseen moon.

A breathtaking mansion loomed in the distance.

Ahcehera’s heart pounded as she studied the estate, its pale marble walls glowing faintly, adorned with golden engravings of wolves, moons, and celestial patterns.

The air was thick with an unfamiliar energy, a power that whispered of something both divine and forbidden.

She did not dare approach. Yet before she could turn away, a voice called to her, soft and lilting, like the night wind. “Do you know me, child?”

Ahcehera turned sharply. A woman stood at the base of the grand steps leading to the mansion, her presence commanding yet serene.

She had long, flowing silver hair, and her eyes mirrored the endless night sky, stars flickering in their depths.

She was dressed in robes woven from moonlight itself, and a dazzling glow surrounded her like an aura.

Ahcehera studied the woman’s face, feeling an odd familiarity, but she could not place it.

“I don’t,” she admitted.

The woman’s smile was gentle. “I am Artemesiah, the goddess of the moon and the patron saint of werewolves.”

Ahcehera’s breath hitched. She had read countless stories about the goddess, the one who blessed the first werewolves, the one who bound them to their fated mates.

“You are the person who created and bound werewolves to their mates?” Ahcehera asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

The goddess nodded, stepping forward, her bare feet barely touching the grass. “And you are the one seeking to sever that bond.”

Ahcehera felt her body tense, but she did not deny it. She had come too far to be afraid now.

“Why do you want to untie the mate bond?” Artemesiah asked, her gaze piercing yet kind.

Ahcehera hesitated, then replied with the most logical answer. “Because it is flawed. If one mate dies, the other follows. That is not love. That is a curse.”

The moon goddess laughed, a soft, melodious sound that rang through the forest. “You are a strategist, Ahcehera. You know how to weave lies into truths. But do not lie to me.”

Ahcehera’s fingers curled into fists. She could not hide from a deity. She swallowed, then lifted her chin, her voice quieter, rawer this time.

“I will die one day,” she confessed. “I can feel it. My time is running out.”

The words felt heavier than she had expected, as if speaking them aloud made them more real.

“But I don’t want my mate to die with me,” she continued, her voice nearly breaking. “I don’t want him to feel the pain of losing me. I need him to live.”

Silence stretched between them. Artemesiah regarded her with unreadable eyes before sighing. “You love him.”

Ahcehera flinched. She had spent so long convincing herself that she had only done this for logic, for strategy, for the sake of fairness.

But the truth was far crueler. She loved Rohzivaan. And because she loved him, she wanted to spare him from the agony of her inevitable death.

The goddess reached out, placing a cool hand over Ahcehera’s chest. “You are not the first to fear this,” she murmured.

“Many before you have tried to challenge fate. But tell me, Ahcehera… would you wish for him to live without you, if it meant his suffering would never end?”

Ahcehera’s lips parted, but no words came. She thought of Rohzivaan’s devotion, his warmth, his touch.

The way he had trembled in his sleep, haunted by the mere thought of losing her. She had done this to protect him. But had she only sentenced him to a different kind of pain?

The goddess lifted her hand. “The mate bond is not simply a chain, nor is it a curse. It is the reflection of the soul. Even if you break it, the heart remembers what it has lost.”

Ahcehera’s throat tightened. “Then what should I do?”

Artemesiah studied her for a long moment before turning away, walking toward the entrance of the mansion.

“You must decide what is truly love,” she said. “Is it protecting someone from pain? Or walking through it together, no matter the cost?”

With a wave of her hand, the world around Ahcehera shifted. The silver leaves of the trees blurred. The mansion faded into light.

And in the next breath, she was back in the library, the book shut before her, its pages undisturbed. But her hands were shaking.

Her heart thundered. Because for the first time, she was afraid she had made a mistake.

Ahcehera remained frozen, her breath uneven as she stared at the closed book before her. The weight of Artemesiah’s words lingered, heavy and suffocating.

She had spent so much time convincing herself that breaking the mate bond was an act of mercy, a way to shield Rohzivaan from inevitable pain.

Yet the goddess had torn through her reasoning as though it was nothing but a fragile thread, leaving only the raw, uncomfortable truth behind.

Love was not about sparing someone from grief. It was about enduring it together.

Her fingers twitched toward the book as if touching it again would bring her back to that moonlit forest, back to the divine presence that had challenged everything she believed.

But she did not open it. Instead, she exhaled slowly, pressing a hand over her chest. Her heart still beat the same. Yet something inside her felt… different.

She had undone the bond. Rohzivaan could live without her. But could he truly live? And more terrifyingly, could she?

The questions followed her as she left the library, her footsteps quiet, yet the storm within her louder than ever.