Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 211

Chapter 211: Awake?
The dim, cold light flickered across the damp stone walls, casting eerie shadows in the dungeon.

A faint dripping sound echoed in the silence, breaking only when a sharp intake of breath rattled through the confined space.

Ricardo Mors awoke, disoriented, his body heavy with exhaustion, his mind sluggish from whatever substance had been used to weaken him.

His hands ached, wrists bruised where thick chains bound him to the stone chair.

His head throbbed as he tried to lift it, his vision adjusting to the dimness. The room was unfamiliar, but the air held a presence, something dark, something suffocating.

His instincts screamed at him, warning of danger, but before he could gather himself, a slow, deliberate sound of heels clicking against the stone filled the air.

The sound was methodical, each step precise, and measured, like the ticking of an executioner’s clock.

It sent a shiver down Ricardo’s spine, something primal within him recoiling, warning him that whatever approached was not something he could control. Then, from the shadows, she emerged.

His breath caught in his throat. His body tensed, his muscles coiling in both recognition and disbelief. Time had not touched her as cruelly as it had him.

If anything, she looked more powerful, more ethereal. Dressed in black robes with golden embroidery curling like fire along the hem, Fiorensia was not the woman he had once betrayed, she was something far greater, far deadlier.

Her deep red eyes glowed in the dim light, piercing through him as if peeling away the years, stripping him down to the moment he had turned his back on her.

“Impossible…” Ricardo rasped, his throat dry, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Fiorensia tilted her head, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips, but there was no warmth in it. “Is it?” she mused, her voice smooth, controlled, as if his very presence amused her.

Ricardo tried to move, but the chains burned against his skin, laced with something that drained his strength. He clenched his jaw. “You… what have you done?”

She let out a soft chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “What have I done?” she echoed, stepping closer. “Ricardo, dear, I have done what you always feared. I have taken everything.”

His breath hitched.

“The Northern Dukedom,” Fiorensia continued, circling him like a predator. “The estate, the power, the people who once swore loyalty to you, they all belong to me now. And you… Duke Ricardo Mors? You are nothing.”

Ricardo gritted his teeth, his pride warring with the fear creeping into his bones. He was still a Mors, still a man who had once ruled a vast territory.

He forced a smirk, though it was strained. “So, you finally showed your true self? Always thirsting for power.”

Fiorensia leaned down, her face mere inches from his, her crimson eyes gleaming like burning embers. “Oh, Ricardo,” she whispered. “I never thirsted for power. I thirsted for justice.”

She straightened, and with a snap of her fingers, the torches along the walls flared to life, illuminating the space.

For the first time, Ricardo saw the extent of his prison, a vast underground chamber, with markings etched into the stone, ancient and pulsing with energy. His blood ran cold.

“You think chaining me will change anything?” he spat, his voice regaining some strength. “You think you can erase the Mors name? Even if I fall, others will rise. You cannot…”

“You have already fallen,” Fiorensia cut in sharply, her voice like a blade. “And as for the Mors name… do you truly believe there is anyone left to carry it?”

Ricardo stilled.

Fiorensia smiled then, and this time, it was cruel. “You were always a fool, Ricardo. Always thought you were untouchable.

Always believing your legacy would endure.” She leaned down again, this time her voice softer, almost pitying.

“But legacies do not belong to the unworthy. And you? You were never worthy.”

A shuffling sound from the other side of the chamber drew his attention. A door creaked open, and from the darkness, another figure was dragged in.

Ricardo’s heart pounded as he recognized the tangled hair, the disheveled gown, and the broken spirit of the woman who had once replaced Fiorensia at his side.

Lotisia.

Her face was pale, her once-beautiful features twisted in fear and exhaustion. She was barely able to stand, her wrists bound in the same enchanted chains as his.

She lifted her head, and when her gaze met his, it held none of the arrogance, none of the seductive charm she once wielded. Only fear.

“Ricardo,” she croaked, her voice hoarse. “Help me.”

Ricardo turned back to Fiorensia, eyes blazing. “What have you done to her?”

Fiorensia chuckled. “Nothing yet.” She tapped a finger against her chin, as if in thought.

“Though, I must admit, I find it poetic. The woman you betrayed me for, the woman you chose over your sons, now standing here, powerless.”

Ricardo’s jaw clenched.

Lotisia struggled against her restraints. “You monster! You think you can…”

Fiorensia flicked her wrist.

Lotisia let out a strangled scream, her body convulsing as if unseen hands squeezed the air from her lungs.

Ricardo jerked against his chains. “Stop it!”

Fiorensia merely tilted her head. “Why? Did you not enjoy watching others suffer under your rule? Did you not revel in taking what was not yours?”

She stepped closer to Lotisia, who gasped for breath as Fiorensia reached out and gently cupped her chin. “Tell me, Lotisia… was it worth it?”

Lotisia trembled, her lips quivering.

“Was it worth stealing a life that never belonged to you?” Fiorensia whispered.

Ricardo couldn’t look away. He had spent years commanding armies, years enforcing his will with steel and blood, but never, not once, had he felt this level of helplessness.

Fiorensia released Lotisia, letting her collapse to the ground. “Do not worry,” she said, voice as smooth as silk. “I am not yet finished with either of you.”

She turned back to Ricardo, her gaze darkening. “This is merely the beginning.”

And with those words, she stepped back into the shadows, leaving them in the silence of their own doom.