She waved off the guards with a slight gesture. They understood the signal and remained silent, though visibly relieved that they weren't about to face her wrath. Veronica shifted her attention back to Eleonor, whose emerald green eyes shone with joy.
The princess produced a deck of cards from her lap—clearly a gift from one of the guards—and began attempting to shuffle them, her movements awkward but filled with childlike enthusiasm. Veronica couldn't help but feel a small flicker of amusement as she watched.
"Look! See, I think I'm getting it!" Eleonor declared, her voice bubbling with laughter as the cards slipped out of her hands and scattered across the floor. She clapped her hands together, still laughing, as if the mess she had just made was the funniest thing in the world.
Veronica leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. This wasn't normal. Nothing about this situation was normal. Most prisoners cowered or begged when faced with Veronica. They screamed for their lives or cursed her to the depths of hell. But Eleonor? She laughed. She treated Veronica like a person, not a monster. It was bizarre, disorienting.
Veronica was the queen of the underworld, feared and respected. And yet this girl, who had every reason to hate and fear her, greeted her with such warmth, such kindness. It was... unsettling.
"Do you even know where you are, Eleonor?" Veronica finally asked, her voice cool and sharp, though she tried to keep the edge out of it. "Do you understand who I am?"
Eleonor's laughter subsided, and she looked up at Veronica, her  emerald green eyes soft and sincere. "I know who you are, Veronica," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You're the one who brought me here. But... I don't think you're as bad as you pretend to be."
Veronica felt something tighten in her chest, an emotion she couldn't quite place. "You have no idea who I am, princess," she replied coldly, her voice firm. "I'm not someone you should trust."
Eleonor tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "Maybe not," she admitted, her voice gentle. "But I don't think you're all bad either. If you were, you wouldn't have let your men show me the card tricks. You wouldn't be here now."
Veronica's gaze hardened, though deep down, she felt a pang of something—something she didn't want to name. She was here out of curiosity, not compassion. Right?
She pushed away from the wall and strode over to Eleonor, her eyes narrowing. "Let me make one thing clear," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I'm not your friend, and I'm not here to help you. You are here because you are a threat, a spy—"
"I'm not a spy," Eleonor interrupted, her tone as soft as ever. She didn't flinch or cower under Veronica's glare. Instead, she looked at her with those wide, trusting eyes that made Veronica want to shake her. "I'm just lost. I just want to go home."
Veronica's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't know why, but every time Eleonor spoke, she found herself caught between frustration and something deeper—something she didn't want to acknowledge.
Before she could respond, Eleonor reached out and lightly touched her arm. It was such a simple, innocent gesture, but it stopped Veronica cold.
"You don't have to be cruel, Veronica," Eleonor said softly. "I know there's more to you than this."
For a moment, Veronica felt the world tilt on its axis. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. No one had ever looked at her like that—with such unshakable belief that she could be something more, something better.
And for a fleeting second, Veronica almost believed it too.
Almost.
But the walls she had built around herself were strong, and she wasn't about to let them crumble now. She pulled her arm away and straightened up, her cold, detached mask slipping back into place.