A Bride for the Desert King | Crocodile

Chapter 6: Father's Demands

The carriage wheels crunched against the frostbitten gravel as Sineka returned to Duskblade Manor. The crisp morning air clung to her skin, sharp and biting against the warmth that still lingered beneath her ribs—a warmth she couldn't quite extinguish, no matter how fiercely she tried. Yet as the carriage doors opened and she stepped onto the stone steps of her home, the warmth began to wither beneath the weight of her reality.

Frostheaven's pale sun glinted off the snow-dusted iron gates, casting fleeting shadows against the stone walls of the manor. The heavy oak doors groaned faintly as they swung open, and Sineka crossed the threshold into the cavernous entry hall. The familiar chill of the air inside seemed to seep into her bones, a stark contrast to the tumultuous heat of her thoughts.

Crocodile was gone.

Vanished without warning or explanation, leaving behind only questions that echoed endlessly in her mind. Each step she took seemed to reverberate with the absence of his presence—the rough timbre of his voice, the sharp wit woven into his words, the gaze that seemed to see through every layer of her carefully constructed facade.

But the silence was short-lived.

"Sineka!"

The shrill voice sliced through the air like shards of broken glass, shattering the fragile stillness that clung to the manor's walls. Amara's heels clattered against the marble floor as she stormed toward her half-sister, eyes alight with cruel satisfaction. Her emerald dress, too bright and too bold against the muted elegance of the manor, flared with each hurried step.

"Have you heard the news?" Amara demanded, her voice like nails scraping against slate. "That man you were with—Crocodile—he's gone! Left you behind like a discarded plaything!"

Sineka's breath caught, but she masked the flicker of pain with a slow inhale. Her fingers curled into the folds of her burgundy gown as if anchoring herself to something solid. When she spoke, her voice emerged steady despite the strain that twisted beneath it.

"Yes. I've heard."

Even to her own ears, the words sounded hollow.

"Oh, you heard?" Amara sneered, stepping closer until her perfume—cloying and too sweet—curled unpleasantly in Sineka's throat. "Did you honestly think you could trap him with your charms? That a man like that would stay with you?"

The air between them seemed to crackle with the clash of unspoken grievances. Sineka's nails bit into her palms as her jaw clenched, but she refused to give Amara the satisfaction of a response. Instead, she turned away, her steps deliberate as she moved toward the grand staircase that spiraled upward through the manor's heart.

But Amara, unwilling to let her retreat in silence, pursued her like a shadow bent on destruction.

"Face it, Sineka—your little game failed! He saw through you just like everyone else does. You're nothing but a foolish girl chasing after a man who was never yours!"

The words struck harder than Sineka cared to admit. Each syllable seemed to press against the raw ache beneath her sternum—the ache she had buried beneath layers of pride and purpose. But Amara's cruelty had always been like frost creeping through cracks in stone, seeking the most vulnerable places to take hold.

And yet...

Sineka paused on the first step, her back still to her sister. The soft fabric of her gown whispered against the stone as she tilted her chin slightly, though she did not turn. Her voice, when it came, was cool and measured.

"Your concern is touching, Amara," she said, each word laced with quiet steel. "But I suggest you focus on your own affairs. Unless, of course, you find my life more interesting than your own."