Extra's POV: My Obsessive Villainous Fiancee Is The Game's Final Boss

Maria turned away from where she'd been trying to get varying reactions out of Abram to see her father emerge first from the longhouse, tall and proud in his ceremonial furs.

Behind him came Lord Ross, the man's eyes snapping immediately to his son. As he stepped into the daylight, he raised a hand.

"Abram."

The name rang out like a command. The young man snapped forward immediately with no sign of hesitation, going to join his father.

Maria's eyes followed him, still curious about him. There was something about the way he moved. Controlled. Disciplined. Distant. Like he'd practiced the motion thousands of times like it was a sword move.

She wondered what kind of life a boy like him must have had to be… the way he is. What kind of father raised a son with that kind of silence?

As the group began moving, she didn't stay where she was. She followed them from a short distance, ignoring Bellamy's warning glance. She had no intention of missing whatever was going on.

A frown came upon her face as she saw where her father was leading them. They went behind the longhouse, walking until they stood before the wall of woven roots and stone that encircled the Green Tree.

Her eyes widened as the great gates that protected it were pushed open, wondering why her father was taking outsiders to the tree.

She didn't ask aloud though, following as they stepped inside.

She looked up at the Green Tree. As it had always been, it stood tall, its trunk impossibly wide. Its bark was a very dark, almost black, brown.

Red berries grew from the branches near the top, shining like rubies upon it. Veins of green light pulsed through its bark, the tree alive in a way no ordinary tree could be.

There was a soft, almost inaudible thrum in the air, like the low heartbeat of something truly ancient.

Maria watched as her father walked forward until he stood just before the roots. Then turned to face Lord Ross.

"You have heard the stories." Ilyan said. "Now you see it. The source of our strength. The heart of our people."

"You seek to have one of yours drink of it to see the truth with your own eyes. This is very dangerous and may result in death, outsider. Choose wisely."

Lord Ross nodded. "I see no reason to doubt the danger. But I must witness it for myself."

Ilyan stared at him with an unreadable expression. "You would risk your people?"

Lord Ross was silent for a moment. Then, he turned slightly and gestured to his son. "My son will drink."

Maria's mouth dropped open.

What kind of man...?

She stared, stunned. Abram didn't move, or say anything. But even from where she stood, she could see the way his jaw clenched. And yet, there was no fear in his eyes. Only obedience.

Ilyan's eyes narrowed. "You understand what may happen?"

"I do."

Maria looked between Abram and his father, then back again. She couldn't understand it. Why would someone command their own child to face pain for a political display?

Her father raised his hands.

"Goddess of the Tree." He spoke, voice deep and reverent. "We call upon you."

The very air seemed to tremble, and the ground itself hummed as if in sigh. From the heart of the tree, the bark pulled apart like opening eyes, and from within stepped the Dryad.

She was luminous, her skin the hue of moss and spring leaves, her hair a cascade of flower petals and vines. She moved with the grace of water, her steps silent. Her feet did not disturb the ground.

The tribe fell to their knees, even the toughest warriors bowing their heads. Maria lowered herself slowly, her eyes never leaving the radiant figure.

"Ahhh... Ilyan." She said, her voice a melody, like a breeze through reeds. "You bring strangers."

"I request for a drop of your gift, goddess." Ilyan said.

She tilted her head, smiling like the sun. "As always, blood for sap."

Without hesitation, Ilyan drew a dagger from his belt and sliced his palm. His blood spilled into the roots at the base of the tree.

The Dryad extended her hand. From the tree, a vein pulsed, and glowing green sap flowed from a branch into her waiting palm.

She walked to Ilyan and dropped the sap into a small bowl he had drawn from somewhere. "Use it well."

She stepped back, fading into the tree, the bark closing behind her as if she'd never been there.

Ilyan turned to Lord Ross, holding the bowl. "Are you certain?"

Ross said nothing. He turned to Abram.

The young man stepped forward.

He took the bowl.

He hesitated.

A long silence stretched between them.

Lord Ross's voice was quiet, cold. "Do not disobey."

Maria flinched.

Her fists clenched at her sides. Every instinct screamed at her to run forward, to snatch the bowl away from the boy's hands, to stop what was happening.

Abram drank.

For one moment, everything was still.

Then he collapsed, the bowl falling from his hands.

Maria gasped, her hands slapping over her mouth as Abram writhed on the ground, his back arched in agony, teeth clenched as sweat poured from his brow. His skin shimmered with the glow of the sap, and his limbs shook violently.

He groaned, low and pained. His fingers clawed at the dirt. His boots thudded against the roots of the tree as his body convulsed. Maria could hardly breathe.

His father watched in silence.

"Enough!" She didn't know when she stepped forward and whispered, looking to her father. Her eyes were glassy with tears. "Please, Father, enough!"

But Ilyan only looked to Lord Ross. "This is your evidence."

They both stared at Abram as he finally stilled, tears of blood streaming from his eyes.

Ross turned to Ilyan and nodded once. "Understood. The negotiations will be paused until tomorrow. Think about what you can offer and what you want. The kingdom of Albion will not be cheated."

He turned, motioning to his men.

Two of the Albion soldiers stepped forward, lifting the unconscious Abram by his arms. His body was limp, his face pale. Maria could still see his chest rising and falling, but barely.

Her legs moved as she tried to step forward, but stopped herself. What would she even say? What could she say to a man who treated his son like a sword to be used and discarded? Or the boy who accepted it with no complaints?

The soldiers followed their lord, disappearing through the gates and back into the settlement, some of the tribe's warriors escorting them.

As for Maria, she stood there, frozen.

She didn't know why, but her chest hurt. It hurt in a way she hadn't expected. In a way she couldn't explain.

She pressed a hand to her ribs and looked up at the Green Tree. Its branches swayed, quiet, indifferent.

She whispered to no one. "I'm sorry."

And she meant it.