They want my head—I can sense it in the air. But how can I blame them? Haven't I foolishly sold my people to these pale men? How can they not despise me? This crown weighs heavy upon my head, as though it was made of stone and not of feathers—gods! What have I done? In trying to save them, I fear I've doomed us all!

"Señor Moctezuma," she says in that bewitching voice of hers, but I refuse to turn and face her. "Señor Moctezuma, it's time. The longer you delay, the more restless they grow."

Turning, I smirk, "tell me Malinalli, or do you prefer your foreign name: Doña Marina? Yes, that's what he calls you—which do you prefer?"

"You may address me as you prefer, Señor."

"Then I shall address you as Malinche."

"As you wish, Señor."

"Tell me, Malinche how do you sleep knowing you have sold your people out? Do your dreams torture you as mine torture me?"

"Has sleep been eluding you, my Emperor?"

"Emperor?" I snap, "how can I be Emperor when I am a prisoner in my own palace?"

But Malinche calmly stares at me, causing my blood to boil. Her silence enrages me.

"Answer me! I shout, "I command you to answer me!" But she utters nothing. The silence is broken as I erupt into a fit of laughter. "Your silence, Malinche, confirms what I already know."

"And what is that, Señor?"

"The gods have abandoned me—I am no more an Emperor than you are loyal—we are both puppets of that Spaniard."

"It's time, Señor," she says calmly. "Your subjects call for you—"

"No," I cut her off, "it is my blood they call for. Can you not hear it, Malinche? Surely you must."

"Your people love you, they will not harm you. Will you see them now?"

"Fine. If I must. Now be a good pet and tell your master, Hernán, I'm sure he wants to see me perform my duty, like a good dog."

She bows low before leaving the throne room, and I walk towards the balcony—my feet feel a thousand times their weight. As I pass under the archway, my glorious city, Tenochtitlan emerges before me; the sight is breathtaking. Raising my hands, I quiet the murmuring crowd.

I address them as their Emperor and explain that they must let the Spaniards leave the city—as they wish to return home. An uneasy silence follows—looking back, I see Cortés nodding, surrounded by his men and Malinche by his side.

"Traitor!" Someone shouts and others join in until it's a collective roar.

I raise my hands in vain; they will not relent. The stone strikes my brow with such force, I hear a cracking sound. Then suddenly, a spear pierces my chest. I stumble and fall backwards.

My eyes widen—a vision of my floating city appears in the clouds. A bolt of lightning strikes the Temple of Xiuhtecuhtli, setting the city ablaze. My eyes darken..."what have I done?"