CHAPTER 17 : THE HORROWED BOND
1848 Words
BELLE’S POV
A week passed.
And I made sure to disappear.
Every morning, I observed Orion’s routine. I adjusted mine so I’d never run into him. I traded kitchen shifts with someone. I skipped the cafeteria when I suspected he’d be there. I even sat at the farthest corner in class, practically melting into the wall.
It was exhausting—hiding like prey in a school full of eyes.
But I refused to let him drag me back into his twisted orbit.
Not again.
“Belle,” one of my classmates leaned toward me during history, whispering. “The headmaster’s looking for you.”
My heart dropped.
I stood up slowly, stomach curling, and excused myself. My shoes echoed down the hallway, too loud in the silence of the administrative wing.
The headmaster sat behind his heavy desk, spectacles low on his nose, hands folded as if waiting for me to explode.
“I heard you’ve been avoiding your designated,” he began, voice calm but firm.
I swallowed. “I—yes, sir.”
“Miss Vonder,” he sighed. “The Chancellor himself personally approved that pairing. It’s a binding selection. Rejecting it without cause breaks the terms of your aid contract.”
I stiffened. “There has to be a way to cancel it. Please.” My voice cracked. “Please remove it. I didn’t ask to be chosen. I didn’t want to be anyone’s… anyone’s anything.”
His eyes softened slightly. But the shake of his head was final. “I understand your hesitation. But the only way to break the seal is if Mister Leonhart willingly releases you.”
“Then let me talk to someone—let me file something—”
“There is no form for this, Miss Vonder,” he said gently. “The best advice I can give you… is to speak to him. Ask him yourself.”
I walked out of the office with cold limbs and an even colder heart.
It felt like a trap I never agreed to.
I was still processing it—distracted, my thoughts racing—when I turned the corner too quickly in the hallway.
And someone shoved me.
Hard.
I stumbled forward, books flying from my arms, and landed hard on my knees. Pain sparked up my legs.
“Oh, look,” a voice sneered behind me. “Royal mutt forgot how to walk.”
Laughter followed.
I didn’t even bother looking up. I knew who they were—girls who’d hated me for breathing the same air. The same ones who whispered that my place here was a joke. That I didn’t belong.
I reached for my books quietly. My hands shook.
I was going to walk away.
I barely had time to stand before I felt fingers clamp tightly around my arm.
“Move,” Clarisse hissed.
They dragged me into an empty corridor just beside the west stairwell. The door slammed shut behind us.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Genevieve snapped, arms folded, eyes narrowed like blades. “Orion Leonhart, really?”
“What?” I blinked.
Clarisse scoffed, stepping forward. “Don’t play dumb. You think we haven’t noticed you following him around? What spell did you cast, huh?”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie!” Clarisse shouted, her voice echoing in the narrow hallway. “We saw him. In front of everyone. He walked out because of you!”
“I didn’t ask him to!”
“Tch. As if someone like you could even catch his attention,” Genevieve spat. “You’re a parasite, Belle. Leeching off this school, off our father’s name, and now… what? You’re aiming for a Damaris?”
“It’s not like that,” I said through gritted teeth. “I don’t even want anything from him.”
“Then prove it,” Clarisse said coldly.
Genevieve stepped closer, her nose almost touching mine. “He belongs in our world, not yours. You don’t get to ruin him the way you ruined our family name.”
Ruin?
They didn’t know anything about what being ruined felt like.
But I held my tongue. My fists clenched. My pride screamed.
Clarisse gave me one last glare, then shoved past me.
They left the hallway without another word.
I stood alone, the sting of their words burning hotter than the scrape on my knees. My throat tightened, but I bit it back.
I was used to their hatred.
But why did the mention of Orion suddenly make it hurt more?
-----
When I returned to class, I could immediately feel the stares—some subtle, some blatant. Whispers floated around, low but sharp. I kept my face neutral as I took my seat beside Lira, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
“Hey,” Lira whispered. “Someone said the headmaster called for you. What happened?”
My chest tightened, but I forced a smile. “Nothing serious. Just something about the kitchen schedule. They found something off in the records.”
She didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it,” I said quickly, dropping my gaze to my desk. I didn’t want to talk. Especially not about that.
Before Lira could press further, our adviser Proffesor Mia walked in, the room immediately quieting down.
“Good afternoon, class,” she greeted, placing her folder on the desk. “I have an important announcement. Starting next week, our school will be conducting an outreach program. Each section will participate separately.”
Murmurs filled the room, some excited, others groaning.
“It will be held in a local village a few hours from here. You’ll be staying there for three days, so prepare your personal necessities, coordinate with your group mates, and be ready for physical work and social engagement.”
Three days?
Out of town?
My stomach dropped.
I tried not to panic—but with everything that’s been happening, the idea of being stuck somewhere unfamiliar, with people I was desperately trying to avoid…
I clenched my fists beneath the table.
Please don’t let this be another disaster.
Our adviser clapped her hands once to get our attention again.
“This outreach program,” she continued, “is not just some school activity. It is a royal directive—one issued by the palace itself. Every year, selected academies under the Velmire crown are tasked to immerse students into the lives of the less fortunate. It teaches humility, leadership, and social responsibility.”
A royal directive?
The weight of that alone silenced the rest of the class.
“This is not optional,” she added. “Attendance and participation will reflect on your royal behavioral evaluations. So I suggest you all take it seriously.”
As she spoke, I suddenly felt it—that burning stare again. My skin prickled.
I didn’t have to look to know who it was.
Orion.
I kept my eyes glued to my notebook, pretending to take notes, but my hand was trembling slightly.
He’s watching.
The same way he always does lately.
Even if I changed kitchen shifts, even if I avoided hallways and rerouted my walks just to avoid him… somehow, he still lingered. Like a shadow I couldn’t outrun.
The day’s classes ended without incident, but my mind was restless.
Tonight wasn’t my kitchen shift. I ask Lira a favor to be my just for today to cover my shift she already gone ahead to do it in my place, so I wandered through the stone corridors of the academy alone, my thoughts spiraling. My thoughts always bugged me about the book i read.
Eventually, my feet brought me back to the library.
The same sacred section.
The same worn path between shelves filled with dusty old volumes that barely anyone touched.
I headed to the far back, where the light was softer and fewer people lingered. The book I had started last week was still there—its spine cracked, the parchment fragile under my fingers.
I found myself seated in the farthest corner of the sacred archives again, the book still waiting for me on the stand like it hadn’t moved since I left it.
Every page looked older than time itself, stained with age, edges fraying like they’d been turned by generations of hands before mine. I wasn’t sure why I kept reading. I just... couldn’t stop.
Amara Varentia.
There was no picture. No description.
Just the name, centered in the middle of the page.
Like the ink had run out. Or the writer simply... stopped.
I stared at it.
Longer than I should’ve.
My eyes kept going back to it, over and over. Like there was something I was supposed to remember. Or something I had already forgotten.
Amara.
There was something familiar about it. Not the name itself, but the way it sat on the page.
My breath hitched as I finally noticed the fine print near the bottom of the page. It wasn’t even a full paragraph—just a few fractured lines, barely legible:
“Promised to wed the noble heir of Eradin...
But fell for a foreign king of iron and flame.
Bore his child in secrecy.
Banished by blood.”
That was it. Nothing more.
No record of where she went. No death. No closure.
I blinked, heart pounding.
Who was the king she fell for?
And what happened to the child?
Frustrated, I shut the book softly and stood up. One story was never enough. If Amara was truly exiled, then someone—somewhere—must’ve recorded the scandal. Especially if the father was a foreign ruler.
I scanned the sacred archive shelves, eyes roaming titles.
One caught my eye.
It was dark-bound and worn, with gold lettering barely clinging to the spine:
“Draevanor: A Blood-Crowned Legacy”
I pulled it from the shelf with both hands. The weight of it surprised me.
Sitting down again, I opened to the first page.
“Draevanor, once a fragmented land of warlords, rose to power under one king—the Harrowed King. His name was Eryx Draevanor.”
I kept reading, breath slowing.
“Eryx Draevanor ruled with fire and steel. Crowned through conquest, not birthright. His empire spread like a plague—swift, brutal, and absolute.”
“He spared no traitors, struck down entire bloodlines, and erased villages for defiance. His reign birthed an age of silence, where even whispers of rebellion vanished.”
I swallowed hard.
“It is said the Harrowed King never knew love. That his heart beat only for power. But rumors—dangerous and often silenced—spoke of one woman. One affair."
The page ended there.
My fingers trembled.
I closed the book slowly, mind racing.
Varentia. Amara. The child.
And Draevanor.
Could it be?
Could the forgotten princess and the ruthless king have truly crossed paths?
And if so—where was the child now?
Something told me I wasn’t just reading history anymore.
I was reading something else.
A warning.
Or a beginning.
- Writer
