The Unmarked Orphan

Chapter Four

Brightley

Father was right, Persephone was frail, while I had survived a war and the unforgiving streets. I was the logical sacrifice.

I paced the cold stone floor of my chamber barefoot. The silence of the room did nothing to quiet my racing mind. I tried to convince myself that this was honorable, that trading my health for the future queen was noble. But a cold knot of dread sat heavy in my stomach. I stopped by the window, staring into the darkness, telling myself that Briston knew best because he always prioritized logic over emotion.

"I can take it," I whispered to the empty room, forcing conviction into my voice. "I have to take it."

Eventually, exhaustion pulled me to the bed. I collapsed without bothering to change, letting the stress drag me into a heavy, uneasy sleep.

After what felt like mere minutes, I found myself standing on a blinding white void. The Phoenix descended, its wings spanning the width of the sky, landing with a force that rattled my teeth. It was the same creature from the ritual, massive and terrifying, radiating heat.

"Do not do this," the bird warned. "Do not destroy yourself, Brightley."

I stumbled back, shielding my eyes from its brilliance. "What?"

"You walk into a s*******r," the creature hissed. "The path you choose is not honor; it is suicide. Do not give yourself up for anyone, for you are worthy of survival just like every other creature that draws breath."

"I have to," I argued, shouting over the roar of the flames curling off its feathers. "She is the heir, and I am incomplete! I have no blessings anyway. I am one short of value! I'm broken."

The bird lowered its massive head, its eyes burning like molten gold. "Who told you that you were broken? Who decided your life is currency to be spent?"

"It’s the only way to save her!" I screamed back. "I’m useless otherwise!"

"You are not useless," the bird screeched. "You are just blind."

Before I could ask it to explain, the Phoenix exploded into blinding light, forcing me awake.

I sat up, gasping, sweat pouring down my skin. The room was dark and quiet, but the bird’s warning echoed in my head: Do not let him take it.

I couldn't stay alone with these thoughts. I needed to see Persephone, to look at her pale face and remind myself why I was agreeing to this madness. If I saw her, I could find the resolve I was losing.

I hurried into the corridor, moving silently toward the royal wing. The castle was asleep; not a single guard stood by the door.

When I reached Persephone’s chamber, I reached for the handle but froze when I heard a voice from inside.

"It won't be long now, my love."

It was Father, but his tone was wrong. It lacked the cold detachment he always used; instead, it sounded possessive, dark, and hungry. I pressed my ear against the door, the urge to enter vanishing as his next words filtered through the timber.

"By tomorrow, the obstacle will be gone," Briston murmured to the sleeping princess. "I have convinced the little fool to participate."

I frowned, the little fool?

"She thinks she is a hero," he continued. A low, dark laugh escaped him. "She has no idea she is just fuel. Once I slit her throat and you come awake, your poor father will be too overjoyed to make any complaints."

What was he talking about? Slitting my throat? He had promised a cure, a transfer of illness, not an execution.

"King George is weak and desperate," Briston sneered. "He will be so grateful that I saved his daughter that he won’t question the marriage. Imagine it, Persephone: you on the throne and me ruling from the shadows until the old man dies. And if he doesn't die fast enough... well, I have more rituals."

My stomach turned over. Marriage? He wanted to marry my best friend, a girl he had watched grow up, just to steal the crown?

"I will have Valoria," he growled. "And all it costs is one useless girl."

The betrayal hit me harder than a physical blow. I wasn't a daughter to him, nor a person; I was livestock.

"What?" The word slipped out, louder than I intended.

"Who is there?" Briston snapped.

I backed away, but the door yanked open before I could run.

Briston stood there, looming tall and terrifying in the dim light. He scanned my face, seeing the horror written there, and realized instantly that his mask had slipped.

"Brightley," he stated, "You should be in your room preparing."

"You lied," I accused. "You aren't going to cure her; you're going to kill me."

He didn't deny it, nor did he offer a new lie. He just stared at me with unmasked contempt.

"You were always nosy," he muttered. "It doesn't change anything. The result will be the same." He looked over my shoulder toward the end of the hall. "Guards! She has gone mad! She is trying to harm the princess! Seize her!"

Two royal guards snapped to attention and sprinted toward us.

Briston lunged for me, but my instinct took over. I dropped to the floor as he grabbed for my arm, causing him to grasp only air. I scrambled back, kicked his shin hard enough to make him grunt, and regained my footing.

"Get her!" he bellowed.

I turned and ran.

I knew the palace even better than the guards, having spent my childhood hiding in its alcoves. I took the corner sharply, sliding on the smooth stone, and threw myself down the narrow servant’s staircase. The heavy boots of the guards clattered above me, but their armor slowed them down while I was light and fast.

I burst into the lower courtyard. "Close the gates!" a voice shouted from the watchtower.

I didn't look back, sprinting toward the stables. The stable boy was asleep on a stool, and I didn't wake him as I grabbed the reins of the nearest horse, a black stallion saddled for a messenger.

I swung onto the horse just as the stable doors banged open. Briston stood there, snarling, "You cannot run from me, girl! You belong to the sacrifice!"

I kicked the horse hard. "Go!"

The stallion bolted, nearly trampling Briston, who had to dive out of the way to avoid the hooves. We shot through the gap in the closing main gate, the blades missing my head by inches.

I was out, but I wasn't safe. I turned the horse toward the north, hearing the sounding of horns behind me. The hunt was on.

I rode like a demon, the wind tearing at my eyes, blurring my vision. I pushed the horse harder than I ever had, knowing that stopping meant death. Briston wouldn't give up; without me, his plan to seize the throne fell apart.

For hours I rode. The terrain changed from the lush grass of Valoria to rocky gray soil, and the sky seemed to darken even though dawn should be approaching.

We reached the border. I pulled on the reins, bringing the heaving horse to a sliding stop. Ahead lay the Valley of Darkness, Drakomor. It was a scar on the land, a place of perpetual shadow and fog where no Valorian dared to tread.

I looked back. A group of riders crested the hill. Briston was at the lead, his face twisted in a snarl.

"Surrender!" his voice carried over the wind, amplified by magic. "There is nowhere to go!"

He was right about the geography but wrong about my will. The king’s guards were bound by treaty and fear; they could not cross into Drakomor without a direct order from King George, and George wasn't here.

I dismounted, unsteady as I hit the ground. I slapped the stallion on the rear, sending it galloping away to the west to confuse them.

Briston and the guards were closing in. He thought he had me cornered, assuming I would choose capture over the unknown horrors of the dark lands.

He didn't know me at all.

"I am not a sacrifice," I stated to the wind.

I turned my back on Valoria and plunged into the fog of Drakomor, letting the darkness swallow me whole just as the first guard reached the border, pulling his horse to a halt in fear.