Castle of Ashes

Chapter 7

In the aftermath of the tumultuous encounter with the tempestuous prince, a tempest of emotions rages in the soldier. I find myself ensnared within the unyielding grasp of Lieutenant Ferran's powerful hand. Despite his wordless demeanor, his silent indignation reverberates, his grip almost imprinting itself on my very flesh. In my feeble attempt to resist, his hold remains unyielding, steadfast, and unrelenting.

As we descend from the second floor, the intensity of his grip gradually eases upon reaching the threshold of our chamber. "Enter," he commands, releasing my arm with a finality that resounds.

A burning sensation simmers in my chest, a result of my hasty actions, as I slump under the weight of the fear gnawing at my throat. Breaths are drawn with measured caution, attempting to soothe the anxiety that courses beneath my ribs. A tapestry of distress takes shape as my carefully laid-out escape plans unravel before me. The worst-case scenario unfolds, dismantling my intentions with ruthless precision.

Wasn't this outcome anticipated? The worst has materialized, surpassing even the grim forecast. It's a struggle to grapple with the situation, to stand in the crosshairs of Ferran's anger, a tempestuous tempest I must weather. His anger, palpable yet unspoken, throbs in the air, reaching me even without words.

Summoning the fragments of my shattered courage, I envision myself composed. Tension ebbs from my shoulders, and I exhale to steady the tumult within. Yet his voice, the conduit of anger and disappointment, breaks the silence.

Facing him, I detect the subtle bend of his elbows and the placement of his hands on his hips. Scrutiny emanates from him, an assessment that penetrates to the depths of my soul. The façade of anger, a flimsy veil, masks a deeper well of emotion—disappointment, fury, an intricate tapestry woven from complexity.

A counter-retaliation emerges from within me, propelled by my conviction. "I could not bear having it here, Sir! I refused to be ensnared, so I endeavored to break free!"

His rage reverberates beneath the surface of his voice as he speaks, contending with the tempest that rages within. "That beast nearly violated you! How could you be so reckless?"

It's clear that his fury, vehement and potent, stems from the prince's assault. He perhaps comprehends the fate that befalls the courtesans he has ferried to his private quarters. The notion that I could have been one of the prince's victims ignites a firestorm of anger within him, an anger that dares to stand even before the royal blood of a prince—feral and unrestrained.

"And you would risk my life as you sought your escape?" He raises the query, veiling his turmoil beneath a veneer of indifference.

"Yes… Yes, I would. Death is preferable to subservience. I refuse to be lost to the Charming, to degradation, and to exploitation!"

Heartbeats resonate in my chest like the rhythm of a battle drum, each breath a desperate attempt to tame the pulse.

"Your father has sold you and disowned you. Where shall you flee?" He endeavors to dissuade me, to anchor me to reality. It's his duty—to capture me and mold me into a contender for the militia. But is his concern a ruse?

My distress prevents me from responding as suspicions taint the surface of his apparent kindness. "Anywhere but here!"

A heavy sigh escapes him, a breath laden with a weight beyond our immediate exchange. Grief and sorrow shadow his expression, a visage that speaks of understanding, and empathy for my plight.

Ferran's breaths are deep, resonating with melancholy as he expounds, "The kingdom will not allow your surrender with ease. The royal edict mandates that contenders complete the assortment. Failure to fulfill this duty exacts a penalty at the behest of the royal council."

The bleak reality crashes down—escape is a fleeting illusion. The tide of hope recedes, leaving in its wake desolation. My voice trembles, tears a distant threat as I confess, "I am trapped."

In the midst of my despondency, tears cascade, and I confess my heartache, "Life showers me with burdens, unending. I cannot numb the pain. It accumulates, unbearable."

With a swift turn, and a desperate retreat, my back finds refuge against the edge of the bed. My descent into sobbing begins, a symphony of tears and anguish. My existence, marred by misfortune and agony, becomes a mournful refrain echoing through the hours.

A creaking wooden chair heralds his approach. Ferran's presence is a calming force, a still point in my tumult. He occupies the seat with the ease of familiarity, his broad shoulders spanning the distance as his forearms rest upon his knees. A tranquil serenity gleams within his hazel eyes, an oasis amidst the tempest of my emotions.

"Life is a weighty burden when it hurls bricks," he begins, his voice gravelly yet imbued with authenticity. His unwavering gaze renders his words irrefutable truths—lessons culled from his own trials.

I study him, seeking falsehoods that might lurk beneath the surface. But sincerity, honesty, and kindness are what I find—a beacon of trustworthiness amidst my doubt.

"From the very bricks that fate flings at you, you can construct your empire, Tali. It won't be easy, as my words suggest, but the day you transform the stones of pain into a kingdom of strength, the effort will be worth it."

"Life's bitterness…" I mumble, a lament borne on a sigh.

"It's an option—to dwell in sorrow or emerge stronger, dismantling the barriers that make life hard."

I lock eyes with him, my gaze searching the depths of his sincerity. He carries his words with conviction, mirroring the trials he's conquered. He emits a calm groan as if bearing a weight that's no stranger to him.

"Are these words meant to keep me, to ensnare me as your contender for the assortment?"

A lone bulb flickers overhead, casting an insufficient glow. The room resides in dim obscurity, yet his reaction remains discernible. He shakes his head, vehement in his denial.

Drawing myself up, I suppress vulnerability and weakness, wiping away tears with resolute motions. My heart races, and I clench the sheets beneath my fingers.

His consoling gaze persists, a shared silence descending between us. Then, he diverts his gaze to the timeworn carpet, hands finding solace in their meeting. He exhales a deep and rich sound that holds my attention captive.

"If life is abhorrent now, then you must choose a path that leads to a better future. Carve the way to alter your fate, Tali," he proclaims, a resonant gruffness in his voice.

"As if I have any choices."

"In two days' time, destiny will beckon," he discloses.

The weight of his words hangs heavily. The truth I've anticipated, though not without surprise, emerges—an impending initiation into the assortment.

A precipice approaches, escape futile. The assortment stands inevitable.