The Duke’s Price
1769 Words
POV: Celine Ashvale - The Bride Who Wouldn’t Bow
The first guard died before he knew he was dead.
Steel whispered. Blood sang across marble. The cathedral that smelled like lilies five minutes ago now reeked of iron.
Alistair lunged, crown-sword raised. His face was red, veins bulging. “Traitor!” he roared. “She is my wife by treaty!”
“Not yet,” Kael said. And his sword moved.
I’d forgotten how fast he was. Five years ago, from my prison cell, I’d heard stories. The Duke of the Northern Wastes could cut down ten men before a message reached the king. I thought they were lies men told to scare children.
They weren’t lies.
He spun, and three guards fell. No flourish. No mercy. Just efficiency that made my stomach turn and my heart beat faster.
“Stay behind me,” Kael ordered, not looking at me.
I didn’t.
The dagger in my hand was cold. It had been cold five years ago when I pressed it to my wrist in a stone cell and found I had no courage left to die. Today, it was warm. Mine.
A guard broke through Kael’s line. Young. Scared. Eyes wide. He saw me—small, in white silk, no armor—and thought he saw weakness.
He was wrong.
I moved like I used to move before the crown chained me. Before Alistair taught me that queens don’t fight. Before I forgot who I was.
The dagger sank into the gap between his armor plates. He gasped. I twisted. He fell.
“Celine!” Kael’s voice cracked like a whip. Not angry. Shocked.
I met his eyes over the guard’s body. Blood on my hands. Blood on my wedding gown. The white silk was ruined.
“Did you think I was always docile?” I whispered. “Did you think the empire made me weak?”
Kael’s scar twisted as he smiled. Not the court smile. The warlord’s smile. “I hoped,” he said. “But I never believed it.”
Alistair crashed into us, swinging wildly. He was king, but he’d never fought a real war. He’d bought his throne with poison and politics, not steel.
Kael caught his blade. Steel screamed against steel.
“You stole her crown,” Kael growled. “You stole her son. You think you can keep her?”
“I am her husband!” Alistair spat.
“You were,” I said. And I drove my dagger into the wood of the altar beside his hand. Not his flesh. Not yet. A warning. “I died in your prison, Alistair. Celine Ashvale died. This is someone else.”
The cathedral doors slammed open. More guards. Hundreds. We were outnumbered. Outmatched. The white walls were already stained red.
Kael pulled me against his chest. His armor was cold through my silk. His heartbeat was steady under my ear. He smelled like snow and blood and something darker. Freedom.
“Do you trust me, Queen Celine?” he murmured against my hair.
The title hit different when he said it. Not Alistair’s possession. A fact. A crown I’d earned before he stole it.
“No,” I said honestly. “But I trust him.”
I lifted my dagger and pointed at the man who’d killed me once already.
“Alistair Veyne murdered me five years from now. I remember it. Every detail. The taste of poison. The cold stone. My son crying for a mother who couldn’t answer.”
The cathedral went silent. Even the guards paused.
Alistair’s face drained of color. “You’re mad. You’ve lost your mind—”
“I’ve found it,” I finished. “And I remember everything you’ll do.”
Kael’s arm tightened around my waist. “Then let’s make sure he never gets the chance.”He kicked the altar. Marble cracked. The priest screamed. And Kael dragged me toward the cathedral’s side passage—the one only he and I knew existed.
Because five years ago, in my prison, he’d come to me once. One time. One hour. He’d mapped the tunnels with his finger on my palm and said, “If they ever chain you again, run here.”
I thought I’d dreamed it.
I hadn’t.
POV: Kael Blackthorn - The Warlord Who Chose War
She killed a man.
I’d watched her bow for five years. Watched Alistair break her piece by piece. I told myself she was soft. That saving her would be a mistake.
Then she drove steel through a guard’s throat without flinching. Then she looked at me with eyes that had seen her own death and smiled.
My chest hurt.
“Move,” I said, pulling her into the passage. Stone scraped her silk. She didn’t complain. Behind us, Alistair’s roar shook the walls: “Kill them both!”
The passage was dark. Cold. Smelled like damp earth and old iron. My territory. My trap.
Celine stumbled once. I caught her. Her hands gripped my armor like she was afraid I’d let go.
“I don’t,” she whispered.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t let go.”
Something in me cracked. I’d come to claim a throne. To start a war. I hadn’t come to save her. But her blood was on my hands now, and I’d burn the world before I washed it off.
“Good,” I said. “Because I don’t plan to.”
We ran. Guards shouted behind us. Torches flared. The tunnel sloped down, down, toward the river that bordered my lands.
Celine’s breath was ragged. She was strong, but she hadn’t fought in years. Alistair had made sure of that. “Slow down,” she gasped.
“If we slow down, we die,” I said. But I adjusted my pace. Let her lean on me more. Let her weight settle against my side.
“You knew,” she said suddenly. “About the poison. About the prison. You said ‘remember’ at the altar. How?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not yet. Some truths were weapons, and I wasn’t ready to hand her one that could cut her deeper than Alistair ever had.
The tunnel opened onto a stone dock. My ship waited, black sails, no flags. The Nightfang.
“Board,” I ordered my men.
Celine stopped at the edge. Looked at the water. Looked at me. “If I step on that ship, there’s no going back. Alistair will call it treason. The empire will hunt us both.”
“Yes,” I said.
“If I step on that ship, I become yours. Not by marriage. By war.”
“Yes,” I said again.
She was silent for three heartbeats. Then she stepped onto the deck. The wood creaked under her weight. Under the weight of every choice she was making.
I followed. Turned to face the shore as my men cast off ropes. Alistair stood at the tunnel mouth, crown crooked, face twisted with rage.
“You think you’ve won?” he shouted. “She’s nothing without me! A barren queen! A failed Luna!”
Celine walked to the ship’s rail. Blood still on her hands. Blood on her dress. She lifted her chin, and for the first time since I’d known her, she didn’t look like a victim.
“I’m nothing without you?” she called back. Her voice carried across the water, clear and cold. “I was born Ashvale. I bled for this empire before you learned to hold a sword. You didn’t make me queen, Alistair. You tried to bury me.”
She paused. Smiled. That sharp, warrior smile again.
“But queens don’t stay buried.”
The Night fang pulled away. Alistair’s scream followed us. The empire would call it treason. Kidnapping. War.
Let them.
Celine turned to me. Water reflected in her eyes. “Where are we going, Duke Blackthorn?”
“North,” I said. “To the Wastes. To my lands. To safety.”
“And then?”
“And then you learn to be a queen again. Without him.”
She nodded once. Then her legs buckled.
I caught her before she hit the deck. Her face was pale. Too pale. Blood loss. Shock. The fight had cost her more than she’d admit.
“Celine?” I pressed my hand to her cheek. “Celine, look at me.”
Her eyes fluttered open. Dark. Tired. But still burning. “Don’t... call me Queen,” she whispered. “Not yet. I haven’t earned it back.”
“You already have,” I said.
Her lips parted like she wanted to argue. Then her eyes rolled back. She went limp in my arms.
“Celine!”
My healer rushed forward. “She’s losing blood, my lord. The cut on her side—she was hit during the fight.”
Hit. By Alistair. While she was protecting me.
Rage boiled in my veins. I’d kill him. Slowly. But first—
“Save her,” I ordered, voice low and dangerous. “Whatever it costs. Whatever you need. Save her.”
The healer nodded and started cutting away her ruined gown.
I sat beside Celine and took her hand. Her fingers were cold. Too cold. Five years ago I’d held her like this in a prison cell and promised her a way out. She didn’t remember. But I did.
I pressed my forehead to her knuckles. “You’re not dying today,” I whispered. “Not on my ship. Not in my arms. I didn’t pull you from the altar just to watch you fade.”
The ship cut through black water toward the North. Toward war. Toward the empire that would burn before I let her go again.
Celine’s breathing evened out. But her hand tightened around mine, even unconscious.
And outside, the storm clouds gathered.
POV: Celine - Inside the Dark
Cold. So much cold.
I was back in the prison. Stone walls. Iron chains. My son’s voice echoing down the corridor: “Mommy?”
No. That wasn’t now. That was five years from now. Or five years ago. Time was bleeding.
Warmth touched my face. A voice. Low. Rough. Familiar.
“Stay with me.”
Kael.
I tried to open my eyes. Tried to tell him I wasn’t afraid of dying. I’d done it once already.
But the dark pulled me under.
Right before I lost consciousness completely, I heard him speak words he’d never said in the other timeline:
“You don’t get to die for me. Not again.”
Again.
What did he mean, again?
- Writer
