OathboundThe Oathwood was alive that morning when Orielle heard the knock.It was rare for anyone to come this deep into the forest — rarer still for a man like him.She opened the door of her tower slowly, one pale hand on the iron latch, her amber eyes narrowing as they met his.He stood there on the mossy stones, tall and well-dressed, a little flushed from the climb through the brambles. He held a single white blossom — a moon-flower, sacred to the Oathwood.“Orielle,” he said breathlessly.“Cassian,” she replied coolly. “Does your mother know you’re here?”His Adam’s apple bobbed. “…No.”“Good,” she said, and stepped aside to let him in.The rumors about Orielle had lived longer than most of the town’s oldest trees.The Oathwitch, they called her — a woman who’d struck bargains with spirits and shadows, who could bless or curse you with a whisper.But to Cassian, she was something else.She was the woman who had once laughed with his mother at midsummer, who had stood up for herself against the village when they’d tried to burn her for witchcraft. She was bold, sharp-tongued, beautiful in a way that frightened him — and fascinated him.He’d loved her since he was sixteen.And now he was twenty-four, and he came to her tower every week, carrying flowers or honey or books, sitting at her table by the fire, watching her weave her spells of mist and light.Sometimes she would smile at him, that rare, dangerous smile. And when she let him kiss her, when she let his hands trace her hair and her hips, he felt alive.But it wasn’t love for her.Not really.Maris knew something was wrong before she knew what.Cassian came home later and later from his errands, his knuckles scraped, his eyes distant. The spark that used to light up his face was dimmer. He didn’t laugh as easily anymore.Then one day she followed him — through the fields, into the misty forest, all the way to the tower in the Oathwood.When Orielle opened the door for him, when she touched his face, when he leaned in like a man starved — Maris’s heart broke.The next morning, Maris was at Orielle’s door.Orielle didn’t seem surprised. She poured tea and sat across from her old friend, legs crossed, expression unreadable.“You shouldn’t have let him fall for you,” Maris said, her voice tight.Orielle tilted her head. “He’s a grown man. He made his choice.”“You’ve broken him.”At that, Orielle finally frowned. “How so?”“He comes home hollow. You leave him waiting outside for hours. You mock him. You… use him, Orielle. And he keeps coming back, because he thinks you love him, but you don’t.”Orielle looked down at her tea.“You were always cruel,” Maris whispered. “But I thought, once… you had a heart under all that. I was wrong.”When Maris left, Orielle stayed in her chair long after the fire burned low.That night, she stood on the tower balcony, staring down at the forest where the glowbugs danced.And she thought about how kind Cassian was to her. How he brought her stories and never asked for anything but her company. How his hands had shaken the first time he’d tried to hold hers — and how she’d laughed, just to see the hurt flash in his eyes.She told herself she’d done it to keep him at a distance. But now… now she wasn’t so sure.The next time he came, she was waiting outside.“Cassian,” she called.He stopped on the path, startled to see her there, her copper hair loose around her shoulders.“Orielle?”She walked to him slowly, her boots whispering over the moss.“I owe you an apology,” she said.He frowned. “For what?”“For… taking more than I gave. For letting you believe I cared less than I did.”His lips parted.“Your mother was right,” Orielle continued softly. “I’ve been cruel to you.”Cassian looked at her for a long time, as if trying to see through her words.“Do you?” he asked finally. “Care?”Orielle let out a breath. “More than I wanted to.”He swallowed hard.Then he reached for her hand — and this time, she didn’t pull away.The Oathwood still whispers about the witch in the tower.But now the villagers say she is different somehow — softer, quieter, though no less powerful.And sometimes, at dusk, a man walks beside her through the trees. They say his mother still disapproves. But he smiles more than he used to. And the woman who once had no heart at all, they say, has finally found hers.
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