The Alliance

Chapter 27: A new life in hiding.

The boat rocks gently as it glides across the vast, open sea, the wooden hull creaking under the steady rhythm of the oars slicing through the water. The salty wind tangles in Bianca’s loose hair, but she barely notices. She sits close to Sir Dorian, her hands clasped tightly together over her stomach as she watches the endless blue horizon stretch before them. Three days. They have been traveling for three days, the sea their only companion, the stars their only guide.

Dorian sits beside her, his strong presence a quiet reassurance. “We should reach the village by nightfall,” he murmurs, glancing toward the distant shoreline.

Bianca nods, though her mind is elsewhere. “Do you think they’re looking for me?”

Dorian exhales, turning his gaze toward her. His deep brown eyes, filled with unspoken concern, meet hers. “They will be. But they won’t find you. I promise.”

She wants to believe him—she needs to—but a part of her knows the truth. Eldermere’s court would not rest until she was found, and if Prince Phillip realized he had married a fraud in her place, Mercia would turn its wrath toward her home.

Her hand drifts absently to her stomach, as if searching for some kind of comfort.

Dorian notices the movement, his gaze softening. “You’ll be safe here, Bianca. You’re not alone.”

Bianca finally looks away from the waves and toward him, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. She nods, forcing a small, grateful smile. “I know.”

As the sun begins its descent, the distant shape of land emerges from the mist. Belzabod— a small village, its rooftops dark against the golden sky, waits for them on the horizon.

By the time they dock at Belzabod’s worn wooden pier, night is creeping in, painting the world in shadows. The scent of salt and fish lingers in the air as villagers mill about the harbor, finishing their work for the day.

The market square is alive with flickering lanterns, the soft hum of voices blending with the occasional clang of a blacksmith’s hammer. Merchants call out their wares—freshly baked bread, bolts of woven fabric, baskets of dried herbs.

But amidst the ordinary chatter, Bianca catches whispers that send a chill down her spine.

“Did you hear? Spies passed through here earlier, asking questions about a runaway royal.”

“A woman, they say. Fled from the courts.”

Bianca stiffens.

Dorian’s arm is suddenly at her back, a protective touch meant to guide her forward. His posture is calm, but she can feel the tension radiating from him.

“We need to move,” he says under his breath.

Before Bianca can respond, a woman suddenly emerges from the crowd. She is tall, with a striking resemblance to Dorian—his sister, Elise.

“You need to come with me. Now,” Elise says in a hushed tone, her eyes darting around the market as if expecting someone to overhear.

Dorian gives a small nod. Without hesitation, he and Bianca follow her through the winding alleyways, their footsteps quick but quiet as they leave the bustling square behind.

Elise leads them to the outskirts of Belzabod, where a modest but well-kept cottage sits nestled among the trees. The scent of burning wood and stew wafts from inside, filling the cool night air with warmth.

“I prepared this place for you both weeks ago,” Elise says as she removes her shawl, motioning them inside. “With the money you sent, Dorian, I was able to buy this house and make arrangements. You’ll be safe here, but you must be careful.”

Dorian nods, running a tired hand through his hair. “Thank you, Elise. I can’t tell you how much this means to us.”

Elise studies Bianca for a moment before speaking. “Who is she to you, Dorian?”

“My wife,” Dorian says without hesitation. “Her name is Beatrice. She is the daughter of a blacksmith from Jepzinek.”

Bianca lowers her gaze, playing along, though her heart pounds in her chest.

“Jepzinek? That’s a far away kingdom from Eldermere.How did you two meet?”

“She accompanies her father to sell swords and shields in Eldermere, I met her on one of their deliveries.” Dorian adds, solidifying the lie.

Elise narrows her eyes slightly but does not argue. Instead, she sighs and gives a small nod. “Then welcome, Beatrice,” she finally says, her expression softening. “Come, you both must be hungry.”

The inside of the cottage is warm and inviting, the walls lined with wooden shelves filled with small trinkets, dried herbs, and handmade pottery. The long wooden table in the center of the room is already set with steaming bowls of stew, freshly baked bread, and roasted vegetables.

Elise’s husband, a broad-shouldered man named Tomas, greets them with a nod, his expression unreadable as he pulls out a chair for Bianca. Two little boys, no older than five or six, peek curiously at her from behind their mother’s skirt before scurrying into their seats.

Dinner begins in a quiet hum of conversation. Elise and Tomas talk about village matters, about the harvest and the local traders. The children giggle as they sneak extra pieces of bread from the table, and Elise playfully scolds them.

Bianca watches the scene unfold, an unfamiliar warmth settling in her chest. This—this feeling of family, of simple happiness—it is so different from the cold, calculated world she left behind.

Dorian sits beside her, his hand briefly brushing against hers beneath the table in a reassuring squeeze. She glances at him, their eyes meeting for a brief moment before he turns back to the conversation.

For the first time in weeks, Bianca exhales a quiet breath of relief.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this is where she truly belongs.

Later That Night

The house is quiet, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows across the walls. Bianca sits by the small window, staring out at the vast fields stretching beyond the village.

Dorian enters the room, his presence filling the space as he sits across from her.

“You did well today,” he says, his voice gentle.

Bianca lets out a quiet laugh, though there is no humor in it. “Just earlier, I lied to an entire family about who I am. That isn’t something to be proud of.”

“You did what you had to,” Dorian says simply. “To survive.”

Bianca turns to look at him, her heart heavy. “Do you think they’ll find me?”

Dorian is silent for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Not here. By now, they’ll be looking in the wrong places.”

Bianca nods, though the weight of her past still clings to her.

After a long pause, she finally whispers, “I don’t regret leaving.”

Dorian’s gaze softens. “Good. I don’t either.”

She looks out at the quiet village once more, the sound of crickets filling the air.

For now, she is safe.

But deep down, she knows—this peace won’t last forever.