*Chapter 8: The Carriage and the Gate*
742 Words
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One week.
That’s all it took for Colonel Lucien Devereaux to decide Amara Bellewood belonged to him.
Monday morning. The sky was too bright. Too innocent.
Hooves hit the dirt road like drums of war. A column of soldiers rode in first. Uniforms pressed. Rifles gleaming. Then the black carriage. Gold crest. Windows dark as a coffin.
Amara was ready. Or she tried to be.
Hilda had brushed her hair for an hour, fingers trembling. Braided it tight. Pinned Eleanor’s locket where it wouldn’t show. Dressed her in the blue gown Richard ordered. The one that made her skin glow—bright caramel, alive, even through the scowl she wore.
She looked like a painting. A painting that wanted to burn the frame.
Lucien stepped down from the carriage like he owned the earth. Sharp uniform. Waxed mustache. Smile that didn’t reach his eyes. A few soldiers fanned out behind him. Another soldier with cold eyes and a colder grip.
Amara stood on the porch. Didn’t bow. Didn’t speak. Just stared. Frown deep. Arms crossed. Every muscle in her body screaming _no_.
Lucien’s smile widened. He took the steps slow, like a man approaching a prize.
“Oh, my pretty lady,” he said, voice smooth as oil. “I know your father must have told you.”
Amara didn’t answer. She just looked at him with that scowl. That _don’t you dare_ scowl.
He chuckled. Low in his throat. “That face tells me a lot.” He tilted his head, studying her like she was a horse he’d just bought. “So... have we come to an agreement? Have you said yes?”
“No,” Amara said. One word. Flat. Final.
Lucien threw his head back and laughed.
The sound was wrong. Too loud. Too delighted. It bounced off the walls of Bellewood Manor and Amara actually flinched. Actually got scared. Her breath caught.
“No,” he said, still smiling. “I don’t think you realize this, pumpkin.” He stepped closer. Too close. “You don’t have an option. I love you. I desire you. I will take you. Yes or no—I don’t care.”
Amara’s spine snapped straight. “I just said no.”
“Your decisions don’t matter,” he said softly. Almost tender. Almost cruel. “I own you now. So let’s get going. To the army base. Out in the wild. The frontier where no one can hear you scream.”
The world tilted.
Amara’s blood went cold. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Lucien’s smile didn’t fade. “If you’re not going... they’ll bring you.”
He snapped his fingers.
Two soldiers moved immediately. Big hands. Iron grips. They grabbed Amara by the arms. She thrashed, kicked, screamed.
“Let me go! Let me GO!” Another soldier snatched up her small bag from the porch like she was just cargo.
Amara’s eyes went wild, desperate, scanning the yard until they landed on her.
“Hilda!” she screamed, voice breaking. “Hilda, don’t let them take me! Hilda!”
Hilda was already running. Apron flapping. “No! No, you don’t touch her! She’s a child! She’s Eleanor’s baby!” She grabbed at the soldier’s sleeve, clawing, crying. “Please! Please don’t take her! That’s all I have left!”
The soldier shook her off like she was nothing. Hilda stumbled back, fell to her knees in the dirt at the gate.
Amara was dragged past her. Kicking. Begging. “Hilda! Don’t let them! Hilda!”
Hilda crawled forward, hands outstretched, dirt under her nails. “Amara! Amara, baby!” She reached the gate as they shoved Amara into the carriage. The door slammed.
Hilda stopped there. On her knees. Hands gripping the gate bars. Crying. Watching. Watching them take the one thing that mattered most in the whole house.
Inside the carriage, Amara pounded on the window. “HILDA! HILDA!”
The carriage jerked forward. Wheels grinding dirt.
On the porch, Richard stood in the doorway. Arms crossed. Face stone. But his jaw worked. His eyes... for half a second, something broke in them. Something that felt bad. Something that felt like a father.
Then he let them take her anyway.
The gates closed behind the carriage with a sound like a tomb sealing.
Hilda stayed on her knees in the dirt, screaming her baby’s name until her voice gave out.
Amara Bellewood was gone.
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- Writer
