Chapter3•2 The Unwilling Bride
1001 Words
Varek found Orion in the eastern corridor, standing by a window, looking out at the dark gardens.
Orion did not turn when he approached. He simply said, "You put her in your chambers."
"Yes."
"The council will talk."
"Let them."
Orion turned. His hard face was unreadable. "You have never brought anyone to your chambers. Not since..."
"I know."
"Then why her?"
Varek was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "Because I could not put her anywhere else."
He walked away.
Orion watched him go.
Then he went to find the wine.
---
Morning came slowly, golden and soft, filtering through the curtains of Varek's room.
Sheraya had not slept. She had sat on the edge of the bed all night, watching the fire burn low, then die, then be reborn when a servant came to stoke it.
She had not touched the food.
She had not moved.
Now the room was bright with morning light, and she could see it clearly. The dark wood panels. The tapestries. The massive desk in the corner covered with maps and letters. The wardrobe carved with phoenixes. The bed—his bed—with its black silk sheets and deep pillows.
His scent was everywhere.
The door opened.
Three women entered. They were dressed in simple gray dresses, their hair pinned back, their hands folded neatly. Servants.
One of them stepped forward. She was older, with kind eyes and a warm smile.
"Good morning, my lady," she said. "I am Mira. We are here to prepare you for the day."
Sheraya blinked. "Prepare me for what?"
"The Lord did not say, my lady. Only that you are to be made ready."
Sheraya looked at the tray of food from last night. Untouched. Cold. The servants had brought a fresh tray—warm bread, steaming tea, fruit, honey.
Her stomach growled.
She ignored it.
"I do not need to be prepared," she said. "I need to go home."
Mira's smile did not waver. "I am sorry, my lady. That is not possible."
Sheraya wanted to argue. She wanted to scream. But these women were not her enemies.
She sighed.
"Fine," she said. "Do what you must."
---
Meanwhile, in the lower levels of the castle, Nola moved among the soldiers.
She had found the women's quarters at dawn. She had slipped inside while the guards were changing shifts. She had found a pile of uniforms—simple gray trousers, tunics, boots, and cloth masks meant to keep dust and smoke from the lungs during menial work.
She had dressed quickly. She had pulled her dark hair into a tight knot beneath a hood. She had wrapped the cloth mask over her lower face, leaving only her eyes visible.
Now she walked through the corridors with a bucket of water in one hand and a rag in the other, scrubbing the floors like she had been doing it her whole life.
No one looked at her twice.
She was just another servant. Another pair of hands. Invisible.
She worked her way through the castle, scrubbing, listening, watching. She learned the layout—the kitchens, the guard rooms, the eastern wing where the lord's chambers were, the southern wing where the council met.
She did not learn where they were keeping her sister.
But she would.
She rounded a corner and nearly collided with a tall figure.
She looked up.
Lord Orion stood before her, his hard face unreadable, his cold eyes fixed on her face. On her eyes. The only part of her that was visible.
Nola's heart stopped.
She lowered her head. "Forgive me, my lord."
Orion did not move. He did not speak. He simply stared at her.
"You are not one of my soldiers," he said.
"I am new, my lord."
"New."
"Yes, my lord."
Orion was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "What is your name?"
Nola's mind raced.
"Lira," she said. "My name is Lira."
Orion's eyes narrowed.
Then he stepped aside.
"Be careful, Lira," he said. "This castle is not kind to those who lie."
He walked away.
Nola stood frozen, her heart pounding.
He knew.
But he had not called the guards.
Why?
She did not know. But she would not waste the chance.
---
Back in the cottage by the elderwood trees, the morning sun spilled through the windows, warm and golden.
But the cottage was empty.
Cora burst through the door, her golden hair wild, her cheeks flushed from running. She had heard the news from the villagers. She had come as fast as she could.
"General Aldric!" she called.
The cottage was silent.
She found him in the workshop, sitting at his bench, staring at an old sword.
"General," she said, breathless. "Where are they? Where are Sheraya and Nola?"
Aldric did not look up. "Gone."
"Gone where?"
"The Fae lands. The Belak Castle." His voice was hollow. "The Fae Lord took Sheraya. Nola followed."
Cora's blood ran cold. "Then we must go after them."
Aldric finally looked at her. His eyes were red-rimmed, exhausted.
"I am going," he said. "But I cannot travel by rift. Those days are behind me. We must go by land."
Cora's heart sank. "How long will that take?"
"Several days. Maybe longer."
She did not hesitate. "Then we leave at once."
Aldric shook his head. "Cora, your mother—"
"I do not care about my mother." Cora's voice was sharp. "Sheraya is my best friend. Nola is like a sister to me. I am coming with you."
Aldric studied her for a long moment.
"Very well," he said. "But the journey is long. Dangerous. And when we arrive, we may not succeed."
Cora lifted her chin. "I do not care."
Aldric stood. He picked up his sword.
"Then pack your things," he said. "We leave within the hour."
Cora nodded.
Together, they walked out of the cottage and into the morning light.
The journey to the Fae lands would take days.
But they would try.
- Writer
