SECRET ELOPEMENT

HUSBAND?

As Kariyah struggled to maintain her grasp on the man, her strength waned, and she found herself collapsing onto the ground, her backside meeting the cold surface with an ungraceful thud. Yet, in that moment of desperation, she managed to prevent the man from suffering a dangerous impact with the unforgiving floor.

With a gentle touch, Kariyah lifted her gaze to meet the eyes of the man she had just saved, his features illuminated by the dim light. As she brushed away strands of hair, as dark as the night itself, she couldn't help but notice the array of wounds adorning his otherwise smooth, dark skin.

In the quiet aftermath, a sudden realization dawned on Kariyah, a whisper of intuition sparking within her mind.

"...And what might your name be?"

She recognized him as the Duke Bloodmoon, a figure of significance in her world, yet curiously, his actual name eluded her memory. It was an odd sensation, considering she had never anticipated crossing paths with him, whether in the realm of the living or beyond.

Kariyah bustled about her humble abode, attending to various tasks to chase away the chill of the day. With deft movements, she prepared a basin of steaming water and immersed her handkerchief, seeking comfort in its warmth. In her modest dwelling, amidst the simple joys of life, two treasures held a special place in her heart, alongside her beloved potatoes: her hearth and her cooking chair. And when she positioned her rocking chair before the crackling fireplace, contentment enveloped her like a cozy blanket.

In that coveted corner, nestled beneath a snug blanket, Kariyah found solace, her weary form finally succumbing to the embrace of sleep. The bed, neglected and tainted by mold, had long been abandoned, yet Kariyah, in her innate generosity, relinquished her favored spot to this unworthy traitor.

The man in the chair, ensconced under layers of blankets scavenged from every corner of the house, lay cocooned in makeshift warmth. To ensure stability, Kariyah ingeniously wedged a rock beneath the chair's hind legs, a testament to her resourcefulness in the face of adversity.

His breaths came in shallow, precarious intervals, each one a fragile thread in the tapestry of life, threatening to unravel at any moment. Blood loss had drained him of vitality, and the chill of the room had rendered him unconscious, his body teetering on the brink of mortality. With a determined yet gentle stride, Kariyah approached his prone form, her handkerchief now imbued with soothing warmth and moisture, a beacon of comfort amidst the starkness of his condition.

"Maybe i won't be the first dead body to lay in this house."

Having honed her poker face over the span of seventeen years, Kariyah exuded an air of tranquility that belied the tumultuous scene before her. Yet, in stark contrast to her composed demeanor, her hands moved with a gentle touch as they carefully wiped away the dried blood from the man's pallid face.

In taking sole responsibility for the care of the traitor, Kariyah assumed a mantle that could easily be deemed criminal. Despite the option to flee to the safety of the village and report the dire circumstances, she steadfastly remained, refusing to abandon her self-imposed duty.

It wasn't a sense of duty tethering her to his side; Kariyah harbored no illusions of marital obligation. In truth, she had grown weary of the very concept of family, her resentment deepening with each disappointing encounter. And it wasn't solely husbands that fueled her disdain; men, in general, bore the brunt of her animosity, their actions only serving to reinforce her solitary existence. For Kariyah, it was a solitary journey, devoid of the complications and disappointments of companionship.

"I didn't do it."

Words that was very familar to her.

"I didn't steal it! I didn't do it!. Count!"

Tears welled in her eyes as she revisited this distant, fading memory, its edges blurred by the passage of time. At the tender age of eight, Kariyah sought refuge within the walls of the Count's household, fleeing the confines of the maids' quarters. Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, one figure stood out in unexpected kindness: her own father, the Count, a revelation that left her utterly astounded.

All eyes bore into Kariyah as she made her entrance into the Mason's household, scrutinizing her every move with judgmental gazes. Yet amidst the sea of disapproving glances, the Count alone withheld his criticism, a beacon of tolerance in a sea of condemnation. In his eyes, Kariyah perceived a glimmer of innocence, a tacit acknowledgment that she bore no responsibility for the circumstances of her birth.

However, such benevolence was not destined to endure. As tensions mounted within the household, exacerbated by the machinations of Jasia and the Countess, the Count's demeanor towards Kariyah underwent a drastic transformation. With each clash and confrontation, his once-favorable opinion waned, eroded by the influence of those who sought her downfall.

It wasn't until Jasia's malicious ploy, deliberately "losing" her necklace and falsely accusing Kariyah of theft, that the Count's patience reached its breaking point. For the first time, his hand rose in anger towards Kariyah, a violent gesture that shattered the illusion of safety she had clung to since her days among the maids.The Count struck her right in front of everyone and determined that she was guilty.

"I"

SLAP!

"No, I didn't do it..."

The Count's hand struck her once more, the force of the blow reverberating through Kariyah's small frame. Despite the pain and the swelling that marred her cheeks, rendering speech difficult, she summoned the remnants of her courage to voice her protest, her voice quivering with fear and defiance.

"Noo..I--I didn't do it..."

"Dad, you can't possibly believe her twisted lies! She's deceitful to her core!"

Jasia let out a sharp cry. The Count nodded his head, agreeing with her. The servants simply stood by and watched.

"You're not allowed to leave until you cough up the necklace,"

With a heavy heart, he pronounced his verdict and sealed Kariyah's fate by confining her to the suffocating confines of the attic. Locked away from the world below, Kariyah's ignorance of Jasia's necklace provided no reprieve from her unjust imprisonment. Days turned to weeks as she languished in isolation, her only company the relentless gnawing of hunger and the echoing silence of her solitude.

Emerging from the attic's confines, emaciated and hollow-eyed, Kariyah emerged a changed soul, her spirit scarred by the cruelty inflicted upon her. This harrowing ordeal marked the genesis of a life stained by the bitter taste of injustice.

Hence, Kariyah found herself unable to denounce the Duke, a man whose circumstances bore a haunting resemblance to her own. It was a stark realization, one that brought forth a simple yet undeniable conclusion.

Gently laying the blood-stained handkerchief aside, Kariyah lowered herself onto the carpeted floor, her gaze fixed upon the figure before her.

"Please, don't die," Kariyah whispered, her voice carrying a unique clarity that resonated in the silence of the room. Tenderly, she enveloped his hands with her own, the stark contrast between his bronzed skin and her pallid fingers a testament to their disparate worlds colliding in this moment of desperation.

"I may not fully understand your journey, but you must persevere. You have to survive."

"Live," she whispered, her voice barely audible, as she leaned her head against his knee. The warmth of the fireplace enveloped the man's frigid body, thawing the ice that seemed to permeate his very being. With a sense of resignation, Kariyah closed her eyes, allowing herself to be consumed by the comforting darkness.

In the dim glow of the crackling fire, the room was shrouded in shadows, with only the rhythmic dance of flames casting fleeting light upon the scene. Motionless, a young woman pressed herself against him, her presence a silent vigil in the stillness of the night.

Moments passed, and Darius Bloodmoon stirred from his unconscious state. With great effort, he battled against the darkness, struggling to pry his eyes open once more.

"Ah,.haa"

Darius's breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps as consciousness reluctantly returned. His gaze focused on the warmly illuminated fireplace, a beacon of light in the ancient abode. The aged bricks, stacked with care over the years, formed the heart of the household, casting its radiance throughout the dim interior.

Realization dawned as Darius became aware of his seated position, prompting him to attempt a slight adjustment. Yet, the movement was met with an onslaught of searing pain coursing through his abdomen, rendering him immobile. With a stifled groan of agony, he grappled with the realization that a sword had pierced his flesh.

Despite the agony, the effort spurred a rush of adrenaline, momentarily distracting him from the pain. With a swift motion, Darius swatted away the unsettling sensation of insects skittering about, his senses sharpened by the urgency of his predicament.

"I'm sorry, Captain."

The sensation triggered a vivid recollection, harkening back to the haunting memory of his subordinate's betrayal, the sharp sting of betrayal still fresh in his mind.

"I can't help it, so don't hate me to much"

"That ... What are you.."

"Becoming an enemy of the imperial family was a grave misstep on your part."

The betrayal unfolded at the culmination of a long and arduous maritime campaign, a chapter in his life where he had worn the dual mantles of both Duke and swordmaster with distinction. Just as he stood on the precipice of returning home, the knife of treachery found its mark.

In the midst of his reverie, a touch disrupted his thoughts. Glancing downwards, he discovered a woman, her complexion nearly as pale as the moonlight, lying across his lap.

In the fleeting moments of consciousness, a flicker of recognition danced across his mind as he gazed upon her face. The sight of her hair, reminiscent of a caregiver from his past, prompted an instinctive nickname to escape his lips: "nanny." Yet, upon closer inspection, he noted a disparity in her appearance; her hair, though tinged with age, bore a hue not quite fitting for an elderly individual.

The realization left him pondering her identity. As a traitor, condemned to anonymity by the world, he treaded a precarious path. There lingered the unsettling possibility that this woman, with her unknown intentions, could betray him with a mere whisper to the authorities.

"Chair."

Kariyah winced and spoke in her sleep.

"My.. rocking chair."

For a fleeting moment, Darius sensed a subtle shift in the chair's motion. Reflecting on it, he realized he was seated in a rocking chair. He made a mental note to return it to its rightful owner, but puzzled over why the young woman had chosen to rest upon him in such an uncomfortable perch. The rocking chair hardly seemed conducive to a peaceful slumber.

With fingers barely stirring, Darius gently roused her from her deep sleep. As her eyes fluttered open, their gazes met in a silent exchange. In the brief moment when the girl's silver, inscrutable eyes blinked, Darius glimpsed a fleeting spark of fire before it vanished without a trace.

Kariyah raised her upper body. To her, it was already amazing that the Duke hadn't died overnight. To be honest, she had been expecting to wake up to his corspe.

'Good job'. Her relief changed into calm question.

"Do you like stew?"

"...What did you just say?"

"I'm asking you of you're well enough to eat stew."

As she observed the man's perplexed expression, a dawning comprehension washed over her.

"Ah, my expression," she murmured softly, a hint of resignation tainting her words.

In times past, when faced with provocations, particularly from individuals like Jasia, Kariyah had mastered the art of maintaining her poker face. To show emotion was to invite further ridicule and disdain. If tears were shed, her tormentors would revel in her vulnerability; if pleas were made, they would mock her desperation. Thus, Kariyah learned the necessity of emotional detachment, recognizing that regardless of her reaction, the response would only ever be one of cold indifference.

After a few years of this treatment, It became difficult for Kariyah to fully express her emotions.

'Well, i'm hungry so i'm going to eat,' she thought as she rose from her seat.