The corridors of Vale Manor stretched endlessly in the peak of day, each step Duke Cedric took echoing like the toll of a bell in a crypt. The air was heavy, pressing close upon him, carrying the scent of candle wax, stone, and the faint perfume of dust long settled into the bones of the house. Shadows leaned against the walls, crowding him, lengthening and twisting with every flicker of the torches. He should have been accustomed to his own halls, but today they felt different—alive, restless, as though whispering warnings he could not decipher. His heart was a drum, steady but heavy, every beat a reminder that something waited for him behind Lyanna's door. He did not know how he knew. He simply did. A father's instinct—or perhaps just the weight of too many secrets. His hand brushed the carved banister as he ascended the last flight of stairs, its surface cold, almost clammy, as though the house itself resisted his climb. He thought of Lyanna, the child fate had thrust into his life like an unwanted puzzle piece, the child with eyes too deep for her years, whose presence unsettled Elara and whose shadow Rowena seemed determined to guard or control. A child he had tried to keep bound within these walls for reasons even he dared not voice aloud. Tonight, however, the silence of her chamber was too loud, too sharp, and his dread gnawed at him as if he walked toward the jaws of a beast. At last he reached her door, its wood blackened by age, the iron handle cool beneath his trembling palm. For a moment Cedric hesitated, his breath caught between chest and throat, his ears straining. Was that a voice within? Or only the crackle of the fire across the hall? With a swift motion, born of fear as much as resolve, he pushed the door open—and froze.
The sight struck him like a blade. There, perched with casual arrogance on the wide stone window ledge, sat the king. The King. Alaric of the obsidian crown, cloaked in the sun's light as if it were spun silk just for him. One leg dangled freely over the drop beyond, the other bent lazily, an arm resting on his knee, his amber eyes burning like molten gold caught in shadows. He looked as though he had been waiting patiently, silently, for Cedric to arrive. And beside him, Lyanna stood rigid, her breath caught, her face drained of color, her lips parted in disbelief.
"Your Majesty," Cedric whispered, the words breaking from him before he could think, his voice hollow, quivering, thick with dread.
The name cracked through the air like thunder.
Footsteps thundered from the hall below, sharp and frantic. Within moments, Elara appeared, her silk robe drawn hastily around her, Sebastian close behind her with eyes wide in disbelief, and Rowena at their heels, her sharp face unreadable but her gaze fixed instantly on Lyanna. They all crowded into the threshold, drawn by Cedric's shaken cry, and when their eyes landed upon the figure at the window, they too froze. The world seemed to stop spinning. Alaric remained unmoving, his smile curling at the edges, cruelly patient, his gaze sweeping across them all with the lazy appraisal of a lion regarding cornered prey.
None of them had expected this—not even in their darkest imaginings. To find the king in Lyanna's room, sitting there as though he had every right. It was not merely shocking. It was ruin. This was the end, each of them knew it. The Vale family had been living on the edge of a blade for years, but today they had slipped, and the blade was descending.
"Father, mother," Lyanna stammered suddenly, her voice high, desperate, breaking through the thick silence. "You're mistaken. This isn't the king. He doesn't look like one. He's the man I told you about—the one who saved me in the forest!"
Her words tumbled over themselves, her hands trembling, her eyes darting to Cedric for reassurance, but before she could speak another syllable, Cedric stepped forward and slapped his palm against her lips, silencing her. His eyes, wide and burning with fear, cut into her like a warning: be silent, for your life depends on it. She stilled beneath his touch, her heart hammering so loudly she swore Alaric must hear it.
Alaric's sly grin deepened, his head tilting as though savoring the scene. "How touching," he murmured, his voice a velvet blade, smooth and cutting all at once. "A family gathered, trembling before me. But tell me…" His gaze lingered on Cedric, then swept across Elara, Sebastian, Rowena, and finally returned to Lyanna, "what is the punishment for a family that dares to lie to their king?"
The room broke. Elara crumpled first, dropping to her knees, her jeweled fingers clutching the edge of her robe as she pressed her forehead low. Cedric followed, his tall frame folding heavily to the ground, shame and terror written into every line of his body. Sebastian lowered himself stiffly, his jaw tight though his hands shook. Even Rowena, composed as she always was, bent her knee, her proud eyes cast downward. They bowed as though before an executioner, every breath a plea.
Lyanna stood frozen, her mind whirling, her lips still tingling where her father had silenced her. What was this madness? Why were they kneeling, why were they trembling like beaten dogs? Her chest burned, her mind refused to grasp what was happening. She staggered backward, her hand pressed against her stomach, her legs rooted. She could not kneel. She could not bend. She did not understand.
Then Rowena's hand, steady and insistent, tugged at the hem of her dress. Lyanna looked down and saw her sister's pale fingers clutching the fabric, pulling, urging her silently but firmly. Rowena's eyes, when they lifted briefly, were fierce, warning, commanding. The message was clear: do not defy him. Do not defy fate. With trembling reluctance, Lyanna bent her knees, her body folding against her will, her forehead lowering to the rug until she joined the circle of submission. Her voice cracked as she whispered words she barely understood: "Forgive us."
Alaric rose from the ledge at last, unfolding his body with the grace of something not entirely human. He stepped forward into the chamber, his boots soundless against the stone floor, his presence expanding until it filled every corner. His gaze lingered on Lyanna longer than the others, savoring her trembling, her confusion, the fragile defiance still burning faintly in her eyes. Then his voice came, rich and low, curling through the silence like smoke.
"How could I punish," he said, "the family of my future wife? To do so would be… heartless."
The words landed like a hammer. Elara gasped, her head snapping upward, her face drained of blood. Cedric's jaw dropped, his pallor turning ashen, his lips parting with horror. Sebastian flinched as though struck, and Rowena's hands tightened against her skirts, her nails biting into her palms.
But it was Lyanna who reacted most sharply. Her breath hitched, her spine stiffened, and from her lips escaped a sound between a hiss and a groan of disbelief. Anger and revulsion flared across her face, unmistakable, raw. Future wife? The very words curdled her blood. She had never wanted such chains, never desired the king's gaze upon her. To hear it spoken aloud was like being branded.
Alaric's smile only deepened at the sight of her disgust, as if it pleased him. He turned his eyes back to Cedric and the rest, his tone shifting from velvet to steel. "You will prepare her. In three days' time, she will be delivered to the castle. That should suffice for your goodbyes."
The room seemed to collapse beneath those words. Elara began to sob quietly, Sebastian stared at the floor as though searching for cracks to fall into, Cedric's hands clenched into fists against the rug, and Rowena's eyes narrowed, already calculating, already scheming.
Lyanna opened her mouth, fury rising, words burning her tongue, but before she could speak—before she could scream, beg, or curse—Alaric was gone. The air stirred, the shadows folded inward, and he vanished as though swallowed by the night itself, leaving behind only the echo of his decree.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Lyanna stood, her chest heaving, her mind reeling. The king—her future husband—her family kneeling like servants, her own voice silenced. She staggered back until her shoulders hit the wall, her hands clawing at the stone as though she could tear her way free of fate itself. Somewhere, far away, she heard Elara's sobs, Cedric's heavy breaths, Rowena's whispered curses. But within her own chest there was only one sound—the pounding of her heart, beating like a bird trapped in a cage too small to contain it.
And for the first time in her life, she realized the bars of that cage were closing, and there would be no escape.