The next day dawned over Velrathis Castle , pale light filtering through the tall, arched windows of Lyanna's chambers, painting the room in delicate streaks of gold and silver. Yet the young lady made no move to leave her sanctuary. Alaric had still not visited her, though she found it of little consequence. She had grown accustomed to the quiet and the gentle company of her two devoted maids, Elora and Mavis who were always with her. With brushes in hand, Lyanna traced the patterns of sunlight across the cold stone walls of her room, dabbed colors that captured the shadows in corners, and let her mind wander with the leather-bound books she had brought from her father's mansion. Each page, each brushstroke, offered a fleeting reprieve from the immense stillness of her new home.
Days passed—one, then two, and then three—yet Lyanna saw no sign of Alaric within the castle walls. She reasoned that had he been present, he would have visited her chambers; his absence spoke volumes. Still, she moved through the castle with increasing confidence, guided by Elora and Mavis. The maids showed her hidden stairways, quiet corridors lined with ancient tapestries, and shadowed alcoves where flickering candlelight cast a dance of movement against stone. Lyanna absorbed every detail, memorizing passageways and doorways, noting the places where sunlight pooled and where darkness lay thick.
Despite her curiosity, boredom gnawed at her—a subtle, insistent ache. Eating, painting, reading, and the occasional chatter with her maids no longer sufficed to occupy her. The castle felt unnaturally quiet, almost watchful. The absence of her father's gentle admonishments, or her sister's familiar nagging, left a void that she could not fill. And so a daring, dangerous idea formed: she would leave the castle walls and explore the village beyond, if only for a brief hour or two.
Elora's hand shot out, gripping the hem of her sleeve. "Miss Lyanna, please! The king expressly forbids leaving the castle unaccompanied. If anything happens… anything at all… it would be more than our positions at stake. It would cost our lives."
Mavis's voice trembled, though her eyes sparkled with worry and loyalty. "Yes, Lady, even with the best intentions, the streets beyond are unpredictable. The king… he will not forgive such recklessness. We could be blamed for everything that happens to you."
Lyanna turned to them, hands on her hips, a playful glint in her eyes. "I understand the danger," she said lightly, though the undertone of authority was unmistakable. "But I will not go alone. You will come with me. And I swear—no harm shall befall any of us."
Elora exchanged a hesitant glance with Mavis. "You… promise?"
"I do," Lyanna confirmed firmly, the confidence in her voice leaving no room for debate. "I may not know precisely how, but I will keep you safe. Understand me clearly?"
Reluctantly, the maids agreed, their worry tempered only slightly by her conviction. Plans were made: Lyanna would feign rest in her chambers, drawing the curtains to mask their departure, while they slipped through the grand doors and into the world outside at precisely noon.
The village spread beneath them like a living tapestry of life. Timbered homes lined cobblestone streets, markets buzzed with the clamor of merchants, and the scent of fresh bread and roasting meat wafted into the air. Lyanna's eyes drank in every detail, delighting in the vibrancy of life beyond the castle walls. They kept a careful distance from the villagers' stalls and goods, observing without touching, understanding the limits imposed upon them.
Soon, they arrived at Mavis's hometown, a small cluster of cottages tucked against the edge of the village. Her parents greeted them warmly, eyes bright with surprise and curiosity.
"Mavis! You brought friends!" her mother exclaimed, ushering them inside.
"Mother, Father," Mavis said softly, bowing slightly. "This is Lady Lyanna. Please, welcome her."
Lyanna curtsied politely, smiling. "Thank you for your kindness. It is rare to see such warmth outside the castle."
"Sit, sit," Mavis's father said, gesturing to the sturdy wooden table. "We have fresh bread and tea. You must be tired from your journey."
"Oh, thank you kindly," Lyanna replied, her eyes sparkling. "Tell me everything about this village. I've never seen such life."
The conversation unfolded naturally, warm and unhurried. Stories of village festivals, the peculiar habits of locals, and even whispered legends of dragons and spirits filled the room. Lyanna listened intently, asking questions and laughing at the tales. She sampled bread sweetened with honey, sipped the warm tea, and felt a strange comfort in the simplicity of life beyond stone walls. For a few precious hours, the absence of Alaric faded, replaced by laughter and a gentle sense of belonging.
Meanwhile, back at Velrathis Castle, the evening air had grown heavy with tension. Alaric had completed the tasks that had consumed his attention for days and returned with a singular thought in mind—Lyanna. He called the head maid, his voice smooth but edged with expectation. "Where is Lady Lyanna?"
"She is resting in her chambers, your majesty," the maid replied cautiously, aware of the subtle undercurrent in his tone.
Alaric's smile was brief, almost serene. "Very well," he murmured, moving with measured steps toward her chambers. Yet as he reached her door, a cold unease settled over him. Her scent—the subtle, lingering trace that always marked her presence—was faint, almost erased from the air. She was not there.
A low growl resonated deep in his chest, barely restrained yet enough to summon immediate attention. Instantly, servants, maids, and guards assembled, their hearts hammering in fear at the sound. Whispers of terror spread: the young lady, the king's chosen, was missing. Those entrusted with her care paled, realizing the severity of their failure. Alaric mounted the throne, eyes ablaze with fury, a storm contained in human form. His aura radiated a dangerous heat, and the tension in the castle thickened, pressing on the walls and echoing in the stone corridors.
But even amid his anger, his mind was alive with calculation, tracing the faint, fading trail of her scent. Lyanna had left unobserved, defying the castle's order, and for the first time, a thrill prickled his blood. He imagined her wandering, curious and fearless, the spark in her eyes alight with mischief. Each possibility, each imagined path, honed his focus. This was no ordinary absence; it was a declaration. Lyanna's audacity was not to be underestimated.
Alaric rose from the throne, the black cloak sweeping the floor like liquid shadow, his presence both a threat and a warning. He moved silently through the castle, a predator honing in on prey, eyes scanning every corridor, every stairwell, every window. The staff flinched as he passed, unable to meet his gaze. Each heartbeat of the castle seemed to echo in tandem with his own, the world narrowing to one singular thought: she must be found.
And yet, even in his fury, a spark of fascination kindled within him. Lyanna's cleverness, her defiance, her sheer audacity—they were qualities he could neither ignore nor suppress. A dangerous game had begun, one that would test both their limits. The castle, silent and ancient, seemed to lean in, watching. Torches flickered, shadows danced along the walls, and the air itself trembled with the promise of confrontation.
Alaric paused at the highest balcony overlooking the courtyard, wind tousling his dark hair, eyes scanning the horizon for the smallest sign of her presence. The village beyond stretched like a canvas, and he imagined her there—smiling, curious, fearless. His lips curved in a half-smile, dark and dangerous, yet tinged with a fascination he refused to name aloud.
"The game has begun," he whispered, voice low and deadly, curling like smoke in the chill night air. "And mark my words, Lyanna… nothing will escape me."
The castle held its breath.