The next day, the discussion about my parents and the suitors lingered heavily in my mind. Each time the door swung open, my heart leapt with the fear that it might be my parents—or a suitor coming to claim me.
I was restless and jumpy, so I decided to walk outside in hopes of taking my mind off my parents.
I stepped out of the house with slow, uneven, hesitant steps. My thoughts were clouded, and my head ached. I felt like the only gloomy cloud beneath a bright, untroubled sky.
The guards noticed me and exchanged confused looks—perhaps because I had never chosen to leave the house of my own will.
"I thought I might move around a little," I said with a faint smile. "Surprising, is it?"
They opened the gates without question, and I passed through, drawing my veil over my face as I stepped outside.
As I walked through the village, I noticed how busy the atmosphere was. I did not know where I was going, yet I continued to wander aimlessly. After a while, I decided it was time to turn back—when something caught my attention.
It was something I had never noticed before, yet it felt oddly familiar. A marking had been imprinted on a horse. It read 'Mile'.
I found myself staring at it, unmoving, until someone brushed past me, the sudden push snapping me out of the trance I was in.
"Watch it, miss," the man said as he passed.
I bowed slightly and drew my veil further over my face as I continued walking. Yet the imprint on the horse lingered in my mind—it felt far too familiar, though I could not recall where I had seen it before. I thought so hard as I walked that my head began to ache even worse.
The village remained lively and crowded, but my sense of direction slowly slipped away, dulled by the pounding in my head. I kept walking until I collided with someone once more—and to my dismay, it was the same man from earlier.
"Are you trying to die on the streets?" he snapped. "If you wish to do so, don't do it beside me, you mad woman," he added as he stepped closer.
I merely lowered my gaze as he spoke, my head still spinning.
"My apologies," I said at last, my voice barely above a whisper. I attempted to step past him, but once again, the man stopped me.
He used his finger to push me back. Panic surged through me as my head spun, and still, the man would not let me leave.
"You think apologies will do after wasting my time?" he said with a chuckle.
Every word he spoke irked me—the way he addressed me, the confidence in his voice. "Women like you," he continued, "are meant to be slaves, or better yet, to bear children year after year."
He shoved me again.
Anger rose within me, sudden and uncontrollable. I lashed out, kicking him and twisting his arm. A loud cracking sound followed, leaving everyone utterly shocked. The man let out a sharp cry.
"My arm! It's broken!"
I stepped back instinctively as the crowd slowly began to move away from me,fear and disbelief written across their faces. Then, without warning, someone grabbed my arm and pulled me away swiftly. Before I could react, I found myself out of the village square—standing beside the young lad from the ceremony the other night.
We were alone in the corner he had dragged me to. He stared at me, but his expression shifted when I suddenly clutched my head, the pain returning sharply.
"What's wrong?" he asked calmly.
I took a slow breath and forced myself to stand upright. "I'm fine," I said. "I think everything that just happened made me feel lightheaded."
"Sit," he said, his voice still calm.
I sat, lowering myself onto the bench. He sat beside me, leaving just enough space between us.
"The moves you pulled back there were impressive," he said quietly.
I did not reply. Deep down, I knew I had not realized I was capable of such a thing, and guilt weighed heavily on me for what I had done. My thoughts spiraled, restless and uneasy.
Suddenly, my veil slipped from my face. I did not notice at once. Grey eyes, long brown curls tipped with red, pale pink lips—my face laid bare to the open air.
He stared at me.
"You did a lot of covering up on the day of the ceremony," he said, curiosity in his voice. "I wouldn't have recognized you if not for your voice and your eyes. Let me guess—a wig? Some paint on your face?"
I drew my veil back over my face and ignored his questions. Without a word, I stood and began to walk back home.
"You don't look like someone who can walk home alone," he said casually, as if this were perfectly normal. "You could collapse… and those men might come back for revenge. They'd probably beat you. So, let me walk you home."
I picked up my pace, walking faster and faster, but he fell into step behind me.
"A woman of few words, I guess," he remarked, keeping up easily. "That's you, isn't it?"
My mind kept urging me not to run. The young lad continued to pester me, and I felt utterly disturbed by his presence. He only added to the ache that had lingered earlier.
After walking for a while, I finally reached home—yet he was still following behind me.
"You should leave now," I said, stopping at the gates.
"Just so you know, my name is Tristan.," he replied calmly. "May I know yours?"
I looked at him for a brief moment before answering. "No."
I stepped inside at once and asked the guards to shut the doors.
As I stepped inside, unfamiliar maids were positioned near the entrance. My heart sank—what I had feared most was now reality.
I walked slowly toward the dining room and froze. Two people sat there whose faces I barely registered in my memory.
Then, the woman I had seen in pictures rose from her seat and approached me. Her voice was gentle, yet commanding:
"Welcome, my daughter. It's been a long time."