As the day wore on, the sun began its descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows on the village. Aiden’s hands were slick with sweat and blood, the blisters on his palms burst and raw. He should have felt something—relief, exhaustion, anything. But all he felt was a yawning void where his resolve should have been. The thought of Katie waiting for him, her heart full of hope, tore at him with every passing minute.
But he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t stand at the altar and promise her a future he wasn’t sure he could give her. He couldn’t let her marry a man who was haunted by his past, who feared that the darkness within him would one day consume them both.
“She’s better off without me,” he whispered again, trying to convince himself of the truth of those words.
Finally, when his muscles could no longer lift the axe and his hands were too battered to grip the handle, Aiden made his way to the local pub. The tavern was a modest place, the air thick with the scent of ale and roasted meat. It was the kind of place where the villagers gathered after a long day’s work, where they shared stories and laughter, where the worries of the world were left at the door.
But Aiden wasn’t there for the company. He came because he needed a place to hide, a place where he could lose himself in the crowd. He approached the innkeeper, a burly man with a gruff demeanor, and asked for a room.
“Just for the night,” Aiden said, keeping his voice low. “I’ll pay whatever ye ask.”
Aiden sank down onto the bed, cradling his aching hands in his lap. He could feel the blisters throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his chest and the guilt that racked his soul.
For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what might have been. He saw himself standing beside Katie at the altar, saw the love in her eyes as they exchanged vows. He imagined the life they could have had together, a life filled with laughter, children, and love that could have healed the wounds of his past.
But it was just a fantasy, a cruel trick of the mind. The reality was that he was here, alone in a small room, hiding from the very thing he wanted most. He had convinced himself that he was doing it for her, that he was sparing her the pain of being shackled to a man like him. But deep down, he knew the truth—he had run because he was afraid that he wasn’t enough, that he would never be enough.
As the night wore on and the sounds from the tavern below began to fade, Aiden lay on the hard mattress and stared up at the ceiling. The room was dark, but the darkness inside him was even deeper.
He closed his eyes, trying to silence the thoughts that plagued him, but they wouldn’t leave him alone. They circled in his mind, relentless and unforgiving, reminding him of the life he had turned his back on and the love he had walked away from.
In the silence of the room, Aiden made a vow to himself. He would stay away from the castle, from Katie, until he was sure that he could be the man she deserved. He would not let his fear and guilt dictate his life any longer. He would find a way to make peace with his past, to heal the wounds that festered within him. And when he was ready, when he was sure, he would return to her.
But until then, he would remain in the shadows, a man with no name, no past, and no future. He was a man who had lost his way, but who was determined to find it again.
Aiden’s hands were blistered and cracked, the skin splitting open in places where the axe handle had worn through the calluses. His back ached from the constant strain of chopping wood, hauling it and tending to any other work that the villagers required. He had thrown himself into the work with a fervor that bordered on desperation, trying to outrun his thoughts. But no matter how hard he worked or how raw his hands became, the sorrow and fear never dissipated.
It had been nearly a dozen days since he had disappeared from the castle, leaving Katie standing at the altar with no explanation or farewell. The guilt gnawed at him relentlessly, turning his stomach every time he thought of her. And he thought of her often—too often.
Each night, when he finally collapsed onto the narrow bed in the small room above the pub, he expected his nightmares to be of the sea, of the waves that had once threatened to pull him under and drown him. But instead, his dreams were filled with images of Katie—her eyes wide with hurt, her voice trembling as she called out to him, asking why he had left her.
He had barely slept, his mind too consumed with the weight of his decision. Even during the day, as he worked alongside the villagers, the thoughts were there, lurking just beneath the surface. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face and heard her voice.
He couldn’t escape her.
CHAPTER 24
One evening,after a long day of chopping wood for the villagers, Aiden found himself at the pub again. The innkeeper, a gruff man named Hugh, had grown accustomed to seeing him there every night nursing a tankard of ale in silence. Tonight was no different. Aiden took his usual spot in the corner, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion, his hands trembling slightly from the pain.
As he sat there staring into his drink, an old man shuffled over to the table and eased himself into the chair opposite him. The man was a regular at the pub, always there with a pint in hand, ready to offer advice or a story to anyone who would listen. He had a weathered face, lines etched deep into his skin from years of working in the fields, and his hair was thin and white, barely clinging to his scalp.
“Tom,” the old man greeted, his voice raspy but kind. “Ye look like ye’ve got the weight of the world on yer shoulders.”
Aiden looked up, surprised that the man had chosen to sit with him. He had always kept to himself, avoiding conversation as much as possible. But there was something about the old man’s eyes, something knowing and gentle, that made Aiden pause.
“Just tired, is all,” Aiden replied, his voice rough from disuse. He took a sip of his ale, hoping to end the conversation before it began.
But the old man wasn’t deterred. “Aye, I’ve seen that look afore. ‘Tis nae just tiredness, though, is it? Ye’re runnin’ from somethin’.”
Aiden’s hand tightened around the tankard, the old man’s words hitting closer to home than he was comfortable with. He didn’t respond and stared intently into the dark liquid as if it held the answers he was seeking.
The old man chuckled softly, shaking his head. “We all have our demons, lad. Some of us carry them on our backs for so long that we forget what ‘tis like to stand up straight. But runnin’ from them… well, that only makes them stronger.”
Aiden glanced up, meeting the man’s gaze. There was something in those old, tired eyes, a wisdom that came from years of hardship, of facing down whatever life threw at him and coming out on the other side.
“What if ‘tis nae just demons?” Aiden asked quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “What if ‘tis yer own past, yer own mistakes, that ye’re runnin’ from?”
The old man leaned back in his chair, taking a slow sip of his ale before answering. “Yer past is a part of ye, whether ye like it or nae. ‘Tis shaped ye, made ye who ye are. But it doesnae have to define ye. Ye can learn from it, grow from it. Or ye can let it drag ye down into the mud and stop ye from ever movin’ forward.”
