She turned to him, raising her brows.
He cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I can hardly believe…why.” His jaw clenched with anger. “When?”
She shut her eyes. “Three days’ time.”
Three days of freedom remaining.
If what little she had could ever be called freedom.
“Eldrik is as cruel as they come. He is not fit to rule a tavern, let alone a kingdom. Many of my company were felled with his blade. Yet your father means to buy peace for Argyle by selling you?”
Alora laughed airily, her stomach churning bitterly. “At last I will be of some use to him.”
“No, I refuse to accept that!” Caelum took her shoulders. “You can’t marry him, Alora. He is so dreadful, I fear what he would do to you. We can run. Say the word and I will take you far away from this godsforsaken place.”
The promise struck something fragile in her chest, a longing she had buried so deep she dared not touch it.
Her heart trembled. “Would you risk treason for me?”
“I would,” he said firmly.
For a moment Alora let herself imagine it. Freedom. A life not shackled by crowns and curses, before the weight of duty smothered the thought. Hope was a dangerous indulgence, and it would get him killed.
Alora slipped out of his hold. “You care too much, Caelum. About Argyle and the people. It would weigh on your heart to turn your back on them. I can’t let you live with that guilt for the rest of your life.”
A very short life.
If her father didn’t send his knights after them, Calveron would.
Caelum’s face fell. “Alora…”
She turned to go but he caught her sleeve.
Remembering his place, he let go. “Then…you will accept this?”
For as long as she could remember, her life had been bartered away by others; her father’s command, Delphi’s schemes, now Eldrik’s claim. A princess to be passed like coin, her worth measured by the peace her hand might purchase. But beneath the weight of resignation, something sharper ignited. A spark, small and perilous, whispering that this washerlife, and no crown nor curse could strip that away.
The air stirred, leaves fluttering against stone.
“No, I do not,” Alora dared to say aloud, and her voice fogged into the air, giving shape to her first defiance. “I have three days to convince my father otherwise.”
Her gaze drifted, unbidden, to the dark peak looming beyond the city. If fate would not bend for her, perhaps the mountain would.
Alora flicked Caelum’s nose playfully and sauntered onward through the barren garden, humming to herself.
He hushed her, eyeing the dark patches within the trees. “Don’t sing that song, Alora.”
“Why not?” she laughed.
“The people fear this curse was brought on by the God of Shadows. To sing his song is to call him, seeking a bargain.”
“Do you think it’s true then? That there might be a shadow in Karag Dûr who grants wishes if you sing to him?”
“I don’t know.” Caelum shivered. “I suppose only the desperate would dare to find out.”
Back in her chamber, Alora stood before the open window, the night air tugging at her hair. The jagged silhouette of Karag Dûr loomed on the horizon, black against the starlit sky. Her father would not hear her. Caelum could not save her. No one would.
Unless…
