Please, let him leave. Please, dinnae let him look.
At last, the door opened. His steps receded down the corridor, the latch settling with a final, hollow click. Silence returned, but it was a heavy, haunted thing.
Enya did not move until the quiet felt deep enough to drown in. When she finally eased away from the cupboard, her limbs were so unsteady she nearly collapsed. Amelia let out a shaky, jagged breath, her eyes huge in the gloom.
“Saints preserve us,” Amelia whispered, voice trembling.
Enya pressed a finger to her lips, though relief trembled through her too, leaving her lightheaded. She nodded once, then guided Amelia back to the door, slipping into the corridor and closing it with delicate precision,
They moved quickly, keeping to the shadows like ghosts. Only when they reached the stairs did Enya allow herself a breath deep enough to burn. Her hands were shaking so hard she had to curl them into fists.
Protection, nae conquest.
The words repeated, unrelenting. Harald’s ledgers lay heavy in her mind, each careful note another weight against the task her brother had set her. She had gone there seeking a reason to hate him. Instead, she had found a man who had done nothing to deserve her betrayal.
She lifted her chin and kept walking, her face a mask of composed stone. But inside, her heart was screaming, torn between the ghost of her brother and the living, breathing pull of the man she was supposed to ruin.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Enya had been awake since before the first bell. She lay paralyzed in the gray light while the keep shifted beneath her like a waking beast. The footsteps in the corridor were different that morning—heavier, jagged, and threaded with sharp purpose.
She stared at the stone ceiling until the shadows blurred into a single, crushing weight. She exhaled a breath that felt like breaking glass and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Whatever came that day would come whether she stood or hid, and she was tired of hiding.
Her stomach twisted into a knot of cold wire.
It wasn't just the wedding anymore; thepactwas descending. Two other lairds were arriving with their wives, bringing a fresh batch of watchful eyes and political blades. The thought of more strangers whispering about theodd girlwith the mismatched eyes made her throat tighten with a suffocating spark of nerves.
But beneath that fear, a deeper doubt was festering in her marrow. Her mind kept returning to the study—to the maps thatweren't meant for invasion, but for safety. She had gone there to unmask a monster. She needed a reason to justify the betrayal that would buy her brother’s life.
Finley was waiting her logical voice whispered. But the words felt hollow against the memory of Harald’s weary, bone-deep exhale. Every instinct screamed at her to stop and sink into the warmth he offered. But the ghost of her brother's face held her captive. She was spiraling, caught in a freefall between a duty that felt like a crime and an affection that felt like a death sentence.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Amelia’s voice drifted through the wood, a low, steady sound that pulled Enya back from the edge of her thoughts. “Enya?”
Enya opened the door and Amelia slipped inside. She was a whirlwind of nervous energy, her eyes wide and her hands already reaching for the heavy velvet of Enya’s gown.
“The lairds of the pact will be here by midday,” Amelia said, her voice high and breathless. “Their wives, too. The yard is already crawling with their guards, Enya. There are banners I dinnae even recognize.”
Enya stood like a statue as Amelia began to fuss, her fingers brisk and grounding. She pulled at Enya's sleeves, smoothed the bodice, and began to work on her hair with quick, jerky movements. Enya’s pulse skittered like a trapped bird. Every time Amelia’s hand brushed her skin, it was the only thing keeping her from floating away into the cold gray of her own terror.
Amelia stopped, a comb halfway through a dark braid. She peered into the mirror, catching Enya’s eyes. “Are ye alright? Ye’re as pale as the morning mist.”
“I’m fine,” Enya said. The lie felt thin, like parchment stretched too tight.
Amelia huffed, a small, knowing sound. She didn't go back to the hair. Instead, she squeezed Enya’s shoulders, her grip a solid anchor. “I can tell ye’re afraid. Yer heart is beating so hard I can see it in yer throat.”
“It’s just… the eyes,” Enya whispered, her voice paper-thin. “The strangers. They’ll look at me and see a curse.”
“Let them look,” Amelia said fiercely. She went back to work, her fingers weaving the hair into a crown. “They’ll see a woman who stands taller than them all. Harald’s chosen ye, Enya. That’s all the shield ye need.”
The mention of his name was a knife to Enya’s heart. Harald,the man who was a shield for his people. The man she had spent the night trying to find a reason to ruin.
Amelia stepped back, patting a final braid into place. A small, proud smile lit her face. “There. Ye’ll be the most beautiful one there. Nay laird’s wife will be able tae hold a candle tae ye.”
Enya looked at her reflection—the dark hair, the pale skin, the mismatched eyes—and let out a bitter, jagged smile. It didn't reach her eyes. “A beautiful prize fer a man I’m meant tae destroy.”
Amelia’s smile faded. “Enya?—”
