“I’m nae a child, Harald,” she snapped, her voice sharp with a desperation that made him want to pull her into his arms and scream.
“Nay,” Harald said, turning to face her fully. “I ken. Again, I’m just askin’ ye tae be safe. If the world burns taenight, I need tae ken where ye are.”
Enya’s nostrils flared. She looked as if she wanted to scream back at him. He could already feel the heat of it rising in her, that stubborn fire she kept banked until it lashed out.
Then she whispered, almost defeated, “Aye.”
Harald did not let himself react. He gave a single, measured nod and turned away, already taking the stairs two at a time.
For a moment, Enya stayed perfectly still. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her expression calm. But inside, her mind was a screaming wreck.
Finley.
The certainty settled in her gut like a stone dropped into a well. She had known his urgency would sharpen as the wedding drew closer, but this? This was a shadow of war.
Harald’s face flashed before her. He’d looked like he had been struck in the heart.
The guilt was a physical weight, crushing the air from her lungs. She felt like a murderer standing over a body that hadn't fallen yet.
She looked down at her cup. The wine trembled faintly near the rim, and she tightened her fingers until the trembling ceased. She finally rose, with the quiet grace of a woman seeking rest.
Claricia reached out, her hand warm against Enya’s cold skin. “Get some sleep,” she said gently. “Ye’ll need it.”
Enya managed a smile, though it felt like it would crack her face. “I’ll try.”
She made it to her room on sheer, brutal discipline. The moment the door clicked shut, the mask shattered. She pressed her palm against the heavy wood, leaning her forehead against the grain, breathing in slow, jagged pulls.
She was drowning.
The thought of the midnight meeting was a nightmare now. She didn't want to go. She hated Finley for the child he had used, for the ship that was missing, for the trap he was weaving aroundher. But if she didn't go, she would never know the truth. If she didn't go, she couldn't stop him.
Amelia knocked a moment later. She slipped inside, her eyes wide.
“He’s wi’ the lairds,” Amelia whispered, voice trembling. “They shut the door. There’s guards posted every ten paces, Enya.”
Enya didn't answer immediately. A wave of intense, sickening shame washed over her. She was preparing to slink through the shadows like a common thief in the house of a man who had offered her a place at his hearth. Sneaking out now, while the island was on the verge of fire, felt like a second betrayal—one that left a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth.
But she looked at the window, at the dark, oppressive tree line waiting for her, and the shame turned into a cold, hard necessity. If she stayed, the secret would fester until it killed them all. If she stayed, Finley would keep using her as a pawn. She had no choice.
She drew a long, shaky breath and looked at Amelia. Her jaw locked so tight the bone ached. “Then we have time.”
Amelia’s mouth parted, a plea dying on her lips. “Enya, dinnae. Please. If they catch us taenight after?—”
“If I dinnae go, Amelia, what then?” Enya asked, her voice a low, fierce hiss. “He sent a child. Achild. If I stay here, Finley will keep pulling threads until the whole keep uncurls. He’ll dae something even worse tae get me attention.”
Amelia’s hand found Enya’s arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Ye’re scared. Ye’re shaking.”
Enya let out a short, humorless breath that almost looked like a sob. “Aye. I’m terrified. Now help me.”
They stood there for a heartbeat, two women bound by a lifetime of secrets, leaning into each other in the gloom. Enya felt the heat of Amelia’s hand and realized with a pang that if she fell, she was taking this girl down with her.
They waited until the keep settled into the deeper stillness of night. The corridors grew quiet, the guards’ heavy boots falling into predictable, rhythmic thuds.
Amelia moved first. She cracked the door a handspan, her whole body taut as a bowstring as she listened to the shadows.
“Clear,” Amelia breathed.
Enya pulled her dark cloak tight, the hood a shroud for her face. She stepped into the darkness, leaving the only safety she had ever known behind.
