Coward, I thought bitterly. Monster.
I walked faster.
I didn’t know where I was going. Only that I couldn’t stop.
The door clicked shut behind me.
I stood alone in the cold hush of my room, the scent of lavender and stone trailing in my wake. The letters burned beneath my cloak like coals pressed to my ribs.
I didn’t pace. I didn’t panic. I moved.
Near the fireplace, there was a seam in the wall. I’d noticed it during my first night here, where the stonework dipped ever so slightly behind the carved screen. I knelt and pressed along the edge, fingers trembling, until I found a groove. The stone shifted under pressure.
The hollow behind it was small enough to tuck something thin and fragile.
The sound of my heart pounded in my ears as I slid the letters inside, still wrapped in the cloth with my family’s crest. The moment the stone clicked back into place, it was as if I had buried a body. The weight of the secret settled like earth on a grave.
I stood slowly, brushing dust from my skirt.
The room was silent, but not still. My thoughts howled louder than any wind.
Was it enough?
The letters named him not in signature, but in implication. The wax seals were cracked, and some of the handwriting could be challenged. There were no witnesses, no confession. Just words.
Is that all it takes to end a life? To unravel a peace?
I crossed to the window and placed my palm against the glass. Caerthaine stretched beyond in perfect rows of icy beauty, every spire and square washed in moonlight.
My reflection stared back. I saw my pale skin, hollow eyes, wrapped in silk that didn’t belong to me.
This kingdom was a construct of appearances and calculated power, where the masks had been worn so long they had begun to rot into the very skin.
Would they believe me? Or would they say I’d wandered where I shouldn’t have? That I was weak. Or hysterical.
The wind rose outside, rattling the panes.
The tears refused to fall once again. Instead, a seismic rift tore through my core, leaving a jagged fissure between who I was and who I would become.
Behind me, the fire whispered in its hearth.
If I stayed silent, I would marry him. If I spoke, I risked everything.
My fingers curled at my sides.
There was no safe path. There had never been.
But in the morning, I would choose one anyway.
I lit a single candle.
I sat at the edge of my bed, the silk hem of my nightgown clinging to my ankles, and pulled the worn journal from beneath my pillow.
Its spine was cracked now, corners curled from damp and travel. But the pages still held me like an old friend. A version of me I wasn’t sure still existed.
I opened to a fresh page. Dipped the quill. Let the words bleed out, steady as breath:
I always thought betrayal would come with shouting. With anger. With something loud.
