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“How do you know we’re near your home?” I called, catching up, my mother close behind.

“Alex, I’ve lived here my whole life,” she said, laughing under her breath. “You’re the stranger. And if I really think about it… I’m pretty sure he led us along that trail on purpose.”

“What do you mean?” my mother asked.

Val rolled her eyes fondly. “I don’t know why I have to keep reminding you two, magic exists here. The path was probably enchanted. I’m sure he can do far more than that.” She mused half to herself. “Try wrapping your mind around the fact that this world might offer more than the one you left behind.” The trees began to thin, revealing an icy road ahead. “We’re close,” she said. “You two stay here. I’ll see who’s out this morning. I’ll only be a moment.”

TAINTED| CHAPTER 23

Raising Stakes

Valentina’s POV

The cool winter air danced along my skin as I sprinted away from the two. Lifting the veil attached to my dress, I let the lace fall over my eyes. The lace brushed softly against my skin as it settled into place. It clouded my vision and bits of my soul. If I had any choice, I wouldn’t wear it. But as a lady, I must follow court tradition. In Velarune, no matter the kingdom, a woman who wasn’t bonded and whose marriage hadn’t been witnessed by the royal bloodline was expected to keep her gaze hidden.

It was considered indecent for any man but her husband to see her eyes. Once he has claimed her fully, it is to be said that his essence will seep into the pool of her soul. The eyes were said to hold the soul, and to bear them before one’s betrothed was to imply impurity.

But I was bonded.

Yet the world couldn’t know it. They couldn’t because it would risk my reputation and my life. There were so many things to consider. It was tedious and tiring. Even though we were bonded, I had not been claimed. There was no ceremony under the moons, or our families gathered to watch us. But it was still true all the same. The way his scent called to me and that invisible tug between us, I knew it was.

Perhaps that would come later. It would be Alexander’s rule to make, not mine. We were still young, and the world around us was burning. It would be selfish of me to think of myself before he discovered who he was. I wanted to be his, but I knew I had to be patient.

Skidding down the gravel road, I slowed my pace. Wheel tracks had been pressed deep into the snow beside hoofprints. A warning ran through my blood at the sight. We rarely had visitors, unless it was an emergency. Our home was sacred to us. My father preferred to conduct business inside King Victor’s court rather than let others intrude on our space. If someone had come this far, it had to be urgent.

Glancing over my shoulder, I scanned the edge of the woods. Alex and his mother had already vanished from sight. But the threat of him being found sat front and center in my mind. Two parts of my world were now colliding so close together. Politics never fares well when emotions are involved. The only thing that calmed me was that I couldn’t sense the two. If I couldn’t sense them, neither could anyone else.

Slipping my fingers into my bodice, I found the bronze key that had been tucked away. The gatekeepers weren’t at their posts. They were likely already dismissed for slumber. My father, once a knight himself, always allowed his staff a full night's rest. He knew how hard duty could be, even for our kind. We had been gifted power, strength, and endurance, but rest was the last reminder of our humanity.

Even monsters grow weary.

My gaze followed the trail of prints as I slowly pushed open the gate. Just ahead stood a royal carriage of midnight indigo and gold. The wheels were massive; rims and frames forged entirely from gleaming metal. The body was enclosed, its roof crowned with golden vines curling into the shape of a coronet. Soft quilted blue drapes hung from its sides; the royal crest was embroidered in thick metallic thread that caught the pale light.

The two Windsor Greys that towed it were monstrous. They were six feet tall, thick-bodied, and clad in polished gold armor. Their coats shimmered like steel under snowlight, their manes as dark as midnight. Whoever sat inside that carriage had rank, real rank. These were not vehicles for passing nobles or wandering diplomats. They were reserved for kings, heirs, or someone powerful enough to rival either. The King himself hadn’t visited our home in years, not even for formality’s sake. I doubted he would now.

It wasn’t my father’s transport. His was crimson, a custom to match our estate. If I dared say so, his carriage was far more elegant than whoever had passed through our gates tonight.

Drawing in breath, I let the frosted air fill my lungs, steadying my frayed nerves. I had not been raised to show fear. This was nothing to fear; it was just something to manage. Even if I was uncertain who had entered our halls, one thing I did know: whoever had arrived had known something important to come at such an ungodly hour.

There was no way I could greet them like this. My dress had been covered in mud, and my hair was coated with dirt. Not to mention the strange perfume of Martha’s scent. Worse, the earthen tones of the Woukme pillared my skin like sin. I needed to bathe. Quickening my pace, I broke into a sprint as the manor came into view. The faster I washed their scents away, the sooner I could face whoever this guest was.

Once my foot touched the corridor, the door swung open. Head Maiden Elaine stood waiting, as if she’d sensed my arrival.

“Who is here?” I asked softly, my stride never faltering as I hurried toward my wing. Elaine followed close behind as we ascended the stairway.

“The Knight Vaelric,” she whispered.

Immediate distaste saturated my tongue at the name. I had met him a few times before when attending court with my father. He was directly under him, so when the Queen needed her knights a foot, my father would direct him to exactly what needed to be done. My gaze shot toward my father’s office; for a heartbeat, I nearly turned. But reason tugged me back, keeping my steps aimed toward my room instead.

Choosing my next words carefully, unsure of whose ears may pry. My tone softened, smooth as practiced innocence. “I need a bath. Can you draw one for me?” I asked as we stepped into my chambers. It was grand, warm, draped in pink and reds. My bed stood along the far wall, framed in white oak shaped like the brittle trees outside. A delicate canopy of lace floated above it, spilling low to the floor.

Above the headboard hung a portrait: my mother and me, painted in oil, both adorned in crimson and shadow, fine jewels resting along our collarbones. I couldn’t have been more than five.

I still remember the day we stood in front of those paintings. The artist’s name was John Dalemore. He was someone my mother had raved about for months before she finally secured him for our family portraits. She said that even when life felt fleeting, we had to capture the beauty of our family. Treasure the little things, she told me, while everything else feels small. It will make them even sweeter.

I caught myself lingering in the memory before turning back to Head Maiden Elaine. “Of course, Lady Corpus,” she said, bowing with a smile before disappearing into the adjoining washroom.

Elaine called me in after she drew my water. Steam poured over the lip of the marble as she helped me out of my dress. Something was comforting to know I had her to help me. My mother used to assist with the task herself, but when she went missing, Elaine graciously took over. She guided me toward the marble tub, helping me step in so I wouldn’t fall.