Days lost their colour and light drained from the sky earlier and earlier. Rhosyn couldn't find any joy in any one thing—not even many things. Boredom sunk in and bled the estate dry. She thumbed books, their spines embossed with titles she'd found pointless reading, even embarrassed to be caught contemplating. But something ached to be entertained and she couldn't find it here.
"You want to talk about him?" Elin's voice chirped from over Rhosyn's shoulder. She clinked china cups with silver spoons, preparing them a soothing tea.
If anyone was exhausted by Rhosyn's silence, it was her. But words seemed like a waste of breath.
"You know I don't," Rhosyn bit back, but the bite had gone.
"Well, I think you really do need to talk to someone." Elin's upbeat optimism, strangely annoying. "And eventually you're going to talk to him again when it's the wedding—"
Rhosyn flinched and she didn't mean to.
"—or vow making..." Elin tiptoed around the phrasing.
"Maybe I can mail him my vows," Rhosyn replied dryly and it sounded fitting for their chapter—to be bound to each other via parchment. And she liked the idea of not having to face him again. Even forever was too soon.
"You've been bored," her maid lamented, worry creeping into her features, her performance beginning to crumble.
Elin placed a tea cup in front of Rhosyn, worrying a lip as she turned to her own cup.
Rhosyn sighed. "I'll probably die of boredom before I have to see him again—with any luck..."
"I thought he was easy on the eye," Elin fished. "Besides, we both know he's the cure—"
Her words cut off abruptly, a choke clamping down.
"You shouldn't talk while you're drinking, Elin—"
Rhosyn half turned in her seat to find her maid not there. Leaning over the back of her seat, she discovered Elin laying sprawled across the floor in the most awkward way. Hand clutching at her throat, her body already going still.
Without wasting any time, Rhosyn was up from her seat and down at her side, pulling her friend into her lap. Tears stung in her eyes. Panic living in her chest. And her thoughts were going too fast for her to hear any of them.
"Caerwyn!" she pleaded, he was already halfway across the room and still closing the space.
She needed to do something—now.
Focusing on the maid in her arms, Rhosyn lifted Elin's chin, opened her mouth and stuck her fingers to the back of her throat. Without lingering on how invasive she was being, Elin's body convulsed and vomit heaved from her.
A cough. A sighing breath. She was breathing now, normal, strong breaths.
The contents that speckled her skirt and littered the floor assaulted her nose, acid tasting in the air.
Caerwyn's arms were already pulling at her. "We need to go—now."
"But, Elin..."
"Master Oswin knows, a doctor is coming, they'll look after her, My Lady—but we have to go," he snapped, urgency in his voice drilling a new sense through her. "This was an attempt on your life, My Lady, when they learn they missed..." he didn't finish the sentence. Didn't have to.
Men came and took Elin from her gently. Rhosyn was pulled away by her knight and everything flittered into a daze. Her feet didn't feel like they touched the ground, and maybe they didn't for Caerwyn's grip on her arm and constant pull.
Halls flashed past. Voices snatched away. She felt like she was underwater, and the world around her dampened in all the ways being submerged and drowned.
Next thing, she was aware of a horse brushing its head against her and the soft tuft of its mane tickling her cheek. It was already saddled, two mounts. There wasn't time for protocol—protection.
Caerwyn helped hoist her onto the horse's back before swinging up onto his. Hooves thundered as they charged out and the sudden weight of the past five minutes hit her. She didn't even know if Elin would survive—and it was all because of her.
Time dragged, deceiving as for the sun who refused to shine, and when it did, it slipped away just as fast. Everything blurred and numbed around the edges. Rhosyn's legs ached from the saddle, her hands rubbed raw by the leather reins and she wondered if her armour was on, because she couldn't feel.
It wasn't until the teeth rose from the earth, a crown of mountains, did she realise which way they headed. Caerwyn was taking her north. Comical to think that she'd be safer up there. Comical if she could feel the light ironic laugh tickling her. Instead, all she felt was the darkness.
Rhosyn glanced once more over her shoulder, to the south, to the palace where a prince should've been. And then she turned north.
They rode past small villages, towns, the people curiously watching the southern strangers continue further north. The cold seeped in in a different way up here. It slipped in between the folds of her dress and played for a reaction along her bare skin. It wrestled a shiver from her and she hated that it won.
By the time they reached the castle, the sun was long forgotten and exhaustion had long since become a new friend. Her mouth cracked, parched, and stomach had forgotten how to ask for food. It wasn't safe to purchase food. To show their faces. To give their enemy another try.
The town sat quiet. What little people remained awake peeked out their windows and pondered on the strangers who crept through their streets.
A castle rose before her and she wondered why the south didn't have structures like this. It was beautiful and grand in all the ways a palace was, though the bricks sat with more purpose, to shield and protect rather than to adorn and impress. Yet even the promise of safety had a way of impressing people. Something left standing after a vicious attack. That was commendable, even by opponents.
Their hooves clip on cobblestone and a face appeared from a bright doorway.
"His Grace isn't home at the moment," she answered a question they'd not voiced, and Rhosyn was glad.
Whether she was glad for not having to try to word her tired tongue around her dried mouth, or because it meant she could avoid the duke... even if it was for just another minute, hour, day.
"We've been riding for days," Caerwyn replied to the woman, his horse restless now that they've stopped. "My Lady needs to rest, I can look for beds in the inn—"
"It's urgent," the staff said, seeing the strain in the knight's eyes and the lack of feeling in Rhosyn's. "I'll send word to my master. You should come in and rest, in the worst case, I can send someone to secure you a bed in the local inn." She curtsied and stepped aside so they may pass.
Caerwyn slipped off his horse first, rushing to Rhosyn's side. She hadn't expected it to be difficult, she'd dismounted many of times.
Her body hollowed, and as her foot met the ground, the world spun. Her horse jerked away and if Caerwyn hadn't caught her frame with strong hands, she would've melted to the floor right there.
He supported her as they made their way into the castle. Corridors once used to direct enemies in circles, now only chaperoned them into decorated spaces and finally into a room that was all too busy.
Tapestries ran the walls where shelves didn't line them. Trinkets of peculiar sculptures stood along one unit, crystal containers for spirits displayed on another. Carpets crisscrossed the stone floor, bringing warmth and a chandelier hung from the ceiling, candles twinkling in a pretty way.
It was different. An onslaught of people's lives, a multitude of eras and stories adorning the room. Rhosyn pondered on an elaborately vine stained bow, admiring the craftsmanship to make something as simple as a curved wooden stick bent over string, absolutely breathtaking.
The maid dropped off refreshments while they waited, but Rhosyn was lost in the chronicle of trinkets.
Rhosyn's fingers brushed the polished wood of the charming piano, a faint distant sound touched her and with the harsh clash of shoes on wood, it was gone.
"You play?" Karsyn inquired, his breath a little heavy—he'd been rushing.
"A little, though I prefer to listen," she replied, turning to face him and her eyes catching on his middle.
She could feel his gaze on her, watched as he crossed the room, but her eyes never rose—if anything, they flickered away. He came within a few steps and halted.
"Your Grace," Caerwyn spoke up, when she failed to. "There was an attempted poisoning—"
"Sir Caerwyn," Rhosyn scolded, fixing him with a hard stare.
He so readily handed out their weaknesses that she couldn't keep up, but that was probably to be expected. Caerwyn had led her here after all.
Karsyn stared at her and she caught a wary expression crossing his face briefly, before turning her head away. She felt too raw, hollow in the way she stood turned into herself. It was as if she was chained up and strung down, the weight of it all a terrible thing. But it was the fact that she couldn't hide her emotions in her face, and that made her feel very vulnerable.
"Are you alright, Lady Valewyn?" Karsyn's voice implored, a step too close and a waft of perfume assaulted her.
She faltered a step herself and his reaching hand froze midair.
He had been busy, elsewhere, with someone else and she'd ruined it.
When silence hung a moment too long to be called comfortable and the duke let his hand drop, it was Caerwyn who took a step forward.
"We need somewhere to stay," the knight stated, importance weighed on his words.
"Of course," Karsyn replied, his voice sounding louder when he turned back to her. "For as long as you need."
If Rhosyn wasn't mistaken, he sounded concerned. But that would be preposterous. She had no choice yet again, Caerwyn had wrestled that from her and as far as she knew, the reason why she was here was because of a plot the north conjured.
"May I be dismissed, Your Grace, I am tired from the travels," she almost gritted out, but most of her fire was gone and she felt strangely empty.
"Of course, Lady Valewyn," he reassured. "Kaly, can you show Lady Valewyn to our guest room and prepare the one next to it for her knight."
"Yes, Your Grace," Kaly answered from the doorway.
"Thank you, Your Grace." Rhosyn curtsied and took a route out of the room that didn't cross his path, meeting Kaly and allowing her to guide her.
"Your Grace," Caerwyn murmured behind her, "a moment of your time if—" His words lost to distance.