Rhosyn watched as another snowflake whispered past the window. She'd been watching them for the past hour, listening to how the castle staff hurried throughout the halls hidden behind her door.
Sir Caerwyn hadn't left her side ever since he'd been ordered. He crowded the room, breathing tension into the air, the way he watched her a little too closely. Rhosyn didn't blame him, he could sense she was planning something, that she was restless and that last night burrowed under her skin more than she cared to admit.
She'd stayed in the confinement of her room avoiding Karsyn. If anyone could navigate her mind, it was him. She hated to admit it, but she wouldn't let pride ruin her plans.
Clearly she wasn't welcomed in the north. Clearly she had made a mistake. Clearly she was in over her head. She wanted to go home.
Though she had burned more bridges than the Oxterean Empire had during that civil war which led to its collapse, Rhosyn was determined to survive. It was what her uncle schooled her to do, she didn't know how to quit, had never been taught how.
The north didn't want her, Edrien hadn't replied to her letters and Lord Merrow had been tearing her region apart in her absence—not anymore.
Most of Karsyn's guests had left, only a few, more familiar faces lingered. But they were leaving soon too. She knew in the way she watched staff run up and down the path along the side of the building outside her window. There was something different in the way the castle hummed and Rhosyn knew if she wanted to leave, now while everyone was distracted and the place was in disarray, would be the best moment.
One minute she was watching the winter birds flutter outside her window. The next, she was striding out her room, Caerwyn hurrying after her, screaming at her in that silent way of theirs, wondering what she was up to. But determination fuelled her and her mannerisms didn't betray her this time—otherwise she wouldn't have gotten this far.
The corridors folded and fell away as she made her way throughout the castle. She'd learnt the passages staff preferred and avoided the one leading to Karsyn's office. Rhosyn didn't even try to be quiet, Caerwyn wouldn't grant her that, with the way his boots hit stone echoing the beating of her heart. With every step, she got closer, the excitement and anxiety living sharp in her veins.
Rhosyn passed the lounge, the first room she explored of this castle. The one cramped with trinkets and treasures. Stories of lives she'd never learnt and something twisted in her chest.
"My Lady?" Caerwyn cautioned, catching the sorrow rippling through her and then it was gone.
Her steps became more sure, though Rhosyn wasn't. Every thought drowned out by the pounding of blood in her ears and the unmistakable nausea that settled in her stomach.
They cleared the threshold, her head held high as they marched toward the stable. Time was running out. She could feel it narrow in around her. A sense of urgency drilling her to hurry.
"My Lady Duchess," Caerwyn tried again and she could hear in his voice that he'd worked out what her plan consisted of.
"Not now Sir Caerwyn," she hastily dismissed, entering the quiet stable—perfect.
She'd timed it precisely, the last nobles had left, staff returning to other important tasks and no Karsyn.
Rounding the bend, Rhosyn stepped into the main hive of the stables, a young man stopping, startled as she appeared. Horses shifted in stalls, kicking up a nervous racket and Rhosyn stood taller and surer.
"Ready a horse, I'm going for a ride," she said with purpose, the stableman hesitating, eyeing Caerwyn up over her shoulder.
The knight stepped forward. "My Lady, it's not safe—"
"If you want to come, then I recommend you ready a horse as well," Rhosyn halted him swiftly. "Otherwise you can stay here, Sir Caerwyn."
He shifted, uneasy. He knew her temper. He knew her resolve. Both were unyielding.
Maybe he was contemplating whether or not he had a better chance at stopping her with words vs physically. He did like to override her when he deemed it too dangerous.
"My Lady," the stableman stuttered, somehow shrinking as he stepped forward. "I don't think His Grace would allow..."
The words struck something raw and it stoked a fire that had been simmering. Caerwyn saw it, the way her breath caught, coming more determined. The stableman probably did too, probably why his words died on his tongue.
"Do I need to ready my own horse?" she asked, her tone dead serious, her stare cutting ice.
The man swallowed, an apprehensive look weighing on his features, but he began to comply. With every wasted second, Rhosyn felt the tension of her decision twisting in the air and it tasted bitter on her tongue.
There were too many push-backs. Too many moments lost to doubt and dithering. She felt time shift, an alarming feeling that she was already too late. Silence, or whatever could be classed as silence in a stable, sat unpleasant. The stableman reaching for a saddle, Caerwyn counting risks against his guard.
Then everything shifted.
"Stop," the command tore into the space and made it smaller.
She could feel his eyes hot on her back, the stableman paled, the horses stilled. She'd ran out of time—Karsyn had caught up.
So like everything she'd faced, she did it head on. Rhosyn turned, meeting his furious stare, never had winter scorched so hot.
"Leave us," Karsyn gritted out and the stableman was all too happy to have an escape, the sound of him retreating and leaving them in eerie silence. "I should've known you'd try to leave." Nothing about him was soft today. "I just can't believe you'd even let her." He threw over his shoulder at Caerwyn who seethed inward.
"No one 'let's' me do anything," she bit back, her stare burning just as hot.
There wasn't much space between them, but he didn't make a move to take any of it as he was known to do. It was like he deliberately kept his distance. Which only crawled cold across her skin.
"Of course not, Rhosyn. You just give yourself so readily to your enemies," his words came quick and harsh.
"What, like when I gave myself to you?"
She wasn't sure if they were even thinking about their words anymore. Everything came sharp and sudden, and Rhosyn felt how her words curdled the atmosphere.
If she thought Karsyn was furious before, now he was deadly dangerous. Everything folded away neatly behind a visage she couldn't decipher. He went completely cold.
"You're not leaving."
It was final—decided.
Caerwyn tensed, feeling the blows of their words lash back and forth. He knew Rhosyn. Knew how she'd rebelled just for the sake of it sometimes. She was stubborn, it was the core of her nature. But when coming up against Karsyn, she felt evenly matched.
"So, you'd lock me up and wait for someone to pick me off?"
A tendon twitched in his jaw and he dragged down a deep breath—pretending not to hear her words.
"The reason why I'm overriding you, is because you'd be heading to your own death if you leave," Karsyn's voice held surprisingly level and Rhosyn couldn't help the eye roll it provoked. "I read your Marriage Clause, Rhosyn—which I need back by the way. If you die without having two sons, the king gains your titles. You signed your own death warrant when you signed that clause, Rhosyn."
The words refused to slide off her completely. It planted doubt, sowed hesitation, primed her for questions she couldn't afford. Rhosyn was sure the words of the Marriage Clause didn't spell danger, but she had grown bored with the legal terms and countless couriers.
"You miss things when you skim," Karsyn offered her, almost gently and Rhosyn flushed. With rage or embarrassment, she wasn't sure.
Tension twisted into some new, but ire still stained the very air she consumed. He had a way of lighting a whole room on fire and in the next breath softening everything. Rhosyn hated it.
Karsyn took a step forward. "You've not betrayed yourself—not entirely."
The words tugged at something familiar and recent.
"Look, I know you don't see me as a friend—"
"Betrayed myself..." she muttered, remembering how her hand spun the words out on paper.
A letter. To Edrien. One of the many she sent...
Karsyn paused, watching the thoughts click into place.
"You read my letters?" But saying it out loud didn't help. It crawled up her arms like spiders and slipped around her shoulders like a snake.
He sighed, already regretting his words.
Her stomach sank, an odd sensation slipping through her like fingers through hair and she felt sick with the knowing. All of her words and worries, stolen by his eyes.
Now it all made sense why she wasn't receiving any replies. Because they weren't ever being delivered...
Rhosyn instantly felt the fight squeeze out of her and it left her numb. She'd been contained, just as Lady Thorne said. Rhosyn just wasn't listening. They were.
It was pointless—most things were when the game was already lost. She turned, walking, feeling the movement, but not entirely registering anything else.
"Where are you going?"
"To my bedroom," her words dripped sarky, "or am I to be confined in a cell, Your Grace?"
He read her personal words meant for Edrien, and strangely she was the one who felt in the wrong. They treated her like a spy. Their hostage. But she felt a strange disloyalty—though she didn't know who to.
The corridors tunnelled around her and she stepped back into her cage—Dagmar Castle.