The wind rustled through the valley as Carmine sat beneath a broken tree, her scarlet hair falling across her face. The torn carriage behind her was silent now, the guards still unconscious. She stared into the distance, but her mind drifted inward.
She remembered.
As a girl from a low-class family, choices were few. You became a maid. Or you became something else.
At seven, her father died — a quiet man with calloused hands and a gentle voice. Her mother, desperate and broken, sold her to a merchant who promised coin and comfort.
He gave neither.
Carmine was locked in a cellar, made to scrub floors, serve guests, and smile when it hurt. She learned silence. She learned fear.
One night, she ran.
She didn't stop until her feet bled and her voice was gone.
She was found by a traveling nun who brought her to an orphanage near the border. There, she was taught to read, to sew, to fight. She learned how to disappear. How to listen. How to survive.
At twelve, she was sent to the Viremont palace.
She met Elaine — a girl with fire in her eyes and silk in her voice. They were different, but something clicked. Carmine became her shadow, her confidante.
But she was also trained.
Not just as a maid, but as a spy. A battle companion. A protector.
That's how she survived.
That's how she endured.
She met Francis in the training halls — a quiet boy with sharp eyes and a heart too big for his chest. He spoke of the crowned king with reverence, and Carmine saw him cry at the burial, his hands trembling as he placed a single white rose on the grave.
They were ten.
They bonded over silence, over duty, over dreams they couldn't name.
Then Viremont moved away, dragging Elaine with her, sealing the engagement between Colden and Elaine.
Carmine stayed.
She watched Colden grow. She watched him drift. She watched herself drift.
And somewhere in the quiet, she felt the first spark of love — not loud, not wild, but steady. Like a candle in a storm.
She stood now, brushing dirt from her coat.
It was time to go home.
At the castle gates, Marco adjusted his satchel, eyes scanning the horizon. Colden stood beside him, map in hand, Francis checking coordinates.
They were ready to leave.
The door creaked open.
Carmine stepped through.
They froze.
She froze.
Her eyes filled.
"You were coming for me?" she whispered.
Colden stepped forward. "Of course we were."
Marco rushed to her, arms wrapping around her tightly. "We thought you were gone."
Francis placed a hand on her shoulder, steady and warm.
Carmine broke.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, silent and heavy.
"I didn't think anyone would come," she said.
Colden pulled her into a hug. "You're not alone."
They stood together, the wind quiet now, the castle behind them.
And for the first time in a long time, Carmine felt safe.