Lucas
My bride arrived in the early hours of the day, unconscious.
Weak. Fragile. Not the sort of woman I would have imagined for a queen—but she is my wife now. We did the rites simultaneously, and the laws of marriage bind us automatically. I do not expect love. I do not seek it. I only want her to stay out of my business.
If she ever crosses me, if she's a spy, I won't hesitate. She must understand: peace in my house comes only through obedience. She plays her cards well, or she regrets it. She obeys, and I protect her. Simple.
I have been waiting for news of her, but nothing comes. Five minutes pass. Then ten. The itch to see her grows unbearable. I push it aside, but after five minutes more, restraint fails. I step out.
I move calmly toward the west wing, where the Queen resides. Servants notice my presence; some scurry, others bow in respect. The corridors stretch endlessly before me. Finally, I reach the main hall leading to the Queen's chamber.
There is a pull here—a familiarity I cannot ignore. It feels like something of mine lies beyond that door.
I shake my head. Nonsense. Last time I saw her, I felt nothing. There is no attraction. It must be something else. Magic? A trick? I refuse to think it.
Guards bow as I approach the main door. I respond absentmindedly. My focus is elsewhere—searching for her behind the door. But there is nothing. Not a trace. My frown deepens.
I push the door open and slam it behind me. Anger surges. What game is that king playing with his daughter?
I stride through the guest room, sensing a presence—a servant—but not her. Impossible.
I push open the next door.
And I see her.
Blond hair messy, night dress clinging to her fragile frame. She leans on another woman—her maid.
This is not the woman I married. Not the bride I expected.
My eyes fall on three scars on her arm. A fresh fourth one.
Immediately, I know.
She looks fragile, unaware of her surroundings. The maid is alert, protective, ready to defend her at a moment's notice.
"Who are you, and how dare you enter the Queen's room like that?" Rita's voice is sharp, but I recognize her poise.
"Don't pretend you don't know," I reply, voice low and dangerous. "I am her husband. My Princess never wanted this. It was that vile Queen's plan—to force her into a marriage meant for that witch second princess."
Her words stiffen me.
"I'll explain more after she is comfortable in bed," Rita says, but I don't wait. I lift the fragile girl into my arms and head to the bed. She has grown lighter since the last time I held her.
Why does my body respond so strongly? There is a pull—something important, something mine, within her, though I cannot name it.
I lay her gently in bed, covering her to keep her warm. She is breathtaking—without scars, without disguise, she is even more beautiful than I imagined.
What am I to do with all of this? I must know what is happening.
Once she is comfortable and asleep, I turn to Rita.
"Come with me."
She follows without protest.
Rita
I tell him everything—from the beginning to the end. I leave out the part about her being forced to sleep with someone unknown. The king doesn't need to know that yet. I plan to ask the Princess later if she wishes to reveal it herself—or if I should prepare a potion to ensure there is no risk. She would never accept it willingly; she would rather die than harm an innocent child.
The King listens, distracted, but silent. Finally, he stands.
"Let the Queen know I will be out for a few days, handling kingdom matters. The servants will assist her as needed. I'll leave guards for safety."
He pauses at the door, turning to look me in the eye.
"Why do you disguise yourself? You are free here in Ares. There are people like you—you may find your own."
I am stunned.
How did he know? Is he… a witch too?
Without another glance, he leaves me to my thoughts.
Can I finally be myself without disguise? And what will I say to the Princess?