CHAPTER 126: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND TWENTY SIX

Ashlyn forced a laugh. It was a bright, bubbling sound that echoed strangely in the tense silence of the bedroom. She swallowed , looking at him. She needed to cover her mistake. She needed to turn her slip of the tongue into a romantic confession.

"You silly man," Ashlyn said, shaking her head as if he were being ridiculous. "You misunderstood me. The betrothal... the arrangement with the Thompson family... it was originally meant for us. The both of us."

She looked at his reaction before she continued.

"My father," she lied smoothly, "he pitied me. He thought I was too soft, too gentle to handle the pressure of being your wife without a title. He insisted I take the position of the Grand Duchess to secure the family honor. He wanted me to marry Derek."

She reached out and touched his face, her fingers tracing his jawline.

"But I refused," Ashlyn whispered. "I saw you. I saw how kind you were. I saw how... free you were compared to your brother. I didn’t want a cold statue for a husband. I wanted a man."

She leaned in close, her breath warm on his cheek.

"So, I fought for it," she said. "I switched the arrangement. I insisted that Marissa take the burden of the title, so I could have the happiness of the person I wanted. I married you instead."

She looked deep into Carlos’s eyes. She was searching for a sign. Did he buy it? Did he believe that she, a woman obsessed with status, would choose love over power?

Carlos stared back at her. His mind was a whirl of conflicting thoughts. On one hand, it made sense. Ashlyn had always seemed to dote on him. On the other hand, he knew Ashlyn. He knew she loved material things, and being admired. Would she really give up the title of Grand Duchess just for him?

His ego wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe he was the prize. But a small, cold voice in the back of his head whispered that she was lying.

He thought long and hard. The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable.

Finally, he spoke.

"Are you sure?" Carlos asked. His voice was low, almost vulnerable.

Ashlyn didn’t hesitate. She nodded immediately.

"I am sure," she said firmly.

She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. She buried her face in his chest, hiding her expression. She didn’t want him to see the relief in her eyes, or the cold calculation.

"No fortune," Ashlyn said, her voice muffled against his shirt, "compares to a good husband."

It was the perfect line. It was what he wanted to hear.

Carlos stayed there. He didn’t hug her back immediately. He looked over her shoulder at the dark window. He felt the warmth of her body, but he felt a chill in his heart.

He remained silent. He let her hold him, but his mind was far away, wondering what else she had "switched" without telling him.

~ ••••• ~

In the east wing, the night was turning into the gray haze of early morning. The candles in Marissa’s bedchamber had burned low, casting long, flickering shadows on the walls.

She sat at her vanity table. She had finished her bath some minutes ago. She was wearing a simple silk robe, her hair loose and damp around her shoulders.

She picked up a silver comb. She pulled it through her long, dark hair, the rhythmic motion soothing her tired mind.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes looked tired, but her mind was wide awake. The events of the last few hours—Senna’s expulsion, Derek’s confession, the silver locket—were swirling in her head like a storm.

The night was becoming shorter. Outside the window, the sky was turning a pale, bruised purple. Soon, the sun would rise.

"I am so tired," she whispered to her reflection. "I will just tell Lily to let me be for the rest of the day. I need to rest."

She put the comb down. Her hand moved to the surface of the table. Her fingers traced the wood, but her mind was touching something else.

She was thinking about the locket. The one Derek had held. The one that belonged to her mother.

"So," she spoke to the empty room, her voice full of wonder. "I knew Derek long ago."

The realization unlocked a door in her memory she hadn’t opened in years. The wall of the present dissolved, and she was pulled back into the past.

~ • FLASHBACK • ~

The wind howled like a dying beast. Snow, thick and blinding, whipped through the air, turning the world into a white, freezing void.

Marissa was a young girl but she was strong. She was trudging through the deep snow, her breath coming in sharp, painful gasps.

On her back, she carried a boy.

He was heavy. He was older than her but he was dead weight. His clothes were fine, made of expensive wool and leather, but they were torn and soaked with blood.

"Don’t worry," young Marissa grunted, adjusting her grip on his legs. "I’ll get you to safety. There’s a cave near the ridge. We are almost there."

The boy on her back groaned. His head lolled against her shoulder. His skin was burning hot, despite the freezing cold. The poison from the assassins’ arrow was spreading through his body, fighting the cold for his life.

"You..." the boy whispered. His voice was weak, barely audible over the wind. "Who... are you?"

Marissa didn’t stop walking. She focused on her feet, one step after another, pushing through the snowdrifts.

"What is your name?" he asked again, desperate to know the person saving his life.

Marissa paused for a second to catch her breath. She looked at the white path ahead.

"When you recover," Marissa answered, her voice determined, "I’ll tell you when we meet again. Right now, you just need to survive."

The boy was silent for a moment. Then he rested his cheek against her back. He felt safe.

"Thank you," he whispered.

They reached the cave. It was a small, dark opening in the rock face, sheltered from the wind. Marissa stumbled inside, her legs shaking from the effort.

She knelt and set him down gently on the dry dirt floor. He groaned in pain, clutching his side.

Marissa didn’t rest. She immediately went to work. She gathered dried leaves and twigs that had blown into the cave entrance. She pulled a flint stone from her pocket—a tool her uncle had taught her to use.

She struck the flint. Once. Twice. A spark caught.

Soon, a small, crackling fire was burning, casting a warm, orange glow on the cave walls. The heat began to push back the biting cold.

Marissa turned to the boy. He was shivering violently now. She took off her own cloak, a thick, woolen thing her mother had made for her, and wrapped it around him.

The boy opened his eyes. They were dark and glassy with fever. He looked at her. He saw a girl with messy hair and fierce, kind eyes.

He reached up with a trembling hand. He fumbled at his neck.

He pulled off a necklace. It was a heavy, gold pendant with the Thompson family crest—a roaring lion—engraved on it. It was valuable. It was proof of his identity.

He held it out to her.

"Take," he said, his teeth chattering. "It’s... for the help. I have nothing else."

Marissa looked at the gold pendant. She shook her head. "I don’t need payment."

"Take it," he insisted, pushing it into her hand. "Keep it. When I find you... when I ask for it back... you tell me your name. Promise me."

Marissa looked at the pendant, then at his desperate eyes. She nodded. She took the gold pendant.

"Okay," she said. "I promise."

She checked his forehead. He was still burning up.

"You are safe here," Marissa said. "The fire will keep you warm."

She stood up. She looked toward the cave entrance, where the snow was still falling.

"I have to go back out," she said.

The boy looked panicked. "No... don’t go."

"I have to," Marissa said firmly. "There was another girl. The one who was running with you. I saw her fall in the snow down the hill. She is injured too. I have to go and bring her in."

She was talking about Senna. Senna, who had collapsed hundreds of yards away, abandoning Derek to save herself.

"I’ll be right right back. My basket of herbs is still at the site I found you. I would need them to make an antidote for the poisoning," Marissa said. "So stay awake."

The boy nodded slowly. His eyes were heavy. He watched her silhouette as she walked back out into the storm, a small figure braving the blizzard to save a stranger.

He clutched the silver locket—Marissa’s mother’s locket, which she had dropped while carrying him—in his hand. He had found it on the floor of the cave when she set him down. He held it tight, an anchor to the girl who had saved him.

As he watched her leave, the darkness overtook him. He fell unconscious, the image of her back burned into his memory.

~ • FLASHBACK ENDS • ~