CHAPTER 22: THEIR FIRST MEETING

Anger flared in Sylvia’s chest, hot and sudden. Her jaw tightened as she looked away, her face burning.

Was his annoying question the reason for her anger? Or was she angry at herself? She couldn’t even discern.

"Let’s end this, Aldric," she whispered, her voice cracking, her eyes stinging with tears she didn’t understand.

If the Princess left in a month, Sylvia would go too. She had to. This thing with Aldric was a thread she couldn’t let tie her down. It was a shame, she thought, a bitter pang in her gut. But it was necessary.

No man would chain her to a place, to a life she didn’t choose. She refused to be weak again.

Aldric’s hand caught her chin, firm but soft, turning her face to his. He pulled her close, so close their noses brushed, his breath warm against her lips. His deep blue eyes bore into her, fierce and unyielding, holding her captive.

"Are you that scared, Sylvia?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that shook her core. "Is falling for me so terrifying?"

Her breath hitched. She couldn’t lie, certainly, not to herself. She had fallen into those eyes, drowned in the pull of him. For a fleeting second, she felt safe there.

But trust? No. He too was a man. She couldn’t risk it. Not after the beast she’d married, the monster who’d torn her apart.

She steeled herself, shoved him back with trembling hands, and bolted up the stairs, her footsteps loud in the silence. She didn’t stop until she reached her room. The door slammed shut behind her, and she pressed herself against it, her legs giving way. Tears spilled over, hot and unstoppable, carving trails down her face.

Memories crashed in. The beast’s cruel grip, the life he’d squeezed from her babies. She clutched her stomach, sliding to the floor, her sobs choking against the wood. That pain still lived in her, sharp and merciless.

She wouldn’t survive it again. She couldn’t.

-----

Lorraine stepped into the enveloping darkness, the weight of solitude settling on her shoulders like an old, familiar cloak. Emma lingered in a hushed corner, respecting the unspoken boundary Lorraine had drawn around herself. She had always sought solitude when visiting her mother’s grave—a sanctuary where her grief could breathe, unjudged and unseen.

With a small oil lamp flickering in her hand, Lorraine walked toward the resting place she knew so well. The flame danced weakly, casting trembling shadows on the uneven ground. Her heart felt like a stone, burdened by the day’s betrayals, the sharp words, sidelong glances, and the sting of being overlooked yet again.

She needed to visit her mother, to find some anchor before witnessing Lord Cassian’s public humiliation, a spectacle she could enjoy. But her thoughts kept circling back to Leroy shielding Elyse earlier, his broad shoulders a wall between her sister and harm. The memory twisted like a knife in her chest.

A sigh slipped from her lips, heavy with unspoken pain, as a question clawed its way to the surface: Why did I lie that day?

It lingered, a ghost from her past, demanding answers she wasn’t ready to give. Lost in her reverie, her feet strayed from the familiar path to her mother’s grave.

When she blinked back to the present, her breath caught, and her heart clenched in recognition.

Before her... loomed the vyrnshade shrub, something she hadn’t meant to find.

The faint strains of music from the ball drifted through the chirps of the night insects, a distant whisper that mocked her isolation. This was no random detour; this was the place where she’d first met Leroy at thirteen, a moment etched into her soul with both tenderness and torment.

The shrub stood unchanged—wild, overgrown, and steeped in shadow, a forgotten corner of the estate. Its blossoms, vibrant even in the gloom, spilled their sweet, heady fragrance into the air, tugging at her senses like a half-remembered dream.

The last time she’d stood here, she’d been sixteen, trembling on the eve of her wedding to Leroy. She’d clung to a fragile hope that he’d remember her from that moonlit night three years before, when their paths had crossed beneath these very branches.

But he hadn’t. He believed it was Elyse he’d met, a mistake that still carved a hollow ache in her chest.

Lorraine dimmed the lamp until its light was a mere whisper, the darkness wrapping around her like a shroud. She closed her eyes, letting the scent of the blossoms fill her lungs, and stepped closer to the shrub.

This, she knew, might be her final visit, a quiet farewell to a place that held her secrets, her pain, and the fleeting flicker of her hope.

In an instant, her mind slipped back, and she was thirteen again, a forgotten child with no one to call her own. After her mother’s death at ten, she’d sought this shadowy refuge, a hidden corner where the mansion’s cruel eyes couldn’t find her. It had been her sanctuary, her prison.

When she’d learned the vyrnshade blossoms were deadly, she’d eaten them, petal by petal, praying for release. Death seemed kinder than the punishments meted out by those who should have loved her. Her father had swallowed every lie from Elyse and her stepmother, his rage a storm that left bruises on her skin and silence in her soul. He’d lock her in a suffocating closet after beatings, the darkness swallowing her cries. Sometimes, she’d wake only to find her body still screaming, after having lost consciousness to the pain for days.

He despised her, a "stain" on his legacy ever since she’d turned deaf, a defect he couldn’t forgive. Her voice withered soon after. Why speak when no one listened?

Silence became her shield. She’d stopped screaming during the beatings. No one came, no matter how loud she cried. Her throat burned, her back bled under the lash of his belt, but the silence bought her a shred of mercy. When she didn’t fight, his rage dulled, and the blows grew less savage. So, she swallowed her voice, burying it deep where even she couldn’t find it.

This corner became her haven because Elyse never looked for her here. As long as she vanished from their sight, she was forgotten. A ghost in her own home, unseen until some petty slight stirred their cruelty.

Hunger gnawed at her most days, her stomach hollow from missed meals. In her darkest moments, she’d chew the blossoms, their bitter taste a promise of escape that never came. Death eluded her, stubborn and cruel.

Even after her hearing returned, she kept coming, the blossoms a ritual of her pain. She could speak, but to whom? Silence remained her only companion, her world a muted painting of shadows and memory.

One evening, during a grand ball she was forbidden to attend (her father too ashamed to let her be seen), she’d slipped away to the vyrnshade. The full moon bathed the estate in silver, but beneath the shrub, shadows reigned. She knew the paths by heart, her feet finding the way without light. The faint strains of music floated through the air, a cruel reminder of her exclusion.

And there... beneath the tangled branches... sat a stranger.

Fear gripped her instantly, her breath catching. If her father discovered she’d spoken to someone, his belt would find her back again. She ducked behind a bush, her heart pounding, but curiosity won.

She peered through the leaves, watching as he plucked the blossoms and stared at them, his jaw set with grim resolve. He wasn’t a boy. His frame was too broad, too tall. He wasn’t a man either.

His golden hair caught the moonlight, shimmering like liquid sunlight, and a small braid hung above his left ear, secured with an emerald pin. His skin glowed pale, almost ethereal, a figure carved from the night itself.

She squinted, trying to make out his face, but shadows cloaked his features. It didn’t dawn on her that he wore a mask. Still, his presence felt too otherworldly.

Was he a ghost? A figment born of too many poisoned petals? Or a vyrnshade spirit, come to claim her?