CHAPTER 30: CROWNED IN SILENCE

Morning light spilled through the high-arched windows like a whispered promise. The sky over Versimoil Castle was clear today—soft shades of honey and pearl brushed across it, streaked with the faintest trace of blue. The air was crisp, the kind that hinted at early autumn but still carried the gentle breath of summer clinging to the trees. Ivy fluttered lightly against the white and dark grey stone walls as the castle slowly woke.

Inside her chamber, Anneliese stood by the window, her palms pressed softly to the glass. For once, she seemed to forget the ache in her legs—only a quiet restlessness stirred in her chest, one she couldn’t quite name. She wore a high-necked dark brown blouse with long sleeves, tucked neatly into a beige corset-waisted skirt laced at the front, the hem falling just below her knees. The fabric bloomed with muted rose patterns in varying shades of brown. A semi-sheer dark beige shawl draped gently around her shoulders, shifting with the breeze that crept in through the narrow window crack. Her boots, short and laced, were polished. Her chestnut-brown hair was parted down the middle, braided into two neat plaits that framed her face and fell over her shoulders like twin ribbons of memory.

Behind her came a knock. Then Vincenzo’s voice—gentler than usual.

"Good morning, Anneliese."

She turned. He stood at her door, dressed in a formal dark grey tunic lined with obsidian threads, high collar fastened with a carved onyx pin. His hair today was tied neatly and his expression, though unreadable, carried something calm. Measured.

"They will arrive by midday," he said, stepping inside without waiting for a reply.

"Your family?" Anneliese murmured.

He nodded. "They will be expecting a formal greeting in the family dining hall. And... they will be expecting you."

Anneliese’s brows rose faintly. "Me?"

"You are not a prisoner anymore," he said. "After all the sniffing they have done there, they will want to see for themselves who you are."

"And what exactly should I be?" she asked quietly.

Vincenzo’s gaze lingered on her for a moment. "Whatever you choose to be."

The dining hall gleamed with golden light, a room of ornate archways and frescoed ceilings. Vines curled along the edges of carved stone pillars, and long stained-glass windows spilled color across the polished marble floor.

Three seats were already occupied—Vincenzo at the head, Anneliese to his right, and Adomas opposite her. Silver dishes lay before them, half-finished plates of roasted duck, braised carrots, crisped vegetables, and soft, herbed bread.

Adomas reached for his goblet, then spoke casually, though his eyes remained on his plate.

"The usual court proceedings are scheduled for tomorrow morning, my Lord."

Vincenzo didn’t look up. "I remember."

"Yes, but considering recent... distractions," Adomas glanced pointedly at Anneliese, then back at Vincenzo, "I thought it would be best to remind you."

Vincenzo’s tone did not shift. "Let the court see things continue as usual. We do not want them wondering. The more mundane we appear, the less they will dig."

"And the whispers about the dark witches?" Adomas pressed. "Soon every town and city in Versimoil will know. And when they do, they will expect answers."

"Then give them routine. Let their minds quiet themselves," Vincenzo replied.

Anneliese said nothing, but her gaze flicked toward Vincenzo, curiosity blooming behind her calm.

The quiet conversation between the Lord and Adomas faded as footsteps echoed from the far end of the hall.

The doors opened.

Lady Cassia entered first—tall, statuesque, and impossible to miss in a gown of deep plum velvet. Her blonde hair was twisted into a sculpted crown braid, and a deep red gem glinted at her throat. Behind her came Atticus, a male in his late twenties with storm-grey eyes. Last was Roslin, a girl no older than nineteen, whose mid-length golden curls bounced lightly as she moved forward in soft green silk.

Cassia’s gaze swept the room and landed on Anneliese like a blade.

"So..." she said, voice smooth but unreadable. "This is the girl."

"I see you have arrived early," Vincenzo mocked without rising.

"We would have been earlier," Cassia replied, clearly annoyed at his tone, "but Roslin insisted on changing her gown."

Roslin giggled but did not deny it. Atticus, already moving toward his seat, glanced once—just once—at Anneliese before lowering his eyes.

"We did not know you already had a girl in mind," Cassia said as she took her seat opposite Vincenzo, her voice light but layered with something sharper. "You kept her well out of sight. All my hard work to find a suitable consort for you went in vain."

"I did not think I owed you the favor of an introduction." Vincenzo replied, lifting his goblet to his lips without looking at her.

Atticus’s eyes flicked toward Anneliese more than once, his expression unreadable but intrigued. Roslin, meanwhile, stared openly—her head tilted, scrutinizing.

"You are the one everyone whispered about at the Lirael ball," she said, leaning forward slightly. "The girl from the humanland. The future Queen of Versimoil."

Anneliese blinked—once, then twice. Clearly unaware. The whole conversation made her nearly choke.

Girl in mind?

Consort?

Queen of Versimoil?

The words echoed louder in her mind than they had in the room. Her fingers tightening slightly around her fork. The food tasted like ash now, and the warmth in the room had shifted—fire too close to the skin. Quiet fury simmering beneath her calm.

Slowly, she turned to Vincenzo.

Her eyes did not question—they demanded.

But he did not flinch. He said nothing. Sooner or later, she was going to hear about it. He simply met her eyes... and smiled.

The lunch ended shortly after, but the weight of it lingered like heavy perfume on silk—visible, clinging, hard to ignore.

The castle’s long hallway stretched ahead of them, footsteps echoed faintly as Anneliese walked beside Vincenzo through the long corridor of stone and silence. Sunlight slanted in through tall, narrow windows, striping the floor with gold and shadow. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, but her eyes... her eyes burned.

Halfway down the hall, she stopped.

He took two more steps before pausing too, sensing her stillness. Slowly, he turned.

"You didn’t deny it," she said quietly.

Her voice was calm—too calm. That unnerving stillness just before a storm. She didn’t look at him directly, but at the mural behind him—a faded painting of a past king whose name she did not care to know.

"You let them say it. Consort. Queen. Like it was all true."

Vincenzo said nothing at first. His gaze held hers, unreadable as ever—though something in it had shifted.

"I let them believe it," he said, "because it is true."

Whatever you choose to be... His words from earlier echoed in her mind like a cold slap.

"And you forgot to mention this truth to me?" Anneliese asked, her voice still quiet, but edged with fire—like she’d forgotten the man in front of her holds all the power.

His expression softened. And then came the answer she would accept. "If they see you as mine, they’ll think twice—not about hurting you, but about breathing near you."

She drew in a breath, trying to steady the rising heat in her chest. "I walked into that hall with no idea what I was walking into. They looked at me like I was a decision already made."

"I do not want to push you into something you’re not willing to choose," he said. "But understand this—"

His voice lowered.

"—I will do whatever it takes to keep you away from watching eyes. Whether you like it... or not."

Her lips parted slightly. A thousand replies bloomed in her throat—but none made it out. Instead, she looked at him with something like resignation.

"We are leaving" Vincenzo said finally.

Anneliese blinked, "To where?"

He glanced back at her. "To find answers."

"Bridgehallow."