Lloyd murmured a word of thanks, and it seemed the intimate moment should have ended there. But Chloe found herself unwilling to relinquish her grip, her thoughts echoing with a single longing sentiment: I don’t want to let go.
“Chloe? Are you done?”
“Ah! Sorry,” she said, jerking her hands away. “Not again,” she muttered quietly.
“No, I’m, uh, sorry,” Lloyd echoed, equally unsure.
Apology was met with apology, and neither truly understood why. A palpable sense of awkwardness hung between them, leaving them both out of sorts and fumbling in the face of the ineffable feeling between them.
✦ ✦ ✦
“What am I doing...”
It was the dead of night. Lloyd sat on his bed, engulfed in a maelstrom of irreconcilable emotions that refused to be contained. Those feelings would’ve been fine if they were only feelings, but they had begun to seep outwards—manifesting into actions, influencing his demeanor. The mental disarray, the unexplained warmth flooding his body, the impulsive decisions overriding his usual rationality—these all contribute to an unintended coldness towards Chloe. Even Chloe, with her puzzled and concerned glances, seemed to have noticed the change in him.
“You know what this is, Lloyd,” he whispered to himself in the silence of the room. “You know exactly what this is.”
The cause of his turmoil was as clear as day. Ever since their mutual confession of love, Lloyd had been at a loss. How close should they be now? What behavior was appropriate? The seasoned knight, who had faced countless battles and emerged unscathed in every single one, found himself woefully unprepared on the alien battlefield of love.
“So damn much,” he murmured, almost inaudibly. The intensity of his feelings for Chloe was becoming increasingly difficult to conceal. The way his face would flush, the manner in which his heart would race—it all pointed to one undeniable truth.
Lloyd loved Chloe so damn much.
This realization had grown stronger each day, accelerated by the incident with Lily. The brakes on his emotions had failed; his affection for her was now like a carriage careening down a steep slope, rushing towards an inevitable crash that would consume him completely.
Yet in the midst of his tumultuous thoughts, one persistent question nagged at the back of his mind: How is it okay? My life has been steeped in conflict, marked by bloodshed. How is it okay for someone like me to fall in love?
Suddenly, a calming and all too familiar female voice echoed in Lloyd’s mind, as if in response to his own question. Say, Lloyd. Have you ever fallen in love?
He couldn’t recall his response, but her words resonated so clearly. So you haven’t, I see... Well, in this place, that’s probably for the best.
The vague silhouette of the woman from his past floated into his thoughts. Her face remained indistinct, blurred in his memory. As he strained to recall her features, crimson washed over the image, drowning it out.
Startled, Lloyd raised his hand in front of face, as if to confirm his grip on reality. He stared at the palm Chloe had bandaged. The linen appeared pristine and white, but then slowly surrendered to a vivid, encroaching stain, blotted with that deep, unsettling crimson.
A visceral grunt escaped him. His heart constricted like it was caught in a vise. The scent of copper filled his nostrils; the sensation of something warm and wet splattering against his face overwhelmed him. Was he still in his room, or was he...
“Not again,” Lloyd grunted, his teeth clenched in an effort to regain control. A cold sweat had broken out on his back. He focused on steadying his shallow breaths, drawing in deep, composed breaths. Gradually, a semblance of calm returned. Looking down at his hand once again, he saw it was clean and unblemished.
The haunting vision that had just passed was nothing but a figment of his imagination, a ghost conjured up by Lloyd’s traumatized psyche. He understood this with crystal clarity, yet a profound sense of disgust with himself wrapped itself tightly around his heart, unyielding in its hold.
“I...don’t have the right.”
The thought echoed in his mind, reverberating with the weight of his past. He was certain he didn’t deserve to fall in love; his conviction seemed immovable. Yet, even as he clung to this belief, the image of Chloe shone brightly in his thoughts, a beacon that defied his self-imposed darkness.
Trapped in the throes of a conflict he could not resolve, Lloyd succumbed to an uneasy slumber.
✦ ✦ ✦
In the borderland of Shadaf, within the once-lordly estate of the Margrave of Ardennes, the night air was pierced by the sound of shattering porcelain. The remnants of a once-elegant vase lay in pieces, its destruction echoing through the room.
“Why me, why me, why me, why me?!” The shrill, frantic voice of Chloe’s mother, Isabella, filled the space. “What...did I ever do...to deserve this?!”
In her fury, she had thrown anything and everything within reach into disarray. Isabella grasped another nearby ornament, then hurled it through the nearest window. It shattered, sending shards of glass flying everywhere and allowing the chilly night air to invade the room. The room, once the dignified living space of a noblewoman, now bore no semblance of its former glory. Paintings torn from their walls; furniture in shambles—all casualties of Isabella’s unbridled rage. The household servants, powerless to intervene, huddled outside the room, trembling with fear and uncertainty.
At the heart of Isabella’s fury was a single piece of parchment, carelessly discarded on the floor. It was a summons from the High Court, demanding Isabella’s presence in the capital. The document laid bare the offenses of her eldest daughter, Lily, detailing the kidnapping and assault of Chloe, along with the penalties imposed. Furthermore, it mentioned Chloe’s testimony regarding the abuse she had suffered at the hands of her own family, an accusation now under official investigation. It was for this reason that Isabella’s presence was required—she was to plead her case.
Isabella, breath ragged from her outburst, finally succumbed to exhaustion. Her energy spent, she collapsed into the lone chair that had survived her rampage.
It had all started three weeks ago. Lily had been invited to a soiree hosted by House Gimul, an opportunity Isabella had eagerly approved. For their family, modest regional nobles with limited prospects, this event held great promise. If Lily had charmed someone from the capital’s elite, it would have been a significant triumph for their house. The outcome, however, was disastrously far from anything she had hoped for.
“How... How...” Isabella moaned, her voice tinged with despair and disbelief. “My head,” she said more quietly, clutching a hand to her throbbing temple.
She had yet to fully absorb every detail laid out in the letter (the account provided was thorough), not least the fact that Chloe was alive—and in the capital, no less! She’d escaped in the middle of winter. The journey to the capital must have taken weeks, an arduous trek through treacherous mountains and valleys under harsh winter conditions. The feat seemed impossible, but in the face of the evidence, Isabella could begin to speculate how it must have been done. No wonder Chloe couldn’t be found nearby.
But this was no time for shock or disbelief. The critical issue at hand was that Lily had assaulted Chloe in front of credible witnesses, an act that had cast a shadow over the entire family, painting them all as potential abusers. Part of Isabella refused to believe it. Surely Lily, despite her lack of sophistication, must have known the severity of the consequences should she ever be caught. Though she’d likely avoid imprisonment, a hefty fine seemed inevitable.
Isabella’s mind raced as she pieced together the implications of the summons. Harry, the head of the house, had not been named—only Isabella herself. This detail alone suggested the case held more weight than she had initially thought. Ignoring a summons from the kingdom’s highest court was a gamble she couldn’t afford to make. This was effectively a criminal investigation in all but name.
Rage surged anew within her, and she slammed her fist onto a nearby table, her voice escalating into a frenzied scream. “Why, why, why, why?!”
To Isabella, Chloe had always been a cursed child. It was as plain to her as any fact. In her mind, Chloe was the root cause of all the misfortunes that befell their family and their domain—the plagues, the famine, the deaths. Chloe was evil, and she was simply putting evil in its place.
Her actions were justified, weren’t they? So why was she being called to account for them?
“Lily did nothing wrong,” Isabella hissed, her grasp on reality wavering. “She only used a bit of force to capture Chloe and send her back, that’s all...”
Isabella’s perception was beyond saving. Any objective observer would see Lily as the clear aggressor, but Isabella’s mind was clouded by a toxic mix of love for one daughter and hatred for the other. All the anger and resentment that should have been directed at Lily instead came to rest on Chloe. “How dare she...” Isabella murmured bitterly. “She thinks she can humiliate us and get away with it...”
Her eyes burned with malice. “We’ll just have to take care of that, won’t we?”