Riding Amongst Wildflowers - Chapters 1 & 2

© Rissa S, 2024. All rights reserved.

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Introduction

The skies had wept without respite, and for weeks on end, torrents of rain bestowed a ceaseless benediction upon the land. Each movement that young Lady Alaina Dunkeld tried to do was met with the disheartening squish and slurp of waterlogged earth. The sharp grittiness of mud invaded her mouth, the abrasive particles grinding against her teeth. She attempted to spit out the invasive sludge, but doing so only inflamed her lips and scorched her already raw throat.

Alaina's recognition of her dire state came slowly, obscured by a veil of encroaching darkness that threatened to smother her consciousness. Her breath felt jagged, like inhaling shards of icy glass that etched painful patterns within her throat. Every pulse in her head echoed a booming percussion, drawing the distant, muffled shouts - were they calling her name? Or were they just figments of her delirium?

Nearby, Mercy, her faithful mare, lamented in distress. The mare's once powerful legs now appeared as unstable as boiled noodles, quivering and failing to find purchase on the treacherous terrain. The gravity of the accident that had befallen them remained a foggy memory to Alaina, yet its aftermath was undeniable.

Overwhelmed by a mounting desperation, she mentally willed her limbs into action. But her commands fell on deaf nerves, her body stubbornly unresponsive. She attempted the simplest of tasks - curling her water-soaked toes inside her leather riding boots - but it was met with a paralysing numbness.

 Abruptly, her body was rocked, and a familiar voice urgently called her name. It was Gareth, her best friend. His tone was fraught with panic. She had never learned his family name, merely knowing him as the stable masters' adopted son. Pangs of sorrow accompanied his pleading cries, her fear mirrored in his. Had her fall been that grievous? It was only a race, an everyday amusement; why was today unlike any other? Alaina tried to pivot her head to glimpse his face, but even that proved impossible. 

Gareth's gentle fingertips caressed her rain-drenched cheek, tenderly sweeping her muddied auburn locks aside. His hands then grasped her frigid shoulders, holding tightly as if to infuse her with strength.

 "Alaina! Alaina, please get up! Please!" Gareth screamed as he shook her. She felt his fingers dig into the flesh of her collarbone. Again, she tried to muster her strength to move, she wanted to tell him that she was all right, but her mouth only opened and closed without a sound. All she could do was blink. Then, she felt him shake her again.

"Alaina, I'm going to get help." He released his fingers from her body and got up, slowly backing away, his face stricken with fear and disbelief.

 The sound of his footsteps pattering the wet grass and mud gradually grew softer as he ran off away from her line of sight. Her mind drifted away as her head grew heavier, and the throbbing pain she felt at the back of her skull and along her spine became almost deafening. Salty tears fell from her eyes; she could only weep as the pain overwhelmed her cold frame.

Alaina tried to recollect the fall. She had jumped over that fence countless times; it was easy. She knew this field and her young mare inside and out. She tried to reach for her mare, who was still struggling beside her. Alaina was there when the stable master assisted her mare's mother in giving birth to Mercy, giving the pair an unbreakable bond.

Alaina's mind meandered to cherished memories of Gareth, her dearest friend. His unwavering presence in her life provided solace she could find nowhere else, as they shared laughter and tears equally. His tender, charismatic assurances beckoned her soul to smile in moments of frustration over her duties, from untidy embroidery lessons to daunting noble expectations.

"We could always run away together", he had said once with a cheekily sweet smile as he rubbed her back. Gareth's light-hearted jests of escaping life's expectations together belied the deeper bond they shared. This unique connection was never more apparent than during an idyllic summer afternoon when, after hours spent riding, they lounged beneath a tall oak tree seeking refuge from the burning sun, their horses grazing nearby. That was where he had kissed her for the first time. It was an innocent kiss on her lips, a chaste display of affection. The simple contact ignited a fiery blush upon her cheeks, awakening her heart to the true depths of their connection.

It seemed like an eternity had passed since she last heard Gareth's voice, but now she heard many more voices, and her cold and wet body was shaking. Her eyesight was blurry from the tears and mud, but she could make out around seven people standing before her. Then she saw her father push through, his face filled with worry and dread.

"Alaina! Alaina! My sweet girl!" she heard her father cry out as he crouched beside her and pulled her into warm arms. He cradled her face as softly as one would cradle an infant.

"Papa…" she mumbled; it was so soft that she could barely hear it herself. A painful lump formed in her throat, causing her to cough aggressively. She could taste the familiar metallic taste of blood in her mouth. 

"Shh… my sweetheart", her father whispered, pulling her tighter into his embrace. Her limbs dangled lifelessly as though they detached from her body.

"Damn it, boy! What did you do?" Duke Rainald bellowed. She heard a loud crack followed by Gareth's yelp in pain and a thud of a body against mud. One of the guards had struck Gareth with the back of his sword. The group of people around her gasped in fright. 

 No, Papa! Alaina screamed in her head. It is not his fault, Papa! She tried to reach out to Gareth, but her body would not budge. Not even the tips of her fingers could move. She could only silently scream and cry as she felt her body being carried and put onto a cart behind her father's horse. Her dress was soaked with mud and stuck coldly to her body. Gareth's torment, evident in his pain-wracked form, went unaided—Alaina cried out for help in silent desperation upon hearing his yelps, her body disobeying her mind's command. A smothering cloak of weariness enveloped her body as she trembled uncontrollably. As consciousness slowly abandoned her, the clamour waned into darkness and silence, and the world vanished in its inky embrace.

Chapter 1

Ten years later.

 Alaina's bed chamber bathed in radiant sunshine filtered through the elaborate stained-glass window. Summer held a cherished place in her heart, with vibrant blossoms adorning the garden, their scents perfuming the refreshing breeze that whispered into her chamber. Roused from a tranquil sleep, she awaited her handmaid's preparations for her daily bathing ritual. The breeze, as mischievous as a pixie, toyed with her lengthy auburn locks, playfully brushing them against her freckle-kissed shoulders and eliciting an involuntary shiver.

 "Your bath is ready, my lady," said Esme, her handmaid, as she fluffed up a thick robe and placed it on the chair next to the large basin filled with warm water.

 "Thank you, Esme," replied Alaina. She rose from the bed and walked eagerly to the basin, looking out the window. She heard a thud of the door as Esme left the room to give her some privacy during her bath. Typically, the handmaids would assist the Ladies or Lords with their baths, but Alaina preferred to take them alone. It had been ten years since the accident, an accident she could not remember. The scars left by the ordeal were a permanent and only reminder of what had happened and why she chose to bathe alone. 

With the mirror at her back, Alaina shed her chemise, her fingertips trailing the centre of her spine, feeling the raised scars of her life-altering procedure. Though the groundbreaking surgery restored her ability to walk, the jagged incision between her shoulder blades and tailbone remained an unforgettable testament to her ordeal. 

Hann Aisle's most renowned healers and doctors had meticulously realigned her spinal column, piece by delicate piece, in an unprecedented feat of medical ingenuity for its time. Whispered conversations among handmaidens hinted at the intricacies of the painstaking operation that her doctors had undertaken to save her life. Her devout father attributed the success to a divine miracle, a gift from the Gods, he would say, but Alaina held the skilled hands of her medical team in the highest regard, celebrating their remarkable craftsmanship in reassembling her shattered form. And restoring her ability to walk.

Alaina descended into the embrace of the steaming, aromatic water. The tiny golden hairs on her arms prickled at the sudden temperature change. Gradually submerged to her shoulders, she surrendered to the water's soothing caress, allowing her thoughts to wander aimlessly. Frustration stirred within her as the details of the fateful day—when her life had forever changed—remained shrouded. All she knew was that her beloved young mare had been the unwitting cause of the tragic riding mishap.

Although her homeland of Dunkeld was far from Hann Aisle, her father ensured that she was brought to the absolute best, and she was eternally grateful for that. The duke and the kingdom of Dunkeld were wealthy and prosperous, but Hann Aisle had the best institutions for medicine. Moreover, the institutions were the ones that supplied the five kingdoms with their physicians and surgeons.

Ensconced in the private confines of her bathing quarters, Alaina doused the plush sponge in the fragrant, steamy water. She drew it languidly across her shoulders, the sponge absorbing the heat and transferring it to her skin, tracing the curves of her arms.

The sponge then embarked on a more intimate journey, gliding over the contour of her chest, causing the pert peaks of her nipples to stiffen at the contact. It proceeded lower, over her taut abdomen, then traversed the length of her lean thighs. As she bathed, she moved the sponge over her most sensitive area; the intimate friction coaxed a soft moan from her throat, a sweet sound swallowed by the chamber's steamy silence. 

A wave of pleasure washed over her, making her shudder. She indulged herself again, the sponge repeating its journey, her body responding with another low, throaty whimper. This indulgence, this stolen moment of self-discovery, felt deliciously sinful, yet she questioned, "How can something so decadently immoral stir such exquisite sensations?"

However, the resounding echo of three knocks against the large oak door abruptly interrupted her solitary bliss. The sudden intrusion sent a jolt through her, instantly dousing the warmth of her burgeoning desire.

 "My lady? Begging your pardon for the interruption, King Magnus and Prince Sanson request your presence in the great hall," said Esme from outside the door. Alaina groaned and quickly got out of the tub, pulling her robe and tying it.

 "You may enter Esme; I have finished, " Alaina said. The door opened with Esme carrying a beautifully embroidered maroon dress with gold trimmings. She helped Alaina with her undergarments and put the dress on.

 "Such a splendid dress, my lady", cooed Esme, not even trying to hide the envy in her voice. Alaina nodded in agreement, though extravagant material things did not usually amuse her.

 "They do spoil me, don't they, Esme?" smiled Alaina as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. "Do you know what the fuss is all about?"

 "Ah, my dear lady, I would never engage in idle chatter, but whispers of a certain proposal have tickled my ears!" Esme's voice danced with a mischievous delight as she spilt the morsel of information. She then bit her lower lip, realising the gravity of her words, and quickly added, "Yet, please, do not place too much stock in my words. You're well aware of the slippery nature of such hearsay."

A proposal, Alaina mused, her brow furrowing into a frown. She had a natural disdain for rumours, yet her dislike for Prince Sanson surpassed even that. Esme fell silent, but the sly, knowing grin plastered on her face spoke volumes more than her words ever could. Alaina clung to the hope that this was nothing more than a baseless rumour, yet a nagging corner of her mind reminded her of the likely truth. She was of the prime age to be married.

It was a certainty she had been prepared for since childhood. The concept of a strategic marriage to the prince had been drilled into her by her father, a constant reminder of her duty and destiny. It was a burdensome thought she could never fully escape, no matter how distasteful.

 Esme ran her fingers through Alaina's fiery cascade of hair, each strand as vibrant and fierce as the woman it adorned. With gentle, practised hands, she wove the hair into a thick, intricate braid, the result of years of honing her craft. Carefully, she draped the braid along Alaina's back, its length perfectly positioned to shroud the souvenir of a past accident etched into her skin.

Alaina had often pondered why Esme took such care to camouflage those scars. They were no secret to the King or Prince; their origin was an incident known all too well within the castle walls. Yet, Esme persisted, concealing the markings under the veil of Alaina's crimson locks.

The King had ensured Alaina received the best care during her recovery, sparing no expense. Yet, despite the efforts to heal her physically, Esme seemed to understand the need to heal her image, to restore her sense of self. And in her own way, she did just that, using Alaina's beautiful hair as a shield against the visual reminder of a traumatic past.

 "Would you like the emeralds or the rubies for your jewellery, my lady?" Esme dug through the drawers of her dressing table.

"Emeralds, please", replied Alaina. Esme's nimble fingers deftly fastened the intricate jewellery around Alaina's neck and ears. The weight of the precious gems reminded her of the burdens she was expected to bear. Yet, a small smile tugged at her lips when she caught her reflection in the mirror. The emeralds nestled within their gold settings reflected the verdant depths of her eyes, accentuating their striking allure.

Each piece of jewellery she donned was a part of the collection gifted to her by Prince Sanson. Her mind echoed his repeated reminders that they were 'tokens of his affection'. To Alaina, however, they felt more like subtle bribes, golden chains attempting to bind her to a man she detested. The mere thought of Sanson made her skin prickle in disgust.

As the jewellery hung heavily around her neck, so too did the dread that coiled in her stomach. It was a feeling she could not shake, knowing that she would be wed to him soon, a fate she was loath to accept but saw no escape from.

Alaina strode into the aptly named great hall, an expansive chamber lined with shimmering marble floors and lined with vibrant stained-glass windows on both sides. Illuminating braziers dangled from alternating pillars, casting a welcoming radiance throughout the hall. Sumptuous velvet tapestries graced the walls, each bearing the embroidered crest of Hann Aisle—an exquisite, regal gold lion. It was without tables or furniture at this time because King Magnus had commissioned new teak tables and chairs, the most expensive type of wood as it only comes from the East kingdoms of Palanesia. She remembered Esme's eyes sparkling when she spoke about it.

"Ah! Lady Alaina Dunkeld, what a remarkable sight," bellowed King Magnus from the middle of the room. Alaina smiled and approached the two men.

"Good morning, your Highness," said Alaina as she curtsied. "Good morning, your Majesty", she continued, forcing a smile for Prince Sanson. 

Sanson greeted her with a predatory grin, his gaze raking over her form with barely concealed desire. His bottom lip found refuge between his teeth, a sign that his thoughts were undressing her. Alaina imagined, not for the first time, the satisfying sting her palm would feel after landing a slap on his smug face, though she was all too aware of the repercussions of such an act.

Physically, the prince was undeniably appealing. His statuesque height was complemented by a muscular build, sculpted and tanned from relentless training under the unforgiving sun. Dark tendrils of hair framed his clean-shaven face, accentuating his chiselled jawline, while luxuriant lashes contrasted his light brown eyes. 

If attraction was purely a matter of physical appearance, Alaina might have found herself smitten. But the man behind the handsome exterior was a different matter altogether. His self-absorbed nature and lewd tendencies repulsed her, a reminder that no amount of physical appeal could mask a vile character.

From the moment of her birth, the promise of her future had been woven into the very fabric of her existence. Her father, ever the pragmatic Duke he was, had insisted that a marriage alliance with Sanson would fortify Dunkeld's standing, merging the two realms' strengths through the sacred bonds of matrimony. He spoke of duty and responsibility, even when confronted with Alaina's increasingly vocal objections.

For his part, Sanson did nothing to ease her aversion towards him. His behaviour was repugnant, his comments towards her often bordering on the obscene. It seemed that no corridor or courtyard in the castle was immune to his crude jests, each encounter with him marred by inappropriate insinuations that left her skin crawling. Despite her impending duty, Alaina could not ignore the dread that welled within her each time she crossed paths with the prince.

A loud knock on the door startled Alaina out of her thoughts. When the door opened, her heart leapt at the sight of her father. Although they could never see eye-to-eye, she had so much love and respect for him.

"Papa!" The word escaped Alaina in a joyous exclamation as she spotted the familiar figure. Her eyes welled with happy tears, and she rushed towards him, throwing her arms around his sturdy form. It had been three long, lonely years since she'd last held him.

Rainald, her father, stood tall and broad as always. Age had begun to leave its gentle imprint upon him, sprinkling his formerly dark hair, moustache, and beard with a dusting of silver. The scent of travel, a mix of sweat and horse, clung to him. It smelled of hard work and long days, but it was a comforting, familiar fragrance to Alaina, a fond reminder of the man who had raised her.

"My beautiful Alaina!" Rainald's voice was a deep, warm rumble that echoed her own joy. "Every time my eyes rest upon you, it seems you've grown even more beautiful." He pulled back, his hands resting gently on her shoulders, his gaze taking in her visage. "Now, come, let me have a proper look at you. These old eyes aren't quite as sharp as they once were." His fingers lovingly traced her features, wiping away the stray tear that clung to her eyelashes.

"Papa, I'm overjoyed to see you again!" Alaina's voice was filled with excitement as she clasped her hands together. "You must meet Bibby, my horse. She's beautiful, and her stride is as smooth as silk."

However, mentioning a horse seemed to cast a shadow over Rainald's cheerful countenance. His warm smile faded, replaced by a tight-lipped expression, his complexion losing some of its rosy hues.

"Alaina, my dear, you know my feelings regarding horses." His voice held a note of apprehension. "Given the incident... I still find it hard to fathom how you can bear to mount one again."

His words seemed to echo ominously in the air, a ghost from the past that had been conjured once more. Alaina's radiant smile vanished, replaced by a look of regret. The memory of the accident, always lurking in the background, was now brought to the fore. Her hands fell limply to her sides, clutching at the soft fabric of her dress, a reminder that the scars ran deeper than the ones on her back.

"Now, Alaina, I am sure the duke is tired after his long journey. Perhaps he should rest before you take him on a walk to the stables," laughed King Magnus.

"Forgive me, your Highness. Good morning, and thank you for inviting me," said Rainald as he bowed before the King. "But yes, I would like to rest before this evening's festivities."

"Jorgen!" yelled the King, summoning one of the servants. "Please escort my dear friend to his quarters to rest and bring up his belongings."

"Thank you again, your Highness. I will join you later in the evening." Rainald hugged his daughter and bowed to the King and the Prince before following Jorgen. Seeing sadness on Alaina's face, King Magnus nudged Prince Sanson, beckoning him to cheer her up.

"Lady Alaina, may I have the honour of accompanying you for a morning stroll in the gardens?" Sanson's question hung in the air, though it felt more like a command than an inquiry. Without awaiting her answer, his hand clasped around her arm, steering her toward the grand hall's exit.

"Unless you'd rather we retire to your chambers for... more private affairs?" His voice dropped to a murmur as he leaned in, his words a sultry whisper in her ear. The crude insinuation made her skin crawl, the hairs at the nape of her neck prickling in alarm.

Despite the discomfort, Alaina summoned a pleasant smile, maintaining her composure. His grip tightened around her arm, his fingers pressing into her soft skin with a force that bordered on cruelty. She bit her lower lip to divert the attention from the mounting pain.

"A walk in the garden sounds delightful, my Prince," she managed to respond, her voice steady despite the circumstances. She guided them towards the lush greenery, knowing the presence of gardeners and servants would offer a modicum of safety.

But her heart yearned for another destination - the stables. She longed to escape Sanson's clutches, to seek refuge atop Bibby, her beloved horse, and lose herself in the rhythm of a soothing ride.

Summertime in the castle gardens had always entranced Alaina with its enchanting splendour. The same alluring scent that had drifted into her chamber now enveloped her. Warm sunlight kissed her cheeks, bestowing a vibrant glow, while a gentle breeze caressed her uncovered shoulders, adding to the captivating atmosphere. Prince Sanson's arm was still linked with hers, and he gripped it tighter every time she tried to pull away.

"Alaina, your disdain for me remains a mystery," Sanson growled through clenched teeth. "You are aware, I presume, of the purpose behind your father's visit."

Alaina was indeed aware, yet she opted to play the part of the innocent. "Isn't it possible my father simply wished to see his daughter?" she retorted, her gaze stubbornly fixed on the path ahead. She quickened her stride, striving to keep pace with his long steps. Her eyes darted around the gardens, seeking reassurance in the proximity of a gardener or servant. Despite her defiance, she couldn't deny the undercurrent of fear that coursed through her. His strength was an unsettling reminder of how effortlessly he could overpower her.

"Alaina, I know you are far from naive. We are betrothed," Sanson's voice rang out, his arm snaking around her waist. A chill shot through her veins, her pulse racing as her surroundings morphed into an unfamiliar, secluded garden corner.

"Ah, how could I forget?" The flippant remark fell from her lips, her voice steady even as fear clawed its way up her throat. Sanson came to a halt, pulling her into the shadow of a towering stone archway. Desperately, she fought against his iron grip, her efforts in vain. Her eyes bore into his, a spark of rebelliousness flaring brightly.

"Don't test my patience, Alaina. I could claim you this instant, and there isn't a soul who would dare intervene," Sanson whispered venomously. He leaned closer, kissing her neck, his teeth grazing the tender skin as his hands clamped around her waist, rendering her immobile. 

"Unhand me, Sanson!" 

"You belong to me, Alaina. It is a truth we both understand. Stop this childish resistance and surrender to the fate that binds us," he murmured into her neck, his hands wandering towards her behind. Alaina jerked in response, seeking an opening to escape his grip, but his hold remained unyielding. His hand gathered her dress, and his fingers touched her bare thighs. "Stop struggling. You cannot fathom how much I long to possess you, even with your blemishes," his words sent a shiver of dread through her, her heart dropping like a stone. "Alaina, you must realise that no other man will tolerate your... imperfections," he drawled, his hand tracing the scars that marred her back before returning to her posterior, pressing her against the coarse stone archway. 

"My body remains mine until we are, unfortunately, married. Now release me," she shot back, her teeth grinding together as she tried to pry his hands away, but his grip was relentless. His superior strength left her feeling helpless. She could feel the hardness of his desire through the fabric of her dress, and a wave of revulsion washed over her. The colour drained from her face as fear of his intentions gripped her heart.

"I could just fuck you now. Then your body will belong to me. No other man would want an incomplete woman." His eager kisses lavished her neck, descending to the exposed upper curves of her breasts, while his wandering hand perilously neared the hem of her undergarment. Alaina felt the urgency to escape as her breathing grew laboured, cornered like a defenceless doe. Desperate, her mind devised a strategy. She tenderly cradled his chin, offering a beguiling smile, her charming gaze aimed to disarm him.

"Maybe I can grow to have feelings for you", she whispered, peering up at him under her long lashes. A low moan escaped his lips, and he kissed her hungrily, lunging his tongue into her mouth. She allowed his tongue to search her mouth, hoping his guard would drop further. Then suddenly, she bit his lower lip as hard as she could, tasting the blood in her mouth. He jolted in shock and pain. 

"Fuck! How dare you?" he spat out, moving away from her while wiping the blood dripping down his chin.

"I loathe you", she retorted, wiping his blood from her mouth with the back of her sleeve. Seeing the opportunity that she was finally free from his grasp, she sprinted back to the castle as fast as her legs could carry her. Heaving with anxiety, she looked back to check if he was following her. Thankfully, he was nowhere to be seen.

Her heart raced and thumped against her rib cage. She burst into her room, and just as she was about to close the doors behind her, she heard Esme running towards her, face full of worry and concern.

"Is something wrong, my lady?" Esme said urgently. 

"Nothing, Esme, some privacy, please", replied Alaina, her voice breaking as she felt a lump in her throat and tears threatening to fall from her eyes. 

Securing the door and barricading it with a chair, Alaina ensured that Prince Sanson could not enter the safety of her chamber. Any sliver of trust she had had in him disappeared today. With shaking legs, she approached her bed, clutching her chest to calm her racing heart. Breaths hitched and shallow, her face flushed from the frantic dash through the west wing to the sanctuary of her chambers. Yielding to overwhelming fatigue, she reclined on the bed, eyes closed, focused on steadying her breaths.

 The horrifying prospect of a life yoked to Sanson plagued her thoughts—being his obedient concubine, a plaything at his whim, forced to endure his unsolicited advances. She knew the whispers about his nightly visits to the village brothels were no mere hearsay; he had confessed one night, inebriated and reeking of alcohol.

Alaina had been engrossed in a book in the library when the clatter of toppled armour resonated through the hallway. On peeking out, she found Sanson strewn amidst the scattered metallic fragments. 

"Alaina, my love," he mumbled, eyes shuttered in a drunken stupor. 

"How did you even know I was here, Sanson?" she questioned, maintaining her distance. 

"Your fragrance, the aroma that trails behind you. It stirs desire in me; oh, how I lust for you," he confessed. 

"Go to your chambers, Sanson. You're drunk. And it wouldn't do well if your father were to see you in this state," she urged, her voice betraying a hint of worry despite her best efforts. A part of her, which still harboured some shred of compassion, wished to lend him a hand. But the scars of his past torment stopped her. Sanson let out a repulsive burp that had her cringing. 

"I love you, Alaina," he slurred, his words punctuated by hiccups. He struggled to get up, coordination abandoned. 

"Sanson, I could never love you," she responded quietly, turning to retreat to the library. 

"Your constant rejection drives me to the arms of whores. They yield to me; they beg for me, unlike you, you wretched woman. Why do you persist in torturing me?" he whined childishly, leaning heavily against the wall for support. 

"Good night, Sanson," she replied curtly, shutting the library door. 

"Alaina, I will have you, with or without your consent," he spat venomously before a wave of nausea overcame him and retched all over the plush carpet. Alaina, spurred by his vile threat, fled to her room and secured the door. 

The ghastly memory lingered, forever etched in her mind, causing her to shudder involuntarily. Despite her affection for Hann Aisle, a persistent dread gnawed at her—a fear that Sanson might, one day, exact his threats. This anxiety made her perpetually vigilant, always casting anxious glances behind, ensuring Sanson was not in her vicinity. 

The chirping of swallows outside roused her from her thoughts. Opening her eyes, she found herself ensconced in the solitude of her room—a wave of relief washing over her. Clutching the bedsheet tightly, she grimaced at the thought of her impending future. 

She heaved a sigh, thinking about the evening's festivities. Grabbing a plump feather pillow, she buried her face in it and let out a muffled scream. She pondered if her father would be open to her returning with him, away from this dreadful place. The sheer exhaustion and stress of the morning soon overwhelmed her, and her eyelids grew heavy. Surrendering to her fatigue, she let herself be carried away into the realm of sleep.

Chapter 2

Loud thuds against her wooden door rose Alaina from her sleep. The thuds were hard and insistent. Her immediate reaction was to recoil in fear, thinking that Prince Sanson had made it up to her room to finish what he had started in the garden earlier that morning.

"My lady! Is everything all right? I cannot open the door!" she heard her handmaid Esme yell from outside, worry filling her voice.

"One moment!" Alaina called out, getting up to remove the chair she used to barricade the door. Esme peeked inside, looking at Alaina and the room. Nothing seemed to be amiss, so she gave Alaina a quizzical look.

"I would not have bothered you, my lady, but you must prepare for this evening's event! The guests are arriving, and His Majesty King Magnus asked where you were!" Esme cried out, obviously stressed that her mistress seemed not to care. Alaina knew that if she were late or unprepared for the event, Esme would get blamed and scolded. She did not want that to happen. 

In Esme's delicate grasp, a resplendent new dress claimed her attention. Maroon, like the earlier gown, this sumptuous creation exceeded its predecessor in grandeur. Intricate gold embroidery danced across the fabric, mesmerising in the warm, orange light filtering through the window. Tiny blossoms in the design were sprinkled with sparkling gems—could they be diamonds? Alaina pondered, incredulous at the thought of such a lavish touch adorning a dress. Esme helped Alaina to untie the back of her bodice, loosening the string that held it together. Alaina felt the release and took a deep breath. 

Esme noticed the blood stain on her arm sleeve and looked confused. Alaina chose to ignore her and gestured towards the new dress. Esme hurriedly went to pick up the new dress. She hated these tight-fitting bodices. 

In her Dunkeld home, tight-laced bodices were not customary; however, it had been a decade since her last visit. Alaina had resided at Hann Aisle Castle following the accident. She pondered whether differences in constraints related to her prior childlike body or her now-developed bust.

Slipping off her old dress, she released it to pool at her feet. Esme carefully retrieved it, placing it atop the chest of drawers. As Alaina stepped into the lavish new gown, she revelled in the sensation of the fine fabric gliding up her legs. The garment's weight felt more substantial compared to her other dresses, prompting her to wonder again—were the adornments genuine diamonds?

"This dress is amazing, my Lady. His majesty used actual diamonds to decorate the embroidery!" Esme gushed as if reading Alaina's mind. Alaina curled her lips into a small smile. King Magnus cared exceptionally diligently for her as if she were his daughter. Alaina recalled the tragic tale of the King's wife, who perished during childbirth due to complications. Faced with a heart-wrenching decision, he heeded his wife's pleas and chose to save their unborn child. Yet, fate proved unrelenting—the infant died a few days later from respiratory distress, despite Hann Aisle's most proficient healers' best efforts. The child would now have been close in age to Alaina.

Perhaps that motivated King Magnus's generous affection for her, attending to her every need with paternal care. She held a deep love for the king, rivalling her devotion to her own father. But his son—her future husband—was an utterly unwelcome presence in her life, a solemn thought that furrowed her brow with distress.

"I am sorry, my Lady, did I tie you up too tight? Let me loosen it for you," Esme said urgently, possibly seeing the grimace on Alaina's face. Esme was assigned to her since she arrived in the castle. Nothing could go past her regarding Alaina's feelings or emotions. Esme probably also knew how much Alaina hated Prince Sanson, but she would never question Alaina about it.

"No, no, Esme, it is perfect. Thank you," smiled Alaina as she stood up straight and adjusted the front of the intricate bodice. It sat snugly against her lithe frame and pushed her breasts together, making them look larger and rounder. 

"Come sit here while I fix your hair, my Lady." Esme patted the chair before the mirror, readying her brush and pins. She took out a bottle of fragrance oils from the drawer; these were only used during special occasions because of how expensive the oils were. Alaina wondered what was so special about a proposal that required the oils. The hairs on her arms stood, and her face blanched white. A sudden wave of nausea spread through her. It was finally happening, the day she had dreaded since childhood. It was customary for the wedding to take place not long after the proposal, and she knew that she would be Prince Sanson's wife in a fortnight. 

"Fetch me a bucket, Esme", Alaina whispered, holding her hand to her heaving chest while the other hand covered her mouth. Esme placed a small wooden bucket on Alaina's lap without saying a word. She dry-heaved into the bucket; beads of sweat formed on her forehead.

"It is the nerves, my Lady. I understand. When my husband proposed, I, too, responded by being sick all over his shoes! I was a nervous wreck." Alaina dropped her head into the bucket and dry heaved again. Nothing came out. It dawned on her that she had not eaten the entire day. "I know the prince is not… your preferred," she said cautiously, not to overstep. "But I am sure you will learn to care for him over time. He cares for you dearly, my lady. Although sometimes his actions can be confusing," she continued as she brushed Alaina's long locks, removing the tangles deftly and without any pain.

"At least your marriage was because of love, Esme", Alaina finally said quietly, taking her head out of the bucket. "At least you were not forced to marry for the kingdom's sake." Esme did not respond, which was unlike her character. Alaina thought that maybe she had overstepped. How dare she think her life was worse off than the servants and handmaids in the castle? How self-centred she was, she frowned to herself. 

Trying to lighten the mood, she picked up the bottle of oils and inhaled deeply. The smell was rich and warm, slightly musky but sweet. She could identify the hints of frankincense, jasmine, and a touch of sandalwood and vanilla. These oils came from the desert regions of the East, highly prized liquid gold. She passed the bottle to Esme, who emptied a few droplets into the palm of her hand; she proceeded to warm the oils by rubbing her palms together. Gently, she ran her fingers through Alaina's hair, spreading the oil evenly. The aroma wafted around the room, filling her nostrils. She took a deep breath, soaking in the oil's calming effect. Esme then braided her hair, slotting in jewelled pins that reflected the room's lights. When she was done, she kneaded Alaina's shoulders, using the oils to lubricate where she massaged. Alaina sighed deeply.

"Thank you, my dear Esme, for always taking such good care of me," she smiled. Esme blushed, pink rising in her cheeks.

"You're most welcome, my Lady. Try to relax and breathe today. It will be over before you know it." Esme smiled, straightening Alaina's hair to cover the scars on her back. Alaina knew this evening would pass quickly, but a marriage with Prince Sanson would last a lifetime. Her heart pounded in her chest; she breathed in slowly to steady herself before she got up.

 Esme opened the door for Alaina, smiling at her to give her confidence.

 "Good luck tonight, my Lady." And with that, Alaina trod down the stairs to the great hall, where she could already hear the faint bustle of music and chatter echoing through the hallways. The sun was just setting, and the servants hurriedly tried to light all the braziers. They greeted Alaina cheerfully as she walked past. Nodding at them with a weak smile, she continued to face her fate.

 Two smartly dressed footmen greeted Alaina as she approached the great hall doors; they opened them for her, nodding in approval of the stunning sight she was. She scanned the area, hoping to see her father amongst the throngs of people. Alaina noticed that the new teak tables and chairs were already being used for this event. As she gracefully walked in, the guests stopped to look at her, gaping in awe at her beauty.

 "Good evening, Sir Luke, Lady Mary", she curtsied. They greeted her in return; when she walked away, she heard Lady Mary reprimand her husband for staring. Alaina continued her journey, trying to find her father, but to no avail; instead, she felt a warm hand link around her waist.

 "If you didn't look so breath-taking, I would still be offended by your actions earlier today", Prince Sanson whispered slyly in her ear, making her skin crawl and another wave of nausea wash over her. She blanched white but tried to steady herself to show that she was unaffected.

 "Good evening, Sanson", she replied bitterly, trying to move his arm away from her waist. She turned to look at him and saw a stitch on his lower lip where she had bitten him earlier.

 "That's Prince Sanson to you, but you can call me anything you'd like when you're screaming my name in ecstasy." he grinned evilly at her. Another wave of nausea washed over her. He noticed her staring at his wounded lip and touched it with his finger, "I wonder how I'm going to explain this wound to our fathers." She knew it was a threat and would be severely punished if either of their fathers caught wind of what she did. It would be her word against the princes', and she knew whose word held more weight. A lump formed in her throat, but she remained silent, praying for someone to take her out of this situation. And as if the heavens heard her prayer, she heard her father's voice.

 "My darling Alaina! You look exquisite," bellowed her father, pulling her out of Prince Sanson's grasp and into a warm embrace. 

 "Papa!" she breathed out, relief washed over her. Though age and the weight of rulership had taken their toll on him, he remained strikingly handsome. Clad in an elegant navy-blue suit embellished with gold trim and tall black boots, his regal attire captivated. A polished ceremonial armour adorned his right side, customary on such occasions. Its shimmering components, from pauldron to vambrace and gauntlet, boasted a mirror-like finish that allowed her to glimpse her own reflection. She also spotted Prince Sanson's image within the polished surface, a displeased, twisted smirk etched upon his visage.

 "Oh, my dear boy! What happened to your lip?" Rainald asked the prince. Alaina flinched, waiting for the prince to admonish her behaviour. But instead, he laughed.

 "Ah, riding accident, my lord. I was trying a new stallion today, but I suppose he requires more training," Prince Sanson chuckled. Relief washed over Alaina, and she shot him a glance. It confused her why he did not push the blame on her when he could have done so. 

 "Yes, horses are great beasts, but they are also quite unpredictable", the duke replied, his eyes glazing over as he recollected the day of the accident. Although she had the physical scars of the accident as a permanent reminder, she never realised that her father also carried scars that were not visible. Her racing heart softened as she linked her arm with her father's.

 "I'm famished, Papa. Can you escort me to the buffet table?" 

Her father led her to the table where the King did not hold back regarding a ravishing spread. 

 An extravagant array of dishes filled the table, from confit squab to succulent roasted turkeys, buttered potatoes, and hearty root vegetables. Freshly baked dark rye bread and the tantalising aroma of Alaina's favourite slow-roasted veal stew filled the air. The delectable scents tickled her nose, eliciting hunger pangs as she struggled to maintain decorum.

Ignoring the echoes of her etiquette teacher's admonishments, she eagerly filled her white porcelain plate to the brim with the scrumptious fare. Alaina's father observed her, eyes widening with astonishment as she indulged in generous helpings, momentarily disregarding her ladylike manners.

 "Do they not feed you here?" he asked quietly, leaning in so no one could hear his comment. But his protective tone was apparent in his words.

 "Papa, I am very well taken care of. But I must have forgotten to eat today. I am famished," Alaina blushed. She decided against taking five slices of bread and instead opted for two, realising that she had already accumulated quite a mountain on her plate. They walked to one lavishly decorated long table right before the high throne. The King had not arrived yet, so the hall's energy was less stressful, and everyone seemed more at ease. Her father helped her get seated, and she dug into the food fervently. Her hand absent-mindedly grazed over the wood grain of the new teak table.

 "Alaina, I am sure by now you know why I am here and why we are having this… event," he said quietly. For such a largely built man, he chewed quietly and almost daintily, unlike how Alaina was mouthing her food hungrily. Swallowing hard, she looked at her father and tried to study his face.

 "I was wondering when you were planning to tell me," she replied softly. He looked at her, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I had hoped you would have visited me beforehand to…warn me of this occasion."

 "You always knew this was going to happen. This shouldn't have come as a surprise," he replied curtly, putting a piece of bread in his mouth. "Perhaps I could have given you an inkling before today, but you are already twenty. It is a very ripe age for marriage."

 Alaina grimaced at being referred to as "ripe." Like a mare waiting to be bred to a champion line stallion. She tried to hide the shudder that waved through her body.

 "I do not like him, Papa," she said bluntly while picking at the food on her plate. She looked at him with sadness, blinking away the tears in her eyes.

 "Alaina, I will not go through this again. I thought all these years here in Hann Aisle castle would have changed your mind. It is your duty as the daughter of a Duke. You know this marriage will benefit us far beyond your imagination." he admonished. Alaina kept quiet, putting a piece of turkey in her mouth instead of continuing the conversation. She knew her pleas would not lead anywhere; they never did. She decided not to waste her breath and ate her food instead.

 Fanfare erupted from the trumpeters and drummers, announcing the arrival of King Magnus. Everyone stood and clapped to welcome the King; he was well-loved in the kingdom. 

 "Long live the King!" shouted the guests, raising their fists to cheer his arrival. Alaina looked around the hall; her time at the castle taught her about the five kingdoms and the nobles who ruled each land.

King Magnus presided over approximately seventy per cent of the Western region, which comprised five distinct areas or sub-kingdoms. Dunkeld, the oldest region, boasted a proud lineage dating back farther than the First Great War of the West and North.

The Helum Empire, situated at the northernmost point of the Western region, was the first line of defence against the Northerners, commonly referred to as Barbarians. Though confrontations had ceased for years, the small but formidable fortress of Helum maintained a well-prepared army. Hann Aisle's long line of kings had consistently financed Helum's artillery and defence systems advancements. However, the region's perpetual wintry climate resulted in short days and long nights, yielding barren lands incapable of nourishing crops. Consequently, Helum relied upon the neighbouring realms for sustenance.

Esme had informed Alaina that Helum's inhabitants often bore scowls, their moods soured by the harsh weather conditions, which rendered them unfriendly and seemingly devoid of joy.

Dunkeld lay just below Helum, forming the second line of defence. While years of agricultural focus had reduced their military prowess compared to Helum, their alliance included resource-sharing and military support. Dunkeld's fertile lands yielded bountiful crops that sustained the five kingdoms.

Further southwest resided Hann Aisle, smaller in size but the Western region's chief port and hub of education, scholarship, and medicine. As a result, it was the wealthiest of the sub-kingdoms. Although the inhabitants' opulence and prestige incited envy, only the brightest from other realms gained admittance to their hallowed institutions. The people of Hann Aisle eagerly sported luxurious clothing, and merchants, sensing lucrative opportunities, inflated the prices of their goods.

Lying to Hann Aisle's east, the diminutive sub-region of Xeton arose after the Second Great War. Renowned for its exceptional construction capabilities, Xeton's robust citizenry brimmed with industry. Their achievements, including groundbreaking steam-powered automation, were bankrolled by Hann Aisle yet remained under testing.

 Nestled in the distant south sprawled the enigmatic sub-kingdom of Artisea, which seldom interacted with its Western neighbours. Nevertheless, it fell under King Magnus's dominion, having sworn fealty before the Second Great War and continued its allegiance. Their considerable military support—consisting of vast legions of soldiers—had proven invaluable to the royal crown.

Yet, whispers circulated of Artisea's unsavoury wartime practices, including pillaging and violating vulnerable villagers. Despite noble efforts to mitigate such brutality, the issue remained unresolved, a shameful secret obscured within the shadows. Alaina recalled eavesdropping on a tense conversation in this hall, wherein Artisea's leadership warned King Magnus not to meddle in their affairs lest they withdraw their cooperation. Despite the thinly veiled threat, the King chose to avoid further confrontation and, thus, paid no heed to their wartime crimes.

The Western region was a vast mosaic of interconnected fiefdoms, each vital, distinct, and interdependent. Alaina was often astounded by the myriad facets of her realm and the rich history and landscapes they encompassed.

"Good evening, lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, family and friends." bellowed King Magnus, addressing his guests. He raised his hands, welcoming his attendees. The clapping and cheering grew quiet out of respect for their beloved king. 

"Thank you all for joining us, for today is a day of great happiness and celebration!" the King continued. His voice was strong and confident - a voice of a true King. He demanded the attention of the crowd. Alaina grimaced at his mention of happiness and celebration. She stood with her hands clutching the skirt of her dress, her palms perspiring from the anxiety. 

"I would like to welcome my dearest son, Prince Sanson." The King stood with his right hand outstretched; out of the crowd, the prince sauntered to the throne next to his father. Around Alaina, she heard all the women gush, praising how attractive he was and how lucky his future bride would be. She felt another wave of nausea building up in the pit of her belly. Her face grew pale, and beads of perspiration started dripping down her neck. The guests clapped fervently, and the ladies swooned. The cooing from the female attendees was very audible. Prince Sanson stood confidently next to his father with a large grin plastered across his face. He winked at Alaina, causing her to look away sheepishly.

"Thank you, Father and everyone, for your attendance this evening. I would like to share the story of an amazing woman who came into my life ten years ago. I am not one to believe in love at first sight, but seeing her that fateful day made me change my mind. She is breathtakingly beautiful and smart, caring, and would make a perfect mother to our future children." Prince Sanson said proudly. It sounded so earnest that Alaina almost believed him, but she knew this was just a facade, to be the perfect prince everyone thought he was. To make everyone believe that this was some fairytale wedding about love. He outstretched his arm in Alaina's direction. "My beautiful Lady Alaina, please join me." 

Whispers could be heard throughout the crowd, and she felt everyone's eyes bearing down on her. Her heart skipped a beat; she gulped and walked towards the throne. She turned behind to her father, who was smiling widely and motioned for her to go. She walked as gracefully and confidently as possible despite her heart pounding in her chest and her ears ringing. Stopping at the foot of the elevated floor that held the throne chairs, she curtsied at the King and the prince. One step at a time, Alaina, breathe, she said in her head. Taking a careful step, she stood next to Prince Sanson, who immediately took her waist and squeezed it tight. She flinched, causing him to grip her even tighter. She felt his strong fingers almost puncturing into her flesh. The crowd clapped and cheered; she could not bear to look at them. She stared down at her feet, trying to steady her breathing.

"Smile", he snarled into her ear through his fake smile. She quivered and forced a smile on her blanched face. Everyone in the crowd stared at her, some smiling with joy, some women scowling in jealousy. Her heart thundered in her chest; it was all she could hear. While her face flushed red with embarrassment at being a focal point of this absurd spectacle.

"Now, I would also like to welcome my longest friend and father of Lady Alaina. Duke Rainald Dunkeld of the Dunkeld kingdom." The King bellowed, motioning to Alaina's father. The crowd clapped loudly as the duke proudly walked up to the throne. He stood tall and proud next to the King after bowing. The crowd cheered again.

"As you and everyone might know, I am a man of tradition. I ask your permission for my son, Prince Sanson, to take your lovely daughter, Lady Alaina Dunkeld, as his lawful wife. To be future Princess Alaina Magnus of Hann Aisle and High Lady of Dunkeld region. Thus merging our two kingdoms to become one."

Alaina knew this was just a motion of necessity. She knew this marriage was already carved in stone since she was born. She wished deep down inside that her father would reconsider, that he would ask for time to think. But it was far too late, and as her father spoke the words of his agreement, she felt her freedom slip through her fingers like fine sand.

"My dear friend, Your Majesty, I accept", proclaimed the duke. The crowd went into an uproar of claps and cheers. Alaina screamed on the inside; she clutched her body as she felt the wind get wiped out from within her. The crowd continued to clap unanimously and cheered loudly with their approval. Her face ached from the fake smile she forcefully plastered on; she wanted to run away.

Let us run away together…, she heard a strangely familiar voice whisper. She turned around suddenly to see who it was, but no one was behind her. Prince Sanson's fingers gripped her waist painfully; she wanted to peel his fingers away but knew the crowd was looking at them. 

Just as the crowd started to settle into the festivities of the evening, the doors of the great hall swung open. A lithe messenger ran into the hall, panting with blood soaked into his garments. Garments that Alaina recognised as from her homeland of Dunkeld. 

"I need to speak with Duke Rainald…" the messenger puffed and heaved. He slumped against the great hall door; the footmen had to step in to steady the poor man. Everyone turned to look at the cause of the intrusion; the hall grew painfully quiet except for the curious whispers of confusion.

"Everyone! Please continue the festivities!" said the King, realising that the crowd's attention was centred on the messenger. The crowd slowly turned around to face the King. "Please eat and drink to your heart's content", smiled the King, tearing away their attention from the commotion at the back of the hall. He turned to one of the servants, "Bring the messenger here, and for heavens' sake, offer the poor man a drink and a place to sit."

"Yes, your Majesty", an older servant replied, following the King's orders. 

"Rainald, do you have any idea what this could be about?" the King turned to the duke and said softly. Duke Rainald's eyes were wide and worried. He tried to say something, but no words could come out. For the first time, Alaina saw her father lost for words. The servants ushered the messenger to the back of the throne area where Duke Rainald was waiting. Alaina followed her father, grateful to escape Prince Sanson's grasp. The prince tried to grab her arm, but she slinked away too fast for him to react. The servant gave the messenger some water and a chair to sit on. He heaved and sighed almost painfully, perspiration dripping down his hair. 

"Speak," said the duke urgently. "What on earth happened?"

"Attack…my Lord, Dunkled is under attack…" he gasped between breaths. 

"Who? How many?"

"Around three… maybe four hundred, my Lord. Barbarians…"

The duke looked to the King. His face grew a frown, and wrinkles cut deep into his already-aged skin.

"How could a small army of four hundred men successfully breach the castle?" the duke raised his hands in exasperation.

"Your majesty, no word from Helum? Dunkeld is under attack by barbarians of the North." The duke's serious tone shifted the King's expression. 

"Hubert, summon the Duke of Helum", the King yelled to another servant. While waiting for the Duke of Helum to join them, the duke paced up and down in front of the messenger.

"You are sure? If this is a joke, your head will be on a stake by dawn." The duke's voice was laced with poison. Even Alaina shuddered upon hearing her father's voice.

"My Lord, upon my life. Dunkeld is in danger. It was unprovoked… they came in the dead of night. They did not harm the villagers or common folk - they headed straight to the castle." The flustered messenger took a few tentative sips of water.

"Who leads their army?"

"He only goes by one name, my Lord," the messenger coughed and rubbed his eyebrow with the back of his hand. "His name is Gareth." 

Upon hearing the name, the duke went pale and shook his head. He continued to pace the floor, his brows furrowed.

"No, no, it can't be," he said while pacing again, his speed increasing with each step, and his hand clenched the hilt of his sword, which hung on his waist. "It cannot be…."

"Who is it, father?" cried Alaina as she went to clutch her father's arm. He turned to her and held her face. It could not be the same Gareth, the Duke thought. She does not remember. She must not know. 

"No one, my sweetest… just a lowly barbarian coming to steal the riches of our duchy." 

Rainald's ruminations were punctuated by the emergence of the Duke of Helum, Lord Godefroy. Older by a good number of years, Lord Godefroy bore the years with unwavering vigour. His once ebony hair was now a field of snow, but his body had not yielded to the relentlessness of time. Akin to a tree that had weathered many storms yet still stood strong and tall, he loomed over Alaina, a mountain of a man, solid and seemingly indestructible.

His attire bore the distinctive colours of his region, dark grey like the tumultuous storm clouds and pristine white, a reflection of the region's snow-capped peaks. Unlike her father's more ornate and elaborate attire, Lord Godefroy's garb was less opulent but no less commanding.

His face, furrowed with the lines of age and experience, bore a stoic and angry expression. His deep-set eyes were like chips of flint, hard and sharp. Esme was right when she mentioned that the men of Helum bore no smiles, for Lord Godefroy's looked as though he was incapable of laughter.

"Lord Rainald,'' offered Lord Godefroy, nodding his head with a hint of something untold lurking beneath the courtly civility.

"Lord Godefroy", Rainald reciprocated, his voice a touch firmer. His experienced eyes, accustomed to the machinations of courtly politics, did not miss the fleeting shadow that passed over Godefroy's face. 

"We just had word that barbarians of the North attacked Dunkeld. Have you received word of any attack on Helum?" Rainald pressed, watching Godefroy closely.

"None," Godefroy frowned, a subtle tightening of his features under the weight of Rainald's query. "There have been no known attacks nor any activity of the northerners for many moons. Unless we have and our messenger did not survive the journey here."

Rainald's sharp gaze never wavered from the man before him. Though Godefroy's words spoke of calm assurance, there was a lingering note of uncertainty, a slight shake in the melody of his words that Rainald's well-tuned ears picked up. For he knew that dangerous currents always lurked beneath the water's serene surface. As he studied Godefroy, he felt a creeping suspicion that the lord was concealing something.

The King overheard the conversation and stepped in. He was taller than both the dukes, although his face did not suffer from ageing as the dukes had. 

"I can send a messenger to Helum immediately, '' said the King. "I would not want tonight's festivities to continue if our brethren are being attacked."

"Thank you, your majesty. Please send your fastest messenger," replied Godefroy.

"What do you plan to do, Rainald?" the King asked.

"I would need to return immediately," Rainald replied, pressing his fingers to his eyebrows. "But I would need reinforcements… could you spare some of your men, your Highness?"

"Yes, of course. Unfortunately, most of my army is on an expedition in the East. It would take them a month to come to your aid."

"Anyone you can spare, your Highness," Rainald turned to Godefroy, "Old friend, could you send aid?"

"I can send as many as I can spare. If there has been an attack on Dunkeld, Helum needs to be prepared in case of another attack at the border."

Alaina watched the men talk; her skin crawled at the possibility of an attack again. The gravity of the issue seemed so severe, and the last time there was a significant attack like this was during the Second Great War. She clutched her dress, not knowing what to do with her balmy palms. 

"I will go, father!" Prince Sanson exclaimed as he walked toward the group. She wondered how much of the conversation he had heard. "I will lead Hann Aisles convoy to aid Dunkeld." he wrapped his arm around Alaina's waist. "After all, I need to protect the land of my future wife." Alaina glowered at the floor so none of the men could see her reaction. She knew it was just an act to gain favour and prestige. 

"It will be your first easy victory, my boy!" the King guffawed, patting his son on the back. "You will make Hann Aisle proud." Neither of the other Dukes said anything; they knew Prince Sanson had never battled a day in his life besides sparring with men who were too afraid of injuring the prince. His hands were not worn like theirs were from wielding their swords. Fighting with a straw dummy is not ample training for the pains of war. Duke Rainald opened his mouth to disagree but chose to hold his tongue and not insult the King and the Prince.

"Thank you for your kindness", Rainald bowed to the King and Prince. "I will ready my things and my small convoy to return to Dunkeld. We will leave at dawn." With that, Rainald left the room, the sombre look on his face never changing. Alaina chased after her father.

"Papa, I would like to return to Dunkeld with you!" she cried as she gripped his arm. He stared at her, and then his eyes softened.

"Alaina, that would not be wise. We will be walking into a battle, and we will not have a large convoy. It is too dangerous; you must stay in Hann Aisle Castle's safety. There is no way the barbarians would travel this far south." His heart constantly ached when he had to leave his daughter. But he knew it was for the best, especially if it was the same Gareth from their past. The memory of that harrowing day still haunted his thoughts, and the rash decision he had to make to quell his anger still plagued him. He was supposed to be dead…

In the aftermath of the grievous incident, Duke Rainald was drowned in a sea of sorrow so profound the only escape seemed to be through fiery wrath directed at a target. His accusing finger pointed towards the boy, Gareth, attributing the cause of his beloved daughter's torment to him. The memories of that fateful day were etched in his mind as if they were only yesterday's events, and they haunted him relentlessly.

Duke Rainald was gripped with an icy dread when he was informed that Alaina had been thrown from her horse during a seemingly innocuous race with Gareth, the stablekeeper's son. Gareth was no stranger to the Duke, rather a constant presence around Alaina, her steadfast friend, always ready to come to her aid.

Born without memories of his family, Gareth was a foundling, abandoned on the castle's doorstep, a vulnerable infant wrapped in a ragged cloth tainted by blood, his tiny form infested with fleas and encrusted with dirt. His frail breaths seemed to hang on the edge of life and death. A servant discovered him, helpless and unsure of the next action, and brought the fragile babe to the Duke.

Recognising an opportunity to ease the sorrow of Rangor, his stable keeper who had recently lost his son to illness, the Duke entrusted the child to his care. The boy breathed new life into Rangor's bereaved existence as he raised him as his own and tutored Gareth in the language of horses.

With his striking features and unyielding loyalty, Gareth became Alaina's sunshine, the beacon that cut through her lonely existence within the castle's imposing walls. Their friendship blossomed beautifully, painting her solitary world with vibrant colours of camaraderie and shared laughter. Duke Rainald observed the shift in Alaina's demeanour; every day Gareth was around, her radiance would rival the sun, a silent tribute to their unspoken bond.

They were two halves of a whole, Alaina and Gareth, inseparable and interdependent. In the halls of learning, Alaina guided Gareth through the labyrinth of letters and words, and in return, he introduced her to the mesmerising world of the equines.

Duke Rainald also harboured affection for Gareth, considering him the son he never had. He envisioned the young boy becoming a squire and, eventually, a valiant knight of Dunkeld, perhaps even Alaina's personal protector. As Alaina attended her lessons, Gareth trained with squires much older than himself. The commander admired the boy's tenacity and allowed him to partake in their exercises. Unwavering, he matched the older squires in stamina and strength.

In Alaina's life, Gareth was a beacon of happiness, unveiling the world beyond the castle walls. Embracing adventure, she dirtied her hands and scuffed her knees under his tutelage. Though Duke Rainald acknowledged the unladylike nature of such experiences, he desired his daughter to have a joyful childhood before she became constrained by the rigid expectations of nobility. He often jested about Alaina returning home with the scent of horses and soil. As the life of a noblewoman could be harsh and austere, he hoped Alaina would savour her delight-filled days before becoming the prince's bride.

In the wake of the accident, Duke Rainald made a calamitous error, directing his fury towards Gareth. The boy had played no role in the actual mishap, but the Duke's ire demanded an outlet in the face of his daughter's love for horses, which had led to her predicament. Following Alaina's swift departure to Hann Aisle for a groundbreaking surgery, a sense of emptiness pervaded Duke Rainald's life. His thoughts drifted towards vengeance, targeting the hapless Gareth.

On a stormy afternoon in Dunkeld, with angry clouds lingering overhead, the enraged Duke called on Rangor to discuss a fateful decision: Gareth's execution for allegedly harming his precious daughter. Rangor, aghast, implored the Duke to reconsider, but wrath overpowered reason, leaving the verdict unchanged. Customarily, executions in Dunkeld were conducted by a dispassionate executioner, the guilty beheaded in the city square. Yet, such events were increasingly rare as crime dwindled in the kingdom.

Rangor, desperate to at least ensure his son's death would be private and dignified, convinced the Duke to permit a discreet execution. Then, nervously clutching a sack containing the boy's remains, Rangor brought his son's body to be buried in the castle cemetery. Recalling the incident, Duke Rainald felt a frigid wave of guilt engulf him. If he could turn back time, he would not have acted so hastily. The execution had been intended to soothe his fury and guilt, but it only augmented his remorse. And if Alaina ever discovered the dark secret, he knew he might lose her forever.

Rainald shook his head, trying to erase the memory. The Gareth he knew was dead; he saw the boy's body being buried. It was impossible that it was the same person. And if it was, what was his motive? Revenge? Rainald brushed his hands through his greying hair, almost forgetting that his daughter was still beside him.

"Papa? Please?" Alaina begged. Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. 

"No, Alaina. For once, just listen to me, damn it!" Rainald shouted at her. Alaina recoiled at her father's raised voice. She took a few steps backwards, tears welling in her eyes. She turned and darted off, her flowing dress glistening in the dim hallway light—her auburn locks floating behind her.

Alaina stifled her sobs as best she could, overwhelmed by emotion, but her heart throbbed with anguish. Hurtling to her room, she secured the door once more with the chair. Breathless and distraught, she disregarded the lavish dress's worth and tore it off, the laces cutting into her back mercilessly. The gown drifted to the floor, gleaming resplendently amidst the chaos. Frustration surging, she kicked it aside, banishing it to a corner. The jewels and diamonds scattered on the floor, glistening in the dim light of her room.

Rummaging through her chest of drawers, Alaina located her riding pants and shirt, hurriedly dressing herself. She packed additional clothing into a satchel and discovered a pouch of gold coins concealed within the drawer, promptly attaching it to her belt. Time was of the essence, and she was determined to act before it was too late.

Conscious of the imminent possibility of Esme checking on her, Alaina hastily arranged pillows and dresses beneath the blanket to resemble a sleeping figure—puffed up convincingly enough to pass a cursory examination. If Esme found her sleeping, she would not be disturbed. Hastily tidying the room, Alaina left the radiant dress crumpled and deserted on the floor. But she did have the mind to gather the loose diamonds and jewels strewn across the floor into the palm of her hand. It made her giddy to think that the value she had in her grasp was enough to purchase an entire small village. The diamonds and jewels tinkled as she released them onto her dressing table.

Her heart pounded as she mentally rehearsed each step of her plan, uncertain of the outcome but resolved to try.

The window gave her the perfect view of convoys that arrived and left Hann Aisle Castle, so she knew that the convoys would always have a storage carriage for rations and weapons. That would be her hiding spot, she planned in her head. She aimed to stow away in the storage carriage, returning to Dunkeld without anyone's knowledge; unfortunately, since Prince Sanson was also travelling with them, she would regrettably still be in the same vicinity as him. She scowled, thinking of his face, but forced herself to focus on her mission. Undoing her braids, she re-tied her hair into a tight bun on the top of her head, using a piece of stray ribbon she saw on the mantle.

Carefully, she blew out all the candles that illuminated her room and removed the chair in front of her door. She opened her large room door as quietly as possible, slowing her breath despite her heart pounding in her chest. Peeping out the door to check if the coast was clear, she slung her satchel over her shoulder and darted out of her room down the hallway. 

Alaina knew all the shortcuts in the castle from all her years of trying to avoid the prince. The servants' galleys would be the best and quickest route to the stables, where the convoy would prepare for their journey. But she knew that since the celebration would have just ended at this time, it would be heavy with human traffic of servants and handmaids cleaning up. She took the back staircase, which hardly anyone took because the servants rarely lit the braziers. It was old, dusty, cold and long overdue for restoration. She padded down the stairs as quietly as possible but was alerted to low guttural moans from the second-floor landing. She slowed her pace and slinked lower down the stairs; the wood creaked under her feet, and she silently cursed at every sound she made. She peeped down and saw a pile of shining decorative armour on the floor, the type of armour that Prince Sanson wore this evening. The moans grew louder, accompanied by a steady rhythm of thudding. Curious, she padded down lower but instantly regretted her decision when she realised it was indeed the prince deep in the throughs of coupling.

Prince Sanson had a lady pressed against the wall, his hands in her dress, cupping her breasts while he thrusted into her from behind. Her dress draped over her back showed her round, plump bottom. It was flushed pink from the abrasions against his inner tunic and belt.

"Oh, Sanson…" the lady moaned as he thrust hard and deep into her. He cupped her breasts, pulling one out of her bodice, making it droop and bounce in the rhythm of the thrusts. He shifted his hands to her waist to steady her and pounded even faster in helpless abandon. A few thrusts later, he let out a deep moan and emptied himself into her, his body shuddering through the waves of his climax. Alaina wondered in disgust how many bastards the prince had fathered over the years.

"Alaina…" he said through the moan. Alaina clasped her hand over her mouth and jumped back at the mention of her name. Though she could not see, she heard the quick shuffling of fabric.

"My name is Sheridan," the lady said dryly as she straightened up, smoothening her dress. Alaina peeped at them again despite her better judgement telling her not to.

"Whatever, you may go", he replied, almost spitting it at her. The shock and embarrassment on her face made Alaina feel sorry for her. Sheridan hurried off sheepishly, gathering her belongings. Sanson was also straightening himself and putting on his decorative armour. It was almost as if he knew someone was looking at him. He glanced up to where Alaina was standing. She jumped back, retreating to the shadows. A soft gasp escaped her mouth, and she felt beads of perspiration form at her temples from the fear of being caught.

"Who's there?" he shouted. Alaina gasped again but quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

"Fuck…" he muttered and continued putting on his armour. Once done, he slowly jogged down the remaining flights of stairs; his armour clanging against each other echoed through the staircase. Alaina waited till she could no longer hear footsteps, then she quietly slinked down the stairs and headed to the stables. She breathed a silent prayer of relief that she was not seen.