Chapter 8
“Your Grace, the King will be furious if he finds out-”
The attendant’s voice trembled, but Prince Roland cut him off. “Keep craving.”
The needle bit into flesh. Blood welled to the surface with each stroke as Cecily’s name was carved over his heart–an oath of devotion forged in pain.
From a distance, Eleanor watched in silence. Each cut to his chest felt like a blade to her own.
It wasn’t her name etched into his skin. And yet, the wound was hers.
Two hours later, pale and barely standing, Roland clutched at his bleeding chest but insisted on dressing himself.
“We ride for Starfall Crag.”
“You can’t!” the knight protested. “That place is treacherous–and Your Grace, you’ve just had the engraving done-‘
“I said now.”
Eleanor stood by her window, the wind brushing past her sleeves like a cold whisper.
She remembered Cecily’s laughter, her taunting conditions for choosing a suitor.
“He must carve my name over his heart,” Cecily had said sweetly.
“And bring me a Starbloom Rose from the cliffs of Starfall Crag.”
Eleanor laughed bitterly. Laughed until tears fell silently down her cheeks.
The next morning, Cecily strutted through the manor with a white Starbloom Rose pinned in her hair.
Only hours earlier, before dawn had broken, Roland had returned. Bloodied. His right arm broken. Yet despite his wounds, his lips curved in a smile…
The following morning, as Eleanor stepped out of her chamber, Roland emerged from the corridor.
His face was pale, and his arm bound tightly in fresh cloth. His tunic hung loose, the edge of the carved wound still visible.
“My lady,” he said hoarsely, “I suffered an… accident last night. I’ll need to remain at rest for a few days. I may not be able to guard you for now.”
Accident?
It was clearly from the climb.
But she didn’t challenge his lie. Only nodded faintly and walked past.
Today, she would say her goodbyes.
The Silver Chalice Inn bustled with warmth and wine.
“To our Eleanor!” Linette Ravenshade–Eleanor’s best friend–cried, flinging an arm around her. “Soon to be Lady Wolveston of the Westmarch! We drink until dawn!”
The private parlor was filled with familiar faces–girls she’d grown up with, laughed with, trusted.
The laughter rang out, yet Eleanor felt oddly quiet inside.
“I say, marrying a dying man is a blessing in disguise!” Linette slurred as she swirled her goblet. “The Wolvestons are rich, powerful, and feared even by the Crown. And you–Crownspire’s finest gem–will be their future lady. No husband to serve, all the luxuries in the world? Bliss!”
“Exactly!” another chimed in. “And when the time comes, all that estate will be yours!”
Eleanor chuckled softly, tracing the rim of her cup with a finger.
“Once I’m married, I’ll have to behave. Mustn’t embarrass the Wolvestons, after all.”
Her friends went silent–then burst out with t nervous reassurances.
“No, surely Lord Edmund will recover!”
“He’d be mad to stay asleep with a beauty like you by his side!”
Chapter 8
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“You’re the fairest in all of Crownspire–he’ll wake just to see you.”
Eleanor smiled and drank, letting their voices wash over her like waves she no longer felt the need to swim against.
When it came time to part, Linette hugged her tightly.
Her voice cracked. “Your father is a damned bastard… And Cecily? Say the word and we’ll ruin her.”
“No need,” Eleanor said, patting her friend’s back gently. “Once I leave, none of this will matter anymore.”
She embraced them one by one, each hug a quiet farewell. By the end, everyone’s eyes were red.
As she passed a side chamber on the way out, familiar voices drifted through a half–open door.
“That flower’s really that hard to get?”
“Absolutely! Starfall Crag is near impossible–climbers with decades of experience won’t even try.”
Peering through the narrow gap, Eleanor caught sight of Cecily toying with a fresh Starbloom Rose.
Across from her, one of Eleanor’s old acquaintances looked absolutely giddy with gossip.
“And yet he went anyway? Risked his life just to bring it back for you? I heard he even carved your name into his chest! He must truly be in love.”
“A lowly guard,” Cecily sneered, brushing her fingers over a torn petal. “Hardly worthy. But I suppose… if Roland is willing to throw himself at my feet, there’s no harm in letting him adore me a little longer.”
Chapter 8
