Chapter 18
Gasps rippled through the great hall.
Prince Roland–brother to the king of Crownspire, whose coffers rivaled that of any noble house–had just promised a third of his holdings?
Eleanor’s heart gave a violent jolt.
She knew Edmund had lived too long among the treacherous waters of court politics. No one in their right mind would turn down such an offer.
But then–Edmund gave a short, cold laugh. “I decline.”
At those words, the Wolveston kin rose in unison. Lady Wolveston herself stepped forward, placing a firm, maternal hand over Eleanor’s.
“She is bound to this house by honor and vow,” she said, voice unwavering. “No man shall treat her like coin in a wager.”
A warmth bloomed in Eleanor’s chest. Her eyes stung.
She turned–only to meet Roland’s gaze, desperate and unrelenting.
“Eleanor,” he pleaded, voice hoarse with despair. “Come with me. Please. I’ll spend a lifetime making this right.”
She closed her eyes. When they opened again, they were clear as glass and hard as ice.
“No.”
She turned to the officiant. “Let the ceremony proceed.”
A beat of silence,
Then-
“Don’t you dare!” Roland’s voice thundered across the chamber.
At that moment, one of his men approached quickly and whispered in his ear.
“Your Highness, the preparations are complete.”
Eleanor’s heart seized. She turned sharply. “Roland, what have you done?”
His eyes glinted with madness, his voice dark and steady. “I’ve stationed men around the hall. If you won’t come with me–no one here leaves alive.”
The hall fell utterly silent.
“You’ve lost your senses,” Eleanor breathed.
“Aye,” he said, a fevered glint in his eyes. “And I’ll lose them a thousand times over, if it means watching you wed another.”
“Roland!” Her voice shook. What do you want?!”
“I want you. Come with me Just give me a chance.”
“I will not!”
“Then we all die,”
Eleanor’s breath hitched. Her nails bit into her palms.
And then—Edmund reached for her hand, his grip strong and calm. “Then we die together.”
The Wolveston bannermen roared in one voice, “We stand as one.”
But not all shared their resolve.
The guests, once silent, now fell to their knees in terror, their voices rising in a tide of cowardice.
“Lady Eleanor, Tbeg you! Think of us–we are but guests, we meant no haru!”
She’s right! Please, don’t doom us all over a lovers‘ quarrel!”
Eleanor bit down on her lip. Hard
Then, at last, she took a breath
Very well”
Chapter 18
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She turned to Roland. Her voice was cold steel.
“You have seven days. No more. After that–I never want to see you again. And if you dare lose control like this again, I will end it myself.”
Hope burst behind his eyes like fire. “Yes–yes, anything!”
“Eleanor!” Edmund’s voice cracked.
She turned to him, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you trust me? Just seven days. Please.”
Edmund stared at her for a long, aching moment. Then, slowly, he let go of her hand.
Lady Wolveston came forward, pressing a small bundle into Eleanor’s hand. Her voice was soft. “Keep this close, child. You’ll know when the time is right.”
Eleanor nodded. And with that, she turned and walked away–at Prince Roland’s side.
The moment they stepped outside the keep, Roland was all urgency.
“I’ll have the horses ready. We ride for Crownspire before dawn-”
Eleanor’s voice sliced through him.
“You so much as lead me to the gates of Crownspire, and I’ll die right there on the road. Kill them all if you like–but my corpse is all you’ll have.” Roland stopped cold.
“…Very well,” he said, swallowing hard. “We’ll remain in Westmarch. If this is where you feel safe, then this is where we stay.”
He gave a signal. Within the hour, he had secured one of Westmarch’s most lavish estates.
But when Eleanor stepped inside the manor house, her breath caught in her throat.
Everything–the tapestries, the tea room, the scent of blooming roses in the courtyard–it was exactly like her childhood home, before her mother’s
death.
She stood frozen.
And then, she felt his arms slide around her from behind. His voice was low and hopeful.
“Do you like it?”
She laughed–but the sound was bitter, scalding.
“I remember you doing the same for Cecily. Renting out entire halls. Carving her name into your skin. And when she was struck once on my behalf–you had me whipped ninety–nine times in her stead.”
Roland’s heart gave a violent wrench. He held her tighter.
“I know,” he whispered. “But I swear, Eleanor–I will make it right.”
Chapter 18
