Page 11 of Beyond the Treaty

He leans forward, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his face. “If the curse takes hold, it won’t just consume him; it will consume you, your will, your soul, everything. You’ll be bound to him completely, in life and death.”

I stand frozen for a moment, the air thick with the weight of his words. Then I exhale sharply, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “So that’s it, then. I’m to be his keeper, or his sacrifice.”

Bastian steps toward me. “Elara, we still have time. If you want me to stop this, ”

“No,” I say firmly, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade. I turned to face him, my eyes blazing with determination. “I won’t run. If the Council thinks they can use me, they’ll soon learn just how wrong they are. And if Lord Kaelen is as dangerous as they claim...” I smirked, but there was no humour in it. “Then it’s time I meet this infamous side of him. Let’s see if he’s truly a monster or just another pawn.”

Bastian shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. “Please, Elara. You need to be careful. If this marriage is more than just politics, if it’s a way to harness his power, you have

the right to know.”

“Thank you, Bastian. I will tread carefully. Keep that journal hidden and do not let it fall into the wrong hands.”

I see him leave, a trusting look exchanged between us. I know he’ll keep his word. After closing the door and locking it for the night, I feel the weight of the silence settle around me. The bed calls to me, but I turn instead toward my vanity mirror. The flickering firelight dances across the polished surface, casting shadows that twist and distort my reflection. I leanforward, resting my hands on the edge of the vanity, gripping the wood as if to anchor myself in this storm of thoughts.

My eyes meet the woman staring back at me, a fierce, unyielding gaze that feels both familiar and foreign. There is weight in her expression, anger and resolve, but something deeper too: betrayal. Yet, she doesn’t let it show fully. Not yet.

The gown draped over the back of the chair catches my eye in the reflection. Its intricate embroidery of gold and crimson resembles chains disguised as beauty. I absently reach out, tracing my finger along the fabric, the remnants of last night, of the night spent with Kaelen, still clinging to it. I drop my hand, feeling disgusted.

“How did it come to this?” I whisper the question barely audible, as if I were asking the woman in the mirror and not myself.

I study her face, my face. The sharpness of my cheekbones, the tension in my jaw, the fire in my eyes. She looks like a warrior preparing for battle, yet there’s a coldness to her that feels almost alien.

“Do you even know who you are anymore?” I murmur, tilting my head slightly as though the reflection might respond. Of course, it doesn’t change. It’s always the same unyielding stare.

“I will survive this,” I say firmly, challenging my reflection to disagree. “I always do.” As I turn away from the mirror, the image of myself lingers; this version of me, forged by anger and necessity, feels both alien and achingly familiar. One thought occupies my mind now.

CHAPTER 8

The palace had become unnervingly silent over the past few days. The usual hum of life, servants whispering in the halls, the distant clatter from the kitchens, and the sharp echo of Council meetings had faded into an oppressive stillness.

When the knock came at my chamber door just after dawn, it sliced through the silence like a blade. I rose from bed, the cold morning air biting at my skin as I pulled a robe tightly around myself.

Withers, my ever-dutiful friend, stood at the door with an unusually tense expression on his face. His grey eyes darted toward the corridor behind him, as though he feared unseen watchers. In his hands, he held a single envelope, its edges worn as if it had travelled a great distance.

“M’Lady,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “This arrived sometime during the night. No one saw who delivered it.”

I took the envelope, its seal unbroken and unmarked by any sigil or crest. The parchment felt coarser than the palace’s usual fine stationery, and a faint scent of smoke clung to it.

“Did anyone see anything? A messenger? Arider?” I asked.

Withers shook his head. “No, my lady. It was left in the outer hall, and the guards brought it to me.”

I nodded and murmured my thanks as he bowed and left. Once alone, I closed the door behind him and took the letter to my writing desk, my heart pounding.

The seal was rudimentary, a simple circle pressed into wax. I hesitated, examining the uneven folds of the parchment and the faint smudge of soot along its edge. Whatever this was, it did not appear to be official correspondence. Breaking the seal, I unfolded the letter. The handwriting inside was elegant but rushed, and the ink was smudged as though it had been written in haste.

It read:

Queen Elara,

The silence surrounding you is deliberate. There are forces at work in the shadows, and you are at the heart of it all. If you want to uncover the truth about Lord Kaelen, the bond, and the Council’s intentions, meet me in the southern gardens at midnight. Trust no one, not even those closest to you.

-A friend.

The last linestruck me like a physical blow: trust no one. Not even Bastian, my fiercest ally? Not Withers, whose loyalty has never wavered?

The stillness of the palace now felt suffocating; the weight of the letter pressed heavily in my hands. I placed it on the desk, its warning echoing: trust no one.

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