Page 2 of Labyrinth of Broken Vows
“Well, you’ll love what I have for you today!” he beamed, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. With a quick shuffle, he hobbled off, returning moments later with a stack of worn leather-bound books, blowing off the dust as he approached. I couldn’t help but smile, though a soft cough escaped me as the particles danced in the air.
I peered at the stack Alaric had brought, my heart racing with anticipation. His offerings were always delightful, but today, something tugged at me—a yearning for a tale that whispered of shadows and secrets, something that danced along the edges of danger. I gently brushed aside the lighter volumes, letting my fingers linger over the spines of the leather-bound books, feeling the coolness of the aged leather beneath my touch. One in particular caught my eye, its cover embossed with intricate designs that seemed to shimmer in the dim light of the shop. The title, barely legible, promised adventures that teetered on the brink of darkness.
“Alaric, what about this one?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, yet filled with excitement.
He leaned closer, peering at the book as if it were a hidden treasure. “Ah, ‘The Forbidden Paths of Eldermoor.’ A daring choice! It speaks of a heroine who defies the norms, delving into the forbidden realms where magic and danger intertwine. It’s quite… intense.”
“This is the one Alaric, I’ll take it.” I said with a smile as he hands me the book.
“Everyone loves a good villain with a backstory,” Alaric said with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling like stars in the twilight. “They remind us that darkness can be as captivating as light.”
I nodded, feeling the corners of my mouth lift in a grateful smile. “Thank you, Alaric. I can’t wait to dive into this one.”
He beamed at me, his gnome-like features softening with warmth. “Enjoy it, my dear. May your imagination take you on many thrilling adventures.”
With a wave of my hand, I stepped out of the bookshop, a rush of excitement surging through me. In my eagerness, I completely forgot to hide the book within my satchel. Instead, I flipped through its pages, eager to uncover the mysteries woven within.
Lost in the world of my thoughts, I barely registered the knight approaching until it was too late. I collide with him, the impact jolting me back to reality. My heart drops as the realization hits, I recognize him as one of the knights from my husband’s patrol. Panic surges through me like ice water, and instinctively, my eyes dart around for any sign of my husband. The very thought of him catching me out in public, especially with a book in my hand, sends a rush of dread coursing through my veins.
“Well, hello, Brielle,” the knight greeted his voice light and teasing. “You might want to close that book and watch where you’re going. You’ll fall right into the fountain if you’re not careful.”
His playful tone contrasted sharply with the suffocating fear that gripped me. I forced a smile, but it felt fragile as if it might shatter under the weight of his gaze.
What if he mentioned seeing me out, especially with a book in my hand, to my husband? My throat tightened at the mere thought, and I could feel my heart pounding louder than the bustling life around us.
“Yes, yes, thank you,” I replied, my voice rushing and tinged with urgency.
He tilted his head, studying me with a flicker of concern. “Are you alright?”
The innocent question sent a shiver down my spine, igniting an overwhelming urge to flee. I had to get away—had to return to the safety of my home, the cage that held the echoes of my husband’s rage, the place I stayed to hide the bruises. “I—I need to get going,” I stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush, desperate to escape the scrutiny of his gaze.
“Of course,” he said, a hint of sympathy lingering in his eyes. “Take care, Brielle.”
With a quick nod, I turned away, clutching the book against my chest as if it were a lifeline as if I could somehow melt intothe pages and escape this situation. The weight of his gaze bore down on me, an invisible hand pressing against my back as I stumbled away. Each step felt heavy, laden with secrets and the looming fear of discovery. He will tell Henry he seen me, head in a book, out in the town for everyone to see. Henry didn’t like for me to be out amongst the other men. Thousands of times hes told me that I am his greatest conquest. The woman known for her beauty he was able to capture and keep in a cage where no one else can see me, no one else can take his treasure. I wish he treated me as treasure. Instead he treated me as if I’m not breakable.
As I hurried down the well-trodden path toward home, the walls of my prison loomed ahead, both comforting and suffocating. Each step quickened my heart, the familiar route blurring around me. Here, within these four walls, no one could see my fear, no one could gaze upon the beauty he desperately sought to keep for himself, and most importantly, no one could witness the way he took pleasure in adorning me in hues of his fury, a cruel masterpiece crafted upon my skin.
Once inside, I slam the door behind me, my breath catching in ragged gasps as if I’ve outrun some kind of predator. For a moment, I’m paralyzed, my heart thundering in my chest, the weight of panic bearing down. What if he knows? What if the knight has already told him?
I clutch the book tighter, my hands shaking, and dart to the kitchen. My eyes scan the room wildly, searching for a place to hide it, behind the pots and pans. His hands would never touch them. A man like him doesn’t concern himself with such things. I shove the book deep behind the heavy iron, pushing it as far back as I can, my pulse quickening as if that simple act could protect me. It’ll be safe there. He won’t find it. He can’t.
I step back, eyes locked on the hidden space behind the pots and pans, my pulse thrumming in my ears. The terror swells,choking me from the inside out. All of this... over a book, Brielle. How reckless. How utterly foolish.
The realization slams into me with a force that makes my knees feel weak. My hands tremble as I grip the edge of the counter, trying to steady myself. I shouldn’t have to feel like this—suffocated by fear over something as simple, as innocent, as wanting to read. But here I am, heart pounding like I’ve committed some terrible sin. A book. A few pages of fiction and I’ve risked everything. But these books are special to me, they are my savior on the days life feels too heavy. The thought makes my stomach twist painfully. How could I be so careless?
I shouldn’t have to hide like this. I shouldn’t have to feel this constant knot of dread in my chest, this fear that any misstep could cost me dearly. But I do. It’s become my reality, day in and day out—walking a tightrope between what I need to survive and what he’ll tolerate. It’s not fair. The words rise in my throat, bitter and sharp, but I swallow them down. Fairness has no place here. Not in this house. Not in this life.
I press my palms harder against the counter, the cool surface grounding me as I fight to regain control of my breathing. The tightness in my chest doesn’t ease, but I push it aside. What I feel doesn’t matter. My fear, my anger—they’re irrelevant. All that matters is what he will feel when he walks through that door. What mood he will be in? How I can manage it.
The thought gnaws at me, twisting deeper with every second. I force myself to breathe, to think. It’s about survival now, not what I want, not what I need. When he comes home, I have to make sure I’m ready. That I’ve done everything perfectly, that there’s nothing for him to latch onto.
I turn toward the hearth, forcing my shaking hands to gather ingredients. A distraction. If I can have something prepared, something good, maybe it will ease his temper. The smell of food can always soften him a little, at least long enough to gaugewhether I’m in trouble. I start with a stew—something hearty, something that will fill the house with warmth. My hands move on autopilot, chopping carrots and onions, and slicing the last of the lamb. I sprinkle rosemary from the small garden outside, hoping the scent will rise and fill the air like a shield. Each slice of the knife is mechanical. The steady rhythm of chopping fills the silence, but it doesn’t calm the pounding of my heart. It’s all I can do to keep moving, to keep doing something that might help me when he walks through that door.
If he knows about the book… if the knight said anything… no meal will be enough. But I keep cooking, because it’s all I can do to hold off the storm that’s surely coming.
Before long, the house is filled with the mouthwatering scent of roasted meat and herbs, the rich aroma curling through the air. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten all day, but there’s no time for that now. I listen carefully, nerves stretched taut. And then I hear it—the faint clink of metal, his armor announcing his presence long before he reaches the door.
The latch clicks, and I hold my breath. Every muscle in my body tenses, bracing for the familiar onslaught of his anger, like waves crashing over me, threatening to drown me. But... nothing. No yelling. He doesn’t even look at me as he steps inside.
