2 Bloomingtide 9:29
Ariana sat on the cool stone floor of her balcony, her legs drawn close to her chest, gazing up at the vast expanse of stars. The stillness of the night should have been comforting, but instead, it magnified the storm within her. Hours had passed since the announcement, since her world had shifted irrevocably, yet the ache in her chest remained as raw as ever.
Her mind wandered to the weight of her name, Ariana Ryss Trevelyan, youngest daughter of Bann Trevelyan Ostwick. She had always known that being born into nobility came with expectations, obligations that couldn’t be ignored. As the youngest child, her role had been defined early—she was the backup plan, the insurance for her family’s alliances. With her siblings forging their own paths, her destiny had become one of duty above all else.
Her older siblings had found their escapes, she realized bitterly. Mark, as the eldest, had inherited the title and the responsibilities that came with it, yet his marriage had been one of his own choosing—a rarity and a privilege she could only envy. Kira, the second oldest, had manifested magic, and though it had been a shock to the family, it had ultimately granted her freedom from this life. Freedom wasn’t the right word. It was an escape from the politics of all this but not freedom. But Michael, he had chosen his own path. He had wanted to escape this life as much as she did. It had been his choice to join the Templar Order, finding comfort in that life, at least she hoped.
But for Ariana, there had been no escape. No magic to change her fate, no predetermined role to shield her from these burdens. Instead, she was left to bear the weight of her family’s remaining expectations, a pawn in the game of alliances and influence. She was the youngest, she should have joined the Chantry, however, Michael joining the Templars met their family’s obligation to the Chantry..
And now this. A life she didn’t want, a marriage to a friend she cared for but could never love the way a husband should be loved. She wanted adventure, freedom—the chance to forge her own destiny, not one dictated by bloodlines and treaties.
The Visus constellation caught her eye, a pattern she knew by heart, one of her favorites. Its sweeping lines and luminous arrangement had always held a special place in her heart, a celestial symbol that someone watched over her. Tonight, as the weight of the evening pressed on her, she clung to the familiar sight like a lifeline, searching its depths for solace.
She stared at it, hoping against reason that the stars might offer her guidance, might show her a way to accept this fate. And then, as if in answer, the single star at the center of the constellation seemed to blink. Ariana froze, her breath catching as the tiny light flickered briefly, winking at her before glowing steady once more. It was subtle, so fleeting that she wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her.
Yet the moment didn’t pass unnoticed—a sudden inexplicable certainty settled over her. It was a faint whisper, a barely perceptible pull, but it was there. Run, it seemed to say. Find your own path. She did not understand how or why, but she knew, deep in her soul, that this was what she needed to do. She needed to leave.
Her heart pounded, the sheer impossibility of it striking her first. But as she sat there, the sensation rooted itself, growing stronger with every breath. This was her sign.
Am I mad? she wondered, her mind racing as she considered the enormity of what she was contemplating. The very idea of running—leaving her family, her life, everything she had ever known—was absurd. Noble daughters didn’t flee into the night; they stayed. They obeyed. They fulfilled their duties.
But the thought wouldn’t let her go. That faint whisper became louder, drowning out her doubts. Run.
The more she thought about it, the clearer the pull became. Her entire life, she had played her part, followed the rules, smiled when required. She had accepted her place, even when it stifled her. But now? Now the chains felt unbearable. Is this desperation, she wondered, or am I truly seeing a sign?
She glanced back at the Visus constellation, her hazel-green eyes lingering on the star that had flickered. The idea of running terrified her, but another part of her—a part she hadn’t allowed herself to listen to before—stirred, whispering of freedom. Of choice. Of a life that was hers, untethered by duty and expectation.
Perhaps this is my only chance.
The thought settled over her, bittersweet but resolute. She knew it wasn’t just about rebellion. It was survival—the survival of who she was, of who she could become. If she stayed, she would be smothered, consumed by a role she could never fully inhabit. But if she ran…
Her hand tightened on the cool stone of the balcony. If I run, I have a chance.
Her eyes lifted to the stars again, as if to seek reassurance. This time, the stars didn’t blink, but they didn’t need to. The Visus constellation stood steady in the sky, a guidepost for the path she had to take.
Ariana stepped back into her room, her eyes scanning its familiar corners. Her gaze fell on a small box tucked beneath her bed, where she kept her modest savings and a few valuables. She pulled it out, her hands steady as she gathered what she needed: a small pouch of coins, a simple traveling cloak, and the daggers her father had gifted her. The blades, though ornamental, held weight in her hands—a reminder of the lessons he had taught her, the hours they had spent together in the practice yard. She traced the intricate patterns on the hilts, her chest tightening with the thought of leaving him behind.
Sitting at her desk, she began to write. The first letter was for her father, the words coming quickly but not easily. She explained her decision as best she could, promising to be careful, to survive. She asked for his understanding, though she wasn’t sure he could give it. The second letter was for Frederick. She hesitated over this one, unsure how to put her feelings into words. Eventually, she told him the truth—that she was sorry, but she couldn’t go through with this. That she needed to find her own path. She folded the letters, sealing them carefully, and placed them on her desk.
The room felt heavier now, as if aware of her intentions. She stood, taking one last look at the life she was about to leave behind. Her heart ached for the father who had done his best to protect her, for Frederick, who she hoped would understand someday. But she knew this was the only way.
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Ariana stepped out onto the balcony and climbed down, her movements silent and purposeful. The courtyard silent, bathed in moonlight, and for the first time, she felt the pull of something larger than herself.
She glanced back once, her gaze lingering on the window of the room she had spent her whole life in. Then, with a deep breath, she turned and walked toward gate, leaving behind the only world she had ever known.
~~~
Ariana moved quietly through the darkened hallways of the manor, her pack slung over her shoulder, her heart racing with a mix of fear and determination. Every step felt heavier than the last, the walls that had once offered her safety now looming like barriers she was desperate to escape. As she approached the kitchen, the faint glow of a lantern spilled into the hallway, and the sound of quiet rustling made her pause. She had hoped the household staff would be asleep, but as she peered inside, she saw Isabel stepping out of the pantry, clutching a sack of flour.
“Ariana?” Isabel’s voice was soft, tinged with surprise. She set the sack on the counter, brushing the flour off her apron. Her green eyes fell to Ariana’s pack, then back to her face, the faint panic in Ariana’s expression giving her pause. “What are you doing?” she asked gently.
For a moment, Ariana froze, caught like a child sneaking sweets from the kitchens. But this was Isabel—Isabel, who had dried her tears after countless scoldings, who had bandaged her scraped knees and cheered her victories in the practice yard. Lying to her felt impossible. Taking a deep breath, Ariana lowered her voice and began to explain.
She told Isabel about the engagement announcement, the weight of her parents’ expectations, and her father’s quiet resignation. Her words tumbled out in a rush, her voice shaking as she described her decision to leave, to forge her own path rather than submit to a future she could not bear. Isabel listened in silence, her expression calm but her eyes full of understanding. When Ariana finished, Isabel nodded, her gaze softening.
“Come here, child,” Isabel said, her voice firm but kind. “Sit down. Let me get you something to eat before you go.”
Ariana hesitated, blinking back the sting of tears. She hadn’t expected anyone to help her, let alone Isabel. But the young woman’s steady presence was like a balm to her frayed nerves. She sat down at the counter, watching as Isabel moved around the kitchen with practiced ease.
The kitchen smelled of warmth and comfort as Isabel pulled out a small loaf of bread, some cheese, and dried fruit, arranging them on a plate for Ariana. “You’ve always had fire in you, Ariana,” she said as she worked, her back turned. “You don’t belong in a cage, no matter how gilded it is.”
Ariana looked down at her hands, her fingers curling into the fabric of her cloak. “I’m scared,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t even know if I can do this.”
Isabel turned to face her, her green eyes steady. “Of course you’re scared. Anyone would be. But you’ve always been stronger than you think. And smarter than most give you credit for.” She reached out, placing a comforting hand on Ariana’s shoulder. “If anyone can do this, it’s you, my child.”
As Ariana ate, Isabel began gathering supplies for her journey, wrapping Dalish hearthcakes in cloth and tucking them into her pack. The warm, spiced aroma filled the room, and Ariana felt a lump rise in her throat. Isabel wasn’t just helping her; she was sending her off with love and care, something her own mother had rarely given.
Once the food was packed, Isabel led her through the quiet servant hallways, guiding her past shadowed corridors and back entrances. The weight of what she was doing pressed down on Ariana, but Isabel’s presence made it bearable. When they reached the manor gates, Isabel stopped, her hands resting gently on Ariana’s shoulders.
“Listen to me,” she said, her voice low but fierce. “You are stronger than you know. And no matter where you go, no matter what happens, you always have a home here.” She pulled Ariana into a tight hug, her arms warm and protective, and Ariana felt the tears she’d been holding back finally spill over.
“Thank you,” Ariana whispered, her voice breaking. “For everything.”
Isabel released her, her eyes glistening but her expression steady. “Go now,” she said, her voice soft. “Before anyone notices. And don’t look back unless you mean to come home.”
With a nod, Ariana turned, her heart heavy yet filled with a fragile hope. The breeze felt cool against her face as she stepped through the gates, the darkness swallowing her as she left the only home she had ever known. She looked back once, catching a glimpse of Isabel framed by the gate, her figure a silhouette against the faint glow of the manor. Then she turned away, her steps quickening as she disappeared into the night, carrying nothing but her pack, her courage, and the faint glimmer of the Visus constellation to guide her.
~~~
As Ariana wandered the darkened streets of Ostwick, the enormity of her decision began to weigh on her. It wasn’t just the act of leaving—it was the question of where to go. The world was vast, and for all her dreams of freedom, she hadn’t planned this far ahead. She slowed her pace, her boots echoing softly against the cobblestones, her mind racing with possibilities.
Ferelden? She had read much about the rugged land to the south, but most of what she knew painted it as a place of sprawling wilderness. Ariana had always loved stories of adventure and survival, but the thought of being alone in the untamed countryside, with no allies and no clear destination, gave her pause. Ferelden was full of villages and townships, but she knew little about navigating them—or their customs. What if she stood out too much? What if she wasn’t prepared for the dangers of such isolation?
She considered Orlais next. The grand, glittering empire was renowned for its culture, its opulence, its intrigue. Too many nobles, she thought with a grimace. Her face would be scrutinized at every ball, every market. Even if no one recognized her as a Trevelyan, her bearing and accent might betray her as someone of noble birth. Orlais was a place of masks and subtlety, and Ariana doubted she could disappear into the shadows there. She’d heard enough stories of courtly games to know she wouldn’t last long before being swept into someone else’s schemes.
Her thoughts turned to Kirkwall, a name she had come across in books and overheard in conversations between merchants and sailors. A Free Marcher city carved from ancient stone, it was described as chaotic, a place where power shifted as easily as the tides. Its reputation wasn’t flattering—it was a city of smugglers, slaves, and criminals, but it was also known as a haven for those who wanted to disappear. People got lost in Kirkwall all the time, or so the stories said. Ariana frowned, trying to recall more details, but her knowledge of the city was frustratingly vague.
Kirkwall is a gamble, she thought. But it’s far enough from Ostwick that no one would think to look for me there immediately. And in a city like that, a person can become whoever they want to be.
She exhaled slowly, her decision still uncertain but beginning to take shape. She didn’t need to know everything yet—she just needed a starting point. Kirkwall might be dangerous, but it was a place where she could find anonymity. And in the end, wasn’t that what she was running toward?
By the time she reached the docks, her mind was made up. It wasn’t certainty, but it was a choice, and right now, that was enough. She moved purposefully among the ships, her gaze scanning the vessels and their crews. If she could find passage to Kirkwall, she would begin her new life there, free from the obligations that had bound her.
She approached a ship where the crew was already bustling, hauling crates of goods aboard. The trader, a lean man with a sharp gaze and a well-worn coat, glanced up at her. “Lookin’ for passage, lass?” he asked, his tone more curious than suspicious.
“Yes,” Ariana replied, her voice steady. “I need to get to Kirkwall. Are you headed that way?”
The trader wiped his hands on his coat, squinting at Ariana with a shrewd, assessing gaze. He took in her travel pack and the quiet intensity of her hazel-green eyes. “Five gold for a cabin,” he said finally. “Food’s included.”
Ariana nodded, relieved it wasn’t more. She didn’t know much about sea passage, but five gold didn’t sound unreasonable. Still, she was acutely aware of the pouch of coins hidden within her pack—more than enough to cover this trip and a few others. It’s fair, she thought, studying the trader. He looked like an honest sort, his face weathered by years of hard work, his movements efficient but without the sly edge of someone looking to cheat.
Even so, she kept her expression neutral and her movements calm, making sure not to reveal how much money she carried. “Agreed,” she said, sliding the coins into his waiting hand without drawing unnecessary attention.
The trader took the coins, weighing them briefly in his hand before pocketing them. He tipped his hat with a grin. “Berthold, captain of the Sea Gull, at your service,” he said, motioning toward the ship.
Ariana hesitated, searching for a name to give. Her own was too risky—too recognizable. After a moment, she blurted out, “Ryss.” The name felt foreign on her tongue, but it would suffice.
“Pleasure to meet you, Ryss,” Berthold said, not missing a beat. He gestured toward the gangplank. “Welcome aboard.”
The Sea Gull wasn’t the largest ship in the harbor, nor the most pristine, but it had an air of reliability about it. Its deck was clean, the crew moving with practiced efficiency as they prepared for departure. Ariana stepped aboard, her heart racing. Each step felt like crossing an invisible threshold, further away from the life she was leaving behind.
Berthold led her below deck to a modest cabin with a small cot, a wooden chest, and a porthole that looked out onto the sea. “You’ll be sharing the ship with a few other passengers,” he said as he leaned against the doorframe. “Merchants mostly, but they’re a quiet lot. You’ll have your space.”
“Thank you,” Ariana replied, her voice soft.
Berthold nodded, lingering a moment before speaking again. “Kirkwall’s not a forgiving city,” he said, his tone shifting to something almost paternal. “You’ve got the look of someone runnin’ from something. Whatever it is, just make sure you’re ready for what’s ahead.”
Ariana met his gaze, her expression firm. “I’ll manage.”
Berthold studied her for a moment longer, then gave a slight shrug. “Fair enough. Get some rest, lass. We’ll be leaving with the tide.”
As the Sea Gull pulled away from the docks, Ariana stood on the deck, the sea breeze brushing against her face. The lights of Ostwick grew smaller and dimmer, fading into the horizon as the ship moved into open waters. She wrapped her arms around herself, the weight of her decision settling over her.
Her gaze lifted to the sky, and she found the Visus constellation once more, its faint twinkle a quiet reassurance. She let the stars guide her thoughts, grounding herself in the vastness of the sea and the promise of a new beginning.
Whatever awaited her in Kirkwall, she would face it. For the first time in her life, the path ahead was hers to choose.
~~~
The sun had barely risen over the Trevelyan estate, casting a golden glow across the courtyard as Charles released another arrow. The bowstring sang as the arrow flew, striking the center of the target with a satisfying thunk. He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. Archery had always been his refuge, a way to find clarity amid the endless demands of noble life. But today, even the steady rhythm of his practice couldn’t banish the unease lingering in his chest.
He nocked another arrow, drawing the string back as he focused on the target. His thoughts wandered to Ariana—how quiet she had been after the announcement last night, how her usual spark had dimmed. He had wanted to speak with her again, to offer some reassurance, but he hadn’t been sure what to say. What comfort could he offer when he had failed to shield her from the path laid out for her?
“Charles!” Elara’s sharp voice cut through the morning air, breaking his concentration. His arrow veered off course, embedding itself in the edge of the target. He turned to see his wife striding toward him, her expression a mixture of irritation and impatience.
“Elara,” he greeted her, lowering his bow. “What is it now?”
“Where is Ariana?” she demanded, her tone brisk. “I’ve been looking for her everywhere. The seamstress is waiting, and we haven’t the time for her usual wandering.”
Charles frowned, confused. “I thought she was still in her room. Why would she be out here?”
Elara threw up her hands. “Because she’s not in her room! I assumed she would be with you. Maker knows she’s always trailing after you when she should be preparing herself for her duties.”
Charles set his bow down, his frown deepening. “Elara, she needs time. You could at least give her a few days to come to terms with this engagement before shoving her in front of a seamstress.”
“Time?” Elara snapped. “We don’t have time, Charles. The Duchess is expecting her measurements this afternoon. And besides, this arrangement is what’s best for her. She needs to stop running from her responsibilities.”
Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience wearing thin. “You speak of responsibilities as though she is livestock being prepared for auction. She is our daughter, Elara. She deserves better than to be ambushed with this.”
Elara crossed her arms, glaring at him. “And what would you have done differently, Charles? Let her run wild for another year, hoping she magically comes to her senses? No. It’s time she understands her place.”
Before he could respond, a creeping sense of unease settled over him. Elara’s words struck a nerve—not because of their content, but because of the implication. “You said she wasn’t in her room?”
“Yes, of course,” Elara huffed. “Why else would I come here looking for her?”
Charles straightened, his unease solidifying into alarm. “You mean you assumed she was with me?”
Elara’s face faltered, her confidence wavering as realization dawned. “She’s not…?” Her voice trailed off, the color draining from her cheeks.
The two of them stared at each other, the weight of the unspoken truth crashing down between them. Charles turned abruptly, striding toward the nearest servant. “Have you seen Ariana this morning?” he asked, his voice sharp.
The servant shook her head. “No, my lord. Not since last night.”
Elara’s voice rose, her panic evident. “Check the grounds! Ask everyone—she must be somewhere!”
As the staff scattered to search, Charles felt a sinking dread. He already knew what they would find—or rather, what they wouldn’t. He headed toward Ariana’s room, Elara following close behind, her protests and reassurances a meaningless buzz in his ears.
When they entered the room, it was immaculate, as though untouched since the night before. But Charles’ eyes fell immediately on the desk, where two envelopes lay side by side. His heart clenched as he moved closer, picking them up with trembling hands.
One was addressed to him, the other to Frederick. He turned the letter over, noting the seal, and a heavy weight settled in his chest. He didn’t need to open it to know what it contained. His daughter was gone.
“She’s left,” he said quietly, the words like a blow. Elara froze, her face paling as she stared at the letters in his hands.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “She wouldn’t—she wouldn’t do something so foolish.”
But Charles knew better. His daughter was many things—impulsive, headstrong, stubborn—but she was not foolish. She had been pushed too far, and now, she had done the only thing she believed she could. She had run.
“Elara,” he said gravely, handing her the letter addressed to Frederick. “Send for him. He deserves to know.”
Without another word, he turned and left the room, the weight of failure pressing heavily on his shoulders. He would read Ariana’s letter alone.
~~~
Charles sat alone in the dim light of his study, the unopened letter from Ariana in his trembling hands. The wax seal felt heavier than it should, as though it carried the weight of every choice he’d made—or failed to make—for his youngest daughter. He let out a slow, shuddering breath before carefully breaking the seal and unfolding the parchment. The familiar handwriting brought a pang to his chest, and he began to read.
Father,
I’m sorry. Please don’t be disappointed. I couldn’t bear it, but I also can’t bear to remain here.
I don’t yet know where I belong, but I know it’s not as Frederick’s wife, as the next Duchess of Markham.
I know life isn’t a fairy tale, but I think that there’s still more to it than this. I need to find the adventure that I know is somewhere out there waiting for me. With any luck, maybe I’ll even find my knight in shining armor who will come to my rescue when I need him…
You have always supported me in the past, and I’m sorry I have to do this, but I know you can’t support me this time even if you were willing.
I hope you can forgive me, Father.
I love you.
Ariana
Charles read the letter twice, his eyes lingering on her parting words. I love you. The ache in his chest deepened. He sat back in his chair, staring at the parchment as if it would reveal where she had gone or how he could fix this. But the answers were not there. He felt a sharp pang of guilt, of helplessness. “What have I done?” he murmured aloud.
The sound of hurried footsteps broke through his thoughts, and moments later, Elara burst into the room with Mark trailing behind her. Charles didn’t look up as Elara’s voice filled the space.
“What’s going on, Father?” Mark asked, glancing between his parents. He had clearly noticed the commotion spreading through the household. “Servants are saying Ariana is missing.”
Charles didn’t answer, still staring at the letter in his hand as if it might somehow bring his daughter back. Elara, her patience already thin, stepped forward and snatched the parchment from him. “What does it say?” she demanded, unfolding it without waiting for his permission.
Charles didn’t move, his voice low and heavy with despair. “She’s gone,” he said, his tone almost too quiet to be heard. “What have I done?”
Elara’s eyes skimmed the letter, her face blanching as she read the words. Before she could respond, Charles rose from his chair, his composure fracturing as his voice rose. “This is your fault!” he roared, his eyes blazing with anger. “You pushed her too far, just as I warned you would!”
Elara looked up from the letter, her face pale but defiant. “My fault? You were the one who indulged her all these years, Charles! If you had raised her properly, she wouldn’t have run off like some commoner!”
Charles took a step toward her, his voice cutting through her words like a blade. “Do not put this on me. I indulged her because she deserved to have a childhood, something you never allowed her to have. You pushed and prodded, treating her like a pawn on a chessboard. And now, Elara? Now she’s gone.”
Elara opened her mouth to retort, but Charles silenced her with a sharp gesture. “Do not speak of obligations to me. Do you know why she felt so trapped? It was because of you—because of your endless demands. All of House Trevelyan’s obligations have already been met. Mark has secured an alliance through marriage as heir, and Michael’s decision to join the Templar Order already fulfills our commitment to the Chantry. Ariana, as the youngest, should never have borne such burdens. She has no obligations; this was merely your obsession.”
Elara’s face reddened, her jaw tightening as Charles’s words landed with a weight that hung heavy in the room. “You think I’m blameless? I’m not,” he continued, his voice steady and firm. “I didn’t stand up for her when I should have. But don’t think for a moment that you can justify what you’ve done any more than I can justify my silence.”
Elara bristled, lifting her chin. “And what of our reputation, Charles? What will the Duke and Duchess think when they learn that their son’s fiancée has run off ? Do you understand the position this puts us in? What position this puts you in?”
Charles’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing with a barely restrained fury. “Reputation?” he spat. “You dare speak of our reputation now, Elara? Let me make something perfectly clear. Whatever imagined duties you cling to—whatever schemes you concocted to elevate yourself in the eyes of the Decken family—they end here.”
Elara opened her mouth to interject, but Charles raised his hand sharply, silencing her before she could utter another word. “You care more about what the Duke and Duchess think than about the safety of our own daughter! This farce of an engagement you orchestrated was never about Ariana’s obligations. It was about you. Your ambition. Your pride.”
His voice grew colder, sharper, with every word. “I am ordering you to call off this engagement. Do you hear me? It is over. There will be no wedding, no alliance. And you will tell the Decken family yourself.”
Elara’s face flushed with indignation, but before she could argue, Charles leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. “And do not forget your own obligations. Your role, your duty, is to support this family. Do not make me remind you of what happens to noblewomen who overstep their bounds.”
Elara froze, her lips pressed into a thin line as her composure began to crack. Charles straightened, towering over her as he delivered his final words. “Our marriage is done, Elara. It has been for years, but now… you have gone too far. You have pushed our daughter away, and for what? I will not stay in this house with you, not as anything more than an appearance for the sake of the Trevelyan name.”
Turning away from her, Charles addressed Mark with a softer tone. “Take care of your mother,” he said quietly, though the command in his voice was unmistakable. “She will need you now.”
Without another word, Charles took Ariana’s letter and left the room, the weight of guilt and regret settling heavily on his shoulders. He couldn’t undo the damage that had been done, but one thing was clear: his daughter’s escape was not just a rebellion—it was the price they were now paying for years of misplaced priorities.
~~~
Frederick and his mother, Duchess Evelyn, were walking briskly through the hall, the weight of the morning’s tension palpable. Servants moved quickly around them, their faces tight with unease, murmurs of Ariana’s disappearance circulating among the household.
They turned a corner and nearly collided with Bann Trevelyan. Charles stood stiffly, his face a mask of exhaustion and restrained emotion. In his hand was a folded letter, its wax seal already broken.
“She’s gone,” Charles said, his voice low but steady as he extended the letter to Frederick. His gaze softened as he placed a hand on Frederick’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, son. Truly.”
Frederick froze, staring at the letter as though it might burn him. A part of him wanted to shove it away, to deny what Charles was saying. Gone? Where could she have gone? Why didn’t she tell me?
Duchess Evelyn began to speak, her voice tinged with indignation. “Bann Trevelyan, how could you allow—”
Charles raised a hand, silencing her mid-sentence. His eyes, cold and unyielding, locked with hers. “Take it up with Elara,” he said sharply before turning back to Frederick. His hand lingered briefly on Frederick’s shoulder, a fleeting gesture of comfort, before he walked away, leaving mother and son standing in the corridor.
Frederick’s chest tightened as he stared at the letter in his hand, the paper trembling slightly. His mother’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Well? Open it,” she said impatiently, her tone lacking any sympathy.
Frederick’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. “This is your fault,” he said, his voice low but laced with venom. “You and Lady Elara. She should never have been put in this position. She was my best friend, and I failed her—because of you.”
Evelyn’s mouth opened in shock, but Frederick didn’t wait for a response. He turned on his heel, storming through the hall until he reached the gardens. The fresh air hit him like a splash of cold water, calming his fury just enough to allow him to focus.
He sank onto a stone bench beneath a blooming cherry tree, the petals scattering around him as he unfolded the letter with trembling hands. His heart ached as he read each line, her words striking deep.
Frederick,
I don’t even know how to begin this letter, but I feel I owe you an explanation—though I fear it will not be enough. First, I must apologize. Not for leaving, but for something I should have said long ago. I’ve always known how you feel about me, and I’m sorry for pretending otherwise. I thought that by ignoring it, I could spare your feelings, but in the end, I see now that I only made things worse. For that, I am truly sorry.
You were my closest friend, someone I trusted above almost anyone else. That’s what makes this hurt all the more. I can’t forgive you for hiding this from me—for knowing what was coming and saying nothing. But… I think I can understand it. You are the future head of the Decken family, and your responsibilities are heavier than mine could ever be. I know you were trying to manage an impossible situation, but I can’t be the one to share that burden with you.
You deserve someone who loves you, Frederick. Someone who looks at you and sees a future filled with joy and hope. Someone who will make the weight you carry feel lighter, not heavier. I’m not that person, and I will not let us both be trapped in something neither of us truly wants.
I wish you all the luck in the world, Frederick, and I hope one day you find the happiness you deserve. I hope one day you understand why I had to leave.
Take care of yourself.
Ariana
Frederick exhaled shakily, her words cutting deeper than he thought possible. Her apology for pretending not to notice his feelings made his stomach churn with guilt. She always knew… and she spared my pride anyway. Her kindness, even in a moment of betrayal, felt like a dagger in his chest.
His fingers tightened on the parchment, but as he read the last lines, a small, bitter smile crept onto his face. “You still think I deserve happiness,” he murmured to the empty garden. “You always had more faith in me than I ever deserved.”
He leaned back against the bench, staring up at the tree branches above him as sunlight filtered through the petals. His heart was heavy with regret, but one thought rose above the rest: I hope you find the adventure you’re searching for, Ari. And I hope you’ll be alright.
For a long moment, he sat there, holding her letter like a lifeline. Then he folded it carefully, tucking it into his coat pocket, and rose. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to do. He only wished the stars would watch over her the way she had always believed they could.