Lost Figment

Tag: Elara Trevelyan

  • Chapter 48 – Not Our Future

    10 – 30 Drakonis – 9:37

    Cullen stood outside Knight-Commander Meredith’s office, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his shoulders. His thoughts churned as he stared at the worn wooden door, his mind replaying the countless moments that had led him to this point. Each memory brought a fresh wave of doubt and resolve, a battle waged within as he steeled himself for the confrontation ahead. The stakes were clear: his future with Ariana. His breath hitched as he fought to calm the storm raging within, knowing there was no turning back now. The formal request to marry Ariana had been delivered weeks ago, and he knew the conversation awaiting him would be far from pleasant. Still, he was unprepared for the cold fury that awaited him when he stepped inside.

    Meredith set the parchment down on her desk with a deliberate motion, her expression carved from stone. The document bore the formal seal of his office, its contents clearly outlining Cullen’s intentions. “This is… unexpected,” she began, her tone clipped. “Though perhaps I should not be surprised, given your increasing lack of focus in recent years.”

    Cullen clenched his jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. “Knight-Commander,” he said evenly, “my request is made with full acknowledgment of my duties and the Order’s expectations.”

    Meredith’s lips pressed into a thin line as she leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk. “A formal request to marry? I had hoped this ‘casual distraction,’ as I generously described it, would have run its course by now. But it seems I have indulged you far too long.”

    “It is not a distraction,” Cullen said, his voice tightening. “Lady Trevelyan—Ariana—is—”

    Meredith cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Enough. Do not delude yourself into believing this is anything more than a lapse in judgment. You know what we are, Knight-Captain. What we sacrifice. This… indulgence… is an affront to everything the Order stands for.”

    Her words struck like a whip, but Cullen kept his expression controlled. “Lady Trevelyan is not a distraction,” he said evenly, though his voice carried a faint edge. “She is—”

    “She is a complication,” Meredith cut in sharply. “One that you have allowed to cloud your judgment and divide your loyalties. This has gone far enough.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching briefly before he forced himself to relax. “With respect, Knight-Commander, my loyalty to the Order has never wavered.”

    “Has it not?” Meredith’s eyes narrowed, her tone dripping with disdain. “Perhaps you should ask yourself why these intercepted mage transports and escapes have become so frequent under your watch. You think I don’t see the connection? Your attention divided, your focus elsewhere—it is no coincidence.”

    The accusation stung, but Cullen stood his ground. “We have investigated all these incidents thouroughly. My relationship with Lady Trevelyan has nothing to do with this. Nor has my focus been elsewhere during these investigations. There’s no eviden–”

    Meredith slammed her hand down on the desk, the sound reverberating through the room. Cullen’s shoulders tensed involuntarily, the sharp crack a blow against his carefully maintained composure. His fingers twitched at his sides, clenched into fists as he drew in a steadying breath, forcing himself to remain still despite the impulse to react. “Do not speak to me of evidence, Knight-Captain. These mercenaries grow bolder because they sense weakness in the Order. Your weakness.”

    Cullen took a sharp breath, the weight of her words settling heavily on him. He had come here prepared for resistance, but this—this was something else entirely.

    Meredith’s voice turned cold, almost mocking. “You are not the first Templar to seek solace outside the Order, Knight-Captain. But this… romantic delusion you cling to? It is unbecoming of your station. If you have needs, I suggest you do as others do and frequent the Blooming Rose. At least then you would not disgrace yourself with such frivolity.”

    Cullen’s stomach tightened, the venom in her tone cutting deeper than he anticipated. Her words twisted in his mind, igniting a familiar conflict: the relentless duty to the Order and the undeniable pull of his love for Ariana. He could feel the heat rise to his face, not from shame but from a searing anger he struggled to keep in check. How dare she reduce something so profound to a mere indulgence? “Ariana is not some fleeting desire. She is the woman I love, and I will not debase her—or myself—with such comparisons.”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her voice lowering to a chilling tone. “Careful, Knight-Captain. Your emotions are showing.”

    For a moment, silence hung between them, the tension so thick it seemed to suffocate the room. Cullen took a deep breath, forcing himself to step back. He couldn’t afford to lose control—not here, not now.

    Meredith rose from her chair, her presence as imposing as the cold steel of her blade. Cullen felt his breath catch, his body stiffening as a wave of unease rippled through him. The weight of her gaze bore down on him, a silent reminder of the power she wielded—and the danger of opposing her. “You need to decide, Knight-Captain,” she said, her voice quiet but cutting. “The Order or Lady Trevelyan. Your future cannot include both. She is a weakness.”

    Cullen met her gaze, despite the storm raging within him. The fury and frustration that burned in his chest, clashing with the ache of loyalty he could not shake. Every fiber of his being demanded he push back, but the weight of his oaths and the love he refused to relinquish pulled him in opposing directions, forcing him to maintain a fragile, defiant calm. “That is not a choice you can demand of me,” he said slowly, his voice trembling with suppressed anger, “I will not abandon her.”

    Meredith’s lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. “You mistake my meaning. Consider this your final warning, Knight-Captain. Let go of this foolishness, or I will do it for you.”

    The words hit Cullen like a blow, and for a moment, he stood rooted to the spot. His mind churned with a whirlwind of emotions: fury, dread, and a fierce determination that eclipsed them both. The very thought of Meredith threatening Ariana sent a cold shiver down his spine, but it also stoked the embers of his defiance. His fists clenched at his sides as he forced himself to breathe steadily, knowing that any outward reaction would only give her more ammunition. Yet, beneath the surface, his resolve hardened—he would find a way to protect Ariana, no matter the cost.

    Without another word, Meredith sat back down, dismissing him with a pointed glance at the door. Cullen stood there for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, before turning sharply on his heel and walking out.

    As the heavy doors closed behind him, his mind raced. Meredith’s ultimatum loomed over him like a sword poised to fall. But even in the face of her threats, one thought burned brighter than all the rest: I will not let her take this from me. Not Ariana. Not our future.

    For the first time in years, Cullen felt a flicker of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in the Gallows: defiance. It surged through him like a spark in dry tinder, igniting a resolve that hinted at the choices he might soon have to make—choices that could risk everything he held dear.

    ~~~

    The evening air was cool, the fading light casting long shadows along the cobblestone streets of Hightown. Cullen walked beside Ariana, his steps slow and deliberate, his usual measured gait somehow heavier. Ariana stole a glance at him, noting the furrow in his brow and the way his hands occasionally clenched into fists before relaxing again. He was troubled, and while he hadn’t said as much, his silence spoke volumes.

    “Cullen,” Ariana said softly, breaking the silence as they approached the estate. “You’ve been quiet since we left the Gallows. What’s wrong?”

    “It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he replied, his voice steady but distant.

    “Don’t do that,” she said, her tone tinged with gentle insistence. “If you’re worried, then I do need to worry. Talk to me.”

    He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he stared at the path ahead. Finally, he exhaled deeply, his voice quieter when he spoke. “As we expected, Meredith has denied my request to marry you.”

    Ariana nodded, unsurprised. They had anticipated as much. “And?” she pressed, sensing there was more.

    Cullen stopped walking, turning to face her. His expression was a mix of frustration and unease, emotions he rarely let show so openly. “It wasn’t just a denial, Ariana. Her tone… it was more than that. It felt like a threat. As if she’s… considering taking action against you.”

    Ariana’s heart tightened, though she kept her expression calm. She wasn’t afraid of Meredith—she had faced worse threats in her life. But the thought of Meredith turning her focus more directly on her was troubling. If Meredith came for her, it would be impossible to hide who she truly was.

    Cullen’s voice softened, his concern evident. “I don’t know what she’s planning, but I won’t let her hurt you. I’ll find a way to stop this, I swear.”

    Ariana placed a hand on his arm, offering a reassuring smile despite the turmoil inside her. “We knew this wouldn’t be easy, Cullen. But we’ll face it together. She doesn’t scare me.”

    “You should be scared,” he said, his voice nearly breaking. “She’s more dangerous than you realize.”

    “I know exactly how dangerous she is,” Ariana replied firmly. “And I’m not going anywhere.” She tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Besides, I’ve got the Champion of Kirkwall on my side. What’s Meredith got? A shiny sword and an attitude?”

    Cullen’s mouth twitched, his half-hearted chuckle breaking through the tension. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, though his voice carried a hint of fondness.

    “And yet, you’re still here,” Ariana quipped, her smirk softening into a reassuring smile.

    He held her gaze for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Let’s just get inside,” he said quietly, gesturing toward the estate.

    They reached the estate doors, the familiar warmth of home beckoning them inside. However, as they stepped into the kitchen, the scene that greeted them stopped Ariana in her tracks.

    Her father, Charles, was seated at the table, his usual calm and dignified presence filling the room. But it was the woman sitting beside him that caught Ariana completely off guard.

    “Mother…” Ariana whispered, instinctively stepping back, pressing herself closer to Cullen. His arm shifted protectively around her, grounding her as her mind raced. The last time she had seen her mother, Elara had tried to take her from Kirkwall by force, barely acknowledging her as more than a disobedient daughter. And yet, here Elara sat, her posture calm, her gaze filled with something Ariana couldn’t quite place.

    Her mother stood there, looking nothing like the woman Ariana had always known. Elara’s elegant posture and noble bearing were still present, but her attire was simpler, more practical—a modest blue gown with soft embroidery at the cuffs, its fabric free of the intricate embellishments Ariana had come to associate with her. It was as if she had shed the armor of formality, allowing a gentler version of herself to emerge. There was a quiet humility about her that Ariana had never seen before. She seemed… human.

    Ariana’s gaze flickered to Isabel, who was standing at the counter with a faint smile. The sight was nearly as unsettling as seeing Elara herself. Were they… chatting? How could these two women, who seemed as different as fire and ice, look so at ease with one another?

    A knot tightened in Ariana’s chest, suspicion prickling at the edges of her thoughts. Her father’s calm smile, Elara’s softened demeanor, and Isabel’s serenity—it all felt wrong. This wasn’t just a casual visit; it couldn’t be. She knew her father would never risk bringing Elara here without good reason. Yet, for the life of her, Ariana couldn’t imagine what that reason could be.

    “Ariana,” Charles said, his voice breaking the silence. He rose from his seat, a warm smile spreading across his face. “You’re home.”

    Ariana’s gaze flickered between her parents, her confusion and frustration swirling. “What’s going on here?” Her voice wavered, her usual sharp edge dulled by the uncertainty pressing against her chest. Was her mother here to undermine her engagement, to weave some scheme that would force her back into a life she had fought so hard to escape?

    Charles glanced at Elara, his smile faltering slightly. “I know I promised no one would visit without your approval, but… I thought this might be an exception.”

    Elara turned to face Ariana fully, her expression soft and hesitant—an almost foreign look on her once-imperious face. “Ariana,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “may I speak with you?”

    Ariana blinked, the words catching her off guard. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had asked her for anything, let alone permission to speak.

    Elara’s gaze softened further, and for the first time in years, there was no trace of judgment or disappointment in her eyes. Only something that looked startlingly like regret. “I know I have no right to ask this of you, but… please.”

    Ariana’s eyes darted back to Isabel, who regarded Elara with an almost serene understanding. Isabel crossed the room, her movements deliberate and calm. She placed a hand on Ariana’s arm, her touch steadying. “It’s alright, my child,” she said softly, her voice filled with warmth. “You should let her speak. I believe you’ll want to hear what she has to say.”

    Ariana hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. Isabel’s reassurance meant everything, but the knot of uncertainty remained. She turned to Cullen, seeking his face, his approval, his guidance.

    Cullen’s hand moved to her cheek, his touch gentle. “Go,” he said softly, his golden eyes filled with quiet understanding. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

    Ariana swallowed hard, her emotions a swirling mix of fear, anger, and fragile hope. She took a tentative step forward, her eyes never leaving her mother’s. Elara extended a hand, her movements slow and unassuming.

    “May I?” Elara asked, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

    Ariana hesitated, her mind racing with memories of a colder, harsher woman. Yet now, the person before her seemed entirely different. Cautiously, she placed her hand in her mother’s, feeling the warmth of her touch. Elara’s fingers closed gently around hers, and for the first time in years, Ariana didn’t pull away.

    Elara led her toward the courtyard, the soft rustle of their footsteps the only sound in the quiet house. Ariana’s mind churned with a storm of emotions. Fear lingered at the edges, a reflexive response to the uncertainty of her mother’s intentions, but it was overshadowed by a cautious curiosity. She struggled to untangle the conflicting feelings of resentment and fragile hope—could her mother truly be different now? Her thoughts flickered to Cullen and Isabel behind her, their quiet encouragement grounding her. Whatever her mother had to say, she resolved to face it with strength, but the question of what lay ahead still sent a chill through her.

    ~~~

    The evening air had taken on a chill as Ariana followed Elara into the courtyard. The soft glow of lanterns lit the garden paths, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Ariana’s hand rested in her mother’s, the gesture foreign and tentative, as though neither woman truly knew what to do with it.

    Elara finally stopped by the fountain at the center of the courtyard, the gentle sound of water filling the silence between them. She released Ariana’s hand, turning to face her daughter fully. For a moment, she said nothing, her eyes searching Ariana’s face as though memorizing every feature.

    Ariana crossed her arms, her stance defensive. “Why are you here, Mother?” she asked, her voice calm but laced with uncertainty. The question hung in the air like a challenge, daring Elara to prove she deserved to be here.

    Elara’s sigh was soft, but it carried the weight of years. Her shoulders sagged, a crack in the facade Ariana had always known. “Because I needed to see you,” she said softly. “I needed to apologize.”

    Ariana blinked, the words striking her like a physical blow. Her mother never apologized. Not for anything.

    “When you were born… you were unexpected,” Elara began, her voice trembling. “But don’t misunderstand—unexpected, not unwanted. You were beautiful, a gift. I loved you more than words could say. But duty demanded I give you up to the Chantry. I thought… it would be easier to prepare myself for that heartbreak right away.” Her voice faltered, and she paused to steady herself. “As the years passed, I told myself it was best to keep my distance, to not let myself love you too deeply… because I knew I wouldn’t survive losing you.”

    “You loved me?” Ariana’s voice was barely a whisper, the disbelief plain in her tone.

    Elara’s eyes filled with pain, and she nodded. “Oh, Ariana… of course I loved you. I still do. I always have.” Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. “I resented your father for building the relationship I had denied myself. It wasn’t fair. And the longer he delayed giving you to the Chantry, the harder it became for me to face you. I buried myself in duty, thinking it was the only way to endure it.”

    Ariana’s throat tightened as anger and sorrow warred within her. “Then why did you treat me like I was a burden?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “Why did it feel like I wasn’t enough?”

    Elara flinched but didn’t retreat. “Because I was wrong,” she said, her voice breaking. “I let my pain cloud everything. I let resentment fester until it was all I could feel. And I was so proud of you, but I never let myself show it. I thought… I thought it was too late.”

    Ariana looked away, her breath hitching as tears blurred her vision. “Why now?” she asked, her voice a whisper. “Why are you telling me this now?”

    Elara took a step closer, her voice raw. “Because I’ve had time to see how much I’ve lost. I’ve spent years pretending I was right, but I wasn’t. I see that now. And I don’t want to lose you again—not without trying to make it right.”

    The raw sincerity in Elara’s words cracked something deep within Ariana. The anger and hurt she had carried for years began to loosen, replaced by something fragile and unfamiliar: understanding. “You really were proud of me?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

    Elara nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. “So proud,” she said softly. “But I let my pride and my pain keep me from telling you. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”

    Ariana’s defenses crumbled as her arms dropped to her sides. She searched her mother’s face, looking for any trace of insincerity but found none. Slowly, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Elara, holding her tightly.

    Elara’s breath hitched as she returned the embrace, her voice thick with emotion. “Oh, my dear girl, I love you so much.”

    When they finally pulled apart, Elara guided Ariana to sit on the edge of the fountain. “Are you happy, Ariana?” she asked gently. “Is this the life you want?”

    Ariana swallowed hard, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Yes,” she said firmly. “This is what I want. Cullen is what I want. I love him.”

    Elara’s smile was small but genuine, her voice soft. “Then let me help you.” she said tentatively.

    Ariana stared at her mother, stunned. “Help me?”

    “With the wedding,” Elara repeated, her gaze dropping briefly to the ring on Ariana’s finger. “I would love nothing more than to help you make this everything you want it to be. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

    Ariana’s heart ached at the earnestness in her mother’s voice. Memories of the woman who had ruled her life with iron expectations surfaced, but they felt distant now, like shadows of another life. She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Whatever I want?” she asked, her voice uncertain.

    Elara nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Of course, my darling. It’s your wedding. It can be as simple or as grand as you wish. I’ll make it happen.”

    Ariana hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing on her chest. Her eyes flickered to her mother, to the tears glistening in Elara’s eyes, and then back to the ring on her finger. She took a steadying breath and finally nodded.

    “Alright,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet determination. “Let’s plan a wedding.”

    ~~~

    As soon as Ariana and Elara disappeared into the courtyard, Cullen’s expression darkened. The weight he had been carrying since his conversation with Meredith seemed to press even heavier on his shoulders. Isabel, who had been watching him closely, leaned casually against the counter, her sharp eyes never leaving his face.

    “Alright, my boy,” Isabel said, her voice calm but pointed. “Out with it. What’s wrong?”

    “It’s nothing,” Cullen replied quickly, his tone too rehearsed, too dismissive.

    Isabel arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that? What is it?”

    Cullen exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. For a moment, he considered deflecting again, but Isabel’s piercing gaze made it clear she wouldn’t let it go. Finally, he shook his head and relented.

    “Meredith,” he began, his voice strained, “has denied my request to marry Ariana.”

    Isabel nodded, unsurprised. “Of course, she did. We knew she would.”

    Cullen hesitated, his fists clenching briefly at his sides. “It’s more than that. Her tone was… threatening. She called Ariana a distraction and made it clear that if I didn’t put an end to this, she would.”

    The words had barely left his mouth when Charles stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His calm demeanor shattered, replaced by a sharp, protective fury that filled the room. “She what?” he demanded, his voice a dangerous low growl.

    Cullen blinked, startled by the sudden shift. “She—she implied she would take action if I didn’t break it off,” he said cautiously.

    Charles’ eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “No one threatens my daughter,” he said, each word deliberate, a quiet storm building beneath his measured tone. “Not your Knight-Commander, not anyone.”

    The weight of Charles’ words settled in the room like a heavy cloak. Isabel’s smirk vanished, her expression hardening as she crossed her arms. “Sounds like she’s finally overstepped,” Isabel remarked coldly. “She doesn’t get to make this personal.”

    Charles’ hands rested on the table, his knuckles whitening as he leaned forward. “Cullen,” he said, his voice still low but simmering with barely contained rage, “understand this: we will not let her harm Ariana. If Meredith so much as breathes a word of threat again, I will take it directly to the Grand Clerics. I will see her stripped of her authority if that’s what it takes.”

    Cullen hesitated, his instinct to bear the burden himself clashing with the fierce resolve in Charles’ voice. “Charles, I—”

    “No,” Charles interrupted, straightening and pointing a finger at Cullen, though his tone softened slightly. “You’ve already carried too much. Let us handle this. I’ll call in every favor, every connection our family has to the Chantry. This ends now.”

    Isabel nodded in agreement, her voice steady. “He’s right, Cullen. Meredith’s playing a dangerous game. Let Charles use his influence—you don’t have to do this alone.”

    Cullen’s initial instinct to protest faltered as the reality of their words sank in. For years, he had carried the weight of his responsibilities alone, but now, standing before Charles and Isabel, he felt the cracks in his armor begin to mend. Slowly, he nodded. “Alright,” he said quietly. “If you think it will help…”

    “It will,” Charles said firmly. “And Cullen, know this: we’re not just fighting for Ariana. You’re part of this family now. Elara and I will do everything in our power to protect both of you. And trust me, Meredith will regret crossing Elara if she tries.”

    Cullen swallowed hard, the words settling heavily but warmly in his chest. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed to hear them until that moment. For so long, he had carried the fear that Ariana’s noble lineage would forever cast a shadow over their future together. But here, now, the doubts began to fade, replaced by a quiet, steady belief that this was where he belonged.

    “Thank you,” he said softly, his gratitude genuine.

    Charles placed a reassuring hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “We’ll face this together.”

    Isabel, lightening the mood, smirked again. “And don’t forget to eat. You’ll need your strength if we’re going to put that Knight-Commander in her place.”

    Despite the tension, Cullen allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. For the first time in days, he felt like he wasn’t standing on the edge of a cliff alone.

    ~~~

    As Ariana and Elara stepped back into the kitchen, the warmth of the room felt like a stark contrast to the cool courtyard. Yet, the somber expressions on Charles, Isabel, and Cullen’s faces quickly dispelled that comfort. The tension in the air was palpable, and Ariana’s brows furrowed as she glanced between them.

    “I see you must have heard about Meredith then?” she quipped, her tone lighter than the mood demanded.

    “You knew?” Charles asked, surprised.

    Ariana walked over to her father, giving him a quick hug, realizing she hadn’t greeted him yet. “Cullen just told me when we were walking back,” she explained.

    “Meredith? What happened with the Knight-Commander?” Elara interjected, the only one unaware of the situation.

    Before Cullen or Ariana could respond, Charles answered, his voice low and firm. “It appears the Knight-Commander believes it her place to threaten our daughter, Elara.”

    “She what?” Elara’s tone sharpened, her composure unyielding as her gaze flicked to Cullen.

    Charles, his smirk faint but deliberate, folded his arms. “The Knight-Commander has forgotten her place, and it’s time someone reminded her.”

    Ariana caught the flicker of satisfaction in her father’s eyes, and for the first time, she saw a partnership between her parents, a natural rhythm she hadn’t known existed.

    “Well, then,” Elara said calmly, her voice pointed. “It may be time someone reminded her of her station. I will send word to Lord Chancellor Orrick of Tantervale and Lord Vael of Starkhaven in the morning. For now, let’s forget this business and celebrate.”

    Ariana couldn’t help but smile. For once, her nobility didn’t feel like a curse or a weight to be borne, but a boon. She walked back to Cullen, wrapping her arms around him. He returned the gesture, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Are you alright, love?” he asked softly, his voice meant only for her.

    Ariana nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips.

    “Come, sit down, all of you,” Isabel interrupted, breaking the moment. “Dinner is almost ready.”

    As they all moved to the table, Isabel began setting it with a practiced ease, placing dishes of steaming food in the center. She was about to excuse herself when Elara’s voice stopped her.

    “You’re not staying for dinner, Isabel?” Elara asked, her tone surprisingly gentle.

    Isabel blinked, caught off guard. “My Lady?”

    Elara tilted her head slightly, a small smile gracing her lips. “Please. I would be grateful if you joined us.”

    Ariana’s shock was mirrored in Isabel’s hesitant glance toward her. “I should see to Emma,” Isabel began, her voice cautious.

    “Then bring Emma back with you,” Elara insisted, her sincerity disarming. “There’s room at this table for both of you.”

    Isabel hesitated for a moment longer before nodding. “As you wish, my Lady,” she said before disappearing into the hallway.

    “Emma is Isabel’s daughter, is that correct?” Elara asked, her tone curious, not condescending.

    “She is…” Ariana responded cautiously, debating whether this was the time to press the issue of Mark’s indiscretion.

    Elara’s expression shifted to one of pure joy, a wholly unexpected reaction as far as Ariana was concerned. “I have been looking forward to meeting my granddaughter,” Elara said warmly.

    “Elara?” Charles’ voice held a note of alarm, his own surprise barely masked.

    Elara smirked, though it lacked her usual edge. “Oh, Charles, don’t look so shocked. That fool of a son you raised won’t keep me from meeting her. And Maker knows, his wife will probably never give him an heir,” she said in the most noble tone Ariana could recall. “And even if she does, it likely won’t be a Trevelyan…”

    The table fell into stunned silence, everyone taken aback by Elara’s uncharacteristic warmth and the admission that followed.

    Before anyone could respond, Isabel returned, carrying Emma in her arms.

    Elara almost squealed in delight as she rose from her seat, rushing to meet Isabel. “Oh, is this my lovely granddaughter? She is precious! May I?” she asked, stretching her arms out.

    Isabel, still visibly stunned, nodded, handing Emma over.

    The look of joy on Elara’s face was almost too much for Ariana. She started laughing—whole-hearted, unrestrained laughter that echoed through the kitchen. Relief, joy, and something else she couldn’t quite name washed over her, and for the first time, the weight she always carried seemed lighter.

    Ariana’s laughter drew everyone’s attention, their stunned faces now turned toward her. Cullen leaned in, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?” he asked softly.

    Before she could answer, a familiar voice called from the hallway. “I could hear Ari laughing all the way down the corridor, what’s goin—” Michael froze as he stepped into the kitchen, his gaze landing on Charles and Elara. “Father… Mother?”

    Ariana met his wide-eyed stare and simply shrugged, motioning for him to sit. As he moved hesitantly toward the table, Ariana took a moment to take it all in. Her family, fragmented and broken for so long, now felt as whole as it ever could. There was a long road ahead, and many wounds still needed healing, but for the first time, Ariana felt hope that they could make it.

    ~~~

    Over the next few weeks, Ariana’s parents stayed in Kirkwall, their presence both comforting and surreal. Charles was relentless in his efforts, petitioning the White Spire with unwavering determination. His days were spent drafting letters and meeting with influential figures, leveraging every connection to challenge Meredith’s decree and expose her overreach. Elara, meanwhile, immersed herself in the wedding preparations. Her sharp edges seemed to have softened; she deferred to Ariana and Cullen’s wishes at every turn, determined that the event would reflect their vision, not her own ambitions.

    For Cullen, the details of the wedding seemed inconsequential compared to the promise they had made to each other. Yet, he indulged Ariana’s newfound joy in planning with her mother. The moments spent discussing dinner menus or debating music were a welcome relief to the weight they had both been carrying for years. Watching Elara open up, particularly to Isabel, was unexpected but comforting. The two women, once opposites in every sense, now shared stories over tea, their laughter filling the halls in a way Ariana had never imagined possible.

    Isabel regaled Elara with tales of Ariana’s childhood—scraped knees from climbing trees she wasn’t supposed to, or the time she had stolen away to watch a tournament, disguised as a page. These stories, met with Elara’s laughter and occasional tears, painted a portrait of a family Ariana had never fully believed could exist. For the first time, the fractures in their family seemed to mend, revealing something whole and unbroken beneath the surface.

    Yet, amidst the newfound warmth, Ariana couldn’t shake the restlessness that lingered in her soul. She adored Cullen, loved him in a way that felt woven into her very being. But the life of Ariana Trevelyan—the noblewoman, the soon-to-be wife, the daughter of a prominent Free Marches family—felt distant and unfamiliar. She was certain, now more than ever, that the White Wolf was who she truly was. Who she was meant to be. Her heart tugged by every report, every mage saved, every successful operation, or whisper of injustice brought to her by the Silver Rangers.

    Today, however, wasn’t about the White Wolf. It was Emma’s birthday—her sixth—and for the first time, they were hosting a proper party. The estate buzzed with life, the scent of sweet cakes and fresh bread wafting through the air as Isabel oversaw the preparations. Emma’s laughter echoed from the gardens, where Charles and Elara had organized a treasure hunt, their excitement mirrored by Cullen, who helped hide the clues.

    Ariana lingered in the doorway, her arms crossed as she leaned against the frame. She watched Isabel’s deft movements in the kitchen, her parents’ playful joy with Emma, and the quiet happiness that seemed to settle over the house like a warm blanket. A soft smile tugged at her lips, yet beneath it lay a faint ache she couldn’t quite name—a longing for something more, or perhaps a mourning for what she was slowly leaving behind.

    The sound of footsteps behind her brought her back to the present. Before she could turn, Cullen’s arms wrapped securely around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. His presence was grounding, a steady reminder of the life they were building together.

    “Are you happy?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with hesitation.

    Ariana chuckled, leaning back against him. “Of course,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “Why do you ask?”

    Cullen hesitated, his gaze fixed on the lively scene before them. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just want to be sure.”

    Ariana turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his. “Sure about what?”

    He exhaled, the question heavy on his tongue. “Have you found who you are? Did you find what was missing?”

    The question caught her off guard, and for a moment, the noise of the party seemed to fade. Her thoughts flashed to the conversation they had shared years ago, when she first began realizing she was losing herself. She forced a small smile, her voice steady but thoughtful.

    “What I’ve found,” she said carefully, “is that maybe I was overthinking things. Maybe it’s never just one thing you find; maybe it’s about the journey.”

    She turned fully in his arms, her hands resting on his chest as she searched his gaze. “Cullen, you are my life,” she said firmly, her thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over his tunic. “And I’m not missing anything.”

    The truth settled between them, fragile yet unshakable. Ariana felt the pull of the White Wolf, the endless call to protect and fight, but she also knew where her heart lay. If a choice ever had to be made, it would be Cullen. She could never walk away from him, not truly.

    Cullen studied her for a long moment, as if trying to glimpse the depths of her soul. Slowly, he leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that spoke of unspoken promises and unwavering devotion. Ariana responded without hesitation, pouring every ounce of her love into the embrace.

    For now, the warmth of the estate wrapped around them, shielding them from the chaos that loomed beyond its walls. But even as laughter and celebration filled the air, the undercurrent of tension was undeniable. Whispers traveled swiftly in Kirkwall’s shadows, plans unfolding far beyond their control.

    Ariana didn’t see the storm brewing on the horizon, nor the challenges that would soon test everything they held dear. But in that moment, amidst the fleeting peace of their shared life, she held onto the hope that love and resilience could withstand even the fiercest trials.

  • Chapter 19 – A Family Reunion

    8 Firstfall 9:33

    As they neared the Hanged Man, Cullen’s thoughts lingered on the evening they’d just shared. He could still feel the warmth of her lips against his, the way her hand had fit so perfectly in his as they walked. But now, something seemed different. Ariana had grown quiet, her expression distant, as if lost in a maze of thoughts she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—voice.

    “Ari,” he said softly, his voice gentle but edged with concern. She startled, blinking up at him as though pulled from some far-off place. “You still with me?” he teased lightly, hoping to draw her back to the present.

    But before she could respond, a sharp voice cut through the noise of Lowtown like a blade. “Ariana, my dear.”

    The sound of it sent a shiver down Cullen’s spine. He felt her hand still in his, not tensing in fear but shifting slightly, her fingers loosening as though preparing for something. She turned her head, and Cullen followed her gaze to the source of the voice. A woman, tall and poised, her elegance almost foreign in the gritty streets of Lowtown, stood flanked by a handful of mercenaries. Her air of authority was unmistakable, as was the resemblance between her and Ariana.

    Cullen’s jaw tightened as he registered the look on Ariana’s face. Surprise, yes, but only for an instant. It was quickly replaced by something colder, sharper. Her eyes darted briefly to the mercenaries, then to the street behind them, and finally back to the woman. It wasn’t fear—it was calculation. Cullen realized she wasn’t just looking; she was assessing. Gauging the distance between her and the mercenaries. Calculating their movements, their potential weaknesses.

    “Mother,” Ariana said, her voice flat and cool, though there was a distinct edge to it. She stood straighter, stepping slightly in front of Cullen, not so much to shield him but to position herself in a way that gave her a clearer view of the mercenaries. Her stance was relaxed but deliberate, and Cullen couldn’t help but notice the subtle way her weight shifted onto the balls of her feet.

    Her mother smiled with a sweetness so artificial it felt like an insult. “My dear,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension, “we were so worried. Imagine my surprise when I began hearing tales of a Trevelyan running around Kirkwall. The Duke and Duchess are simply overjoyed to know their future daughter-in-law has been found.”

    Cullen felt a faint flicker of tension in the air between them, though Ariana’s expression didn’t waver. She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “They were still looking? That seems like a waste of time…and money.” she replied, her tone light but laced with an undercurrent of defiance.

    Lady Trevelyan’s eyes flicked to Cullen, sweeping over him as though he were little more than an afterthought. “And who might this be?” she said, her tone dismissive. “A hired escort? Or perhaps just a friend.”

    Cullen straightened, meeting her gaze with an unyielding calm. He knew he didn’t look like much without his armor, just another man in simple clothes. But he also knew that if her mercenaries so much as twitched toward Ariana, he could put them down before they realized their mistake.

    “Mother,” Ariana interjected smoothly, stepping forward with a deliberate grace. “This isn’t going to work out the way you think it is. I suggest you give up on this.”

    The older woman’s smile faltered ever so slightly, and Cullen saw a flicker of irritation cross her face. “You’ve made quite a mess of things, my dear. Running off, shirking your responsibilities. But it’s time to stop this nonsense. These gentlemen will escort you back to Ostwick, where you belong.”

    The mercenaries began to move, stepping closer to encircle them. Cullen instinctively positioned himself between Ariana and the advancing men, his muscles coiled like a spring, ready to strike. But then he noticed something—Ariana didn’t move. She didn’t step back, didn’t flinch. Instead, she shifted slightly to the side, her body angled just enough to give her a clear line of sight to the mercenaries. Her hands hung loosely at her sides, fingers twitching subtly as if anticipating the feel of a weapon that wasn’t there.

    Cullen’s pulse quickened. She wasn’t afraid. She was confident—too confident. Her eyes darted back and forth between the mercenaries, not out of fear but precision, cataloging their positions, their weapons, their weaknesses. It was the look of someone who had fought her way out of worse odds and was already plotting how to do it again.

    He leaned closer to her, his voice low and urgent. “Ari, what do you want to do?”

    She finally glanced at him, her eyes steady and calm. “I’m not going back to Ostwick,” she said simply, her tone unyielding. There was no hesitation, no doubt. She had already made her decision.

    Cullen nodded, her words solidifying his resolve. His gaze shifted to the patrol of Templars in the distance, and as if sensing his intent, Ariana followed his line of sight. She looked back at him, and to his surprise, she smiled and gave a slight nod.

    That was all the confirmation he needed. Turning toward the patrol, Cullen called out, his voice ringing with authority. “You there! Templars!”

    The patrol stopped and quickly approached, their armor clinking as they drew closer. The leader, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, inclined his head respectfully. “Knight-Captain?”

    “These mercenaries,” Cullen said, gesturing to the group flanking Lady Trevelyan, “are harassing a citizen of Kirkwall. See to it they’re escorted to the city guard.”

    The mercenaries exchanged uneasy glances, clearly weighing their chances against a patrol of Templars. Lady Trevelyan’s expression twisted into fury as she realized Cullen wasn’t just anyone. He turned back to her, his hand still protectively on Ariana’s, and said evenly, “It’s Knight-Captain Cullen, my lady.”

    Her face flushed with indignation, and she stepped forward, her voice rising with anger. “You have no right! This is a family matter, and I—”

    “Elara! What is the meaning of this?”

    The commanding voice cut through the growing tension like a knife. Ariana’s head snapped toward the sound, and her face lit up as she saw her father, Lord Charles Trevelyan, striding toward them with his own guards in tow. His presence was imposing, his expression a mix of anger and incredulity as he approached.

    Lady Trevelyan’s fury faltered, her expression shifting to shock and then something closer to dread. “Charles,” she began, her voice faltering, “I was simply—”

    “You were simply causing a scene,” he interrupted, his tone sharp as his eyes swept over the group. His gaze softened slightly when he saw Ariana, his relief evident. “Ariana,” he said warmly, his voice lowering, “thank the Maker you’re safe.”

    “Father,” Ariana said, her voice thick with emotion as she stepped toward him, the tension in her shoulders easing. But then, unable to hold back, she broke into a run, throwing herself into his arms.

    Lord Trevelyan caught her easily, holding her tightly against him. His hand cradled the back of her head as if she might disappear if he let go. “Ariana,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with relief. “You’re safe.”

    Still holding her close, he straightened and turned his sharp gaze on Elara. “Take her,” he ordered his guards, his tone commanding and unyielding. Lady Trevelyan’s protests began anew, but his grip on Ariana never wavered.

    “This is not over, Charles!” Elara shouted as the guards firmly took her arms.

    “No,” he said coldly, his eyes hard as he looked at her. “It is not. We will talk about this when I return.” He nodded toward the guards. “Take her away.”

    The guards obeyed, guiding Lady Trevelyan down the street as she struggled against their hold. Her shouts faded into the background, drowned out by the thud of mercenaries’ boots as the Templars escorted them toward the city guard.

    Lord Trevelyan held on to Ariana, his hand steadying her even as the chaos subsided. Slowly, he looked up, his eyes landing on Cullen with an intensity that felt both probing and grateful.

    “Knight-Captain,” he began, his voice steady but carrying the weight of a father’s gratitude. “I owe you my thanks for protecting my daughter.”

    Cullen straightened almost instinctively. “No thanks are necessary, my lord,” he said, his tone even, though his gaze flicked to Ariana in her father’s arms. He felt a mix of pride and longing, the sight of her safe softening the edges of his tension.

    ~~~

    Cullen, seemingly satisfied that Ariana was safe, gave her a small nod and turned toward the Hanged Man. His departure felt deliberate, as if he understood this moment wasn’t his to share. She watched him for a moment, warmth lingering in her chest before turning back to her father.

    Ariana’s voice softened as she addressed him, a mix of relief and lingering tension threading through her words. “You got my message?”

    “I did,” Charles replied, his arms still wrapped around protectively. His voice carried the weight of a thousand unspoken fears, now eased by her presence. “I’m sorry it took me so long, my darling. I was away on business when it arrived, but Isabel found me as soon as she could—quiet as a shadow, that one.” He smiled faintly, pride and gratitude in his tone.

    She felt the familiar sting of guilt bubble up. Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible. “I…am sorry, Father. For all the trouble, and the worry.”

    His hands tightened slightly on her shoulders, his grip grounding her as his expression hardened—not in anger, but in firm conviction. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Ariana,” he said, his tone resolute. “I told you that years ago, and I mean it just as much now. You did what you had to do. You survived.”

    The words, simple but unwavering, stirred something in her. For the first time in years, the crushing weight of guilt she carried began to lift. She met his gaze, a flicker of hope shining through her uncertainty. “Will you be staying in Kirkwall?” she asked, clutching his arm almost instinctively. They had lost so much time, and though she wouldn’t admit it outright, she wasn’t ready to let him go again.

    His smile softened as he cupped her cheek briefly, the gesture both comforting and protective. “I’ll be here for the week,” he assured her. “There are things to settle with your mother before she returns to Ostwick, but yes, I’ll stay.” A knowing glint appeared in his eyes. “And there’s someone else eager to see you later.”

    Ariana tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her expression. “Who?” she asked cautiously.

    Charles chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ll find out soon enough.” The reassurance in his tone eased her nerves, though she was still puzzling over who it might be.

    Her gaze drifted toward the Hanged Man, and she hesitated before speaking again. “Father… will you come inside with me?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “There are… a few people I’d like you to meet.”

    Charles raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her demeanor. “Lead the way,” he said simply, his smile steady and encouraging.

    As they entered the Hanged Man, Ariana felt her father’s hand resting lightly on her back. The familiar din of the tavern surrounded them—the laughter, the clinking of mugs, and the hum of conversations. Her eyes immediately found Cullen, seated with Varric, Hawke, and Isabela at a table near the back. They were trying their best to appear casual, but it was clear they had been watching for her return.

    Cullen’s posture straightened as his gaze settled on them, his eyes flicking briefly to Charles before returning to Ariana. She could see the tension in his jaw, though he masked it well, his hand brushing absently at his side where his sword would usually rest.

    Charles, for his part, moved through the bustling tavern with an ease that surprised her. There was no hesitation in his step, no trace of discomfort at the rougher edges of the Hanged Man’s atmosphere. When they reached Corff at the bar, Charles ordered an ale and a plate of bread and cheese with casual confidence, making Ariana pause. Apparently, her father had more layers than she’d given him credit for.

    She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips, the tension of the past hour finally melting into something warmer. Guiding him toward the table, she felt her heart lift at the sight of Cullen standing as they approached.

    “Father,” she said, gesturing toward Cullen. “This is Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford.”

    Charles extended his hand to Cullen, his expression unreadable but polite. “I believe I’ve heard of you,” he said thoughtfully. “You’re the one Ariana mentioned in her letters from Ferelden, before the Blight.”

    Ariana froze, heat rushing to her cheeks. Letters? Did I mention him in letters? she thought frantically, casting a quick glance at Cullen.

    Cullen, however, seemed composed, shaking Charles’s hand with a firm grip and steady voice. “It’s an honor to meet you, my lord.”

    “Please, just Charles,” her father corrected, his tone warming slightly.

    Then Cullen turned to Ariana, his lips quirking into a teasing grin. “Letters?”

    Her face burned brighter, and she quickly looked away, muttering, “I… might’ve mentioned you once or twice.”

    Charles, observing the exchange, smiled knowingly but refrained from commenting further. Instead, he nodded toward the table. “Shall we?”

    As they settled in, Ariana couldn’t shake the feeling of relief that came with having her father here, his presence a quiet anchor. Cullen’s steady gaze met hers briefly, and in that moment, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time—hope.

    ~~~

    Varric straightened in his seat, giving a slight bow of his head as he began, “My lord, I am V—”

    But Charles, with an easy smile and a glint of amusement in his eyes, smoothly cut him off. “Varric Tethras, Merchant Prince of Kirkwall. Yes, I am well aware.”

    There was no coldness or arrogance in his tone, just a calm assurance that he didn’t miss a detail. The effect was immediate—Varric’s mouth quirked into a grin, clearly amused at being preempted. Ariana, stifling a laugh, glanced at Hawke, who raised her eyebrows with a smirk.

    Charles moved to the head of the table at Varric’s insistence, his presence naturally commanding yet approachable. Cullen quietly took the seat beside Ariana, his arm brushing against hers in a way that sent a subtle warmth through her. She tried to focus on the conversation, but her father’s ease in this setting struck her as both comforting and utterly surprising.

    Conversation and laughter filled the suite as the group settled in. Charles seemed to melt into the camaraderie, as comfortable here in the bustling chaos of the Hanged Man as he would be at an ostentatious noble’s banquet. Ariana couldn’t help but marvel at him. Had he always been this adaptable? This charming? She’d grown up knowing him as a reserved but warm presence in their home, but here, he was something else entirely.

    “Careful there,” Isabela teased, leaning forward, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’ll fit in too well, my lord. And the Hanged Man has a way of making you forget any decorum.”

    Charles leaned back with an amused smile, unfazed by her boldness. “My dear, if I didn’t know how to leave decorum at the door, I wouldn’t be here,” he replied smoothly.

    The table burst into laughter, and Isabela, clearly delighted, tilted her head with a smirk. “Is that so? Perhaps you’d care to show me just how far that lack of decorum goes, my lord.”

    Ariana groaned inwardly, her face heating as she realized where this was heading. She brought a hand to her temple, trying not to think about the implications of Isabela flirting with her father. Maker, no, she thought, please, no.

    Charles, however, was enjoying himself far too much. “Careful, Captain,” he replied with mock seriousness, though his tone carried just enough genuine charm to make Ariana wince. “Keep this up, and I may very well consider your offer.”

    “Father!” Ariana groaned aloud this time, her voice muffled as she dropped her head to the table, her hair spilling over her arms. She desperately wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. 

    The table roared with laughter again, and Cullen, his shoulders shaking with amusement, leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head. “If it makes you feel better,” he murmured just loud enough for her to hear, “my siblings and I endured far worse from my parents.” 

    Ariana peeked out from her arms, her curiosity momentarily overriding her embarrassment. “Worse?” she asked, though her voice was still muffled. 

    Cullen chuckled. “Let’s just say they were affectionate. Very affectionate. And not shy about it. Sometimes my sister and I wondered if they forgot we were in the same room.” His tone carried a mix of warmth and exasperation, and the table burst into laughter once again. 

    Ariana lifted her head slightly, her expression incredulous. “Not in noble circles, they don’t. Parents are supposed to be the picture of decorum—graceful, stoic, above reproach.” She sighed dramatically, gesturing toward her father with an exaggerated flourish. “Clearly, someone missed that lesson.”

    Charles chuckled, entirely unfazed. “Decorum is overrated. I prefer honesty—and having a bit of fun at my daughter’s expense.”

    Ariana groaned, dropping her head back onto the table as the group dissolved into laughter once again.

    Hawke smirked. “That’s just what parents do best.” 

    “Especially when it’s deserved,” Isabela added with a wink, earning another round of laughter. 

    The teasing settled after a moment, but the warmth of Cullen’s kiss lingered. Ariana tilted her head to glance up at him, noticing the way his eyes glimmered with quiet affection. Before she could say anything, her father’s voice cut through the room, redirecting the attention. 

    “So, Knight-Captain Cullen,” Charles began, his tone polite but curious. “Tell me about your family. What were they like?” 

    Cullen straightened slightly, smiling as he met Charles’ gaze. “They were… good people. Kind. My parents loved each other deeply—probably more than their children should have been aware of.” His grin turned sheepish as laughter erupted around the table. 

    Hawke raised her glass, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “To embarrassing parents everywhere,” she toasted, eliciting more laughter and a half-hearted groan from Ariana. 

    As the conversation drifted to lighter topics, Ariana leaned closer to Cullen, her shoulder brushing his. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice soft. 

    “For what?” he asked, tilting his head toward her. 

    “For moving the conversation along,” she said, her tone wry but grateful. “I really don’t need to know what my parents do when I’m not around.” 

    Cullen chuckled quietly, his laughter sending a warmth through her. “Fair enough,” he replied, leaning in to press another kiss to her forehead. 

    The simple gesture made her heart flutter, and for a moment, she forgot about their surroundings. She turned toward him, her hand brushing against his cheek as she leaned in and kissed him softly. 

    The world seemed to fade away, the noise of the tavern blurring into the background. Cullen responded without hesitation, his hand finding hers and squeezing gently. 

    When she pulled back, reality crashed back in as she realized the table had fallen silent. Ariana’s cheeks flushed a deep red as she glanced around, noticing the smirks, knowing glances, and suppressed laughter of their friends. 

    The teasing erupted again, but this time, Ariana didn’t care. She glanced at Cullen, her embarrassment melting under the warmth of his gaze. Whatever teasing or gossip might come, she knew they’d face it together. 

  • Chapter 2 – A Sleepless Night

    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.

  • Chapter 1 – Our Story Begins

    1 Bloomingtide 9:29

    The Trevelyan estate glowed with a warm and inviting light, lanterns swaying gently in the evening breeze, their glow casting playful shadows across the manicured gardens. The sounds of laughter and lively conversation drifted through the open windows, but inside, Ariana sat stiffly on an ornate chair, her expression betraying her impatience.

    The gown was exquisite—a midnight blue masterpiece adorned with shimmering embroidery that resembled constellations. The high collar framed her neck elegantly, while the flowing skirts brushed the floor like starlight cascading around her. It was undoubtedly beautiful, yet Ariana couldn’t help but feel stifled by the weight of it, as if the dress itself were a cage.

    The servant fussed with the final touches on her hair, weaving silver pins into the loose layers that framed her face. Her hazel-green eyes, often bright and full of life, now gazed wistfully toward the window. Beyond the estate’s grand walls, the Summerday festivities were in full swing. Children’s laughter rang out, mingling with the faint notes of music from the city below.

    “Ariana,” came the sharp voice of her mother, Lady Elara, from the doorway. Ariana turned her head slightly, her expression carefully neutral as Elara’s critical gaze swept over her. “Stop fidgeting. You’ll wrinkle the fabric.”

    “I’m not fidgeting,” Ariana replied, though her hands betrayed her as they tugged idly at the folds of her skirt.

    Elara stepped closer, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Her gown, though less ornate than Ariana’s, exuded an air of authority. She adjusted the collar of Ariana’s dress with brisk precision, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You look like a child when you fidget,” she said curtly. “Remember who you are tonight.”

    Ariana bit back a sigh, choosing instead to glance out the window once more. The distant glow of lanterns in the city below seemed more inviting than anything within these walls. “Yes, Mother,” she murmured, her tone deliberately placating.

    The moment the servant stepped back to admire her work, Ariana rose quickly, eager to escape the suffocating presence of her mother. “May I be excused, Mother?” she asked, already moving toward the door.

    Elara hesitated, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Do not disappear tonight, Ariana. You’ll be expected at the ball.”

    “I won’t,” Ariana promised, though the words felt hollow even as she spoke them. Without waiting for further comment, she slipped out of the room and into the hallway, the soft rustle of her skirts muffling her hurried steps.

    She found Frederick near the grand staircase, his expression distant as he stared at the lively scene outside. Dressed in a well-tailored doublet of deep emerald green, he looked every bit the nobleman his mother expected him to be. But there was something in his posture—a stiffness, a weariness—that felt entirely un-Frederick.

    “Fred,” Ariana called softly, drawing his attention.

    He turned, his eyes lighting up briefly as he saw her. “Ari,” he greeted, using the nickname only he dared to. “You look… radiant.”

    “And you look like you’re trying to think of an excuse to run,” she teased, though her tone was warm. “What’s wrong?”

    Frederick hesitated, his hand brushing against the bannister as if anchoring himself. “Just… Summerday,” he said finally, though it was clear there was more on his mind.

    Ariana tilted her head, studying him. “Well, if you’re planning to run, I wouldn’t mind joining you.”

    His lips curved into a faint smile, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “I was about to head to the stables. Thought a ride might clear my head.”

    “Perfect.” Ariana grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the door. “Let’s go before my mother finds us.”

    They slipped out through the side entrance, the cool evening air washing over them like a blessing. The stars above Ostwick sparkled brightly, as if celebrating the season alongside the city. The stables were quiet, the horses shifting lazily in their stalls as Ariana and Frederick saddled two of the finer mares.

    Just as they were about to mount, Elara’s voice called from the shadows. “Ariana. Frederick.”

    They froze, turning slowly to see her standing at the edge of the stable yard, her arms crossed. Despite the scolding in her tone, there was a faint smile on her lips. “Don’t be late,” she said. “The ball begins in two hours. You’re expected to be there.”

    “Yes, Mother,” Ariana replied, her tone light but dutiful. As Elara turned and walked back toward the estate, Ariana exchanged a grin with Frederick.

    “Two hours,” she said. “That’s plenty of time.”

    Frederick mounted his horse with ease, his smile growing more genuine. “Let’s make it count.”

    And with that, they rode out, the wind tugging at their clothes and the stars above guiding their way. For a brief moment, Ariana felt free—free of expectations, of duty, of the weight her mother’s gaze always seemed to carry. But even as they raced across the fields, a small, nagging voice in the back of her mind reminded her that this freedom was fleeting.

    ~~~

    As they rode through the quiet fields surrounding the Trevelyan estate, Ariana leaned forward slightly in her saddle, the evening breeze tugging at her hair. She couldn’t help but steal glances at Frederick, the tension in his posture catching her attention. Something was bothering him—something he wasn’t saying. She bit her lip, trying to think of how to bring it up without sounding too pushy.

    “You’re awfully quiet tonight,” she finally said, her voice light but tinged with curiosity. “Did I drag you away from some noble pursuit? Or was the party too dull even for you?”

    Frederick smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve always had a knack for saving me from boring conversations. I should be thanking you.”

    “That’s not an answer,” Ariana pressed, narrowing her eyes slightly. “What’s on your mind, Fred?”

    Frederick sighed, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. “Nothing you need to worry about, Ari.”

    “Too late,” she said, her tone softening but still insistent. “You’ve been acting strange lately. You can’t expect me not to notice.”

    He chuckled softly, the sound more forced than genuine. “You’ve got a habit of overthinking, you know.”

    “And you’ve got a habit of avoiding questions lately,” she shot back, her brows furrowing. “Come on, Fred. Talk to me.”

    Frederick glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? Still the same relentless girl who dragged me into trouble at every opportunity.”

    “Don’t try to distract me,” Ariana said with a small smile, though her tone was half-scolding. “And for the record, you have dragged me into trouble just as often.”

    They reached a small hill overlooking the estate, the view of the lantern-lit courtyard and fields below making Ariana pause. Frederick dismounted first, tying his horse to a tree before turning to help her down. She accepted his hand, her fingers brushing his for just a moment before she stepped away to smooth her gown.

    “You’re different tonight,” Frederick said suddenly, his voice softer than usual.

    Ariana glanced at him, tilting her head in confusion. “Different how?”

    He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Not like the girl who dared me to climb the tallest tree just to prove I could.”

    “That’s because I’m wearing a dress,” Ariana teased, gesturing to the intricate fabric. “It’s harder to climb trees like this.”

    Frederick laughed, but it quickly faded into a sigh. “No, I mean… you’ve grown up. You’re still you, but… different.”

    Ariana blinked, caught off guard. “Well, you’re different too,” she said, her voice quiet. “You don’t laugh as much. And you’ve been keeping things from me.”

    His expression shifted, guilt flickering across his face. “It’s not like that, Ari. There are just… things I can’t talk about yet.”

    “You’re doing it again,” she said, frustration creeping into her tone. “Why won’t you just tell me? I’m your best friend, aren’t I?”

    Frederick’s shoulders tensed, and he turned to face her fully. “You are. Which is why I need you to trust me on this. Just promise me something, alright?”

    “What?” she asked, crossing her arms.

    “Whatever happens tonight, don’t let it change you.”

    Ariana frowned, her chest tightening. “Fred, you’re scaring me. What’s going to happen?”

    “Just promise me, Ari.” His voice was softer now, almost pleading.

    She hesitated, the weight of his words unsettling her. “Fine,” she said reluctantly. “I promise. But you’d better tell me what’s going on soon.”

    Frederick gave her a faint smile, ruffling her hair in a way that made her swat his hand away. “Good. Now, come on. We should get back before your mother sends a search party.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling as she climbed back onto her horse. Whatever was bothering Frederick, she would figure it out. For now, she focused on the wind in her hair and the fleeting sense of freedom as they rode back toward the estate.

    ~~~

    The ride back to the Trevelyan estate was quieter than Ariana expected. Frederick seemed lost in thought, his usual wit subdued as they approached the glowing lanterns of the courtyard. Ariana stole a few glances at him, but he kept his gaze forward, his expression unreadable. The unease that had been gnawing at her all evening returned with full force.

    As they passed through the main gates, the familiar figure of her father, Charles Trevelyan, came into view. He stood near the fountain, his hands clasped behind his back, surveying the courtyard with the calm air of a man who had long grown used to hosting grand occasions like this. His dark hair was streaked with silver, and though his face was lined with age, there was a warmth in his hazel eyes that immediately put Ariana at ease.

    “Ah, there you are,” Charles said, his voice carrying the faintest hint of amusement. “I was beginning to think you’d decided to skip the ball altogether.”

    Ariana slid off her horse, smoothing the folds of her dress as she approached him. “I was tempted,” she admitted, offering a small smile. “But Frederick thought Mother might send a search party if we stayed out much longer.”

    “More than likely,” Charles replied with a chuckle, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “You look beautiful, my dear. That dress suits you.”

    Ariana wrinkled her nose, glancing down at the elaborate gown. “It’s beautiful, but it feels like I’m being strangled by embroidery.”

    Her father laughed, the sound deep and warm. “That’s the price of being a Trevelyan, I’m afraid. Appearances above all else, according to your mother.”

    “Speaking of appearances,” Ariana said, lowering her voice as she leaned closer to him. “Frederick’s been acting strange all evening. Do you know what’s going on with him?”

    At the mention of Frederick, Charles’s gaze shifted to where the young man was dismounting his horse. Frederick hesitated, as though debating whether to join them, but after a brief glance in Charles’s direction, he quickly excused himself, muttering something about needing to prepare for the ball.

    Ariana frowned, watching him retreat toward the estate. “See what I mean? He’s avoiding you, and he’s barely said two words to me all night.”

    Charles sighed, his expression thoughtful. “Frederick’s been under a great deal of pressure lately, Ariana. Being the Duke of Markham’s heir is no small burden. I imagine it’s weighing on him more than usual. He did turn eighteen last month after all.”

    “Still,” she said, crossing her arms, “he could at least tell me what’s bothering him. We’ve known each other our whole lives.”

    Her father placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding her. “Give him time. Whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll come around.”

    Ariana nodded, though her unease lingered. The bond she shared with her father was one of the few constants in her life. Unlike her mother, who saw Ariana as a project to mold and perfect, Charles treated her as an equal, valuing her thoughts and encouraging her curiosity. He was the one who had taught her how to ride, how to shoot a bow, and how to hold her own in a duel. He had given her the freedom to explore the world beyond the narrow expectations of nobility, even if only within the confines of their estate.

    “You know,” Charles said, breaking the silence, “when I was your age, I would have done anything to avoid these kinds of gatherings. Your grandmother used to drag me to every ball and banquet she could find, insisting it was for the good of the family.”

    “And did you hate every second of it?” Ariana asked, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

    “Not every second,” he replied, his eyes twinkling. “But most of it, yes.”

    She laughed, the tension in her chest easing slightly. “Well, at least I’m not the only one.”

    Charles’s expression grew serious then, his hand squeezing her shoulder gently. “You’ll be alright tonight, Ariana. Just remember, these events are as much about endurance as they are about charm. You’ve got both in spades.”

    Ariana smiled up at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Father.”

    As they turned to head inside, Ariana couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change—that the easy familiarity she shared with her father, with Frederick, with her life as it was, might not last much longer.

    ~~~

    The ball was already in full swing by the time Ariana made her way into the grand hall. The air was alive with the hum of conversation, the rustle of silks, and the soft strains of a string quartet playing in the corner. Guests milled about in finely tailored gowns and polished armor, their laughter and chatter blending into an almost overwhelming cacophony. The warm glow of chandeliers lit the room, their light reflecting off the polished marble floors and casting delicate patterns across the gilded walls. 

    Ariana moved among the crowd with practiced ease, offering polite smiles and greetings as she was introduced to lords and ladies from every corner of the Free Marches. “A pleasure to meet you,” she would say, the words falling from her lips with automatic precision. Years of etiquette lessons with her mother ensured she knew exactly how to hold herself, how to address a viscount versus a merchant lord, how to feign interest in the endless parade of names and titles. 

    But as the evening wore on, her energy began to wane. The practiced smile on her face started to feel heavy, her feet aching in the delicate shoes her mother had insisted she wear. She could hear Elara’s voice in her head, reminding her of the importance of maintaining appearances, of representing the Trevelyan family with dignity and grace. 

    She caught sight of her mother across the room, engaged in animated conversation with the Duchess Evelyn. The two women stood side by side, the picture of noble refinement, their laughter carefully measured, their smiles perfectly poised. Ariana’s stomach twisted. She didn’t know why, but something about their closeness tonight felt different—calculated. 

    As she excused herself from a conversation with a visiting merchant family, she found her way to one of the large arched doors leading out to the garden. Slipping through unnoticed, she let the heavy door fall shut behind her, cutting off the noise of the ball. 

    The night air was cool against her skin, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat of the crowded hall. The garden was illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns, their light casting long shadows across the carefully manicured hedges and flowerbeds. Ariana wandered along the stone path, her heels clicking softly against the cobblestones, until she reached a small bench beneath a towering oak tree. 

    She sat down, letting out a long sigh as she looked up at the sky. The stars were faint, their light dimmed by the lanterns and the distant glow of the city. Still, the sight of them brought her a small measure of peace. 

    Her mind wandered as she traced the constellations, her thoughts circling back to the evening’s events. The ball was no different from any other, yet something felt… off. It wasn’t just the endless parade of noble guests or her mother’s insistence on perfection. It was Frederick. 

    He had been distant all evening, even more so than usual. The ride earlier had been pleasant enough, but there had been a weight to his words, a reluctance in his eyes that she couldn’t ignore. He hadn’t met her father’s gaze in the courtyard, and even now, she realized, she hadn’t seen him much since the ball had started. 

    Ariana leaned back against the bench, closing her eyes for a moment as the questions churned in her mind. Why had Frederick been so strange lately? He had always been her closest friend, the one person she could count on to be honest with her. But lately, it felt like he was keeping something from her, something big. 

    Was he in trouble? Or was it something about the ball, the guests, the sudden attention their families seemed to be sharing? She opened her eyes, staring up at the stars once more. The familiar constellations offered no answers, their silent watch only deepening her sense of unease. 

    “Standing all by yourself again?” a familiar voice broke through the silence and her thoughts. 

    ~~~

    Frederick strode through the Trevelyan estate’s gardens, the laughter and music of the ball fading behind him. He’d seen her slip away earlier, a soft shadow against the lantern-lit paths, and though he had lingered for a time, guilt had gnawed at him. He had come out to find her, partly because he hated the idea of her being alone, but mostly because he couldn’t shake the weight of what he knew. 

    What was he supposed to say to her? How could he look her in the eye and tell her that her life was about to change in ways she couldn’t possibly imagine? That her parents and his had conspired to decide their futures without so much as a word to her? He knew Ariana—knew how fiercely she valued her independence, her freedom. She would feel betrayed, and he would be the one standing in the middle of it all. 

    He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair as he glanced around the garden. The soft glow of lanterns caught the edges of the trimmed hedges and cobblestone paths, but the night air did little to calm the turmoil in his chest. He spotted her sitting on a bench beneath an oak tree, her face tilted up to the stars, lost in thought. 

    For a moment, he hesitated. She looked so at peace, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, the blue and silver dress catching the faint light. It suited her—the bold colors, the understated elegance. She was beautiful in a way that was entirely her own, a combination of strength and vulnerability that had always captivated him. To the rest of the world, she was the youngest Trevelyan daughter, but to him, she was a whirlwind of curiosity, rebellion, and quiet grace. 

    Frederick had known for years that he was in love with her. He had never said it outright, of course—how could he, when he knew she didn’t feel the same? Ariana was fiercely independent, and while she cared for him deeply, it wasn’t the kind of love he wanted. Still, some part of him had always hoped that, in time, she might see him differently. 

    He took a deep breath, forcing a smile onto his face as he approached. “Standing all by yourself again?” he called, breaking the quiet. 

    Ariana turned at the sound of his voice, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Fred,” she said, her tone light but carrying a hint of relief. “Avoiding the party too, are we?” 

    “Of course,” he said with a laugh, stepping closer. “You know me—I’d much rather be out here than listening to Lord What’s-His-Name brag about his latest hunting trip.” He hesitated, his gaze flicking to the stars above them. “But I saw you leave. Thought you might need company.” 

    She tilted her head, studying him. “You didn’t have to come after me, you know. I’m fine.” 

    “I know,” he said softly, sitting down on the bench beside her. “But… maybe I needed the company.” 

    Ariana smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She leaned back, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the hem of her dress. “Do you ever feel like you don’t belong in any of this?” she asked after a moment, her voice quiet. 

    Frederick blinked, caught off guard by the question. “All the time,” he admitted, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “But I figured you’d be used to it by now. You’ve always handled this world better than I have.” 

    Ariana laughed, a soft, wistful sound. “Have I? Sometimes I think I’m just pretending. Smiling when I’m supposed to, saying the right things. But it all feels… hollow.” 

    He turned to look at her, his chest tightening. This was the Ariana he knew, the one who carried the weight of her family’s expectations even as she tried to carve out a piece of herself in the midst of it all. 

    “You know,” he said, his voice lighter now, “we could solve all our problems easily.” 

    She raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at her lips. “Oh? And how’s that?” 

    Frederick grinned, nudging her with his shoulder. “We could get married. Think about it—our parents would stop nagging us, and you wouldn’t have to join the Chantry. It’d save us both a lot of headaches.” 

    Ariana rolled her eyes, laughing despite herself. “You’ve been saying that since I was twelve. It was ridiculous then, and it’s ridiculous now.” 

    “Was it?” he teased, though there was a flicker of something genuine in his tone. “I mean, come on—you could do worse.” 

    “I could also do better,” she shot back, her smirk widening. 

    “Ouch,” he said, clutching his chest in mock offense. “But seriously, think about it. We get along, we’ve known each other forever. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” 

    Ariana shook her head, still smiling. “You’re my friend. My best friend. That’s why this is silly. You don’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry you.” 

    Frederick’s grin faltered for just a moment before he covered it with a laugh. “Fair enough,” he said, leaning back against the bench. “But the offer’s always there, you know. Just in case.” 

    She gave him a playful shove, and for a moment, things felt normal again. But the weight of what he knew lingered in the back of his mind, a quiet reminder that this moment wouldn’t last. 

    “Come on,” Ariana said, standing and offering him her hand. “We should get back before our mothers come looking for us.” 

    Frederick took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. “Lead the way,” he said, forcing himself to smile. 

    As they walked back toward the estate, he couldn’t help but glance at her out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know what was worse—the thought of her hating him for not telling her the truth, or the knowledge that, even if she didn’t, she would never look at him the way he looked at her. 

    ~~~

    The garden’s quiet reprieve shattered as Lady Elara’s voice cut through the stillness like the toll of a bell.

    “There you are!” her mother exclaimed, descending upon Ariana and Frederick with a stern look that could wilt flowers. “Everyone has been looking for you.”

    Ariana turned slowly, her moment of peace slipping through her fingers. “I wasn’t—” she began, but her mother didn’t wait for an explanation. Instead, she grabbed Ariana’s wrist with surprising firmness, her cool blue eyes narrowing.

    “You will be the death of me, child,” Lady Elara chastised, her tone more exasperated than angry. “You cannot keep disappearing at these parties, especially not today.”

    “Mother, I wasn’t disappearing,” Ariana protested weakly, glancing at Frederick for support. But he, wisely, avoided meeting Lady Elara’s gaze, his posture stiff as he took a step back.

    “Enough,” Elara interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. “Come with me. Your father and I have a surprise for you.”

    The word “surprise” sent a ripple of unease through Ariana’s chest. Her mother’s idea of surprises often meant elaborate plans designed to secure alliances or elevate the family’s standing—plans that rarely accounted for Ariana’s feelings. She glanced at Frederick again, but he looked almost apologetic, as if he knew something she didn’t.

    Before Ariana could ask for clarification, Elara began fussing over her, brushing nonexistent dust from her gown and adjusting the high collar. “Hold still,” her mother ordered, the words more command than request. “We cannot have you looking anything less than perfect tonight.”

    The dress had already drawn every eye since Ariana had entered the hall. Its intricate embroidery sparkled under the lights, the delicate detailing along the bodice and flowing skirt giving it an ethereal quality. Yet Ariana felt trapped in it. The high collar, the fitted sleeves, even the way the fabric swirled when she walked—it all screamed of control, of being shaped into something she wasn’t.

    “Perfect for what, exactly?” Ariana asked, her unease growing. “What’s so important about today?”

    Lady Elara gave her a sharp look but said nothing, her silence more telling than any answer. She finally released Ariana’s wrist and motioned toward the estate. “Come along, now. We have kept the guests waiting long enough.”

    Ariana hesitated, a thousand questions swirling in her mind, but her mother was already walking ahead, her steps brisk and purposeful. Frederick lingered for a moment, looking as though he wanted to say something, but instead he mumbled an excuse and hurried after Elara.

    As they entered the estate, the warm glow of the chandeliers and the hum of lively conversation wrapped around Ariana like a net. The main hall was packed with nobility dressed in their finest, the room buzzing with the kind of polite, calculated energy that had always made her stomach churn.

    Her mother glided effortlessly through the crowd, exchanging smiles and nods with a practiced ease that Ariana had never managed to emulate. It was moments like these that highlighted the stark differences between them.

    Ariana’s relationship with her mother had always been… strained. Lady Elara was everything a noblewoman should be: poised, devout, and unwavering in her adherence to tradition. She had spent years trying to mold Ariana into a perfect reflection of herself.

    Her father, on the other hand, had been her sanctuary. Lord Charles Trevelyan’s love for his youngest daughter was evident in the hours he spent with her, teaching her history, dueling techniques, and even the constellations in the night sky. While her mother had drilled etiquette into her siblings, Charles had shown Ariana a world beyond noble obligations—a world of stories, strategy, and quiet rebellion.

    Her closeness to her father had always been a point of contention with Lady Elara. “You indulge her too much,” her mother would say, her disapproval clear. “She needs discipline, not distractions.”

    But her father had always smiled in response, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of pride and amusement. “Ariana needs to find her own way,” he would reply. “She has a strength most don’t see. It’s not something you can force into a mold.”

    That strength, Ariana suspected, was the very thing her mother sought to suppress. To Elara, a noblewoman’s worth was tied to her obedience, her faith, and her ability to secure alliances through marriage. Ariana’s defiance, her refusal to bend to tradition, was an affront to everything her mother valued.

    As they neared the main hall, Lady Elara turned back to her daughter, her expression softening just slightly. “Remember,” she said, her tone almost gentle now, “you are a Trevelyan. Tonight is important. Your father and I… we only want what’s best for you.”

    Ariana met her mother’s gaze, searching for sincerity beneath the layers of propriety and expectation. But before she could respond, Elara straightened, smoothing her dress and preparing to rejoin the crowd.

    Whatever “surprise” awaited her, Ariana doubted it was something she would want. But with Frederick avoiding her gaze and her mother’s cryptic hints, one thing was clear: tonight was about more than just Summerday.

    ~~~

    The warmth of the main hall did nothing to soothe Ariana’s growing unease. As they crossed the threshold, her hand rested lightly on Frederick’s arm, a facade for the gathered nobles. Her mother, Lady Elara, stood ahead with Duchess Evelyn, both women radiating the kind of confidence that could command armies—or at least an entire ballroom of guests.

    Elara didn’t waste a moment. She swept to the center of the hall, plucking a glass of wine from a passing servant with effortless grace. With a single motion, she raised the glass and silence descended over the crowd. The murmurs ceased, all eyes shifting toward her. The room seemed to shrink, the grand chandeliers dimming under the weight of expectation.

    “Friends, family, esteemed guests,” Lady Elara began, her tone rich with the confidence of a woman who had orchestrated every detail of this moment. Her gaze swept over the crowd, and Ariana felt as if her mother’s sharp eyes lingered on her, daring her to falter. “We are gathered tonight not only to celebrate Summerday but to mark the beginning of a new chapter—one of unity, prosperity, and promise.”

    Elara motioned for Ariana and Frederick to step forward, and though her feet moved of their own accord, Ariana felt as though she were walking to her doom. The starlit fabric of her gown whispered against the marble floor, its elegance a mockery of the turmoil building in her chest.

    Duchess Evelyn joined Elara at the front of the room, her smile broad and triumphant. She took Ariana’s free hand in hers, squeezing it with a maternal familiarity that made Ariana’s skin crawl. The Duchess’s voice was warm, her expression glowing with satisfaction. “Tonight, we celebrate the joining of two great houses,” she began. “It is with immense pride and joy that I stand with Lady Elara to announce the engagement of my son, Frederick Decken, and Ariana Ryss Trevelyan.”

    The words hit Ariana like a blow. For a moment, she thought she hadn’t heard correctly, but the thunderous applause that followed confirmed it. Her chest tightened as if the air had been stolen from the room. Her eyes darted to her father. Father, please. Stop this.

    She found him standing at the edge of the crowd, his expression pained, his shoulders slumped under the weight of unspoken words. When their gazes met, he looked away, retreating through a side door. It was as though he couldn’t bear to watch, leaving her to shoulder this alone.

    Beside her, Frederick remained silent, his expression unreadable. She glanced at him, hoping for an ally, but his gaze stayed fixed forward, his posture stiff and unyielding. His hand remained steady beneath hers, but the boy she had spent her childhood laughing with felt like a stranger in that moment.

    Duchess Evelyn’s voice broke through Ariana’s spiraling thoughts. “This union will symbolize the bond between our two cities and will mark the beginning of a legacy that will endure for generations. Together, Frederick and Ariana will usher in a new era of strength and stability for both Markham and Ostwick.”

    The weight of her future pressed down on her like an iron collar. The applause rose again, louder this time, but it felt distant, muted against the roaring in her ears. She forced herself to smile, her lips curving in the way she had been trained, though every muscle in her face protested. The crowd surged forward, nobles congratulating her, clasping her hands, and showering her with empty pleasantries that only deepened the pit in her stomach.

    “Two years from now, on Summerday, they will wed,” Evelyn declared, her voice ringing with triumph. “And tonight marks the beginning of that journey.”

    As the room began to shift back to conversation and merriment, Ariana seized the first moment of freedom to pull her hand away. She made an excuse about needing fresh air, slipping past the crowd with a grace born of desperation. She needed space, needed to breathe, and needed to escape before her carefully constructed composure shattered entirely.

    ~~~

    Ariana’s steps quickened as she reached the cool night air of the garden. The soft glow of lanterns strung through the trees did little to calm the storm raging inside her. She hadn’t even made it to the edge of the trellis before she heard his voice.

    “Ariana, wait!” Frederick called, his boots crunching against the gravel as he chased after her.

    She stopped but didn’t turn around, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She couldn’t face him, not yet. The sharp sting of betrayal burned too fiercely in her chest.

    “Ari,” he said again, softer this time, as he caught up to her. “Please, let me explain.”

    Her shoulders stiffened at his use of the nickname he’d always called her. It once brought her comfort, a reminder of the bond they had shared since childhood. Now, it grated against her already raw emotions. Slowly, she turned to face him, her hazel-green eyes ablaze with the storm of emotions swirling inside her—anger, despair, betrayal, and an ache so profound it left her breathless.

    “Explain?” she echoed, her voice sharp and cutting. “What is there to explain, Frederick? That you knew? That you let me stand there tonight like a fool, blindsided by something you’ve apparently known for weeks?”

    Frederick flinched, guilt etched into every line of his face. “Ari, I wanted to tell you—Maker knows I did—but—”

    “But you didn’t,” she interrupted, her voice trembling with fury. “You’re my oldest friend. I’ve trusted you more than almost anyone, and tonight you betrayed me.”

    Frederick’s hand fell uselessly to his side as he looked down, unable to meet her gaze. “I didn’t mean to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

    “Then why didn’t you warn me?” she demanded, stepping closer, her hands trembling as they balled into fists. “You had weeks, Frederick. Weeks! You let me stand there, utterly humiliated, while you pretended like everything was fine. How could you do that to me?”

    He took a deep breath, his voice shaky but steadying. “Because I thought… I thought maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. That maybe—” He hesitated, his blue eyes filled with regret as they finally met hers. “That maybe you’d see that this could work. That we could work.”

    Ariana’s heart clenched at the raw emotion in his voice, but her anger burned brighter. “You thought I’d just go along with it?” she said, her tone dripping with disbelief. “That I’d be grateful for a life I didn’t choose?”

    “I’m in love with you, Ariana!” he burst out, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I’ve been in love with you for years. I thought… I hoped that maybe, if you saw this as a chance… we could finally—”

    “Don’t,” she said, her voice cold and final. “Don’t you dare try to make this about love. I’ve always known how you felt about me.”

    His eyes widened in shock. “You… knew?”

    She nodded, her expression hardening. “Of course I knew. But I didn’t want to hurt you, so I pretended not to notice. I thought it was kinder that way.” She took a step back, her arms dropping to her sides as her voice broke. “And knowing that makes this so much worse.”

    Frederick looked stricken, his mouth opening to say something, but no words came. Ariana pressed on, her voice trembling but determined. “You figured you could change my mind by force. By staying silent and letting them ambush me with this. You thought if I didn’t have a choice, I’d just… accept it.”

    “That’s not what I—” he started, but she cut him off.

    “Isn’t it?” she said, her voice rising with the weight of her anger. “If you had warned me—if you’d trusted me enough to tell me the truth—maybe we could’ve planned together. Maybe I could’ve found a way to make this… acceptable. We could’ve worked through this. But you didn’t. You decided for me.”

    Her words hung heavy in the air, a truth that neither of them could deny. Frederick looked like he had been struck, the weight of her accusations pressing down on him. “Ari,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “I thought—”

    “You thought wrong,” she said, her voice cracking under the strain of her emotions. “I might never forgive you for this, Frederick. And I know I’ll never trust you again.”

    The finality in her words hit like a dagger, and Frederick recoiled as though physically wounded. He opened his mouth to speak, but she had already turned, walking away from him and the shattered remains of their friendship.

    This time, he didn’t follow.

    ~~~

    Ariana pushed open the heavy doors of the library, her steps faltering as she took in the room bathed in the warm glow of the firelight. Her father, Lord Charles Trevelyan, sat in his usual chair near the hearth, a book resting in his hands. But he wasn’t reading. His gaze was distant, his expression heavy, as if he’d been carrying the weight of the evening for far longer than she had known.

    He looked up as she entered, his hazel eyes meeting hers, and in them, she saw the guilt she had been expecting. For a moment, she froze, unsure whether to unleash the storm inside her or beg for some semblance of comfort. Instead, she stepped forward, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and heartbreak.

    “Why?” she demanded, the single word cutting through the quiet like a blade.

    Charles sighed deeply, setting the book aside as if it had suddenly grown too heavy to hold. “Ariana,” he said softly, “I knew you would come.”

    Her fists clenched at her sides, her voice rising despite her best efforts to remain composed. “Why didn’t you tell me, Father? Why didn’t you warn me? I trusted you—I trusted you more than anyone!”

    Her words seemed to strike him like a physical blow. He stood, his movements slow, his face etched with sorrow as he stepped closer. “Ariana, please,” he said, his voice low and measured. “I did everything I could. You must understand—”

    “Understand?” she interrupted, her hazel-green eyes blazing with emotion. “What is there to understand? You let me walk into that room completely unprepared, humiliated in front of everyone. I looked for you, hoping you would say something, do something, but you just stood there!”

    He looked away, the guilt on his face deepening. “It wasn’t my choice to make,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Your mother… the Duke and Duchess… they planned this for months. By the time I knew, it was already set in motion. There was nothing I could do to stop it.”

    Ariana shook her head, her voice cracking. “You could have warned me,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek. “You could have at least given me the chance to prepare.”

    Charles exhaled slowly, the weight of the years evident in his posture. “Ariana,” he began, his tone tinged with both regret and exhaustion, “you should have been sent to the Chantry years ago. It was expected, required of us. But I delayed it—for you. I wanted you here, with me. I did everything in my power to give you more time, to let you grow up as freely as I could manage. But there are limits to what even I can do.”

    She felt her chest tighten at his words, her anger warring with the ache of understanding. “You say you tried to protect me,” she said, her voice trembling. “But tonight… you handed me over without a fight. You gave up.”

    “I didn’t give up,” he replied firmly, his voice breaking slightly. “I just… ran out of options. This arrangement—it’s not what I wanted for you. But it is better than the alternative. Frederick is someone you know, someone who cares for you. At least this way, you have a chance to make something of it.”

    Ariana turned away, her arms wrapping around herself as if to shield her from the truth. “You don’t understand,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I don’t want this life. I don’t want any of it.”

    Her father stepped closer, his voice soft. “I know, my dear,” he said, the pain in his words unmistakable. “But there are things beyond our control—obligations we cannot escape, no matter how much we wish otherwise.”

    The tears she had been holding back finally spilled over, and she sank onto the nearest chair, burying her face in her hands as sobs overtook her. Charles hesitated for a moment before sitting beside her, pulling her into a gentle embrace. She didn’t resist, leaning into him as he held her, his hand brushing soothingly over her hair.

    “I wish I could have done more,” he murmured. “I wish the world were kinder to you. But even though it may not feel like it now, you are stronger than you know. You will endure this, Ariana. I have no doubt.”

    Her sobs subsided slowly, her body trembling as she clung to him. For a moment, she allowed herself to take comfort in his presence, even as the betrayal still lingered in her heart.

    “Even if it doesn’t seem like it,” he whispered, his voice breaking, “out of all my children, you are the one I love most. I hope you can forgive me someday.”

    Ariana didn’t respond, the weight of his words too much to bear. Instead, she let herself rest against him, the exhaustion of the night finally catching up to her. Together, they sat in silence, father and daughter, bound by love and regret, as the fire crackled softly in the background.