Chapter 9
Through Prince Julian’s connection, I was granted one final visit to the dungeon where Isolde was imprisoned.
She glared at me with undisguised hatred, furious that I would dare show up-smug, composed, and standing in the place
she once claimed as hers.
“We’ve known who you were all along,” I said calmly. “Everything Father did-all the fawning, the games-was to draw you
out.”
“He despised you, Isolde. If not for the influence behind your bloodline, our family would’ve been living a peaceful life, just
the four of us.”
Realization dawned in her eyes. “So that’s why you dared threaten me at the Springtide Banquet…”
I only smiled and blinked. “Still worked out well for me, don’t you think? My little brother will be born any month now. Yours…” I tilted my head toward the darkened depths of the dungeon. “Well, I don’t hear him crying anymore.”
Isolde slumped to the floor, her pride shattered.
“I knew,” she whispered hoarsely. “He never truly loved me. Even in bed, he called out your mother’s name.”
Then a bitter laugh slipped from her lips. “But I fooled him too. That child? Never his.”
Before her death, Isolde named Sir Alaric as her co-conspirator. Claimed every scheme had been masterminded by him.
“You call yourself a king? You butchered my kin and crushed my house beneath your heel! You’re no different from that
oath-breaking wretch who promised me protection. May you both burn for what you’ve done!”
King Edmund’s gaze sharpened, his voice calm but laced with steel.
“Your kin lived in splendor while the rest of the realm starved. Your father’s so-called legacy was bought with the blood
and broken backs of peasants. You speak of glory-yet all I see is rot hidden beneath velvet.”
“And Sir Storme? He will join you soon enough-once the truth is confirmed.”
The proof Alaric had gathered to claim glory became the very blade pressed to his throat.
Though the Queen Dowager begged mercy, King Edmund spared only his life.
A royal decree was issued: Alaric Storme was to be exiled to Frostmoor Colony. There would be no trial. No farewell. Just a quiet escort from his estate at dawn, bound in chains beneath a heavy cloak-gone before the neighbors even stirred.
Frostmoor was a sentence, not a place. No man returned from there. And the Crown intended it that way.
As the decree was read, Mother drank the tincture of rue and wrapped the remains of her four-month-old child in a fine brocade box. It was sent to House Storme by courier.
I rode ahead to deliver it, just in time to see Alaric lift the lid, eyes brimming with hope.
“Elowen,” he murmured, “I knew it-you still care for me…”
Chapter 9
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And then he saw it. The crimson bundle. The death of his last illusion.
He screamed and collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
When he woke, he was a man undone-raving, fevered, lost to madness.
The day of his exile, we came to see him off. Mother and I stood at a distance as the chains were locked in place.
She had long sworn off marriage, devoting her life to healing women of the common folk.
With her growing reputation came peace-and laughter returned to her lips.
Alaric, lucid for once, looked at her over and over, as though memorizing her face.
“If I’d told you the truth from the beginning,” he asked, voice cracking, “would things have been different?”
“You didn’t,” Mother said gently. “You let us suffer.”
“If my parents hadn’t found me in time, would you really have left me rotting in the Quarry pits to wait for you forever?”
“No! I only meant to hide you in the countryside for safety. I never wanted to send you to ruin.” He reached for her, desperate. “You don’t know what it meant, seeing you at the banquet…”
My cheek throbbed at the memory.
If he truly cared, why strike me? Why throw us into that fountain like yesterday’s refuse?
His love was always tangled-never clear, never kind.
Even if he spent every night by my side, begging for forgiveness like a ghost with nowhere else to go-I could never forgive him.
And neither could Mother.
She leaned in, whispering into his ear.
“I hired someone to kill you on the road.”
Then she turned away, taking my hand in hers.
“Safe travels.”
Alaric never made it to Frostmoor.
The Queen Dowager mourned him for a while-but soon, she poured all her affection and attention onto me.
After all, I was the only child he ever truly had.
Prince Julian was restored to his rightful place in court, though he still snuck out often to visit me.
One day, Mother took us out to fly kites beneath the open sky.
As Julian and I laughed, running through the field, she watched us with a soft smile.
“This life of sorrow has ended,” she murmured. “All I wish for now… is peace.”
