Chapter 2: Echoes of a Vow
Evelyn stood frozen in her father’s study, the guardsman’s words ringing in her ears: The dark spirit has awakened. Her pulse thundered as she gripped the edge of the map table, its worn parchment crinkling under her fingers. Lord West barked orders to the guards, his voice a distant roar over the storm in her mind.
“Father, we can’t ignore this,” she said, stepping toward him. “Redbrook—empty villages, lights over Bloodstone Cliff—this isn’t superstition.”
Lord West’s jaw tightened. “We have no proof it’s tied to Eastmarch or your prince. Postponing the wedding would unravel years of diplomacy.”
“Diplomacy?” Evelyn’s voice cracked. “Rowan pushed me off that cliff. I lived it.”
The guardsman shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting to Lord West. Her father’s eyes softened, but his tone held firm. “You’ve had a nightmare, Evelyn. A vivid one, I grant you, but we cannot act on dreams.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but a sharp rap at the door cut her off. Maris slipped inside, her face pale. “My lady, your presence is requested in the solar. Your ladies-in-waiting are preparing your attire for Prince Rowan’s arrival.”
“Arrival?” Evelyn’s stomach lurched. “He’s here?”
“Soon, my lady. His retinue was sighted crossing the river.” Maris hesitated, twisting her apron. “They say he’s eager to see you.”
Lord West waved a hand. “Go, Evelyn. Whatever this is, we’ll handle it after the ceremony. The alliance must hold.”
Evelyn’s fists clenched, but she nodded stiffly. Arguing now would only delay answers. She followed Maris out, her mind spiraling as they crossed Rosehaven’s bustling corridors. Servants scurried past, carrying trays of candied figs and polished silver for the feast. The castle hummed with wedding preparations, oblivious to the dread coiling in her chest.
In the solar, her ladies-in-waiting fluttered around a velvet-draped table, arranging her wedding gown. The sight of the white silk—identical to the one she’d worn as she fell—sent a shiver through her. She pressed a hand to her bruised forearm, hidden beneath her sleeve.
“My lady, you’re pale as moonlight,” said Lila, a young maid with wide hazel eyes, as she held up a pearl comb. “Are you unwell?”
“I’m fine,” Evelyn snapped, then softened. “Just… help me with the gown.”
As Lila and the others laced her into the corset, Evelyn’s thoughts drifted, unbidden, to yesterday—or was it today? The memories came in flashes, vivid as stained glass catching sunlight.
She stood in Cedarhold Palace’s grand hall, rose petals carpeting the aisle. Trumpets blared as she walked toward Rowan, his green eyes bright with promise. His hand was warm as he took hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles.
Later, beneath the weeping willows by the palace lake, they’d stolen a moment alone. His lips grazed hers, tentative at first, then fierce. “I’d burn the world for you, Evelyn,” he’d said, and she’d believed him, her fingers tangled in his dark hair.
But then—another memory, sharper, cutting through the warmth. Rowan in a shadowed alcove, his voice low, urgent, speaking to a cloaked figure. Azrael. She hadn’t heard their words, only caught the glint of a blood-red amulet in the sorcerer’s hand. Rowan’s shoulders had tensed, his jaw set with something like dread. “Victory at any price,” he’d muttered as Azrael vanished into the dark.
“My lady?” Lila’s voice yanked Evelyn back. The comb tugged at her scalp as Lila pinned her hair. “You’re trembling.”
Evelyn forced a smile. “It’s nothing. Nerves.”
The other maids exchanged glances, their hands pausing over ribbons and lace. The eldest, Gwyn, a stern woman with silver streaks in her braid, cleared her throat. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but there’s talk among the servants. Strange talk.”
“What kind?” Evelyn asked, her voice sharper than intended.
Gwyn hesitated, then lowered her voice. “They say Bloodstone Cliff glowed red at midnight. Some swear they heard screams carried on the wind.”
Lila’s comb clattered to the floor. “My cousin in Redbrook sent word yesterday. She said the river turned to blood for an hour.”
“Enough,” Evelyn said, but her heart raced. “We have a wedding to prepare for.”
The maids fell silent, resuming their work, but the air felt heavier now, thick with unspoken fears. Evelyn’s gaze drifted to the silver rose brooch on the table, its petals gleaming under candlelight. Rowan’s gift. She reached for it, her fingers hovering.
“Careful, my lady,” Gwyn warned. “The clasp is sharp.”
Evelyn ignored her, lifting the brooch. It felt heavier than it should, its edges cold against her skin. She turned it over, noticing a faint rune etched into the back—barely visible, like a scratch. Her breath caught. She’d never seen it before, yet it felt… familiar.
“Maris,” she called, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “Fetch my father’s scribe. I need him to examine this.”
Maris nodded and hurried out, but before the door could close, a commotion erupted in the hall. Raised voices, the clank of armor. Evelyn set the brooch down, her pulse quickening.
“What’s happening?” she asked, striding toward the door.
Gwyn blocked her path, her face pale. “Stay here, my lady. It’s not safe.”
“Safe?” Evelyn pushed past her, flinging the door open. Captain Reed stood in the corridor, arguing with a young soldier whose face was slick with sweat.
“My lady, get back!” Reed barked, but Evelyn ignored him, catching the soldier’s words.
“—tracks leading from Redbrook, sir. Not human. Clawed, like some beast, heading straight for Rosehaven.”
“Silence!” Reed snapped, then turned to Evelyn. “My lady, return to the solar. Now.”
“Not until you tell me what’s coming,” she said, planting herself in his path.
Reed’s jaw worked, but before he could answer, a horn blared from the courtyard below—a deep, urgent note that sent chills down Evelyn’s spine. The soldier paled further. “That’s the gate signal. Someone’s arrived.”
“Who?” Evelyn demanded.
Reed hesitated, then said, “Prince Rowan’s retinue. They’re early.”