Saren
The snow was beginning to melt, revealing the pale stone paths beneath the courtyard's frost. Spring would come soon — the season of new things. Of life.
And change.
Saren adjusted the clasp of her cloak and glanced back once, ensuring no one followed, before stepping into the old stone chapel behind the archives. It had long been abandoned, its stained glass cracked and its altar bare. But it served its purpose well enough.
He was already waiting.
A man in plain robes, hood drawn low, face hidden in shadow.
"I said I would not be followed," she whispered.
"And you were not," the figure replied. "The Duke is predictable. Devoted."
She did not smile. "He is not a fool."
"No," the contact said slowly. "But he sees you with open eyes. And you are the only thing they trust."
Saren looked down at her gloves, fingertips dusted with ash from the hearth. "He believes I love him."
"Do you?"
She didn't answer.
The silence stretched too long before she finally spoke, voice quieter than before.
"He would burn the world for me."
"Then make him burn it," the figure said.
He left before she could answer.
Later that evening, Saren found Alric in the study, pouring over letters from the border. His brow was furrowed, the candlelight drawing lines of concern across his face.
"They're pushing for more guards at the pass," he said, frustrated. "But there's nothing to suggest the threat is real."
"Then don't waste steel on shadows," Saren said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Your people trust you to know what's worth fighting for."
He looked up at her, the tension in his face slowly easing. "You make it sound simple."
She smiled. "Because it is. The burden is heavy enough. Let me carry some of it with you."
He nodded, touched her hand, and turned back to his maps.
She stood beside him like a faithful wife. Like a woman who loved her husband.
And part of her hated how true that had begun to feel.
......to be continued.....
Author's Note:
She's doing great at pretending to be in love.
Problem is... she's starting to forget it's supposed to be pretend.
—your author