Barracks (War of Hearts)

23-Roads

Alexander, a council member with eyes as black as the abyss, intercepts us. His sword bears the stains of battle, and his gaze pierces like a blade. Melissa, our silent witness, casts an odd look my way. I dismiss her, unwilling to share this impending confrontation.

I curtsy, my pulse racing, awaiting his judgment. "I did not oppose the hunt for the heretic," he begins, his voice a rasp. "Until you set your cottage ablaze to claim residence here. Suspicious, indeed. The Beckets are right."

His accusation ignites my anger. "False!" I retort. "Locked in my chamber, how could I torch my home?" Aldaire, my unlikely ally, can attest to my innocence.

Alexander scoffs, his disdain a bitter brew. "Your words are a sham. You might have the Ainsworth's favor and half the council, yet my vote is lost."

"I know not what rumors poison your ears," I declare, my spine straightening. "But truth is my armor." The flames of injustice lick at my resolve. "I stand accused unjustly."

"Told me something? I am no fool," he declares, leaning close. His presence presses upon me like the weight of a thousand secrets. "I see. I don't listen." His words slice through the air, and I struggle to maintain my composure.

"And you are not what you claim," he continues, his voice a blade honed by suspicion. "The walls have eyes and ears, Leizabeth. All secrets unravel eventually."

I retreat, lowering my gaze. My secrets are not the ones he accuses me of, yet the gnawing unease persists. He brushes past me, nearly toppling me. My legs waver, and I stare at the cold stone floor, resenting the power of others' perceptions. Peace eludes me; my reality is a tempest of half-truths and hidden histories.

An outsider, that's what I am. But which world claims me? I dare not ponder it, yet the answer looms, inevitable. To think is to risk unraveling the fragile threads that bind me here. I am torn, confusion gnawing at my core.

Melissa's voice pierces my thoughts. I look up, shaken by the truth dawning upon me. "Are you well?" she asks, concern etching her features.

"Yes," I reply, my mind racing. This time, I refrain from conversation. My forehead feels as if it bears the weight of the realm itself. My shoulder sags under the burden of secrets.

"I trust you, Melissa," I whisper, leaning closer. She's never been one to hold her tongue, and I admire her for it. "Did you know the council hunts the heretic within our kingdom?"

Her eyes widen. "Alexander?"

"Perhaps," I say, my resolve firm. "But appearances can deceive. I shall lead them astray, sow confusion. If I fall, I won't fall alone." The game is afoot, and I'll dance upon the edge of truth, daring them to follow.

Aldaire's touch, like frost on a winter morning, smoothes the furrows between my brows. I glance up at him, and it was then when I noticed the absence of Melissa. The two steeds—black as midnight and silver as moonlight—waited, saddled and ready.

I smile, though weariness tugs at my bones. "What ails you?" he inquires, his persistence a gentle breeze against my defenses.

"Tired," I confess, my voice a whisper carried by the castle's ancient stones.

He hums, "One horse, then?" His acquiescence warms me. He grants me space, a rare gift in this labyrinth of intrigue.

I shake my head, signaling my acceptance. Riding together would be practical, especially if another crisis looms. He assists me onto the black steed, mounting the other behind me.