BLOODLINE

Chapter 3 - The Young King

"This is utter madness!" Theodore declared, his voice a mixture of incredulity and exasperation as he regarded Byron's decision to wed Ratih.

"Did you not urge me to select a bride of my own choosing? Well, I have." Byron countered, waving aside Theodore's protests with a casual flick of his wrist.

"I did not mean for you to wed the witch!" Theodore shot back, his voice hushed so that Ratih could not overhear their exchange in the adjoining chamber. 

Byron silenced him with a pointed gesture. "Should she overhear your foolishness, she might just turn you into a toad!" he quipped, far too elated to entertain a dispute.

"Besides, you are the one who planted this notion in my mind," Theodore pressed, rising from his seat, bewilderment painted across his features. "Me?!" 

Byron smirked, placing his thumb against his chin as if recalling some distant memory. "You spoke of how King Garrick desired his daughter to wed the heir of my father's throne."

Realization dawned on Theodore, and he sank back into his chair, shaking his head, disappointment washing over him like a cold tide—both in himself and in the memory of his late uncle who had brokered the Brownriggs' deal. 

"This may be to our advantage, cousin. If Ratih truly possesses sorcery, she would not dare harm me—after all, I shall be her husband," Byron argued, employing a shred of logic in his reasoning.

"You genuinely believe she is a witch?" Theodore asked, his curiosity piqued. Byron rolled his eyes at his cousin's naivety. 

"It is a mere supposition, Theo. I would not dream of labeling my bride as such." he replied, unable to conceal a grin at the unexpected turn his life had taken—marrying the woman of his dreams with such surprising swiftness.

"You've truly lost your senses, haven't you? She has bewitched you!" Theodore exclaimed, ready to launch into a litany of reasons why Byron should not wed her based on his fanciful beliefs.

Knowing Theodore could prattle on indefinitely, Byron rose from his seat, feigning a yawn to signal his need for slumber after their long voyage at sea.

"Consider it my duty as King, fulfilling my father's wishes." Byron stated, departing Theodore's study without awaiting a retort. No amount of persuasion would sway him. He had already lost her; to lose her again would be the gravest regret of his life.

Despite his fatigue, Byron felt compelled to visit Ratih in her chambers, conveniently located across from his own. He knocked, and the door swung open almost instantly, as if she had been anticipating his arrival. 

"Greetings." she welcomed him, her smile bright enough to melt the chill in the air. "Are you not yet asleep?" he inquired, glancing past her into the room where her bed lay in disarray, a sign she had just risen. 

"I've just completed my bath." she replied, indicating her white nightdress adorned with delicate floral embroidery.

Feeling a sudden self-consciousness, Byron took a step back, noting his own disheveled state.

"I see. You ought to rest. Goodnight." he said, watching her smile dim, disappointment flickering in her eyes at the prospect of their parting. During their four-day journey back to Nye, they had spent every moment in each other's company, their bond growing with every exchange.

Noticing her sorrow, Byron's heart quickened. "We have all day tomorrow. You truly need your rest." he offered. Ratih nodded, already feeling the weight of the impending night apart.