The frozen heart

Chapter 43: The Mark of the Harbinger

Anne barely had a moment to take in her surroundings before she felt it—a shift in the air, a ripple of tension that spread like wildfire through the palace. She had returned. It was supposed to be a safe place, but she quickly realized this was far from the welcome she had imagined. Murmurs began, harsh whispers slipping into the hallways and gathering like storm clouds around her. Eyes turned her way, cold, hard, disbelieving. No one greeted her. Instead, there was only the tight-lipped silence of disgust.

Servants who had once bowed in respect now refused to meet her gaze, their expressions twisted with distaste, the faintest hint of revulsion in their eyes. "She reeks," one of them muttered just loud enough for her to hear, not bothering to mask the disdain. Another whispered harshly, "Look at her. What did she have to do to come back alive?"

Anne's chest tightened, the sting of their words burrowing into her, piercing deeper than she thought possible. To them, she was filthy, a stain on their polished palace floors.

A figure she recognized—a young noblewoman—passed by, nose wrinkling, her eyes skating over Anne with something close to pity, something closer to scorn. "The Harbinger's whore," she whispered to another woman, her voice a soft hiss, but each word loud as a shout in Anne's ears. The phrase stung, and she felt her cheeks burn, her fingers curling tightly into the worn fabric of her cloak. She wanted to defend herself, to shout that it wasn't true, but her voice caught in her throat.

Word traveled quickly, and soon, it seemed the entire court knew. She wasn't the princess who had miraculously returned; she was the woman who had dared to walk beside Kaiden, the one they branded with whispered slurs. To them, she had sold herself, given her body to the "Harbinger of Death" for her own survival, a betrayal so steeped in shame that her mere presence tainted their halls. It didn't matter that they didn't know the truth—no one wanted to know. They only wanted to see her as something vile, something less than she had once been.

The weight of their stares pushed down on her, isolating her even as she stood in the heart of her former home. She searched the room for a familiar face, someone who might understand, but all she saw was avoidance and quiet, whispered disdain. And then, from across the room, she saw the king. His face was ashen, eyes hard as he looked her way, a glint of something close to disgust in his gaze. His lips pressed into a tight, thin line, the kind of expression he'd once reserved for prisoners of war or traitors brought before him. The message was clear: he could barely stand the sight of her.

Anne's breath caught, and she looked away, unable to bear the judgment that radiated from every corner of the room. The ache of loneliness settled deep within her, the emptiness only magnified by the familiar walls that now seemed so foreign. She moved to the side of the hall, finding a small bench tucked against the wall where the shadows were thicker, and sank down, clutching her hands tightly in her lap. She was invisible here, hidden from the harsh eyes that followed her every move.

She tried to focus, to drown out the whispers, the way they seemed to close in on her. She pressed her fingers to her temples, taking slow breaths, trying to remind herself why she was here. News. She needed to hear something, anything about Kaiden and his fight against the Exorcist. If the palace was buzzing with rumors, surely someone would know if the battle had been decided. She strained to catch snippets of conversation, hoping for even a word about the outcome.

But all she heard were the insults. The rumors. The way her name, once respected, now dripped with a venom that left her feeling hollow.

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The ache in her chest grew heavier with each passing day, the weight of her solitude pressing down on her. The promise Kaiden had made before he left—"I'll come back to you"—echoed in her mind, a fragile thread of hope she clung to. But as the hours stretched into the depths of the night, doubt began to creep in, its cold tendrils wrapping around her thoughts.