Chapter 10
To an outsider’s ear, it might have sounded like the heartfelt affection of a father who adored his daughter.
“Ah, indeed. Lady Dalia’s beauty is already the subject of much renown.”
“Quite so. That is the truth of it.”
When the viscount swept a sharp glance around, his retainers, who had been sitting in uneasy silence, hastily added their own words of agreement.
“Thank you, Sir Simos, Sir Ludden.”
Dalia curved her lips in the faintest of smiles as she acknowledged their praise.
Having just witnessed their young lady behaving strangely in front of Shiray and his men, the viscount and his vassals broke into a cold sweat of relief when she bowed her head without resistance.
Dalia found their anxiety amusing.
If they were so terrified of scandal, they should have paid attention long ago.
Looking back now, she could hardly believe how desperately she had once tried to win their affection—even forcing herself into the mold they had set for her, never daring to voice a single complaint.
“Now then, Dalia. If you oversleep, the bride’s face will be in no state for tomorrow’s ceremony. Why not retire and rest?”
Clearly fearful of any further surprises, the viscount suggested that she withdraw for the evening.
Dalia had been on the verge of saying more, but thought better of it and inclined her head. There was nothing to be gained by lingering here.
“Then, I shall take my leave. May you all enjoy a pleasant night.”
With her dress gathered neatly in hand, she dipped in a flawless curtsey. The viscount, reassured, smiled in satisfaction.
As she turned away, Dalia’s expression twisted in disgust. That benevolent, fatherly smile he wore sat so ill upon his face that it made her skin crawl.
Her steps grew lighter as she left the hall. Behind her, she could feel Shiray’s gaze lingering, following her departure with keen interest.
The girl in her portrait wore a meek, placid expression, her lips stiff with a false smile. The real Dalia was anything but.
Shiray’s eyes gleamed—like a mischievous child who had just discovered a new toy to torment.
Good. He’s quite taken with her.
Relieved by the young man’s obvious fascination with his daughter, Viscount Borbon let out a booming laugh and raised his glass high, toasting the union that would bind House Freisler and House Borbon together on the morrow.
Night fell, and a round silver moon climbed into the sky.
*[As Father says, escaping through marriage would indeed be the simplest course—but also the most shameful.
I, Dalia Borbon, eldest daughter of this house, will not flee as a cowardly bride, but stand as a noble sacrifice.
As the last woman of our line, I will follow in my mother’s footsteps and willingly offer myself to the dragon, that my father, my stepmother, the child she carries, and all our people may know peace.]*
When the house lay quiet in the small hours before dawn, Dalia slipped from her bed and set her prepared letter where it could not be missed.
Her father, who had built his authority on tales of the dragon’s wrath, would never dare admit the ritual sacrifice was nothing but a sham—even if she later returned alive.
And lest he simply suppress the letter, she had already entrusted copies to Latrice, who would see them posted far and wide at first light.
Latrice had balked at being drawn into such a dangerous scheme, but when Dalia promised to speak kindly of him to Mary, his resistance dissolved. He had even accepted the copies without further protest.
The memory made Dalia smile.
When she later went to keep her promise, Mary had been so overwhelmed with joy that she could scarcely believe it was real—until Dalia pressed Latrice’s crumpled love letter into her hands as proof.
Drawing her cloak tighter, Dalia stepped out into the cool night and turned back for one last look at the Borbon estate.
When I return, it won’t be as a runaway under cover of darkness. Things will be different then.
Resolute, she made her way to the stables.
“Liri.”
At the sound of her voice, the brown mare gave a welcoming snort.
After saddling and loading her, Dalia swung herself lightly into the saddle, the reality of her flight suddenly sinking in.
“Tonight, we’ll have to ride fast, Liri. Can you manage it?”
The horse pawed the earth eagerly in answer.
Thanks to Latrice and Mary distracting the sentries and opening a back way, Dalia rode unchallenged out of the grounds and into the forest.
The wind rushed past as she urged her mount faster, and for a moment she felt exhilarated. Her father had only intended her to learn just enough horsemanship for ceremonial duties, but Dalia had always loved the freedom of the gallop.
Yet once beneath the dense canopy of the dark forest, Liri balked and refused to move.
“What is it?”
The mare whinnied, stamping nervously.
“There’s nothing here… are you just frightened of the dark?”
Even the treat she offered was rejected. Instead, Liri tossed her head as if reproaching her mistress.
Just then, the undergrowth ahead rustled violently.
“What was that?”
Dalia strained to listen. Liri snorted, jerked her head aside, and refused to go forward.
“Fine. Do you want to turn back alone?”
She had already planned to send the mare home partway, trading for a fresh mount at the next village. Still, she had hoped to keep her company through the forest.
With a sigh, Dalia dismounted and removed the pack. At once, Liri trotted off toward the estate, glancing back once or twice before bolting when Dalia beckoned her.
“Coward,” she muttered, shouldering her pack.
She strapped a dagger at her waist. It looked absurd with her fine gown, but she paid it no mind.
The watch will suffice if I must defend myself—but I can’t afford to overuse it. It drains me too much.
Steeling herself, she continued on foot beneath the full moon’s glow.
After a time, voices reached her—men’s voices, rough and raised in anger.
Not pursuers. They wouldn’t be fighting among themselves.
Cautiously, she crept closer. Beneath a great tree, two men struggled fiercely.
“Who sent you?”
“None of your concern.”
One wore a mask and had the other pinned, straining to drive a dagger into his chest. The man beneath fought desperately to hold it back, but his strength was fading.
If I do nothing, he’ll die.
Dalia had never witnessed a person’s death before—save for her own.
“Best speak, before I end you.”
The warning was ignored. The dagger hovered inches from the pinned man’s throat.
He doesn’t even seem to know why he’s being attacked…
Her hands trembled. A vow echoed in her mind.
You gave me this power so I could save others, didn’t you?
Lifting her gaze skyward, she flipped open the watch.
With a soft metallic click, the world froze.
The forest fell utterly silent. Even the insects’ hum was gone.
Dalia stepped forward, pried the trapped man free, and dragged him aside.
“I don’t know what you’ve done, but surely it isn’t worth dying for.”
The man made no reply—time was still stopped.
“Ah…”
Up close, his appearance stole her breath. His features were too striking, too unreal, as though he had stepped out of a dream. His garments were foreign to her eyes, of a style she had never seen.
Then she remembered.
Black hair, towering build, otherworldly beauty, strange ancient dress… Wasn’t that exactly how the old tales described the Black Dragon of the forest?
Her grip faltered, and the man’s body slipped from her arms to the ground.
“No, that’s nonsense.”
She shook her head. The book she’d read had been some nameless text of dubious origin—she herself had dismissed it as the ravings of someone who’d eaten hallucinogenic mushrooms.
Refocusing, she tried to lift him again but found him far too heavy. His body sagged to the ground once more.
Dragging him like this will take too long.
She turned instead to the masked attacker, wrenching the dagger from his hand and flinging it away. Swiftly, she bound his wrists and ankles and gagged him for good measure.
Once she was safely at a distance, she snapped the watch shut.
The man jerked back into motion with a muffled cry, thrashing violently when he saw her.
“Mmff! Mmmph!”
“Quiet. I’ll untie you once it’s safe. Until then, be patient.”
