CHAPTER ONE

CATALINA POV

It was another tedious day of managing our house's finances. As the eldest daughter of Benito De La Cerda, the burden of responsibility was placed upon me from the moment I could hold a pen. Though I wasn't destined to become the next head of the family—no, that privilege would belong to my younger brother—I was expected to know the ins and outs of our estate as if I were born to it.

Father trained me well, and while I wouldn't dare call myself a genius, I wasn't a fool either. Each day bled into the next, filled with ledgers, taxes, and accounts, a constant reminder of my looming debutante. It seemed both distant and yet too close, like a shadow creeping in from the edges of my existence.

"Señorita! I've bought all the provisions for the next season!" A familiar, breathless voice interrupted my thoughts.

I glanced up from the ledger to see Juan, a boy no older than twelve, standing before me, dirt smudged across his face but his eyes bright with pride. His clothes were tattered, as always, and his shoes barely clung to his feet. Yet his enthusiasm never wavered, even in the face of such hardship.

He slammed a stack of papers onto my desk, his grin wide and infectious.

"Great work, Juan." I smiled softly, leaning my chin on my palm. "I'll take a look at these. You may go now."

Juan beamed, bowing deeply before scurrying out of the room.

"Thank you, Señorita!" he called, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

I let out a small chuckle, but the lightness in my heart faded as I looked down at the reports. The numbers immediately caught my attention—an increase in taxes, far higher than expected. My brows knit together in confusion.

"Why raise taxes again?" I murmured to myself, my fingers tracing the lines of ink on the page. At this rate, the common folk wouldn't be able to afford basic necessities. It was madness. How could they justify such an increase? Did they not see that the very people they ruled over were suffering under the weight of their greed?

"These fools…" I whispered bitterly, shaking my head as I scribbled revisions on the margins of the document. If prices rose alongside the taxes, our provisions wouldn't even last through the next season. I knew all too well how these decisions were made—by men in gilded rooms, far removed from the reality of the world they governed. They cared only for their own wealth, blind to the suffering of those beneath them.

"Señorita."

The voice, calm and measured, pulled me from my thoughts. I didn't look up at first, too focused on finishing my notes, but I hummed in acknowledgment.

"Your father requests your presence."

The words were spoken with such formality that I finally raised my head, eyes narrowing at the knight standing before me. His armor gleamed in the dim light of the office, a stark contrast to the disarray of my paperwork. He stood stiffly, bowing with practiced grace, but his expression gave away nothing.

I frowned. Why would Father summon me now? He never interrupted my work unless something was of dire importance.

"May I ask why?" My voice was even, though suspicion crept into my tone.

"My apologies, Señorita," the knight said, lowering his eyes. "Your father gave no reason, only that he requires your presence immediately."

A cold prickle ran down my spine. Father rarely called for me directly. I had learned long ago that his demands were often accompanied by unpleasant news, news that had the power to change the course of our family's future. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good.

I set down my pen, the ink still wet on the page as I pushed back from the desk. My fingers lingered on the edges of the papers, unwilling to let go of the routine that grounded me.

"I see," I said finally, my voice steady, though my heart began to race. "Lead the way."

As I followed the knight through the winding halls of the estate, the weight of uncertainty settled heavy on my chest. The grandeur of our home, with its high ceilings and ornate tapestries, felt oppressive, the silence between the stone walls suffocating. Each step echoed loudly, and with each passing moment, my apprehension grew.

What could Father possibly want? Had something happened to our lands? Or was this another one of his lessons, designed to remind me of my place, of the role I would play in the shadow of our family's legacy?

When we reached the grand double doors of his study, the knight stepped aside, allowing me to approach. The heavy wood loomed before me, dark and foreboding. I took a deep breath, steeling myself before pushing the doors open.

Inside, Father sat behind his imposing desk, the room dimly lit by the flickering flames of the fireplace. His presence filled the space, commanding and unyielding. His face, worn with age and the weight of his responsibilities, was unreadable. He didn't look up as I entered.

"Father," I greeted softly, bowing my head in respect.

He finally lifted his gaze to meet mine, and in that moment, I knew—whatever he was about to say would change everything.

"Catalina," he began, his voice as cold as winter frost. "We have much to discuss."

I nodded and walked slowly toward him, my hands folding gracefully in front of me, my head held high as I stood before my father. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but the air in the room was thick with tension. The flickering fire behind him cast shadows across his stern face, and in that moment, I knew—whatever he had summoned me for would be grave.

"We have made enemies," he began, his voice low but firm.

I tilted my head slightly, confusion knitting my brow. Enemies? What on earth did he mean? As a noble family, we had always had enemies—rivals who envied our wealth, our influence, our standing. So why did this feel different? I swallowed the unease creeping up my throat.

"Is it the royal family?" I asked, trying to grasp the severity of the situation.

His gaze hardened, and his next words sent a chill through my bones. "The House of Frias."

My breath caught. The House of Frias? But we were allies—comrades, even. Father had always spoken highly of Count Elmario Frias and their family. There was no reason for conflict, no reason for betrayal. I felt my hands tighten against the fabric of my dress, my fingers growing cold.

"Why?" I whispered, trying to make sense of it all. "We've been loyal to the House of Frias. We've—"

"They murdered three of our most trusted servants."

The words hung in the air like a death knell, and suddenly the room felt colder, the fire's warmth no longer reaching me. My pulse quickened, and I could feel my blood running cold beneath my skin. I stared at my father, my lips parting but no sound escaping. Murdered? Three of our own? But who?

"Father," I stammered, my voice barely a breath, "who?"

He looked at me then, his face drawn, his eyes filled with a sorrow he rarely showed. "Clarita, Leonara, and Teresita."

I froze, my world tilting beneath me. The ringing in my ears drowned out everything else as the names echoed in my mind. Clarita. Leonara. Teresita. I had grown up with them—those three maids had been my caretakers since I was a child. They had held me, comforted me, taught me so much when I was too young to understand the world. I remembered their soft smiles, their gentle hands, their whispered songs that lulled me to sleep.

And now… they were dead. Murdered.

The memories came rushing back—the day Father had sent them to the House of Frias after my third birthday. He had done it out of kindness, offering help when the Frias family was short on servants. And now, after all these years, this is how they repaid us? With bloodshed?

"Elmario Frias," my father continued, his voice cold, his face set in stone. "He ordered their deaths himself."

I felt as though the ground had been ripped out from under me. My legs trembled, and I clenched my fists to steady myself, my nails digging into my palms as I fought back the rising wave of grief and rage. How could this happen? Why would the Count, someone we had trusted, do this?

"They… they served our family," I whispered, the words breaking as they left my lips. "They raised me… How could he—"

"I have already declared war," my father interrupted, his voice as sharp as a blade.

I looked up at him, disbelief washing over me. War? So suddenly? "War?" I repeated, the word foreign on my tongue. "Father, are you thinking rationally? This… this will cost us everything! What about our people? Our servants? Our land? We can't afford—"

"This is not a negotiation, Catalina," he said, cutting me off once more, his eyes burning with an anger I had rarely seen. "They killed three innocent women under our protection. Do you think I will sit by and allow that to happen without consequence? Do you think I will allow the Frias family to believe that we are weak? That we will turn the other cheek while they murder our own?"

"But, Father," I pressed, my heart racing, "more of our people will die. Do you want to risk the lives of our household, our servants, for this vengeance? They have families too! You're sending them to—"

"They will die for a just cause," he said firmly, standing up from his desk, towering over me. "I will not be shamed by inaction, nor will I allow you to show weakness now. This is our duty—to protect our name, our honor. War is the only answer."

My hands shook, and I could feel my stomach churning, a knot of fear and anger building inside me. My father had always been a man of principle, a man who valued loyalty and justice. But this? This felt like madness. It felt like he was willing to throw our entire house into the flames just to satisfy his rage.

"But, Father," I whispered, my voice shaking, "what if more will die? What if we can't stop it once it starts?"

He looked at me, and for a moment, I saw something break in his eyes—fear, perhaps, or regret. But it was fleeting, replaced by the steely resolve that had always defined him.

"War has already begun, Catalina. We cannot turn back now."

I stood there, staring at the man who had always been my pillar of strength, and for the first time, I realized how powerless I was. The decision had been made.

"May I ask…" I began, my voice carefully measured, though I felt the tremor of dread rising within me. "Did you send one of my servants as well?"

Father didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked up at me, his expression momentarily faltering. I knew that look too well—the flicker of hesitation, the nervousness he always tried to hide. Despite his stern exterior, my father had always been weak when it came to me. He had never been able to mask his concern or soften the blow of harsh truths. And now, I stood before him, already bracing for the worst.

Surely, he hadn't sent anyone close to me. Surely, he had chosen someone I hardly knew, someone distant from my life.

But his next words made my blood run cold.

"I sent Alvaro de Ecija," he said quietly.

I looked up sharply, my expression hardening into a mask of disbelief and pain. Alvaro? Alvaro? The one person who had been by my side since childhood, my protector, my confidant—he had sent him away? My heart pounded in my chest, a sharp, suffocating ache spreading through me.

"Alvaro?" I repeated, my voice a low, disbelieving whisper. "Why, Father? He is supposed to protect me here! He's my knight!"

The air in the room seemed to still, thick with the tension between us. I could hear the distant crackling of the fire, the soft ticking of the clock on the mantel, but it all seemed so far away. My focus was on my father, and the crushing weight of his decision.

He sighed, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of his own actions had finally pressed down on him. "Catalina… it wasn't my decision."

I blinked, my mind racing, trying to comprehend what he was saying. "What do you mean it wasn't your decision?"

"Alvaro volunteered," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of sorrow. "For the sake of our house. He made the choice himself."

The room felt suddenly too small, too stifling. My legs weakened, but I stood firm, trying to process the reality of his words. Alvaro had volunteered? The knight who had sworn to protect me, to be by my side, had willingly left to face danger?

I clenched my hands into fists at my sides, feeling the sting of betrayal, not from Alvaro but from the situation itself. How could he have chosen this? How could he have abandoned me like this?

"But… he promised," I whispered, my voice trembling. "He promised he would always stay by my side. He swore his loyalty to me."

My father's face softened, and for a moment, I saw the regret in his eyes. "He has not abandoned you, Catalina. He did this because of his loyalty to you. He believes this is the only way to protect you and our family."

Protect me? How could risking his life protect me? The thought made my chest tighten with anger and fear. How could he possibly think that leaving me would keep me safe?

"No…" I shook my head, my voice growing stronger as the anger bubbled beneath the surface. "No, Father. You don't understand. Alvaro's place is here, by my side, not on some battlefield! You shouldn't have allowed him to go!"

I took a step forward, my eyes burning with unshed tears, my fists trembling at my sides. "You've sent him to die, haven't you? Just like Clarita, Leonara, and Teresita. You've sent him to his death!"

My father's face tightened, but he didn't raise his voice. Instead, he spoke with the quiet firmness of a man who had already come to terms with a decision he knew could never be undone.

"Catalina," he said, his voice gentle but resolute, "Alvaro made his choice. He did what he believed was right. He is not a boy anymore. He is a knight—your knight—and this is the path he has chosen."

I wanted to scream, to protest, to demand that we bring Alvaro back immediately. But deep down, I knew it was too late. He was already gone, and the wheels of war had been set in motion. There was no undoing what had been done.

The tears that had threatened to spill finally broke free, and I turned my head away, biting down on my lip to stifle the sob rising in my throat.

Alvaro had always been more than just a knight to me. He was my shield, my strength, the one constant in a world full of uncertainty. And now he was gone, swept away into a conflict that could claim his life as easily as it had claimed the lives of my childhood caretakers.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself before turning back to face my father. My voice, though quieter, carried the weight of my resolve.

"If anything happens to him," I said, my words trembling but fierce, "I will never forgive you. Not for this."

Father's face remained stony, but I saw the flicker of guilt in his eyes, the crack in his unyielding facade. He didn't respond, because there was nothing he could say to fix what had already been set in motion.

Without another word, I turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind me. But inside, I was shattering, a storm of fear and anger swirling within me.

Alvaro had always been there, always smiling, always by my side. Now, for the first time, I had to face the unbearable truth that he might never come back.

Was I being too dramatic over Alvaro? The thought haunted me as I sat there, staring blankly at the papers scattered on my desk. For years, we had been inseparable—he was not just my knight, but my confidant, my friend. And now he was heading into a blood-soaked battlefield, facing a man as dangerous and powerful as Count Elmario, a man with ties to the royal family. What if Count Elmario used those connections to his advantage? What if Alvaro… didn't return?

I let out a frustrated sigh, trying to push the unsettling thoughts from my mind. But no matter how hard I tried, the image of him standing alone on that field of war gnawed at me, unraveling any sense of calm I might have had. Why hadn't he told me? Why had he left without so much as a farewell?

The weight of the unknown was crushing. I needed to do something, anything to take control of the situation. I stood abruptly and rang the small silver bell on my desk. The familiar sound echoed in the room.

"Judith!" I called out, trying to keep my voice steady. "Grab a pen and paper, right now!"

The maid hurried in, her steps quick and silent as she brought me the requested items. "Here you go, Señorita," she said softly, placing them before me.

I gave her a faint nod, but something in her demeanor made me pause. She was smiling nervously, shifting on her feet as if she held back something I wasn't prepared to hear.

"Judith," I asked slowly, narrowing my eyes, "have you seen Alvaro?"

Her smile wavered. "Uhm… Señorita," she began hesitantly, "Alvaro has departed. He left last night."

The words felt like a punch to my chest. He's already gone. Of course, that's why last night felt so different—why his goodbye had been laced with a heaviness I chose to ignore. I should have known. I should have stopped him.

"I see," I muttered, my voice tight as I tried to swallow the sting of betrayal. "And he never bothered to tell his master?"

Judith lowered her head, unable to meet my eyes, before quietly excusing herself. The room felt empty, cold. I sat down, staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of me. My hands trembled as I reached for the pen, a mix of anger, fear, and sorrow swirling inside me. How could he leave without telling me? How could he, of all people, not say goodbye?

I pressed the pen to the paper, letting my emotions spill out in words, raw and unfiltered.

Alvaro De Ecija,

I hope this letter finds you in high spirits, though I doubt it ever will reach your hands on that cursed battlefield. Why? Because you never told me. You left without a word, not even a proper farewell, and I, your master, am left to wonder if you will ever return.

How could you keep this from me? How could you decide so adamantly to risk your life without my approval, without even informing me? Do you not understand the weight of your absence? You have been my protector for as long as I can remember, the one person I have trusted above all others, and now… now you are gone. Gone to fight against the House of Frias, gone to a bloodshed that may claim you as it has claimed others before.

You departed in the dead of night, slipping away without giving me the chance to stop you. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Did you think I wouldn't care?

Who will protect me in your stead? Who could possibly take your place? Is there anyone better than my knight? No one can. And you—how could you leave me to this emptiness, this uncertainty?

I am angry, yes. But beneath that anger is something deeper: fear. I fear for your safety, Alvaro. I fear that the next time I hear your name, it will be accompanied by news of your death. And the thought of it is unbearable.

Please, I beg you, let the grace of the gods be with you. Return to me alive, Alvaro. You must.

Sincerely yours,

Catalina De La Cerda

I finished the letter with a trembling hand, staring down at the words that poured from my heart. It wasn't enough. No letter could convey the depth of what I was feeling—the helplessness, the fear, the anguish of not knowing whether I would ever see him again. I folded the letter carefully, sealing it with the wax of our family crest.

But I knew it might never reach him. It was as much for me as it was for him—a way to confront the pain that clawed at me. I could only hope that, wherever he was, he felt the weight of the bond we shared. That he would remember his promise and return to me.

Alive.