Be My Marchioness

"So, you've chosen a life of torment, then?" Eryk leaned against the doorframe of Elara's chamber, watching as she brushed her hair.

"I'm sorry… I couldn't deliver your greetings to Mother. Turns out, I'm afraid of heights."

"So, what's the fuss? You could've just been that old bastard's plaything." Eryk scoffed.

"This brothel is farther than Sir Okland's estate. I thought I'd have more room to breathe away from this wretched family."

With a dull expression, Elara rose and began packing her belongings. Her grip was so tight, so seething with anger, that she nearly shattered the delicate makeup tools in her hands.

"Is that what you think? You should just—"

"Just die?" Elara shoved whatever she was holding into the bag and turned on him. "Why should I die? What crime did I commit to deserve such judgment?" Her voice rose, shaking with fury, her face flushed, her breath ragged.

Eryk stiffened, startled by the sight of his sister losing control. He met her tear-filled gaze—so full of loathing—that his chest tightened, his throat closing around unspoken words. 

He knew, better than anyone, that she never deserved the vile treatment their family had subjected her to since their mother's death. 

But powerless against their father's and brother's relentless wrath, he had convinced himself that the only way to end her suffering was death. 

Yet, deep down, he feared the unbearable grief of losing her, just as he had lost their mother.

"Was… was it my fault that Mother died and I lived?" Elara's voice broke into sobs. "Was it my fault our family went bankrupt after that?"

"No… You were just cursed with ill fate, sister. Your only crime was coming into this family."

"Come? What—"

The thunder of hooves outside made them snap their heads toward the window. 

Their father's and Enzo's shouts rang through the air, and they rushed towards the front yard—only to be met with the sight of several guards restraining Baron Edward, Enzo, and the men from the illegal brothel.

A knight—likely the commander of the unit—remained seated atop his horse as he addressed a trembling servant. 

While pointing at Elara, he asked if she was indeed the daughter meant to be sold to the illegal brothel. The servant, hands shaking, merely gave a silent nod in response.

At that, the knight ordered his soldiers to take her. 

Elara instinctively stepped back, but the soldiers swiftly seized her by the arm. 

Their grip was firm yet not forceful enough to cause pain. She could do nothing but surrender. 

Her gaze locked onto Eryk just as he was being tied up, before she was ushered away.

She was forced into a carriage, its wooden frame groaning under her weight. 

Outside, the knight's voice rang out, commanding the unit to leave the Damaryon estate at once. 

No explanation was given, only a hollow assurance for her to rest easy. But how could she?

Elara reached for the window, desperate to see where they were headed, but the aged carriage refused to yield. 

Only small ventilation slits at the corners allowed the faintest breath of fresh air, though the musty stench of rotting wood and damp upholstery made her nauseous. 

She clenched and unclenched her fingers, fidgeting as she prayed—wherever they were taking her, let it not be another hell.

At last, the carriage lurched to a stop. The door creaked open. A voice from outside ordered her to step out.

Elara bit her lower lip, hesitating, before grasping the doorframe to steady herself. Just as she prepared to descend, a large, slightly calloused hand reached toward her—offering support.

She flinched, her breath hitching as her gaze lifted. And then, her world tilted.

Prince Reynand stood before her, his hand extended in silent invitation. 

A dozen unspoken questions flooded her mind, but none found their way to her lips. 

Without a word, she placed her hand in his and stepped out of the carriage.

"So, the mad girl truly meets a mad fate in her mad family," Reynand smirked as Elara slowly slipped her hand from his grasp.

"Wh—what do you mean?" she stammered, the courage she'd shown when she met the prince earlier vanishing as five men with tied hands and black sackcloths draped over their heads were led past her—three of them, of course, her father and brothers.

Reynand stepped closer, his gaze sharp as he studied the confusion flickering across her face. 

His head tilted slightly, confirming his suspicion—there was a darkening welt, a thin line of bruised flesh on the right side of her neck, the mark of a whip. 

He hadn't seen it clearly on the cliff earlier, concealed beneath her cloak, but now, with her hair tousled by the wind, the injury was plain as day.

"I mean, you're a foolish, mad girl for keeping your mouth shut." Reynand let out a deep sigh as he watched Elara's confusion. "Follow me."

Elara trailed behind him, furrowing her brow. 'How in heaven and earth does he know?' 

Then, she recalled the servant from before. 'Could he have reported this? But how?' 

All the household staff were Enzo's people—none would dare betray their lord. The thought swirled in her mind as she fixed her gaze on Reynand's broad back.

When they reached the open courtyard, the five prisoners were already kneeling, surrounded by soldiers. 

Without hesitation, Reynand drew his sword from its sheath and, in a single fluid motion, beheaded one of the captives—a man from the brothel. 

Blood splattered across his clothes and face.

Elara gasped, a scream tearing from her throat as she clasped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide with horror. 

Her loud voice echoed, shattering the tense silence that had gripped the yard.

Reynand turned to the next prisoner, ripping off his black sackcloth. 

The man flinched, his eyes bulging in terror as he stared at his fallen companion's severed head. 

Reynand pressed the tip of his blade to the man's chest, the sharp steel glinting as the prisoner choked on his own frantic pleas for mercy.

"Worry not. You shall return to your master with your friend's severed head and my regards. If I catch wind of his filthy dealings in Valloria again, I will feed his soul to the monsters on the battlefield. A swift beheading is far too merciful for the likes of you."

Elara's legs gave way, and she collapsed onto the ground, trembling. 

No matter how much she had admired Reynand's swordsmanship against monsters, she had only ever watched from a distance—never had she seen a man butchered like livestock before her very eyes.

Her gaze locked onto her father and Enzo as soldiers tore the black sackcloths, their heads bowed, grovelling for mercy as if Reynand were their god. 

But Eryk—he simply lowered his eyes to the ground, silent. A faint smirk ghosted the corner of his lips, making Elara's breath hitch. 

It had to be him—the one who sent word to Reynand's military camp.

Her mind reeled, her thoughts scattering like windblown leaves, but before she could steady herself, Reynand strode toward her and knelt before her, driving his sword into the ground like a knight swearing an oath.

"I could behead them here and now or send them to the King, where the verdict would be the same—and their bloodline would be branded as traitors. But," his voice lowered, deliberate, "the Prince cannot wed a traitor's daughter."

Elara froze, her wide, bewildered eyes meeting his deep blue ones. "Wh—what are you talking about?"

Reynand smirked, leaning in closer, his grip tightening around his sword. "Is it not wiser to pawn your soul as my Marchioness, Lady Elara of House Damaryon?"

His smirk deepened as he studied her stunned expression.

"Be my Marchioness and live with comfort every woman dreams about, my lady."

End Of Flashback