The weight of secrets

The storm had passed, leaving the land soaked and the air thick with the smell of rain. The morning sun broke through the clouds in soft rays, casting a golden hue over the farmhouse and its surrounding fields. The world outside seemed calm, as if nature had cleansed itself overnight. But inside the farmhouse, the air was still tense, thick with unspoken words and secrets left unsaid.

Jasmine stood by the window, watching as the mist rose from the earth, her thoughts distant. The letter she had found in Caden's satchel the night before weighed heavily on her mind. She had barely slept, tossing and turning as her curiosity battled with guilt. The sealed letter, with its regal insignia, was no ordinary document. It held secrets—important ones—and the temptation to uncover them gnawed at her like an itch she couldn't scratch.

But what would it mean if she opened it? What would it mean for Caden, for her father, for herself? Deserters were dangerous enough, but a deserter carrying royal correspondence? That was something else entirely. The consequences could be dire.

Behind her, she heard the soft sound of footsteps. Jasmine turned to see her father, Nathan, entering the room, his brow furrowed in thought. He glanced out the window and then at her, his weathered face showing the years of hard work and worry.

"Storm's cleared," he said, his voice gruff but calm. "We'll need to check the fields, see if the crops held up."

Jasmine nodded absently, her mind still lingering on the hidden letter. Nathan noticed her distraction, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.

"What's on your mind, Jasmine?" he asked, his voice low but probing.

She hesitated, unsure of how much to say. Her father had always been protective, always cautious in times of uncertainty. If he knew about the letter, about the secrets Caden might be hiding, there was no telling how he'd react. He already didn't trust the man; this would only make things worse.

"Nothing, Father," she replied, forcing a small smile. "Just thinking about the storm."

Nathan's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, as if he could sense the weight of her thoughts, but he didn't press further. Instead, he sighed and moved toward the door.

"I'll check the fields," he said. "You keep an eye on our guest."

Jasmine nodded, watching as her father stepped outside and disappeared into the misty morning. As the door closed behind him, she let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. The farmhouse felt empty without her father's presence, but it wasn't long before she heard movement from the back room.

Caden emerged, looking slightly more rested than the night before, though the shadows under his eyes hadn't entirely disappeared. He paused when he saw her, his gaze searching her face as if trying to read her thoughts. Jasmine quickly looked away, not wanting him to see the turmoil she was feeling.

"Morning," Caden said quietly, his voice still rough from sleep.

"Morning," she replied, keeping her tone neutral. "Did you sleep well?"

"As well as I could, given the circumstances." Caden walked over to the hearth, rubbing his hands together for warmth. The fire from the night before had died down, leaving only glowing embers.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was thick with tension, the kind that came from unspoken truths and unasked questions. Jasmine wanted to ask about the letter, about what he was really running from, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not yet.

Instead, she moved toward the kitchen, busying herself with making tea. Her hands shook slightly as she worked, the weight of the secret she carried pressing down on her. She had never been good at keeping things hidden, and the longer she stayed silent, the heavier it became.

As she poured the tea, she couldn't help but glance at Caden. He stood by the window now, staring out at the fields with a faraway look in his eyes. He seemed lost, not just in thought, but in something deeper—something that had been haunting him long before he arrived at their farmhouse.

"What are you really running from?" The question slipped out before Jasmine could stop herself.

Caden turned to face her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching between them like a taut string about to snap. Then, slowly, he crossed the room and sat at the table, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I told you the truth," he said quietly. "I'm a deserter. I couldn't fight in that war any longer. The things I saw, the things I was asked to do… It was too much."

Jasmine placed the tea in front of him but didn't sit down. "That's part of it," she said, her voice soft but firm. "But there's more, isn't there?"

Caden's gaze dropped to the table, his fingers tracing the grain of the wood. "Why do you ask?"

Jasmine took a deep breath, her heart racing. She knew she was treading dangerous ground, but the truth needed to come out. "I saw the letter," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "The one in your satchel. The one with the royal seal."

At that, Caden's head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise—and fear. His hand instinctively moved toward his satchel, as if to check that the letter was still there, still hidden.

"You went through my things?" he asked, his voice tight.

Jasmine flinched, guilt washing over her. "I didn't read it," she said quickly. "I just… I found it. I wasn't trying to pry, but you weren't being honest with us. You have to understand, we need to know if you're putting us in danger."

Caden's jaw tightened, and for a long moment, he didn't say anything. His eyes flickered with a mix of emotions—anger, frustration, and something else she couldn't quite place.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and filled with weariness. "The letter is a message," he said. "A message meant for the king's enemies.