Chapter 11

Thalia sat on the edge of her bed, exhaling softly as she ran a hand through her red thick hair . The events of the day had left her mind in a storm, but she knew she needed rest. Pulling the golden pins from her hair, she let it cascade down her back before standing and making her way to the washbasin. The cold water against her skin sent a shiver through her spine, grounding her in the present. She patted her face dry, the silk of her nightgown cool against her arms as she turned toward the grand bed that awaited her.

Just as her fingers brushed the covers, a soft knock came at her chamber door.

She sighed. Likely one of the servants checking in at her father's behest.

"Enter," she called out lazily.

The door creaked open, but it was not a servant who stepped inside. William.

She turned to face him, slightly taken aback. He was clad in black leathers, his tunic fitted snugly over his now broad shoulders. His usual composed demeanor was edged with something different—urgency, perhaps.

He strolled in briskly, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. "Quite the entertainment you had today," he remarked, his voice smooth yet weighted. His dark eyes studied her closely. "Are you doing well?"

Thalia chuckled softly. "One might hope so, but—"

"Thalia," he interrupted, stepping closer. "Please don't do that again."

She frowned. "Do what?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering with something she couldn't quite place. "I experienced a feeling I never thought I had," he admitted. "A feeling toward you that I never truly considered."

Thalia parted her lips to speak, but the words didn't come. What did he mean by that? She searched his expression, but he didn't offer an answer. Instead, he took another step forward, standing directly before her. It was then, in the dim glow of the candlelight, that she truly saw him—his thick black curls tousled from the wind, the sharp angles of his face softened by the warm glow, and those dark brown eyes, intense yet unreadable.

For the first time, she noticed the way he towered slightly over her, how his presence had subtly changed. He was still William, but… different.

"I know a place," he said, his voice lower now, "where we can speak freely."

Before she could protest, he grabbed her hand. The warmth of his fingers against hers startled her, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she let him lead her out of the chamber, their steps hurried as they moved down the castle corridors, the torchlight casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. The night was silent, save for the sound of their footsteps echoing through the halls.

At first, Thalia followed, allowing him to guide her. But as they ran, a competitive spark ignited in her. She wouldn't let him lead—not entirely. With a smirk, she wriggled her hand free, picking up her pace until she was beside him, matching his strides. William glanced back at her, momentarily puzzled, before realizing her intent. A small, knowing smirk crossed his lips, and then they were racing.

Through corridors, up staircases, their breath steady but their steps hurried. The thrill of the chase sent a rush through Thalia's veins, a rare moment of unrestrained freedom.

Finally, they reached their destination—an abandoned tower, one that had long since been left to the elements. Thalia slowed her steps as she took in the sight. From the outside, it appeared grand, an ancient part of Yainna's history. But within, it was ragged, dust coating the forgotten stone, cobwebs clinging to the ceiling like remnants of the past.

They ascended a ladder, the rungs cold beneath her fingers. When William reached the top, he peered down at her. "Are you coming, Thalia? I mean… your grace?" he corrected himself with a sheepish grin.

She chuckled, rolling her eyes before pulling herself up.

And then—she saw it.

Yainna, bathed in silver moonlight. The lakes shimmered like molten silver, the mountain peaks carved into the night sky. The city below pulsed with life, the lantern-lit streets winding like veins through the heart of the kingdom. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of the sea from beyond the hills. It was a sight so breathtakingly vast, so utterly magical, that for a moment, she forgot everything else.

William stood by the bannisters, the wind tousling his dark curls. His gaze was locked on something in the distance, brows furrowed in thought.

Thalia followed his line of sight. Far beyond Yainna, where the land faded into darkness, there was a place untouched by moonlight. A void in the night, draped in thick, swirling clouds.

"The Welch Lands," William murmured. "My sisters used to tell me stories of that place. Witches live there… along with all manner of hell-spawns."

Thalia tore her gaze away from the darkness. "Witches?" she repeated. "Do you believe in witches, William?"

He turned his head slightly, his profile sharp against the moonlit backdrop. "Do you?"

She hesitated. "Is this about what happened today?"

He exhaled. "Yes, Thalia. I believe you might have been bewitched."

She scoffed, though not entirely convinced of her own disbelief. "By who? I've done no wrong to anyone."

"Witches don't need reason to do bad things to good people," William said. "They just do."

Silence settled between them, heavy yet oddly comforting.

Then, Thalia broke it. "I saw him."

William turned fully toward her. "Who?"

"The man," she said quietly. "The one who slaughtered our scouts and sunk our ships."

William's expression hardened. "What do you mean, Thalia?"

She hesitated, then admitted, "I saw through him."

He stiffened. "That's not possible."

"It is. I saw through his eyes. I saw what he did… I saw the scouts' bodies."

William's skepticism flickered with something else—fear, perhaps. "Who were they?" he asked, testing her.

She listed the names of the missing men.

His breath hitched, but he said nothing.

"And then I saw him raise them from the dead."

William took a step back. "Are you toying with me, Thalia?"

She shook her head. "I swear it. This all happened during—whatever that was today."

Silence fell between them once more. William's eyes remained locked on hers, as if searching for any hint of a lie.

Finally, he spoke, his voice almost a whisper. "Your eyes were as dark as a raven's. They frightened me… in a way that reminded me just how small I am. I couldn't do anything to help you. I felt useless."

She stared at him. "William—"

"If this happens again," he interrupted, "I will ride to the Welch Lands myself. And I will find the witch who did this to you."

Something stirred inside her then, a feeling unfamiliar yet undeniable. She turned to look at him—truly look at him. The moonlight traced the sharp lines of his face, the breeze ruffling his curls.

He was… strikingly handsome.

More than he had ever seemed before.