Chapter 3

Two days had passed, and the tension in the household was thick enough to choke on. Harper's temper flared with every passing hour, and Quinn's patience had long since worn thin. Calista lounged near the window, polishing her nails with an air of indifference, while Zara paced back and forth, biting her lip.

 "The wedding is in two days," Quinn hissed, slamming a pot on the counter. "And that wretched girl is still missing! What are we supposed to tell Lord Tristan? That his bride-to-be vanished into thin air?"

 Harper took a deep breath, forcing his frustration to settle before he spoke. He looked at Quinn, who was fuming as usual, and at the girls, who were whispering anxiously among themselves. Raising his hand, he signaled for silence.

 "That's enough," he barked, his voice rough but steady. "We will find Athena before sunrise." Harper said firmly. "We'll expand the search. We've been too narrow-minded—assuming she's still nearby. She might have wandered deeper into the forest or headed toward the mountain paths."

 The house fell quiet, the tension slowly ebbing as Harper took control. Yet, beneath his commanding tone, a thread of uncertainty gnawed at him. He only hoped that Athena wasn't foolish enough to wander too far—or worse, get herself killed in those wild mountains.

 High up in the mountains of Dravenmoor, Athena sat on a flat rock overlooking the sprawling valley below. 

 She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, her shoulders finally relaxing. It was quiet here, save for the rustle of leaves and the soft trickle of a nearby stream. Closing her eyes, she reached out her hand, letting the water rise from the stream and swirl gracefully in midair—forming a shimmering, liquid sphere. She smiled, guiding it in lazy circles before letting it flow back down, merging with the water below.

 For once, there was no shouting, no accusing glares, no endless chores that left her bones aching and her spirit weary. Just silence and reconnecting with nature. Just peace.

 The next morning, Athena woke to the faint crackle of twigs underfoot and hushed voices drifting through the crisp mountain air. Panic shot through her veins as she scrambled to her feet, eyes wide as she spotted a group of men—hunters, by the looks of their worn leather and bows—scanning the area.

 She pressed herself against the rock, heart pounding. She could slow time, just enough to slip past them, but her head was still heavy with sleep, and her powers faltered. One of the hunters spotted her, nudging the others with his elbow.

 Another hunter shook his head. "Been missin' for three days. Whole village is in an uproar. Ain't safe for a lass to be wanderin' these parts alone."

 Desperation clawed at her throat, and she couldn't help but glance toward the sky, wishing—praying—that her father would somehow appear, like he used to when she was little, scooping her up and telling her it was all right. Or maybe her mother, with her gentle touch and calming words. But there was nothing—no comforting presence, no one to save her this time.

 One of the hunters put a heavy hand on her shoulder, guiding her back down the path. She didn't resist—there was no point. Her chance was gone, and as they led her back toward the village, she felt the crushing weight of reality settle over her again.

 As they descended the mountain, she whispered under her breath, "Father… if you're listening… I need you now." But only the wind answered, rustling through the leaves, leaving her to face her fate alone.

 When they finally reached the village, the hunters guided Athena through the winding paths toward the cottage. Her heart sank lower with every step, dread curling in her stomach like a coiled serpent. As they approached the house, the door swung open, and Quinn rushed out, her face painted with forced relief.

 "Athena!" she cried, throwing her arms open as if welcoming back a long-lost daughter. "Oh, thank the heavens! We've been worried sick!"

 Calista appeared behind her, giving Athena a cold, scrutinizing look, while Zara barely bothered to hide her smirk. Harper stepped forward, his face a practiced mask of gratitude as he addressed the hunters.

 Thank you, truly," he said, shaking the leader's hand. "You have no idea the worry this girl has caused us. She's been acting up lately, restless and willful. I apologize for the trouble."

 The hunter shrugged, glancing back at Athena with a mix of pity and confusion. "Found her up in the mountains. Luckily she didn't fall or get hurt. It's no place for a young lady to be wandering alone."

 Quinn added with a sweet, poisonous smile, "We'll take care of her. She's just been a little… troubled. But we'll make sure she doesn't run off again."

 Athena bit back a retort, knowing it would only make things worse. The hunters nodded and took their leave, and as soon as they were out of sight, Harper's smile vanished.

 The door slammed shut behind them, and Harper's hand gripped Athena's arm like a vice, dragging her into the dimly lit parlor. Without warning, the first lash struck her back, the leather belt biting into her skin. She stifled a cry, clenching her teeth as he struck her again and again, his fury barely contained.

 "You think you can make a fool out of me?" he barked, the belt whistling through the air once more. "Running off like some wild animal—after all I've done to keep you fed and sheltered!"

 Athena choked on a sob, her knees hitting the wooden floor as the pain throbbed through her back. Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to let them fall. 

 "You're getting married tomorrow," Harper spat, his breath labored from the effort. "And you will not ruin this for me. The lord expects a bride, not a runaway disgrace. You'll be ready, you hear me? Dressed and obedient. Or so help me—"

 He didn't finish the sentence, tossing the belt aside and storming out of the room. Athena lay curled on the floor for a moment, swallowing the pain, willing herself to breathe.When she could move, she forced herself up and staggered to her small room.

 With trembling hands, she pulled off her tattered dress and slipped on a simple sundress, the fabric scratching against her raw skin. As she adjusted the dress, voices filtered in from the other room—Calista and Zara, their tones mocking and filled with cruel amusement.

 "I still can't believe she's actually getting married tomorrow," Zara snickered. "To a crippled lord, no less. Even he might turn her away once he realizes how useless she is."

 Their laughter cut through Athena like a blade, and she clenched her fists, fighting back the swell of despair. Her entire body ached, but it was nothing compared to the pain clawing at her heart. Tomorrow would come, and with it, the life they had chosen for her—a life she didn't want, with a man she didn't know.

 And no one—absolutely no one—was coming to save her.

 Morning came too soon, sunlight creeping through the cracks in Athena's small window. Her body ached from yesterday's beating, but there was no time to dwell on it. Quinn burst into the room, dragging a blue gown behind her—an elaborate dress fit for a lord's bride.

 Athena forced herself up, biting back a wince as Quinn shoved the gown into her arms. It was crafted from heavy, rich fabric, embroidered with silver vines that snaked around the bodice. The sleeves were long and flowing, and the neckline dipped modestly, edged with lace. A thick, woven belt of dark leather fastened at the waist, adorned with a silver buckle in the shape of a raven.

 Quinn didn't bother with tenderness as she forced the gown over Athena's head, tightening the laces at the back until Athena could barely breathe. Her makeup covered the little mark on her face. Her hair was pulled back into a twisted braid, woven with thin silver threads and adorned with a simple, tarnished circlet—barely enough to look respectable.

 "There," Quinn said with a twisted smile, stepping back to admire her work. "Almost makes you look worth something."

 Athena looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror. The dress fit too tightly, and the weight of it made her feel trapped—like a bird with clipped wings. She forced herself to stay still as Quinn adjusted the circlet.

 "Remember," Quinn whispered with cold malice, "you will not embarrass us today. Do your duty as his wife. No one cares what you want."

 Athena gave a stiff nod, holding back the sting of tears. It was time—time to face the life they had forced upon her.

 The hall was filled with murmurs, a restless hum of discontent as time stretched unbearably. The priest had already begun the sacred rites, yet the groom was nowhere to be seen. Nobles exchanged knowing glances, and the lesser lords whispered behind their hands, their eyes flicking between Athena and the empty space where Lord Tristan should have been.

 Athena stood motionless, her hands clenched at her sides. The weight of their gazes pressed upon her like an iron brand. She dared a glance toward her foster family, and what she saw made her stomach twist. Scorn. Zara's lips curled in a smirk, Calista barely hid her amusement, and Harper? He looked as if she were nothing but an inconvenience, a burden he was finally free of.

 The murmurs grew louder. A noblewoman scoffed audibly. "He does not even bother to come on time?"

 Just as the tension reached its peak, a hush swept through the hall. The great doors groaned open.

 Athena turned slowly.

 Lord Tristan entered.

 A ripple of recognition coursed through her veins. The lord—the man at the mountain.

 She felt the blood drain from her face. Her breath hitched. He was the crippled lord? The same man who had nearly discovered her?

 The same cold, piercing gaze met hers now, unreadable as he strode forward with the confidence of a man who knew he owned the room. His dark tunic bore the sigil of the raven, his cane tapping against the polished floor. There was no rush in his steps, no urgency—only quiet arrogance, as if time itself bent to his will.

 At that moment, she wished she could disappear, wished the earth would swallow her whole.

 Because suddenly—against all logic, all reason—she preferred the unseen, unknown crippled lord over the man standing before her now.

 Zara and Calista, who had spent days mocking her fate, now sat stiffly, their smirks wiped clean. Their whispered laughter had died on their lips, replaced by something else entirely—envy.

 "This… this is Lord Tristan?" Zara murmured, barely hiding the greed in her voice. "They said he was crippled."

 Calista's fingers dug into the fabric of her gown. "A lord like that… I should have been the one—"

 Athena forced her gaze forward, her breath shallow. She could feel her foster mother's sharp stare burning into her skin, as if blaming her for standing where her daughters now wished to be.

 Harper on the other hand remained expressionless—perhaps maybe he really wanted her gone.

 But Athena? She felt nothing but dread.

 This man—this Tristan—was the same one from the mountains. The same man who had ordered his soldiers to search for a mere sound in the woods. The same man who had spoken with such cold authority. He was ruthless. He was dangerous. And now, he was to be her husband.

 Her hands trembled beneath the long sleeves of her gown. If there was one thing she knew with certainty, it was this—

 She did not want to marry him. Not now. Not ever.

 The rites continued, each word from the priest echoing like a distant drumbeat in Athena's ears. She stood motionless, answering where she must, her voice hollow as she repeated the sacred vows.

 But her mind was elsewhere.

 Without making it obvious, her eyes swept the hall, searching. Searching for him—the man who had stopped Tristan that day in the mountains. The one who had called him by name, who had questioned the need for unnecessary cruelty. His father? A brother? There had been a striking resemblance, and if he was here, perhaps… perhaps he would stop this.

 But the hall remained unchanged, filled only with nobles watching with keen, unreadable expressions.

 Her heart sank. No one would come.

 Tristan's voice rang out, steady and firm as he spoke his vows. And then the priest turned to her, "Athena Grayson, do you take Tristan Blackwood to be your lovely wedded husband?"

 And the words fell from her lips before she could even process them.

 "I do."

 The hall was silent now, the weight of finality pressing down on her like a tombstone.

 The priest lifted his hands. "Then, by the old gods and the laws of this land, you are bound. Tristan Blackwood, you may now kiss your bride."

 Silence.

 Athena's breath caught.

 She felt Tristan move.

 And then—