Chapter 4
For a brief, terrifying moment, Athena thought he might actually kiss her.
Lord Tristan stood too close, his breath steady, his gaze unreadable. She could see the sharp angles of his face, the cold command in his dark eyes. His gloved hand rested idly at his side, his presence alone a force that seemed to trap her in place.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her gown, a silent brace for the inevitable.
The crowd was hushed, expectant. Nobles leaned in ever so slightly, their hunger for spectacle evident in the way their gazes bore into them. The priest stood, waiting.
Athena's pulse pounded.
Then, just as Tristan shifted forward, his lips brushed past her cheek—so close that a shiver ran down her spine. But instead of sealing the union with a kiss, his voice came, low and quiet, barely more than a breath against her ear.
"Skip this part," he murmured.
The priest hesitated, clearly aware of the eager stares fixed upon them. A murmur stirred among the gathered lords and ladies, whispers traveling like wind through the chamber.
Tristan pulled back, his expression unchanging, unreadable. His authority was not to be questioned.
The priest gave a slow nod. "Very well."
A wave of confusion and disappointment swept through the crowd, but no one dared to speak.
Athena's face burned with shame.
The whispers spread like wildfire, the tension in the hall thick and suffocating. She felt the weight of every stare pressing into her skin, picking her apart. Tristan hadn't kissed her. The nobles had expected it, almost craved it, and now, instead of relief, all she felt was humiliation.
She didn't choose this life.
She never asked to stand here in front of these people, bound to a man she barely knew, a man who had found her unworthy of even the simplest wedding tradition. Did he despise her so much that he couldn't bear to touch her? Or was this some silent game he was playing—one she had no part in?
Her hands trembled at her sides, hidden beneath the long sleeves of her gown. For a moment, she thought of slowing time, of bending it to her will, of vanishing into the silence between seconds.
But what difference would it make?
The moment had already passed, the damage already done. She was still here. Still trapped. And no power—not even hers—could change that.
The ceremony continued, but the weight of Tristan's actions lingered.
The wedding was over.
The moment the final rites were spoken, the nobles lost interest. Conversations resumed, goblets clinked, and the murmur of wealth and power filled the grand hall once more. For them, this was just another union—another political binding sealed with tradition. But for Athena, it was the end of whatever freedom she had left.
A handful of gifts were given to her foster family, golden trinkets and embroidered cloths—nothing more than a show of formality. Harper accepted them with a grin, playing the role of a doting father, while Calista and Zara stood stiffly beside him, their eyes betraying their envy.
Outside, the evening air was cool, but Athena felt none of its relief. Her small bag, which held barely anything of her own, was placed into the awaiting carriage—a fine, black lacquered coach pulled by four towering horses. The emblem of House Veltor, Tristan's house, was etched into the side, a golden crest that seemed to mock her.
A footman opened the door, bowing slightly as he gestured for her to enter.
Athena hesitated, glancing back one last time. Her family stood on the steps of the hall, watching. Their expressions were unreadable, but she knew the truth. This wasn't a farewell filled with sorrow—it was a transaction completed, a burden lifted from their shoulders.
She turned away and stepped inside.
The door shut behind her with a soft click. The carriage jolted forward.
And with that, Athena was gone.
The ride stretched on in silence, broken only by the rhythmic sound of hooves striking the earth and the low creak of carriage wheels groaning beneath weight and distance.
Athena sat still, her gaze lowered, her hands trembling softly as they clutched the only thing that gave her comfort—her mother's necklace. A simple silver chain, now dulled with time, yet the locket it held glimmered faintly in the dimming light.
Her fingers brushed over the smooth metal before she carefully opened it. Inside, two tiny portraits stared back at her. Her father, Jovan—strong, noble, with kind eyes that always seemed to see through her fear. Beside him, her mother, Elena—graceful, warm, her smile soft enough to melt the coldest days of her childhood.
It was the only piece of home she had left.
Outside, the couple's horsemen followed behind, their formation disciplined and silent, cloaks fluttering with each steady gallop. The noblemen trailed farther back, speaking in hushed tones, their laughter and chatter rising and falling like the wind. The groom's family rode at the front, proud and unbothered, as if today had gone just as planned.
The journey seemed never-ending. The road wound through the shadowy hills of Dravenmoor, where the trees thickened and the sky turned a bruised violet.
Athena barely noticed. Her heart was tucked in that locket, beating beside memories too precious to let go.
She pressed it to her lips, whispering a prayer neither for safety nor joy—but for strength.
For whatever waited beyond the bend, she would face it. Even if she had to do it alone.
Somewhere along the winding trail, lulled by the silence and the steady rhythm of the carriage, Athena drifted into a restless sleep. Her head leaned gently against the wood-paneled side, the locket still clutched tightly in her hand, her dreams murky and far from sweet.
But the peace didn't last.
A voice, sharp and smooth like the edge of a polished blade, pulled her harshly from slumber.
"You are so weak," Tristan said with a mocking grin, his voice laced with quiet disdain. "I doubt you can accomplish anything."
Her eyes fluttered open, confusion blinking into pain. He was seated across from her now, watching her like one would observe a fragile thing not worth fixing.
"I have no faith in your abilities," he added, turning his head slightly to look out the carriage window, as though even the scenery was more deserving of his attention.
Athena sat frozen, the weight of his words heavier than the ornate dress that clung to her skin. She didn't speak. She couldn't. Her lips trembled, but no sound came.
Inside, her heart cracked further—just a little more.
Couldn't he have waited? Given her even a sliver of time before revealing how cruel this marriage would be? She never expected love, not from a man like him. But a moment of peace? Of silence without scorn?
She closed her eyes again, not to sleep, but to hold back the tears threatening to spill. The tension inside her coiled tight, curling in her belly and twisting like a cruel knot.
Even her magic, even time itself, couldn't untangle the ache she now felt.
Somewhere along the winding trail, lulled by the silence and the steady rhythm of the carriage, Athena drifted into a restless sleep. Her head leaned gently against the wood-paneled side, the locket still clutched tightly in her hand, her dreams murky and far from sweet.
But the peace didn't last.
A voice, sharp and smooth like the edge of a polished blade, pulled her harshly from slumber.
"You are so weak," Tristan said with a mocking grin, his voice laced with quiet disdain. "I doubt you can accomplish anything."
Her eyes fluttered open, confusion blinking into pain. He was seated across from her now, watching her like one would observe a fragile thing not worth fixing.
"I have no faith in your abilities," he added, turning his head slightly to look out the carriage window, as though even the scenery was more deserving of his attention.
Athena sat frozen, the weight of his words heavier than the ornate dress that clung to her skin. She didn't speak. She couldn't. Her lips trembled, but no sound came.
Inside, her heart cracked further—just a little more.
Couldn't he have waited? Given her even a sliver of time before revealing how cruel this marriage would be? She never expected love, not from a man like him. But a moment of peace? Of silence without scorn?
She closed her eyes again, not to sleep, but to hold back the tears threatening to spill. The tension inside her coiled tight, curling in her belly and twisting like a cruel knot.
Even her magic, even time itself, couldn't untangle the ache she now felt.
The carriage finally rolled to a halt, the journey long enough to make day blur into night. As Athena peeked out the narrow window, her breath caught at the towering gates of Caladorn—a kingdom veiled in silver mist and cold grandeur. The palace loomed in the distance, carved from dark stone and laced with gold like a crown worn in mourning.
Did he bring me this far… just so I could never cry to anyone again? she thought bitterly, her fingers tightening around the edge of her gown.
Her legs felt heavy, her dress tangled around her ankles as she struggled to straighten herself. She leaned forward to reach the latch, but it seemed hard to let open.
Tristan had already stepped down. He didn't glance back. No hands extended.
Of course, she hadn't expected anything different.
Her pride urged her to lift her chin and step out without help. But her heart—still bruised from his earlier words—sank lower.
And then… a click.
A sound so small, yet final.
Her head turned.
It wasn't a guard.
It wasn't even the wind.
No, it was something else entirely.
Something—or someone—had just sealed something shut.