[THIS STORY WILL BECOME FREE ON THE 5th OCTOBER 2023]
Fara's husband, the Prince of Azura, is murdered and she's enslaved by his killer, Theodan, a warrior fighting a war he doesn't believe in - until her.
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Four moons.
Four moons since she'd seen him for more than a few stiff moments in passing, or from a window, or exiting a room she had just entered.
Four moons since she'd abandoned the last remnants of her pride and begged for his help.
Four moons since he'd uttered his assured notion that Galyn had been her tormentor.
Why had the Gods shown him such a false truth? Did it mean that Galyn's unlived death too had been false? Had the High Visier deceived her? For what cause? Nothing on this strange, foreign, realm had ever made sense to her.
But one question overrode all others: Why had she not told him the truth? Why had she let him believe it was so?
There was dishonour in it. To allow this tainting of Galyn's memory. To allow another male of honour to apportion some crime to him that he had not committed.
Yet she also knew Galyn would not care much for what Theodan of Teredia believed him to be.
She did, however, care what Theodan of Teredia believed her to be.
And it was this which had stopped her offering Theodan the truth. For if one truth tumbled free from her tongue, where would it end? Could she bare each of her sins to him in turn and still hold her head with pride after it?
No. She did not think she could.
She would keep Valdr's sins locked deep inside her where they would not be free to spread their poison.
She'd spent her days thinking of Panos. Wondering if he was frightened, if she might see him again, what terms he would bring before Leoth's council and what they would mean for her and Theodan. His capture had been a surprise. For Elyon's words had brought her to the conclusion that Theodan had been about to utter some declaration to her. Some avowal of feeling toward her she knew she should not welcome... and yet.
Gods how foolish such a thing seemed to her now - now when he could barely even find it in him to look at her. Four moons of silent thought and solitary contemplation had brought her to the notion that Elyon of Lethane had involved her in some childish game for his own amusement. For certainly, he seemed the type to find humour in such a thing.
Yet, there was a quaking inside her when she thought of it. Of Theodan making such an declaration to her. It stole her breath and dried her tongue and often she thought she might faint from the power of such a thing. It frightened and confused and toyed with her, and she knew not what to do with it. She knew only Theodan could make it cease.
As it was he remained decidedly removed from her; an inference more than a presence in this place. He left Teredia before she awoke and returned only when she had long retreated to her chamber. And each night as she lay restive and fitful in her bed she was certain she could sense him lingering outside her door, his hand poised to knock upon it.
