Caralee awoke slowly, her body stiff and sore, as though weighed down by unseen chains. She stirred against the silken sheets, their cool, luxurious texture foreign to her muddled senses. For several long, disoriented seconds, she could not place where she was. The scent in the air—rich, earthen, and masculine—lingered on the pillow beside her. Merrick.
With a groggy push, she sat upright, clutching the coverlet to her chest as though it could shield her from the dizzying flood of memories crashing over her like an unrelenting tide. She remembered it all—Merrick's touch, his words at dinner, the aching chasm that had opened between them like a festering wound. Donovan's face in the dark, pale and desperate, his pulse like a siren in her ears. The blood. The betrayal. Him still coming to her rescue in the dungeon, even though by the look on his face— he had just witnessed her kissing another man. She gripped her chest and the gravity of the ache there threatened to swallow her whole. And then afterward, Renauld—steady, warm Renauld—cradling her trembling frame, stroking her hair as though she was the most important thing in his world.
Guilt prickled along her spine, tightening her throat. She pressed a trembling hand over her mouth to stifle the ragged breath that hitched in her lungs. She had felt peace in Merrick's arms once. Hadn't she? And yet, the memory of Renauld's tender embrace lingered in her chest like a soft, treacherous ember. She hated herself for the comfort it brought.
Was it over now? Had she ruined everything?
Her gaze fell upon the untouched side of the bed, the pristine linens undisturbed by any weight save her own. A hollow ache spread through her chest like frost creeping along a windowpane. He had not joined her. He had left her here—alone.
Swallowing hard, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, curling her toes against the thick rug. Something felt amiss. The morning rituals she had come to expect—the quiet rustle of maids preparing her chamber, the soft knock at the door—had not yet come. The room lay unnervingly silent, the air heavy with anticipation, as though the walls themselves withheld breath.
Curiosity, tinged with unease, nudged her to her feet. She padded quietly toward the door but paused when, faintly, she heard voices—not from the corridor, but from within the adjoining bathing chamber.
Cautiously, she pressed her ear to the door. The muffled sound of feminine chatter reached her, mingling with the gentle slosh of water. She pushed the door open with hesitant fingers and stepped inside.
Every attendant present halted mid-motion, as though struck by a silent command. They turned in unison, their heads bowing low. The familiar, comforting aroma of lavender and warm oils enveloped her, momentarily grounding her.
But it wasn't the perfumed air or the welcoming warmth that caught her breath in her throat. It was Lydia.
Standing across the chamber, hands folded demurely before her, Lydia's soft features crinkled into something fragile—cautious but undeniably relieved.
Caralee's heart leapt. Without thinking, she dashed across the tiled floor, bare feet slipping slightly as she crossed the space in a breath. She flung herself into Lydia's arms, clutching the older woman tightly, tears brimming without permission.
"I was so worried about you," she whispered, voice cracking, her arms tightening as though fearing Lydia might vanish if she let go.
Lydia exhaled softly, her own eyes shining as she held the trembling girl close. After a moment, she gestured firmly for the others to leave them.
"You may all excuse yourselves," Lydia said with quiet authority. "Her Ladyship and I will manage alone."
The attendants exchanged knowing glances, bowing without protest before they filed silently out of the room, leaving only the muted gurgle of water between them.
Lydia gently guided Caralee toward the bath, helping her disrobe and easing her into the fragrant water with care. Caralee sank beneath the surface until only her face remained visible, trying to soak away the ache in her heart.
Lydia knelt at the edge, rolling up her sleeves as she reached for the cloth. She opened her mouth, perhaps to explain or defend herself, but Caralee beat her to it. Reaching out, she clasped Lydia's hands in her own.
"I already know, Lydie," she whispered hoarsely. "I know what happened. I know you had no choice." Her voice broke, but she squeezed Lydia's hands tighter. "I forgive you. I never blamed you."
Lydia froze for a breathless moment, stunned. Slowly, tears welled in her eyes, and she bowed her head. "Thank you, my lady. You have no idea how heavy my heart has been."
Caralee shook her head. "It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I should have told Merrick the truth. I should never have kept it from him. And now— I fear I've ruined everything."
She sank deeper into the water until her face disappeared into her hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Lydia reached out, gently tucking stray strands of damp hair behind Caralee's ear. She leaned in, dabbing tenderly at the tears with the cloth.
"You've made a mess, aye," Lydia whispered softly. "But you are not the only one at fault. And you are far from beyond mending." She cupped Caralee's cheek, forcing her to meet her eyes. "Give him time. He has not forsaken you."
Caralee's lips parted in surprise, hope flickering timidly in her chest. But then Lydia straightened, her tone shifting to something brisker.
"Besides, we've much to prepare for. The ceremony is to begin as soon as you are dressed."
Caralee blinked in confusion. "What ceremony?"
Lydia paused, blinking back another wave of emotion. "Why, your bonding ritual, of course. To Lord Renauld."
The words struck Caralee like ice water to the lungs. She sat bolt upright, sloshing water over the rim of the tub. Lydia squeezed as she attempted to evade the rouge wave Cara had sent over the side of the basin. "What?" she rasped, her throat tightening. "No one told me—"
Lydia tilted her head. "His Majesty only approved the request late last night. He insists it be done immediately, for your safety."
Caralee's face flushed a deep, burning crimson. She buried her face in her hands again with a mortified groan. Of course, she had asked about bonding only days ago, naive to what it truly required. Heat flared down her neck as her thoughts spiraled.
She had only just learned what the ritual entailed. Flesh to flesh. Blood to blood. Feeding during carnal union—sealing the bond in the most intimate of ways.
Merrick— did he truly mean to send her to another's bed? To give her to Renauld, like something— discarded?
Lydia's brows furrowed. "What is it, child? Did you not wish to claim the handsome young lord for your own? I heard you say so."
Caralee pressed a hand to her swirling stomach. She must have spoken too freely—no doubt Lydia had overheard, and now Merrick knew as well. Guilt curdled inside her like spoiled milk.
"I did. I do. But—" She slid further down into the water until only her eyes and nose peeked above the surface. "I didn't realize— not like this."
Tears threatened again as the weight of her shame crushed her lungs. "He's angry with me, Lydie. I betrayed him— broke his trust. And now he's casting me aside. He'll never want me again. I've ruined everything."
To her astonishment, Lydia let out a soft, knowing chuckle.
"Oh, my sweet girl," she murmured, leaning in. "You truly are just a baby in our world, aren't you?"
Caralee's eyes widened. Lydia had never spoken so plainly before, never dared such bold familiarity.
"Don't look so shocked," Lydia continued, dipping the cloth into the water once more. "You're falling apart, and someone must steady you."
Lydia cupped her face again. "His Majesty loves you. Devotedly. I have served him for centuries and never—never—have I seen him this way. His every thought, every action, every breath— it is all for you."
Caralee's breath hitched.
"Do you know why he pushes for this bond?" Lydia whispered. "Not because he wishes to discard you, but because he wishes to protect you. To ensure your thirst is tended even when he cannot be at your side. It is tradition. A sacred rite for all royals. You are not being cast aside, Caralee— you are being cherished."
Lydia smiled gently. "Lord Renauld has already begun caring for you, has he not? He has shown you tenderness. He will serve you, guard you, nourish you. Not as a rival to His Majesty, but as an extension of his love for you."
Caralee swallowed hard, her mind thundering. Could it be true?
"Jealousy is a human folly," Lydia murmured, pressing a kiss to Caralee's damp hair. "It has no place among us. Tonight, my lady, will not be your undoing."
She leaned back with a knowing glint in her eye.
"Tonight will be a night of grand celebration."