A Heart of Fire & Flame
Clementine
The heavy wooden door was slightly ajar, allowing the light from the lantern to spill into the hallway, illuminating the figures within. Their shadows reached high on the stone walls, making them appear ominous and imposing.
“The coin covered the first infantry, the maps the second. If you require further aid, you know my price,” a crisp, deep voice announced from within the room.
I froze where I stood on the precipice of the threshold. I knew that voice. That voice always sent a shiver of fear racing down my spine.
“You’re asking too much,” the other man hissed.
My husband.
I inhaled a sharp breath and stepped closer, peering into the room. My Husband had his back to me, so I could see his broad shoulders heaving with the effort to contain his emotions. His long, copper hair hung in waves down his back, swaying as he shook his head in anger.
A pair of striking blue eyes met and locked with mine over his shoulder.
“That is my price,” he said coolly, without releasing me from his gaze.
Tattoos snaked up his throat, disappearing into his shoulder-length, snow-colored hair.
His face was a work of fine artistry, with his chiseled jaw and light stubble, a straight, symmetrical nose, and eyes so captivating you could lose yourself in their blue depths.
When I looked into those eyes, however, I saw the blackened soul beneath. The promise of cruelty and suffering.
My husband curled his hands into fists at his side as he weighed his options. After a long pause, my husband exhaled a shaky breath and replied, “As you say.” His shoulders slumped with his words, defeat evident in his tone.
Those blue eyes remained locked on me as they sparkled with victory, and a small smirk tipped up the corner of his mouth.
Shadows began to swirl in the space between the men, and then, just like a whisper in the wind, he was gone, disappearing in the darkness.
Dread settled in my stomach and the air in the room seemed suddenly stifling.
I rushed forward, grabbing my husband’s arm and turning him to face me. His emerald green eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in suspicion.
“Eavesdropping on your King are you, wife,” he bit out in annoyance.
He scratched at his short beard, the same rich color as his hair, as he looked down at me.
It was one of his tells, something he did often when trying to conceal his agitation.
There was something else there, too. A weariness that crinkled the corner of his eyes and dipped his copper eyebrows.
His head dropped, and my feeling of dread only intensified as it spread throughout my body.
“Atticus, what have you done?” I said in a strained whisper.
“What I had to,” he replied, turning away from me, no longer willing to meet my gaze.
Dread turned to desperation as I shook his enormous frame and shouted, “Tell me!”
After a long pause, he looked back at me, his face reflecting his misery. I gasped, anticipating the blow he was about to deliver.
Atticus schooled his features, squared his shoulders, and took a steadying breath.
The King had returned.
“I have… arranged our daughter’s betrothal, Clementine.”
I felt the words like a physical blow, and I staggered back.
“Once she has come of age, Harlowe will wed the King of Netheran. In return, Kieran will continue to support our war effort, and through their union, we will achieve an unbreakable alliance between our kingdoms.”
A strangled cry escaped my lips. I felt my stomach sinking, and my legs on the verge of collapsing.
Fear, grief, despair, and hopelessness slammed into me, overwhelming me all at once. My precious, tiny daughter. Only five days old and already I had failed to protect her. To keep her safe from harm.
He… he had promised my newborn daughter to that… to that monster.
Fury overtook me, and my hand darted out in front of me, slapping my husband across the face. Hard.
“HOW COULD YOU?” I roared.
My anger was a palpable energy as it filled the room. Before I registered he had even moved, Atticus had gripped both my hands in his and had pulled me flush against his broad, rigid chest.
“You want to strike me, Clementine? Go ahead. I understand you are upset, so hit me, scream at me, punish me if you must,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.
“But when you are done, it’s over. We will not speak of this again.
Some may seek to harm our daughter if they discover her role in the alliance. ”
We locked eyes, breathing heavily in the silence. Tears filled my vision and I let the sobs overtake me. His eyes softened, and he tucked me against his chest, patting my hair in a soothing gesture.
“I am King, Clementine,” he whispered. “We cannot sustain an indefinite war on three fronts. It is what they are counting on. I bear the responsibility for every life in this kingdom. Kieran’s alliance is crucial for our people’s salvation.”
I was unable to respond. Sobs continued to wrack my body. I had heard the stories about Kieran. Everyone had. He ruled his kingdom with an iron fist. Known to be cruel and abusive. Especially towards those who dared to share his bed.
I didn’t want that life for my daughter.
Atticus continued speaking, but I heard none of it. My fear overpowered me; crippling me. As my sobs receded, he held me at arm’s length to look me over. His brows furrowed for a moment and then smoothed. He gave a subtle nod as if acknowledging an unspoken question.
“You must not mention this to anyone, Clementine. Harlowe will not know she is betrothed. We will teach her what it means to be the heir to this kingdom. To be a ruler. With time, she will learn to prioritize her people’s needs over her own.
Only after that will we disclose to her what transpired tonight. ”
I was incapable of giving him the confirmation he was seeking, so I said nothing.
Sighing, Atticus straightened and turned towards the door.
“She will understand,” he whispered to the silence enveloping the room as if begging it to whisper its agreement in return.
He turned and reached out his hand, saying, "Come, wife. Let us put this night behind us.” Taking his hand, I let him lead me out of the room and down the darkened hallway.
Just as we rounded the corner, I peered back towards the open door, the light still glowing faintly from the lantern within. There would be no forgetting this night. Not for me. It would serve as a constant reminder that I failed in the one duty I swore to uphold above all others.
The duty of a mother.
Turning back towards my husband, I studied his profile in the small glimmer of moonlight sneaking in through the windows. He was deep in thought, his eyes strained as he battled his own thoughts within the confines of his mind.
No.
There would be no forgetting this night for either of us.
We were bound to this night and its consequences. The consequences that my precious infant daughter had been dammed pay in time.
Oh Harlowe, how will you ever forgive us?