1. Chapter 1
one
she wanders—a ghost in sunlight, she is known as Sad Song Brielle. Their pity lingers in every whisper, for her pain is a secret they all share
A s I wandered through Rivenstone, the town I called home, my heart flutters like a caged bird, a whirlwind of excitement and anxiety swirling within me. The sun drapes the cobblestone streets in a golden embrace, each stone polished smooth by the passage of countless footsteps. Its rays wove through the ancient trees that graced the edges, casting a gentle tapestry of light and shadow upon them. The sweet scent of freshly baked bread wafted from the nearby baker’s stall, mingling with the earthy aroma of herbs from the apothecary.
I took it all in, clutching my bag closer to my body, the book inside weighing heavy on my shoulder; the forbidden treasure that whispered secrets I was never meant to hear. In this town, a woman who reads is a woman brimming with ideas, and such notions are not permitted here. If word were to reach my husband... I couldn't bear to finish that thought. Instead, I quickened my steps, my heart racing. He wouldn’t know; he wasn’t on patrol this early.
Yet the gleam of silver from the blacksmith’s forge made my breath catch, a fleeting thought of a knight in shining armor flickering to life in my mind. But this knight—my husband—was not the savior of damsels in distress; he was the one who cast me into the shadows of despair. That damsel was me.
Rivenstone was alive with the sounds of laughter and chatter. Children played near the fountain in the square, their joyous squeals ringing like bells, while merchants shouted their wares, trying to entice passersby. I caught a glimpse of a colorful tapestry hanging outside one of the shops, depicting scenes of noble knights and fair maidens.
I moved on, my feet leading me toward Cedar Scrolls even the happiest of souls yearn for more—longing for the stories that dance within these pages. From knights seeking grand adventures to lonely wives craving something beyond the confines of their lives. Even the old man, whose back creaks like the floorboards when he rises, embarks on journeys through the tales of far more capable characters. Everyone yearns to be someone else, somewhere else, if only for a fleeting moment that stretches across a few hundred pages.”
A playful smile danced on my lips as I looked at Alaric. “Alaric, you’re the only one who really gets it. That’s why you’re my favorite person in this town, you know that?”
He blushed, his cheeks turning a rosy shade, “Oh, you only say that because I provide you with all the best books!”
I laughed softly. “Maybe, but you also keep my secret love for them safe, and for that, I’ll forever be grateful.”
In that moment, we shared a warmth that felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds.
“Well, you’ll love what I have for you today!” he beamed, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. With a quick shuffle, he hobbled off, returning moments later with a stack of worn leather-bound books, blowing off the dust as he approached. I couldn’t help but smile, though a soft cough escaped me as the particles danced in the air.
I peered at the stack Alaric had brought, my heart racing with anticipation. His offerings were always delightful, but today, something tugged at me—a yearning for a tale that whispered of shadows and secrets, something that danced along the edges of danger. I gently brushed aside the lighter volumes, letting my fingers linger over the spines of the leather-bound books, feeling the coolness of the aged leather beneath my touch. One in particular caught my eye, its cover embossed with intricate designs that seemed to shimmer in the dim light of the shop. The title, barely legible, promised adventures that teetered on the brink of darkness.
“Alaric, what about this one?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, yet filled with excitement.
He leaned closer, peering at the book as if it were a hidden treasure. “Ah, ‘The Forbidden Paths of Eldermoor.’ A daring choice! It speaks of a heroine who defies the norms, delving into the forbidden realms where magic and danger intertwine. It’s quite… intense.”
“This is the one Alaric, I’ll take it.” I said with a smile as he hands me the book.
“Everyone loves a good villain with a backstory,” Alaric said with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling like stars in the twilight. “They remind us that darkness can be as captivating as light.”
I nodded, feeling the corners of my mouth lift in a grateful smile. “Thank you, Alaric. I can’t wait to dive into this one.”
He beamed at me, his gnome-like features softening with warmth. “Enjoy it, my dear. May your imagination take you on many thrilling adventures.”
With a wave of my hand, I stepped out of the bookshop, a rush of excitement surging through me. In my eagerness, I completely forgot to hide the book within my satchel. Instead, I flipped through its pages, eager to uncover the mysteries woven within.
Lost in the world of my thoughts, I barely registered the knight approaching until it was too late. I collide with him, the impact jolting me back to reality. My heart drops as the realization hits, I recognize him as one of the knights from my husband’s patrol. Panic surges through me like ice water, and instinctively, my eyes dart around for any sign of my husband. The very thought of him catching me out in public, especially with a book in my hand, sends a rush of dread coursing through my veins.
“Well, hello, Brielle,” the knight greeted his voice light and teasing. “You might want to close that book and watch where you’re going. You’ll fall right into the fountain if you’re not careful.”
His playful tone contrasted sharply with the suffocating fear that gripped me. I forced a smile, but it felt fragile as if it might shatter under the weight of his gaze.
What if he mentioned seeing me out, especially with a book in my hand, to my husband? My throat tightened at the mere thought, and I could feel my heart pounding louder than the bustling life around us.
“Yes, yes, thank you,” I replied, my voice rushing and tinged with urgency.
He tilted his head, studying me with a flicker of concern. “Are you alright?”
The innocent question sent a shiver down my spine, igniting an overwhelming urge to flee. I had to get away—had to return to the safety of my home, the cage that held the echoes of my husband’s rage, the place I stayed to hide the bruises. “I—I need to get going,” I stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush, desperate to escape the scrutiny of his gaze.
“Of course,” he said, a hint of sympathy lingering in his eyes. “Take care, Brielle.”
With a quick nod, I turned away, clutching the book against my chest as if it were a lifeline as if I could somehow melt into the pages and escape this situation. The weight of his gaze bore down on me, an invisible hand pressing against my back as I stumbled away. Each step felt heavy, laden with secrets and the looming fear of discovery. He will tell Henry he seen me, head in a book, out in the town for everyone to see. Henry didn’t like for me to be out amongst the other men. Thousands of times hes told me that I am his greatest conquest. The woman known for her beauty he was able to capture and keep in a cage where no one else can see me, no one else can take his treasure. I wish he treated me as treasure. Instead he treated me as if I’m not breakable.
As I hurried down the well-trodden path toward home, the walls of my prison loomed ahead, both comforting and suffocating. Each step quickened my heart, the familiar route blurring around me. Here, within these four walls, no one could see my fear, no one could gaze upon the beauty he desperately sought to keep for himself, and most importantly, no one could witness the way he took pleasure in adorning me in hues of his fury, a cruel masterpiece crafted upon my skin.
Once inside, I slam the door behind me, my breath catching in ragged gasps as if I’ve outrun some kind of predator. For a moment, I’m paralyzed, my heart thundering in my chest, the weight of panic bearing down. What if he knows? What if the knight has already told him?
I clutch the book tighter, my hands shaking, and dart to the kitchen. My eyes scan the room wildly, searching for a place to hide it, behind the pots and pans. His hands would never touch them. A man like him doesn’t concern himself with such things. I shove the book deep behind the heavy iron, pushing it as far back as I can, my pulse quickening as if that simple act could protect me. It’ll be safe there. He won’t find it. He can’t.
I step back, eyes locked on the hidden space behind the pots and pans, my pulse thrumming in my ears. The terror swells, choking me from the inside out. All of this... over a book, Brielle. How reckless. How utterly foolish.
The realization slams into me with a force that makes my knees feel weak. My hands tremble as I grip the edge of the counter, trying to steady myself. I shouldn’t have to feel like this—suffocated by fear over something as simple, as innocent, as wanting to read. But here I am, heart pounding like I’ve committed some terrible sin. A book. A few pages of fiction and I’ve risked everything. But these books are special to me, they are my savior on the days life feels too heavy. The thought makes my stomach twist painfully. How could I be so careless?
I shouldn’t have to hide like this. I shouldn’t have to feel this constant knot of dread in my chest, this fear that any misstep could cost me dearly. But I do. It’s become my reality, day in and day out—walking a tightrope between what I need to survive and what he’ll tolerate. It’s not fair. The words rise in my throat, bitter and sharp, but I swallow them down. Fairness has no place here. Not in this house. Not in this life.
I press my palms harder against the counter, the cool surface grounding me as I fight to regain control of my breathing. The tightness in my chest doesn’t ease, but I push it aside. What I feel doesn’t matter. My fear, my anger—they’re irrelevant. All that matters is what he will feel when he walks through that door. What mood he will be in? How I can manage it.
The thought gnaws at me, twisting deeper with every second. I force myself to breathe, to think. It’s about survival now, not what I want, not what I need. When he comes home, I have to make sure I’m ready. That I’ve done everything perfectly, that there’s nothing for him to latch onto.
I turn toward the hearth, forcing my shaking hands to gather ingredients. A distraction. If I can have something prepared, something good, maybe it will ease his temper. The smell of food can always soften him a little, at least long enough to gauge whether I’m in trouble. I start with a stew—something hearty, something that will fill the house with warmth. My hands move on autopilot, chopping carrots and onions, and slicing the last of the lamb. I sprinkle rosemary from the small garden outside, hoping the scent will rise and fill the air like a shield. Each slice of the knife is mechanical. The steady rhythm of chopping fills the silence, but it doesn’t calm the pounding of my heart. It’s all I can do to keep moving, to keep doing something that might help me when he walks through that door.
If he knows about the book… if the knight said anything… no meal will be enough. But I keep cooking, because it’s all I can do to hold off the storm that’s surely coming.
Before long, the house is filled with the mouthwatering scent of roasted meat and herbs, the rich aroma curling through the air. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten all day, but there’s no time for that now. I listen carefully, nerves stretched taut. And then I hear it—the faint clink of metal, his armor announcing his presence long before he reaches the door.
The latch clicks, and I hold my breath. Every muscle in my body tenses, bracing for the familiar onslaught of his anger, like waves crashing over me, threatening to drown me. But... nothing. No yelling. He doesn’t even look at me as he steps inside.
Instead, he pauses, lifting his head to sniff the air, his eyes closed for just a moment.
“Smells good in here,” he says.
I flinch when his gaze finally lands on me, my lungs burning as I remind myself to breathe. “Thank you,” I blurt out, the words tumbling from my lips too fast, too eager to please. He doesn’t reply. He simply walks past me toward the bedroom, the clank of his armor fading as he sheds it piece by piece.
Not enough words have passed for me to gauge his mood, and the silence weighs heavy in the room. My hands tremble as I plate his food, trying to keep my movements steady, my thoughts quiet. He returns just as I set the plate on the table before him. He nods, barely acknowledging my presence. No 'thank you.' Never a 'thank you.' After all, this is my duty.
I make my own plate and sit across from him, my heart pounding in my chest. He takes the first bite, chewing slowly, deliberately.
“A fine meal,” he says, the words almost sounding like praise.
I open my mouth to respond, but the moment our eyes meet, the words die in my throat. His gaze sharpens, pinning me in place.
“Must’ve taken you all day,” he says, his voice low and pointed.
I close my mouth, my pulse racing, dread pooling in my stomach. I know what’s coming. I feel my mind slipping into that numb, hollow place where his words won’t sting as much, where the inevitable rage will be muted. I nod, my head heavy.
“How did you find the time to go parade your ass around town and cook this meal?”
The question slashes through the silence like a knife. My hands go cold, and my mouth dries up. I shake my head, but no words come.
He slams his fist down on the table, the plates rattling from the force. My body jolts, and the words I’ve been struggling to find spill out, shaky and weak.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s pathetic, barely a whisper, but it’s all I can manage.
“You’re sorry.” His voice drips with venom. “Yes, you are. Where did you go? You have everything you need here. I provide everything for you. I work, bleed, sweat…all of it for you. What could you possibly need that I’m not giving you, Brielle?”
His words used to burrow into me, twisting guilt around my heart like a vice. But now, I know better. They’re a weapon; sharp, calculated. Another way to break me down. The tension is suffocating as he circles me, his presence a dark cloud. I can hear my pulse in my ears, my stomach clenched tight as I watch his boots scrape across the floor. His silence feels heavier than his words ever could. I know what’s coming, the storm is always inevitable. He stops just behind me, his breath hot against the back of my neck, and I try to steady my own.
“You think I don’t know?” His voice is cold, a sharp blade in the quiet. “I am the law around here, Brielle. I have eyes everywhere. People talk. And you were seen today. You, with a book in your hand, like some... airheaded fool.” He steps in front of me now, his eyes boring into mine. “Where is it?”
My heart stops. I feel the panic clawing its way up my throat, but I force myself to stay composed. I can’t let him see how terrified I am, even though it’s written all over me.
“I…” I swallow, trying to find the words. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Bring me the book,” he interrupts, his voice a low growl. “Now.”
I shake my head, pleading with my eyes more than my words. “Please… it’s nothing. It’s just a—”
His hand connects with my face before I can finish. The slap is hard, snapping my head to the side. Pain explodes across my cheek, and I stumble back, tasting blood where my lip has split. The room spins for a second, but I right myself, holding onto the counter as if it will somehow save me.
“Shall I rattle that brain of yours again?” His voice is icy. “Or will you listen this time?”
I can’t breathe. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth, and I press my shaking fingers to my lip, feeling the sting where his hand left its mark. I nod, the fight already drained out of me, and start walking to the pots and pans, the weight of my defeat settling over me.
He laughs behind me, low and mocking. “You were hiding it. Like some child.”
My hands are trembling as I reach behind the heavy iron skillet, pulling out the book I was foolish enough to believe I could keep hidden. Before I can even fully extend my arm, he rips it out of my hands.
“This?” He holds it up, shaking it like it’s some absurd joke. “This is what you disobeyed me for? This rubbish? Fake, make-believe nonsense. Are you a child, Brielle?” He tosses the book onto the table, glaring at me like I’m something beneath him.
I say nothing. There’s nothing I can say that won’t make it worse. My lip throbs, and I can feel the tears stinging at the corners of my eyes, but I force them back. Crying won’t help me now. It never does.
His fingers curl around the cover, and before I can react, he’s tearing at the pages, ripping them out one by one. The sound of paper shredding fills the room, and each tear feels like it’s ripping through me.
“Where did you get this?” He demands, his eyes flashing with anger. “If it was that old man in town, he’ll be dealt with.”
“No, please,” I beg, my voice shaking. “I just found it… I found it lying around, that’s all.”
He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the way his mouth twists, the way his hands keep ripping the pages out, throwing them to the floor like they’re nothing.
Page after page flutters to the ground, scattering around me like fallen leaves. My breath catches in my throat, and all I can do is watch, helpless, as the story that had filled me with such curiosity is destroyed.
“You found it?” he spits, tearing another handful of pages. “Lying around. You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?” His voice rises, vibrating through the room.
“No, I swear,” I plead, but my words are weak, pitiful. I know he doesn’t believe me. He never does.
He throws the book’s tattered remains at my feet. “This is what you risked everything for. A worthless pile of lies. And for what? So you can pretend your life is something it’s not? Is that it, Brielle? Are you not happy with me?”
I shake my head, swallowing the sobs that threaten to escape. “No… it’s not…”
But it’s too late. He’s already made up his mind, and nothing I say will change it.
His gaze darkens, and he leans in close, his breath hot and full of rage. “You’re nothing without me. Everything you have is because of me. I am the law here. You’ll remember that.” His words drip with venom as he stands up straight, casting a final look at the shredded pages beneath us.
And then, without another word, he turns and walks away, leaving me alone in the wreckage of what’s left. He looks down at me, the ruined pages scattered like confetti across the floor, and something shifts in his expression. His lips curl into a twisted smile. “Now,” he says, his voice unnervingly calm, “since you’re so sorry and you managed to fulfill at least one of your duties by making a nice dinner, let’s see how well you can finish the other one.”
Before I can move, he grabs me, pulling me roughly toward him. His hand slides up to cup my cheek, and I flinch as his thumb brushes over the split in my lip, smearing the blood. His eyes light up as he watches it, almost mesmerized by the crimson staining my mouth.
“I like you like this,” he murmurs, leaning in close. He presses his lips to mine, hard, the metallic taste of blood mingling between us. When he pulls back, his tongue flicks out, licking the smear of blood from his own lips as if savoring it.
He grins, his gaze dark and possessive. “I’ll show you why you stay, Brielle. No other man will love you like I do. No other man can give you what I give you.”
His words slither around me like chains, tightening with each syllable. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. The weight of his control presses down on me, suffocating.
“I want you in that room,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. “Kneeling before me. Thanking me with that sweet mouth of yours wrapped around my cock.” He kisses my forehead, mockingly tender. “I forgive you.”
With a final squeeze of my jaw, he releases me and strides toward the bedroom, not bothering to look back. As he reaches the doorway, he throws one more command over his shoulder.
“Hurry up,” he calls, his voice sharp with authority. "Don't make me wait.”
The silence that follows is deafening, and I’m left standing in the wreckage of torn pages and broken will, knowing that my penance has only just begun.