Chapter Fifteen
MIRCALLA
The Past
The morning air was sharp and frigid. I woke to the chill and the sound of boots in the corridor. Voices rose in the stairwell, low and clipped.
For a moment, I stayed in bed, the sheets cold against my skin, with a strange heaviness pressing over me. Something felt off. I couldn’t name it, but unease threaded through my veins like ice.
There’d been talk of a border dispute in the north—a lord pressing into Ivan’s lands and claiming it as his. It wasn’t the first time, but the tension in the air felt different, tighter. As if even the walls were bracing for what was coming.
I rose, bathed, and dressed in wool and cotton, lacing my bodice just to keep my hands busy, and adding a cloak to stem off the chill in the air.
Downstairs, Ivan stood over the map table with Raducel at his right shoulder, and his other men to his left.
They’d known each other since childhood.
Raducel wasn’t just a friend—he was Ivan’s counselor, his most trusted man.
This morning, though, something in Raducel’s face unsettled me. His expression was kind enough, but when his eyes met mine, a flicker passed through them. It was something I couldn’t quite place.
Ivan looked up, and the hard set of his shoulders eased the moment he saw me. He crossed the room in three long strides, everything else forgotten, and cupped my face, pressing a kiss to my forehead. The simple touch steadied the strange beat of my heart.
“My love,” he murmured. “You’re up early.”
“The cold and noise woke me,” I breathed. “The house feels… restless.”
His thumbs brushed my cheeks, his gaze searching me in a way that always made me feel seen and exposed at once. Then he tucked a curl behind my ear and gave me another kiss before turning back to the map.
“I hate that the turmoil here unsettles you.”
“I’m okay, sweet husband. I just hate when you leave.” He leaned down and kissed me softly on the lips.
Raducel watched him. Watched us.
With one more smile at me, Ivan turned to face his men. “We’ll discuss when to ride out,” Ivan said, his tone commanding again. “We’ll take a smaller escort since it’ll draw less attention. Once we’ve scouted, we’ll send reinforcements.”
Raducel inclined his head. “I’ll see to it.”
When he and the other men left, the room felt lighter. Ivan lingered at the table, eyes on the map, jaw tight. I watched the line of his throat move when he swallowed and told myself the unease twisting inside me was just dread for his leaving.
It was always like this—each time he rode out; the world seemed to hold its breath. He was strong, powerful, feared by many, but even the strongest men bled.
I left Ivan to his plans and made myself useful around the castle. By noon, the household had settled into a tense rhythm. Everyone felt it—the weight of war hanging thick in the air.
I stayed busy in the kitchen, comforted a servant whose lover might soon ride into battle, and pretended not to count the hours. Ivan’s men worked with quiet precision—oiling leather, tending the horses, sharpening steel.
Through it all, Raducel stayed close to Ivan, ever the loyal shadow. I found myself in the garden, waiting for Ivan, tossing seed across the snow for the birds and smiling faintly as they darted to peck at it.
Raducel brought the afternoon tray himself. There was wine, bread, cheese, and a bowl of fruit. “Ivan asked me to bring you this. To keep your strength, My Lady,” he said.
“Thank you,” I murmured, though unease stirred again as he stepped closer, setting the tray on the stone bench beside me.
We stood in silence for a moment, watching the birds. Their tiny bodies moved quickly and frantically against the stark whiteness of the snow.
“He’ll be fine,” Raducel said at last. “I’ll make sure of it.”
I glanced at him, uncertain. “Thank you. He’s the most important thing in my life.”
Raducel’s mouth curved, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “Of course he is.” His tone was smooth, polite, but there was something just beneath it, something that caught like a blade’s edge. His gaze lingered too long, not on the snow or the birds, but on me.
The cold crept deeper into my bones. I folded my hands in my lap to keep from fidgeting. “Ivan trusts you more than anyone else.”
“As he should,” Raducel said. His eyes flicked toward the horizon where smoke from the stables drifted in thin gray ribbons. “I’ve always stood beside him. Always.” He turned back to me then, his expression unreadable. “It’s what I’ve built my life around.”
Something about the way he said it, this quiet but possessive tone, made my throat tighten. I forced a smile. “Then I’m glad he has you.”
He inclined his head, all practiced deference, but his eyes didn’t soften. “As am I, My Lady.”
When he was gone, the silence he left behind felt heavier than before. The birds were gone; the seeds untouched.
The light dimmed, and the sky bruised into shades of violet and rose. I left the garden then, the winter chill seeping into my bones. By the time the servants lit the sconces, the castle hummed with the tension of impending war.
Dinner was subdued. Ivan’s commanders filled their seats, grim and resolute. I sat beside my husband at the head of the table, doing my best to appear calm. Every gesture mattered now, to steady the men, to hold the illusion that all was well.
Raducel arrived late, his cloak dusted with snow, his expression careful. “Apologies, My Lord, My Lady,” he said, bowing low. “There was a delay with the riders from the northern road. They’ve brought word that the Lord of Targovi?te has gathered allies from beyond the border.”
Ivan’s jaw flexed. “Then we ride after our meal.”
I reached for his hand beneath the table. His fingers closed over mine, grounding me, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself believe everything might still be all right.
Raducel poured the wine himself. That alone unsettled me.
He was arrogant enough to feel the servants should serve him and would never pour his own goblet let alone all of ours.
Still, he offered me the first cup then lifted his own.
“To victory,” he said. His gaze held mine for a second before he glanced at Ivan.
Unease prickled along my skin, but I lifted my goblet when the others did.
“Pentru ?ar? ?i pentru Domnul nostru!” For our land and for our lord! The men roared before drinking deep.
The first sip hit my tongue. It was too sweet with an aftertaste of bitterness. The flavor was heavy and metallic.
Raducel watched me as I swallowed before smiling and taking his seat.
Ivan hadn’t yet drunk. He stood, his gaze on me even as he raised his cup. “Sangele lor pentru sangele nostru!” Their blood for our blood! He said, his voice dark and resolute.
Heat spread through my chest, dull at first, then sharp enough to steal my breath. I pressed a hand to my ribs. “Ivan. I think…” My voice faltered. “I think I need some air.”
Ivan’s focus snapped to me, his expression twisting with concern. “Dragostea mea. Ce te fr?mant??” My love. What troubles you?
I tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t form. The taste in my mouth grew even more metallic, more acidic. I heard the scrape of a chair, then another, and realized it wasn’t just me. One commander clutched his throat. Another fell forward, his goblet shattering across the floor.
The hall became a rush of confusion. Choking sounds, overturned chairs, men violently spewing blood from their mouths, and the sickening crash of bodies hitting stone erupted. I blinked hard, fighting the dizziness, and in that blur of motion, I saw him.
Raducel.
He was already moving toward the door, calm amid the panic, his expression unreadable. He didn’t shout for help. He didn’t look back. The torchlight caught his face as he paused in the archway, and I saw it then, the faint, terrible smile that told me he had been waiting for this.
Ivan was beside me, catching me before I fell. His voice was raw, breaking as he shouted for help. “My life, look at me. Stay with me.”
But my body no longer obeyed. My tongue felt heavy. My throat closed around his name. “Ivan…” I lifted my hand and pointed feebly toward the doorway. “Raducel,” I croaked out.
He gathered me into his arms, his warmth the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. His scent—spice and wild earth—wrapped around me, achingly familiar. I tried to lift a hand, to touch him, to let him know I was still there… that I loved him more than anything else.
But warmth spilled from my lips instead. Ivan caught it with trembling fingers, his eyes red and wet with fury and grief. When he drew his hand back, it was slick with my blood.
I tried to speak, to tell him I loved him, but my voice failed. My mouth opened soundlessly as the world dimmed, and the darkness finally claimed me.
The last thing I saw was his face wild with anguish, streaked with blood and tears.
The last thing I heard was his roar splitting the night, a vow torn from his soul that death itself would not keep us apart.
And then the world went still. The firelight dimmed, the cold deepened, and everything that was me… my breath, my heartbeat, and my name slipped away into the dark.
But somewhere in that endless silence, I still felt him. Ivan’s grief burned hot enough to sear through death itself. His pain became my tether, pulling me toward something I couldn’t yet understand.
Over five centuries would pass before I opened my eyes again… reborn into another life, another name. But time had never been enough to sever what bound us.
I would always be his. And even now, across lifetimes and the ruin of worlds, we remained what we had always been to each other.
Soul mates.