The air felt like it had shifted, colder and heavier as I stood frozen in the corridor, watching my father’s face shift into sothing unreadable. He hadn’t said anything for what felt like minutes, but the silence between us was deafening. Then it happened—a low laugh rolled out of him, quiet yet sharp, a sound that seed to echo in the empty hallway.
It wasn’t the kind of laugh that ward you or made you feel at ease. No, this was the kind that sent chills skittering down your spine, the kind that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. My stomach twisted in an instant knot, and I forced myself to keep my expression blank.
"Chlorendia," he said finally, his tone smooth but carrying a weight that made my chest tighten. His eyes, dark and piercing, stayed locked on as he took a step closer. "The stable worker?"
"I—" I started, but my throat was dry, and the words caught. I tried again, swallowing hard. "Lylda works in the stables. I was just checking on the horses."
His lips curved into a smile, but it wasn’t kind. The type of smile that made you feel small, like you were a pawn on his chessboard, and he was deciding where to move you next. He closed the distance between us with asured steps, each one making my pulse quicken.
When he was close enough, he placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t a comforting touch. It was deliberate, firm, a reminder of who held the power between us. I resisted the urge to flinch.
"You know," he began, his voice low and steady, "people watch. They always watch. Every step you take, every decision you make—it’s scrutinized, judged, gossiped about." His voice dropped, becoming colder. "Have I taught you nothing, Chlorendia? Do you understand what people will think if they see the daughter of an alpha mingling with an oga stable worker?"
I swallowed again, feeling the weight of his hand and his words pressing down on .
"You," he continued, leaning in slightly, his gaze piercing mine, "cannot afford to be careless about the kind of company you keep."
There was a beat of silence, and my father’s fingers tightened slightly on my shoulder, just enough to make aware of their strength.
"An oga stable worker," he said, his voice dropping even lower, "is not the kind of company a person of your standing should be associating with."
My chest tightened, anger bubbling beneath the surface, but I pushed it down.
"Lylda is loyal," I defended, my voice steady but quiet. "He’s hardworking, and he’s done nothing to deserve to be treated that way."
My father’s laugh ca again, short and sharp this ti. "Loyalty," he said, as if tasting the word. "A pretty concept, but it doesn’t protect reputations, Chlorendia. It doesn’t stop whispers in the corridors or keep alliances strong. People judge you by the company you keep, and you’d do well to rember that."
I forced myself to et his gaze, though it took every ounce of courage I had. "I understand, Father," I said, my voice calm even as my heart raced.
His hand tightened slightly, just enough to make his point clear. "You’ve worked hard to earn back my favor, Chlorendia. Don’t let a stable worker ruin that for you."
The words hit harder than I expected, but I couldn’t even defend Lylda because there was a ti when I had felt exactly the sa. When I first t Lylda, I had dismissed him just as easily, seeing only his status, not the person behind it. I had thought him unworthy of my attention, let alone my respect. And now... now I couldn’t deny the knot of guilt twisting in my chest as I realized how much I had been like my father in that mont.
"I understand, Father," I said quietly, bowing my head to hide the emotions swirling in my eyes. "I won’t disappoint you."
For a mont, he said nothing, simply studying with that calculating gaze of his. Then, finally, he stepped back, his hand falling away from my shoulder. "Good," he said, his tone firm. "Rember who you are, Chlorendia. You’re not just anyone. You’re my daughter."
He turned then, his cane tapping against the floor as he walked away, leaving standing there, frozen in place. I waited until his footsteps faded before letting out a shaky breath, my shoulders sagging as the tension drained from my body.
As I continued down the corridor toward my chambers, my mind racing.
The decision wasn’t easy, but it had to be made. As much as I cared for Lylda, I couldn’t risk losing my father’s favor. Not now, not when I was finally being trusted with responsibilities beyond being a re pawn in his plans.
Still, the guilt gnawed at .
That morning, I avoided the stables entirely, taking the longer route to the courtyard to check on the tournant preparations. It felt strange not to stop by and see Lylda. I had grown used to the quiet monts we shared, his soft laughter, the way his eyes lit up when I showed even the slightest interest in his tricks or stories. But I couldn’t afford those monts now. They were a luxury I could no longer allow myself.
The courtyard was bustling with activity when I arrived, workers moving in every direction, setting up platforms and banners, arranging rows of seating for spectators. The tournant was only days away, and the pressure to ensure its success weighed heavily on my shoulders. I threw myself into the preparations, inspecting every detail, giving orders where necessary, and trying to ignore the emptiness I felt.
But even as I busied myself, my thoughts kept drifting back to him.
Would he notice my absence?
Would he think I was avoiding him on purpose?
The idea made my chest tighten.
I sighed, brushing a strand of hair out of my face as I leaned over a table strewn with tournant schedules and plans. "Focus, Chlorendia," I muttered to myself. "You have bigger things to worry about."
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