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Chapter 4 - Chapter 4: Sacred Haven

The bells of Frizington Palace tolled in slow, mournful rhythm as dawn bled through the stained-glass windows. The royal healers had not slept. The Princess's chamber, once filled with laughter, now reeked faintly of herbs and ash.

Princess Eleanor Rhodes lay motionless on the bed of the Sacred Haven, her skin pale as frost. Her chest rose and fell faintly under layers of enchanted linens as witches whispered spells around her in an unbroken circle of gold fire. The bite of the Death Spider had nearly taken her soul.

At the edge of the room stood Ronita Tamra, her hands clasped tightly, her eyes rimmed red with exhaustion. The Princess had not stirred in two days. The witches said the venom was ancient — the kind once found only in the Yellow Forest, where no mortal dared wander.

Outside the chamber, footsteps echoed down the corridor — a slow, sure tread that carried the weight of both command and patience. Prince Alaric entered quietly, his dark cloak trailing like smoke. His eyes swept over the healers, then rested on Ronita.

"How fares the Princess?" he asked softly.

Ronita curtsied, her voice trembling. "Still weak, Your Highness. The witches say she needs time. Perhaps… weeks."

The prince's jaw tightened. "Then I will stay."

The court went silent. Even the witches faltered in their chant for a breath.

"Your Highness," said Lord Chancellor Merek, bowing, "surely you need not remain in Frizington"

"I was sent to escort the Princess to Blueshire," Alaric interrupted calmly, "and I will not leave without her."

His tone left no room for argument. He turned to Ronita again, his gaze softer. "You are her right hand, are you not?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Then you must be tired. Rest. You've done more than enough."

Ronita bowed her head. "I cannot rest until she opens her eyes."

He regarded her for a moment longer, and something unspoken passed between them — a quiet understanding, heavy and strange.

When she finally left the chamber, the corridor outside was dim and cold. The torches flickered as though uneasy. Every sound — the wind against the windowpanes, the creak of distant doors — felt like a whisper meant only for her.

In the guest wing, servants hurried to prepare quarters for the visiting prince and his entourage extended stay. Ronita found herself there as well, ensuring that the chambers were arranged according to protocol. She didn't expect him to appear — but he did.

"Miss Tamra," said Alaric from behind her, his voice smooth but low.

She turned, startled, nearly dropping the folded linens in her hands. "Your Highness — I was only making sure—"

"That everything is in order," he finished for her, smiling faintly. "I see that it is."

She stepped aside so he could inspect the chamber, but he paused by the window instead. Moonlight touched his face, and for the first time, she noticed how pale he truly was — as if carved from marble.

"You must think my people are monsters," he said quietly.

She blinked. "I wouldn't dare, my lord."

"But you do," he said, without accusation. "It's written in your eyes."

Ronita hesitated. "I was raised to be careful of vampires. But…" She glanced at him. "You seem… kind."

A ghost of a smile passed over his face. "Kindness is a language rarely spoken in my father's court."

For a heartbeat, the air between them felt charged — heavy and still. When their eyes met, she felt warmth spread through her chest and below her tummy—in a forbidden area, though the air was cool.

Then, faintly, she felt it — the same presence from before.

A prickling along her neck.

A whisper that wasn't a sound but a thought: You shouldn't be here.

She turned sharply toward the window. Nothing. Only mist curling against the glass.

"Is something wrong?" Alaric asked, his tone alert.

"I… thought I saw something," she murmured. "A shadow."

His expression darkened slightly, though his voice remained calm. "This castle is old. Shadows linger here longer than they should."

Before she could reply, the sound of metal boots filled the hall. Her father entered — Commander Tony Tamra, his cloak still dusted with the ash of his patrols.

"Ronita," he said gruffly, "your mother has been worried sick."

"I'm fine, Father," she said softly.

He gave a short nod, then turned to Alaric and bowed. "Your Highness."

"Commander Tamra," Alaric greeted. "Your daughter has been a great comfort to her mistress. You've raised a loyal one."

Tony's stern expression softened briefly, pride flickering across his features. "Her mother will be glad to hear that."

He turned to Ronita, lowering his voice. "The King has summoned the court. News from the Sacred Haven — come."

They arrived in the throne hall moments later, where the atmosphere was tense. The healers bowed low before King Eldritch Rhodes and the Queen Tianaa.

"The Princess will not recover within the week," said the eldest witch. "The venom still lingers. Travel would kill her."

A collective gasp then a heavy silence fell.

The Queen's hands trembled slightly on the armrest. "Then what shall we tell Blueshire? The treaty demands her presence at the wedding."

Before anyone could answer, a messenger entered bearing a sealed scroll. He knelt before the throne. "From His Majesty, King Lucian Vauclair."

The King broke the seal and read. His brows furrowed, then he looked up, voice grave.

"King Lucian suggests… a substitute. The Princess's right hand shall represent her in the wedding rituals until her recovery."

Gasps filled the hall. Ronita froze where she stood.

Tony Tamra stepped forward instantly. "My daughter is no envoy for such a union. The answer is no."

King Eldritch nodded slowly, sympathy flickering in his eyes. "I understand, Commander. Still, the request must be answered before sunrise. The peace hangs by a thread."

As murmurs filled the chamber, Ronita felt the same cold ripple again — that invisible gaze tracing her spine. She turned toward the tall windows of the hall. But her gaze is drawn back by her father's bold movement towards the throne but she doesn't wait another minute before following the shadow she felt

"My answer is No, My King" Tamara's voice echoed through the silent hall—absolute.

The King's Jaw tightened at the act of public defiance from his Commander.

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