The Meadowlands felt different in daylight, even from inside the mansion.
The sunlight spilt into the tall parlour windows. Beyond the glass, the fields stretched endlessly, green and breathing, a sharp contrast to the eerie blood moon the night before.
The land seemed aware of her arrival. Her skin felt like it was crawling with tiny ants, as if she were being examined from every direction, not with hostility, but with adoration.
The staff bowed as she walked toward the parlour and took a seat on an accent chair on the far side of the room.
Akhile resisted the urge to fold her arms across her chest. What is the proper way for a princess to sit?
They are deciding something, she thought.
At that moment, the Meadowland elders entered, one after the other and occupied the chairs opposite Akhile.
They sat in a loose semicircle, their cloaks matching in colour. Browns, mossy greens, the soft grey of river stones.
Before anyone spoke, the eldest woman rose.
She knelt slowly, with a respect that felt instinctive rather than ceremonial, and pressed her palm flat against the ground. "Your royal Highness, Princess Cora," she said.
Akhile felt a tightening low in her stomach. She bowed her head instinctively and replied, "Thank you…and welcome."
"The Meadowlands listens today," the elder replied.
Akhile swallowed. "Does it always?"
The woman opened her eyes and looked up at her. They were dark and reflective, like red earth after rain.
"No," she said quietly. "Only when someone important is present."
Akhile resisted the urge to look everyone in the eyes, out of respect to the elders.
She crossed her legs instead and cleared her throat.
"You asked to see me?"
"Yes," said an elder man with a thin voice. "Because it is time you understood what you are."
They did not soften the truth.
The Meadowlands, they explained, have always existed on the margins of greater powers. Its fertile soils have been envied by other kingdoms. We take pride in providing a blueprint for this. There are spiritual forces beyond its borders, opportunists waiting to take over if there is any sign of unstable leadership.
"The Redcliffs are not merely allies," the elder woman said. "They are the barrier."
Akhile's jaw tightened. "And the marriage?"
The elder did not hesitate. "Your marriage is the price for that barrier."
The words landed heavily.
"So it's a treaty," Akhile said.
"It is survival," the old woman corrected her. "You were born the only child to your parents, and you are female. You cannot be Queen without an opportune union. This betrothal will fix that."
Akhile felt cold inside. She thought of Nathaniel's precise speech, his disinterest in romance, the way he spoke as if outcomes had already been decided. She thought of Norman's warmth, his orchard, his hands in the soil.
"And if I refuse, or…what if it doesn't work out?" she asked.
Silence stretched across the clearing.
A navy-blue bird settled on the windowsill, wings beating sharply before disappearing into the fields. The wind shifted direction and rushed in through the window, brushing against Akhile's face like a warning.
At last, the thin-voiced elder spoke again.
"Then the protection ends. The royal bloodline will end with you."
She swallowed hard, "What does that mean?"
"It means the dead do not always stay buried," he said calmly. "It means borders weaken. It means drought…death."
"So my body…my life is what, up for grabs?"
The elder woman raised her eyes in shock at the statement.
The word body echoed inside Akhile's head, loud and invasive.
Not princess.
Not ruler.
Body.
Something stirred beneath her skin. She had no freewill. If she was betrothed to a Redcliff, why did it have to be Nathaniel? A crass, stuck-up prick!
The dull pressure flared near her temple again, sudden enough to make her gasp. She lifted her hand instinctively, pressing her fingers against the spot.
The elders noticed immediately.
Several of them stiffened. The elder woman's breath paused.
"The land answers to you," she murmured.
Akhile laughed softly, brittle and disbelieving. "That seems to be happening a lot today."
"The land responds," the woman clarified. "But this is not complete."
Akhile could remember her old life, her apartment, the deadlines, the way exhaustion had hollowed her out until she died. She had given her life away, and now the same fate awaits in the Meadowlands.
"I didn't ask for this life," she said quietly. "I didn't ask to be a princess or Queen."
"No," the elder woman agreed. "But you are here."
The ground beneath Akhile's feet warmed suddenly.
The elders exchanged uneasy glances.
The Meadowlands no longer felt like a second chance. It felt like responsibility disguised as privilege.
She placed a hand over her heart.
I died once because I gave myself away.
Her jaw tightened.
I will not disappear quietly again.