Never Yours ✔️

Ch. 1

The rail chilled her fingers. She curled them tighter, watching her knuckles whiten. The city streets hundreds of feet below mocked her, beckoning her. She clutched tighter onto the terrace railing. The pale sunlight caught the rose in her cheeks and lit up the gold dotting her sea-green eyes. The wind whipped her ash blonde hair across her face. Below her, the hillside was quiet with fear. Only the desperate left their homes. No one lingered at the marketplace to chat over a cup of tea. The only thing anybody talked about anymore was the war.

Arysa let out a low sigh.

War consumed them now. Their thoughts, their dreams, their fears, everything revolved around the war. They couldn't escape it. They couldn't avoid it. And they were losing it.

Arysa heard the brush of his cloak as he approached and the heavy set of his breath as he leaned against the doorway. She looked down at her cold, pale fingers. In her voice, lingered a tiresome defeat.

"Please, Serden, leave me be."

She could feel the press of his snake eyes stealing over her, see the crooked sneer of his lips, the hollow cheeks tickled by limp strands of his ink-black hair.

"I said, leave me be." Arysa hissed. Her lips quivered. Her hands trembled.

Serden stepped up from the door onto the terrace. "His highness requested you dine with him this evening." His sly voice sent shudders down her spine.

"Tell him I'm feeling ill and would rather dine alone."

Serden stepped closer. "He insists."

Arysa's fingers tightened on the rail. "I would not want to transfer my fever to his majesty."

He took another step. "The king commands you eat with him."

Arysa spun around. "No, he does not." She snarled. "You do. You want me to eat with the king, so you can hide in the shadows and watch me like the conniving snake you are."

His yellow eyes narrowed.

"I won't do it." She hissed. "Not this time."

Serden grabbed her arm as she tried to return inside. His bony fingers dug into her skin. Arysa held still, eyes on the door, lips pressed thin.

"I can have you thrown in the dungeon for denying the king's wishes." Serden sneered.

Arysa turned slow to look him in the eyes, cold. "Then do it."

His fingers buried deeper. His gaze seared into hers. He moved to speak but stopped as his eyes flit past her. Arysa whirled around. From the east, the army was returning.

Ashlyn.

She tore out of Serden's hold and into the palace. Her feet thundered on the tiles as she ran, her heart burning in her chest. She couldn't get through the city to the gates fast enough. All around her people emerged from their homes, cautious and unsure, and the guards left their posts to greet their returning fathers and brothers. By the time the army had reached the gates, a crowd had gathered to meet them. Arysa's call for the gates to be raised was hardly necessary. The guards were already rolling back the gear, pulling on the ropes that lifted the heavy iron-studded wall.

Ashlyn was at the head of the army, tired and beaten, the confidence gone from his step. Arysa ran and threw herself into his arms.

"You're alive!" She exhaled. "I was so worried! Why didn't you send word you were returning?"

He wrapped his arms around her frail figure and pulled her close.

"No time." He breathed. "We had to retreat. There were too many of them, Arysa. We couldn't hold them off. We tried, but-" His eyes lowered in shame.