Rhosyn adjusted the way her dress stole her breath and sighed. It had been a whole day in Dagmar Castle and yet she couldn't quite shake off the past five days.
Waking up in Karsyn's arms the day after their wedding had rattled her in more ways than she could comprehend. But what got her the most was how much it didn't unsettle her.
Before the sun had fully risen, they entered her uncle's office to fulfill the final part of their deal—the safe's contents. Rhosyn entered the three numbers; 12 for loyalty, 33 for the consequences of blind obedience and 42 for a protective ally—her uncle's message.
Then Karsyn stepped forward, key in hand, inserted it into the lock and turned until the bolt clicked. It was a heavy clad of metal, mechanisms living within the double-walled door and she marvelled at the beauty of it all. No wonder Edrien was never able to pick such an intricately designed safe.
They wasted no time sifting through the contents of papers, wads of leather bound documents and an untold number of letters. The materials were transferred into a chest and loaded onto the carriage she'd spend the next three and a half days' travelling in—lucky her.
Karsyn rode with Caerwyn and Rhosyn didn't know why she cared. She had Elin to keep her company, though the maid spent most of the time sleeping off the travel sickness. They didn't slow until they reached Ravenstair and even Rhosyn found herself relaxing despite the plummeting temperatures.
Ever since they'd arrived, Elin had been confined to her bed, the travel had taken it out of her. Rhosyn felt lost inside the castle, too many raw memories which kept her in her room. But time slipped by painfully and she had a head full of thoughts that wouldn't let her rest, so she decided to distract herself.
Shooting something sounded fitting.
The arrow thudded into the target with a crack that echoed off Dagmar's stone. Though tension continued to pull uncomfortably at Rhosyn and she nocked another arrow. She couldn't help but recount Karsyn's words, the call to relax, and she let the arrow loose.
No amount of shafts buried into the target eased her though and she found herself listening out for a set of boots on gravel. String kissed her wrist and she released it, sighing in defeat as another arrow found its mark.
She'd come out here to clear her head. Instead, every arrow seemed to spell his name.
Caerwyn spoke no words, but his looks said too much, and Rhosyn tried not to hear any of them.
"My Lady?" Elin called, and Rhosyn found herself smiling at her friend who looked so much better. "What's bothering you?" she asked pointedly at the mass of arrows protruding from the target.
Rhosyn rolled her eyes, she hated how easily they read her. They've been with her from the beginning and had enough time to learn her behaviours to know what was hiding behind her mask. But Karsyn didn't need that time it seemed, and she hated that he saw through her walls.
"Maybe I was just bored," she huffed, turning back to the target and seeing Elin's point. If Karsyn was here, she'd have all the Northern Bloc's secrets—and his.
Caerwyn huffed a short laugh and Rhosyn pretended not to hear.
"Your turn," Rhosyn held the bow out for Caerwyn, who looked amused and stepped forward to take it.
They swapped places. Elin drifted to Rhosyn's side, both of them watching the archery range. Caerwyn took his position, drew the bow—his form maddeningly perfect—and loosed. The arrow hit slightly off-centre.
One truth.
"Fine," Rhosyn sighed, Caerwyn had already understood the nature of the game, it wasn't the first time he heard it proposed.
"Ask a question, Elin," he prompted with a satisfied grin.
"Er... Are you not happy, My Lady?" Elin asked, almost confused.
"No," she answered easily and Caerwyn nocked another arrow.
This one hit truer and somehow Rhosyn was enjoying this game and wondered why she didn't play it sooner.
"Another," he called to Elin again. "This time, a little more open ended."
Elin giggled, starting to understand. "I thought the duke was a good guy—you like him."
It wasn't a question.
"I don't understand, My Lady. Do you... regret marrying the duke?"
Caerwyn watched her carefully and Rhosyn found herself hesitating to answer.
"No," she said again, quieter this time.
The truth hung in the air, heavier than the first. She couldn't picture marrying anyone else—but it still didn't feel like a story that belonged to her. It was a deal brokered in a palace office, her life written up like a ledger line and filed away. She was a prop that had been collected and stored safely in his home, like any other interesting trinket in his lounge.
Elin and Caerwyn shared a look.
It was something about how Karsyn held his cards up until now. He'd been playing the long game, she knew that. But now he had exactly what he wanted—her uncle's safe contents. And Rhosyn didn't know what truths would sink her. Uncle Halvar ordered the massacre of House Karsyn. If he wanted revenge, he had her exactly where he needed her.
Rhosyn wasn't entirely sure where she was safest, and the not knowing twisted at her.
Well, she made her bed, and now she had to lie in it—dagger strapped to her calf and eyes wide open.