Chapter 22
On the fourth morning, Eleanor stood calmly before him. “The seven days are up. I’m leaving.”
Roland, in the midst of pouring tea, froze mid–motion.
“I did promise to let you go,” he said as he turned to face her. His eyes were shadowed, his voice
heavy. “But only if you choose–him, or me.”
Eleanor gave a cold laugh. “Then I choose–”
Before she could finish, Roland’s gaze flicked to the table, where four goblets stood.
“Two choices,” he said, his voice terrifying in its steadiness. “You stay. Or you go.‘
“These four cups–three hold clean water. One holds poison. The kind that kills within moments.”
He lifted a goblet. “From now on, every word you say, I drink one.”
The meaning was clear: unless she said the words “I’ll stay,” he would drink until death.
Eleanor’s eyes widened in horror. “You’re absolutely insane! You’d gamble your life to keep me?”
“No,” he said softly. “I’m gambling to see whether you care. At all.”
She stared at him, chest rising and falling in sharp rhythm.
“Roland,” she bit out, “don’t make me hate you.”
“Then hate me,” he whispered, gaze unwavering. “Better that than forgetting me.”
A heavy silence fell.
Eleanor took a breath. “I-—”
Clink.
First goblet. Water.
He didn’t even flinch.
11
-want-”
Clink!
Second goblet. Still water. Sweat glistened on his brow, but he smiled.
“Go-”
Clink!
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Third goblet. Water.
“Away!”
CRASH!
The fourth cup shattered against his lips.
A spray of blood immediately burst from his mouth. He stumbled backward, collapsing hard onto the floor. But even then–he smiled.
“Eleanor…” His voice was soaked in red, barely a breath. “You really are… cruel.”
Eleanor stood motionless, nails digging into her palms.
She watched as his blood spread across the floor. Watched his pupils lose focus. Watched the guards
rush in and carry him away-
But not once did she reach for him.
One month later, in Westmarch.
Edmund held a grand wedding to make up for all the years lost.
A crown of flame–gold roses. A gown the color of autumn dusk. Blessings rained down from every
corner.
As the rites concluded, Edmund leaned in, voice low. “He’s not doing well.”
Eleanor’s fingers twitched.
“They found a miracle worker,” he said gently. “Used poison to fight poison. It saved his life. But he may never wake again.”
Eleanor was quiet for a long time. Then she gave a faint smile. “Let’s not speak of him.”
She rose on tiptoe and kissed Edmund at the corner of his lips. “Let us share what time the stars
have written for us,” she whispered.
“And I shall walk it, step for step, with reverence,” he replied.
That night, long after the guests had gone, Eleanor stood alone at the window.
Moonlight bathed her in silver. Her eyes were dry, but something deep inside her trembled.
She thought of a young guard who once followed her in silence.
Of the blade he’d caught on her behalf. Of the rain–soaked nights he’d carried her home.
Of the moment he’d whispered, “Eleanor, I would love you with my last breath.”
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She thought of a young guard who once followed her in silence.
Of the blade he’d caught on her behalf. Of the rain–soaked nights he’d carried her home.
Of the moment he’d whispered, “Eleanor, I would love you with my last breath.”
And of the blood. The broken smile. The soft, final words: “You’re cruel.”
A breeze swept through, brushing tears from her lashes.
She whispered into the night:
“Roland. Farewell.”
“And never again.”
Chapter 22
