Chained To Him [Editing]

Prologue

NB: Please take a look at the trigger warnings page if you feel these may apply to you. This story contains triggering content throughout, and I won't be warning within the text. 

UNDER EDITING so you may notice a few inconsistencies throughout.

XX

The wine was bitter on his tongue, a cloying, heavy balm for a body that longed to feel the weight of a sword swinging toward its enemy.

His tent stank of cedar smoke and damp canvas, but he didn't mind the smell or the muddy ground so much anymore. Each day brought him closer to the battle, to the fight that would end all of this. Those fools had their uprising; they tasted freedom and were growing bolder despite their dwindling ranks. They'd had their fun, and now he would put an end to it. He would show them what the Empire did to those who refused to bow their heads.

Pushing aside the curtain to his tent, he surveyed the camp of soldiers in the valley below, bonfires lit across the plains like an ocean of starlight. It was a final blow—the Empire had summoned mercenaries from across the sea, and their numbers were enough to move mountains. Aésadel would suffer for their rebellion.

In the quiet darkness of his tent, it was hard to think only of the coming battle. Each day brought him closer to Aésadel, to victory—and to her. Somewhere behind enemy lines, she was perhaps asleep, unaware of the swords that would soon rain down upon her city. It had been a year since he'd seen her face, and he wondered if she still dreamed of him when she closed her eyes. He would learn soon enough.

He would find her. And this time, she would not slip away so easily.

* * * * *

She tilted her face towards the sun, eyes closed and lips parted as if tasting the late summer air. A fierce wind whipped her hair across her neck and cooled the sweat on her brow. The August rainfall had left the ground damp to the touch, and forget-me-nots and wild irises thrived in the dark earth.

"It's finally happening, Luc," she murmured as she leaned back among the flowers and let the musky scent of rain-dampened leaves wash over her. "Things are going to change."

Her words were met with silence, and she smiled. He didn't need to reply. She knew his voice like her own; she could imagine his measured response, how each syllable sounded rolling from his tongue.

Jayde let the sun turn her cheeks and chest a pale pink. She relished the contrast of the wet ground and beating rays against her skin. Opening her eyes, she gazed into the flawless blue sky until the bright sunlight forced her to squeeze them shut again. "I'm leaving tonight. I don't know if I'll live."

Turning to the three gravestone placed among the vibrant flowers, her words caught in her throat. "Perhaps I'll see you again." She ran her fingers across Luc's name carved deep into one of the stones in jagged block letters. "I miss you."

Jayde glanced up as the bushes rustled behind her at the edge of the clearing, but she didn't bother to see who had arrived. "How long have you been listening?"

Heavy footsteps crept to her side, and a tall figure settled onto the ground beside her. "Long enough." Luther placed a thick arm around her shoulder. "You should have told me that you were coming here." They gazed at the three rounded stones in silence. She remembered the joint funeral after they'd driven the Empire from the city, just her and Luther huddled alone as they laid the last of their loved ones to rest in empty graves. There was a time when she would have wept to be here, but her tears had dried long ago.

"Do you think they would be proud of us?" She tried to picture their faces, but found that the only images she could conjure were the moments before she lost them. Luc's soft, sad smile as she slipped from his arms, not knowing it would be the last time. Her father's proud yet terrified countenance as the noose was placed around his neck—her mother's choking scream and wild eyes. And there was another face, his face, though she couldn't bring herself to consider his name.

Luther turned to hold her at arm's length, and she was glad for her thoughts to be broken. Even now with that scolding, furrowed brow, he seemed so tired, so much older, than he'd looked before. "You honored your father's legacy, Jayde—you finished what he started."

"Not everything."

"Aésadel is free." His fingers tightened into her shoulder. "We avenged them as well as we could."

But she knew he could feel it too, the restless ache for justice that could never come. How could their souls rest when the man behind their deaths still walked free?

"He loved you, you know—Luc did," Luther murmured. She thought she didn't have any more tears, but the words still made her throat tight. "He only ever had eyes for you."

"I know."

The silence that rose between them was heavy yet easy—they had shared their grief together for too many years. Sometimes still it was hard to look at Luther's face and see his son, those grey eyes framed by faded yellow curls. It was in this place when she'd first met Luc fifteen years ago, gathering flowers on the hillside. He was a dirty boy with scuffed knees and a runny nose, and she she was the daughter of the king's Captain—she could still remember the bouquet he'd picked for her that day. From then on she would sneak away from her tutor and change into street clothes in the stables, escaping to the hillside to play with the boy her father would never approve of.

"There will be time to grieve when this is over," said Luther gently, and his arm slipped away from her as he stood and offered her a hand. She could only pray that she wouldn't be grieving for Luther, too, by the time this war was done. Or perhaps some merciful god would let her die first. It was too cursed a thing to hope they would both make it out alive.

She took his hand and let him lead her from the hillside, toward the swelling crowd that spilled through the marketplace in a throng of music and singing and movement. Tonight, they would celebrate together as a city. Tomorrow, they would ride to war.

The marketplace was humming with laughter and chatter as Luther and Jayde stepped into the cobbled square. Every man, woman and child was here tonight, and Jayde's heart swelled with nervousness and a gut-wrenching love as their gazes turned her way. She wondered if Luther felt the same apprehension, but when she met his eyes he smiled.

"Relax, Jayde. You have earned their trust many times over."

That trust is what she feared. They had won freedom from the Empire for Aésadel after too long an occupation. But they were challenging longstanding borders now, reclaiming old territory, and the Empire wouldn't give ground so easily. The rebel army, all of her people, wanted to fight back against the Empire; Jayde could only pray that it wouldn't cost them their freedom altogether. The Empire had been harsh masters during their previous occupation, and they would offer no mercy if they should sink their claws into it again.

Still, Jayde forced herself to lift her chin and walk alongside Luther as the crowd parted for them. She would lead them, through victory or ruin, she and Luther would fight for them as they had ever since the day they promised to take back Aésadel. This was a battle from which they couldn't back down.

Standing at the front of the marketplace, Jayde met the eyes of her soldiers, her commanding officers, and saw reflected there the same hardened determination that she felt in this moment. The crowd thrummed with an infectious energy, a promise of a world that would finally be different.

"Tomorrow," Luther called, his gaze sweeping across the crowd that quieted beneath his words, "We ride to victory."

Tomorrow, they would discover either freedom or a new sort of hell.