ROYAL BLOOD 👑

Chapter 3: Bonds of Courage

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As a day stretched into days, Elara found herself ensconced within the walls of Master Thorne's cottage, the passage of time marked only by the shifting hues of the sky and the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. The cottage itself exuded an air of rustic charm, with weathered wooden beams overhead and sunlight streaming in through the lace-curtained windows.

Each morning, Elara would rise with the dawn, the smell of fresh bread wafting through the air as she prepared breakfast for Lena and herself. The kitchen, though modest in size, was filled with warmth and homeliness, its shelves lined with jars of preserves and baskets of freshly picked herbs from the garden outside.

Throughout the day, Elara would busy herself with household chores, finding solace in the mundane tasks that kept her hands and mind occupied. She would sweep the floors, dust the furniture, and tend to the garden, the earthy scent of soil mingling with the sweet fragrance of blossoming flowers.

In the afternoons, when the sun hung low in the sky and the heat of the day began to wane, Elara and Lena would venture outside to explore the surrounding countryside. They would wander through fields of wildflowers, their laughter mingling with the gentle rustle of the wind through the trees.

But despite the idyllic surroundings, Elara's anxiety remained ever-present, a shadow that loomed over her every waking moment. With each passing day, her worry for Lysander grew, gnawing at her insides like a hungry beast.

Lena, too, seemed to sense the tension in the air, her innocent inquiries about her brother only serving to amplify Elara's distress. "Elara," she would plead, her eyes wide with concern, "do you think Lysander is okay? Why hasn't he come back yet?"

Elara would offer a forced smile, trying to mask her own apprehension. "I'm sure he's fine, Lena," she would reassure, though her words felt hollow even to her own ears. "He's probably just busy with important knightly duties."

But deep down, Elara couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the pit of her stomach. With each passing day, her worry for Lysander grew, until it consumed her thoughts like a wildfire, casting a dark shadow over even the brightest moments of their time at the cottage.

Master Thorne, too, seemed to be affected by the pall of unease that hung over the cottage. Though normally a pillar of strength and wisdom, he appeared haunted by his own thoughts, his usually jovial demeanor replaced by a solemn silence.

"Master Thorne," Elara would implore, her voice tinged with desperation, "please, can't you tell me anything? What's happening at the castle? Why won't anyone speak of Lysander?"

But Master Thorne would simply shake his head, his expression grave. "Child," he would murmur, his voice heavy with sorrow, "there are some truths that are best left unsaid. For now, all we can do is wait and hope for the best."

Outside the cottage, the world continued to turn, oblivious to the turmoil that raged within its walls. The trees swayed in the breeze, their branches rustling softly as if whispering secrets to the wind. The fields stretched out before them, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, a tranquil scene that belied the chaos that lurked just beyond the horizon.

But within the confines of Master Thorne's cottage, time seemed to stand still, each moment stretching out into eternity as they waited for news of Lysander's fate. And as the day turned into a week, Elara found herself clinging to hope with a desperation born of fear, praying for the day when they would finally receive word of his return.

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As dusk settled over Eldermire, casting long shadows across the landscape, the air crackled with an unspoken tension. The trees swayed in the evening breeze, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers against the fading light. In the distance, the faint sounds of nocturnal creatures echoed through the stillness, adding to the eerie atmosphere that hung over the countryside.