Mihca held her head high as she armed the last of her grace to her heart. The caustic smell of her perfume that night was neither banishing or comforting the loath she bore as the young apprentice stood in front of the noble’s door. Her parents had signed this contract and their daughter must honor it without complaint. When the door opened, it did not surprise her to find the Lord Sodson Christiya inviting entry himself and the absent smile a beau would give to a midnight tryst.

The private room was dark and cold, its long blue drapes that those of Cheron loved so much covered the shy of Oria’s light outside. Mihca heard the soft click of the door’s lock after being shut and she knew there was no turning back. The noble’s old croaking voice chilled her naked spine when he said, “I understand you are not private to my failures of boring an heir, apprentice?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It means then if you fail me this, you are prepared to die.”

It was not a question. It was after all written in the agreement. What Mihca feared most was not the noble’s baren luck but the negligence of Thravadin once death claimed her. The goddess was not accepting a woman who will sleep with another man once the first provided nothing of a child. Both her parents and of the masters of Skiethalon know this information as well. Once she is pregnant, she will be announced as mistress and lady to the bountiful fields of Chrasya.

The room was not as all fogged as she had found the old man already on his bed naked, waiting for her to top him. “It will be faster if you take off your clothing child,” he said to her, bored in his tone.

She was barely clothed altogether, Mihca had wished to defied. The chiffon dress had only covered her front portion while it met down to the waist. Bitterness plagued her as she had to walk to this part of the palace while the volume of her chest and bottom were kindly present to the naked eye. She bit her lip and shrugged the tie of the clothing on her neck which dropped the last of her disguise. Without being beckoned, Mihca side stepped to the lord’s bed and climbed him with effort. She had to be careful to not break the old man’s bones as he sprawled more to accommodate her.

What followed was a blur. Fortunate for the Lord to have claimed her first, having to break the hymen as a sign that Faraforn kept their deal. Their daughter was their quill, the pain and blood were their ink, and the future heir was the stamp that sealed the contract. It was to Mihca’s freedom to find who will deliver the parchment to its promised recipient.

After reading its contents of schedules, with belted anger Alcvin mashed it in his hand. The smell of burning paper puffed through the quarter face of Oria’s night air, the High Adjunct’s roughed hand printed ash on his fingertips. It was his wife’s bear hug that warmed the cold air of the balcony, much to his own delight was also the brewing storm in his mind.

“If we act against the Federacy, love, they will have suspicion,” she tried to reason with him.

“They already have.” Still taking in her embrace, he turned to his wife with the most affectionate smile. He did not know however, that the Lady Dasia saw his darken grin, the celestial up above reminding her of her husband’s shadow. “I cannot risk more of your men,” he continued. “Their presence in the palace will largely hold Oldotre a threat to the present houses. Zahroh, my flower," he had palmed her chubby cheeks when she grunted protest. “I may not be strong to your eyes but I already have called for assistance. He can help without ---…”

“Without me!” She staggered away from him, her eyes glittering with young tears. Her displeasure had always troubled Alcvin greatly. “I did my best to shepherd you away from his dark dealings. Now they have called it Tarmorein. You told me none of this!” His wife may have desertion to courtly laughs but she knew how to whisper to him angrily. “If you become responsible to the corruption of our entire region. Let the entire realm know that I was faithful to my husband, not to the cursed one.”

She was heaving. Hard on her breathe although she had worn her sleeping gown. Alcvin could only kissed her roughly. Pride to his heart to have a partner such as she, but no virtue did he give to his surrogate family. His wife was warm and her cheeks were puffed red when he had let go of her lips. Blood smartly dripped where he had bit her but no carnal desires could deter his resolution, even with her devotion.

“The Chrav will not wait longer to have their new Cheron King.” He dug on her neck, sucking it lovingly as she groaned. “I have played enough politics to know my brother will fall with his comrades as he should have long ago. It is with the curse one will I will truly be named High King.”

He had started to undress her from the hips while his continual pecks ran on her open shoulders when she swayed, “goddess.” She had grown tired perhaps of the path he was in when she then pushed him away. Alcvin drew his attention to her face, one to question her refusal. Tears rained down on her cheeks when she said, “if you disgrace Thravadin, then you shall not have the body and eth that she made me.”

She had now faced her back to him. Alcvin felt both confusion and exasperation sink in as he watched his wife slink away inside their room. She dares not commit to their marriage, he boiled inside.

For all his intelligence in the field of battle and the arcane, the High Adjunct was ignorant to the wisdom that was brought by women. She paused at her feet and declared what justice she now sees for him and his family. The last of her defiance and thread she had for him, “But I am still your wife. And to be a wife I shall be your light in the dark tunnel you bring us. And I to be a mother to my children, holding their hands with you in this journey.”