The Summer King and His Winter Bride-Chapter 51: Gone

The doors opened and a gust of wind blew out the fire that was burning in the fireplace.

A menservant entered, stumbling, pale and breathless.

"Your Majesty. General Theron has gone with Lady Violet."

Queen Arabella rose slowly from her gilded throne-like chair. The folds of her dark purple velvet gown whispered against the cold stone floor as she advanced. Her eyes, sharp as cut glass, narrowed until they became slits of pure fury.

"Gone where?" Her voice was calm.

The menservant swallowed. "They’ve crossed the borders together. The sentries said they rode at dawn, fast and light with no guard, no escort and no permission."

Silence followed.

Then the wine glass in Arabella’s hand shattered against the marble wall.

"She ran away with Theron? That insolent, oath-breaking general?" Arabella’s voice echoed across the room like a thunderclap.

The menservant dared not speak.

"I gave that man his title," she hissed. "I raised him from nothing. He was mine to command and she was set on becoming my heir and princess of the Autumn Court!

A lady in waiting stepped forward, trying to soothe her. "Your Majesty, perhaps she..."

Arabella whirled on her. "Do not speak of perhaps when the knife is already inside my back!"

Her breath came in short, seething bursts. She stalked to the windows, flinging it open. Cold wind tore through the chamber lifting the sheer drapes like clouds.

"They’ve made a fool of me," she whispered, her voice shaking with rage and betrayal. "My own daughter. My own blood. Whom I sacrificed to keep safe, to keep our house from falling apart."

Then her expression shifted. Hardened. A glint of calculation entered her eyes.

"They will regret this," she said softly. "I don’t care if she is my daughter. They will not outrun my wrath."

She turned to her guards. "Send riders. I want them found. Bring them back in chains if you must."

The guards hesitated.

Arabella’s gaze flared and she screamed. "Go."

Like lightening under her storm, they vanished leaving the queen alone with her fury and the growing sting of a mother’s heartbreak, masked by the weight of her crown.

The shattered wineglass still lay in the corner, forgotten. The queen’s heavy heels echoed as she returned to her chambers. Her ladies in waiting fled, leaving her only in silence and with scattered papers on her desk.

Her gaze then fell on it.

A folded parchment with the royal seal.

Arabella’s hand trembled, just once, as she reached for it.

She unfolded it slowly.

Her daughter’s handwriting.

To My Mother, the Queen...

As she read, the flickering candle beside her went untouched. Her chest rose and fell with the measured breaths of someone forcing stillness.

But her face cracked. Not completely but the mask wavered. Her mouth trembled once. Her fingers clenched the paper like it was the only thing tethering her to the room.

Please don’t make me your enemy...

She closed her eyes.

"She thinks I don’t feel," Arabella whispered into the quiet. "She thinks all I care about is the crown."

She stood abruptly, walking to the mirror.

"She doesn’t understand that everything I have ever done was to keep her safe."

The queen stared at her reflection for a long moment.

"She made her choice, and now I’ll make mine." She whispered to herself.

She turned to her captain of guard, who waited at the threshold like a shadow.

"Send scouts to the southern forest. There’s a safehouse by the Wildbrook cliffs. They’ll go there. He’ll think it’s far enough."

The captain bowed, already turning.

Arabella held the letter tightly.

"She thinks love will protect her from me," she murmured. "Let’s see how long that illusion lasts."

At the Wildbrook Cliffs, Violet slid off her horse, boots crunching gravel. Her braid had come undone, her hair was tangled from the ride. She looked back at Theron with a mix of exhaustion and wonder.

They’d made it.

Nestled between jagged cliffs and trees, the stone cottage stood like a forgotten relic of an older world one her mother had long buried.

Violet touched the weather-worn door.

"I came here as a child, with my nursemaid. Before Mother had her sent away." She said quietly.

Theron dismounted beside her. "It will do us good until we figure out where to go next."

She turned to him, the wind catching her cloak. "I’m not afraid."

He smiled faintly. "You should be. You just outran the queen of the Autumn Court."

"I outran my mother. It’s different."

They stepped inside, and the moment the door shut, Violet let herself fall into his arms. It was the exhaustion of two people who had risked everything and had finally stopped running.

He kissed her forehead. "Sleep. I’ll keep watch."

A hawk circled once, then twice, before diving into the trees.

Below, three cloaked figures emerged from the underbrush. One knelt on the ground, fingers brushing hoofprints in the mud.

"They were here an hour ago," the scout murmured. "Two riders.

The lead figure, a woman, lowered her hood.

Captain Irina, commander of Arabella’s elite guard.

"Orders?" asked the scout.

Irina’s eyes lit with triumph.

"We wait until dawn."

In the cottage, Violet stirred from a fitful sleep. Theron sat by the window, hand on his sword hilt.

"Can’t sleep?" she asked.

He didn’t look at her. "No birdsong."

"What?"

"Nothing’s singing. No rustling. No wind."

Violet frowned. "You think...."

A single arrow shattered the window.

Theron ducked and rolled, grabbing his sword. Violet grabbed her satchel which was half packed.

Outside, a voice rang out.

"Lady Violet. General Theron. By royal command of Queen Arabella, you are ordered to surrender."

Violet’s hand trembled. "She found us."

Theron’s jaw clenched. "We have one shot through the back trail. I’ll clear it."

"No," Violet said, eyes burning. "We go together. Always."

He met her gaze. Nodded.

They clasped hands and ran.

Thick mist pooled low over the ground like cotton on the fields. The cottage stood silent, the broken window left open.

Captain Irina stepped forward, flanked by cloaked soldiers. The queen’s elite guards trained in silence, loyal to no one but Arabella.

She raised her voice again, clear and commanding:

"Lady Violet daughter of the Autumn Court. You are charged with unlawful elopement. Surrender now, and General Theron may yet be shown mercy."

Inside, Violet stiffened. Her breath hitched.

"They always go for the one you love," she whispered.

Theron’s voice was steady. "Let them try."

He kicked open the back door and they sprinted into the trees, ducking low under branches, boots slamming into the muddy ground.

A sharp whistle pierced the atmosphere.

Arrows rained down.

Theron grabbed Violet’s hand and pulled her sideways behind a tree as an arrow struck the bark just above her head.

"They’ll capture us," he muttered. "She trained them to trap wolves."

"I’m not a wolf," Violet said, voice shaking. "I’m the wind their trying to rein in."

Something burned in her chest not fear, not rage, but the will to fight and it wanted out.

Captain Irina spotted them breaking through the tree line edge.

She raised her arm, giving the signal.

But before the arrows could fly, Violet turned around.

Her cloak whipped like wings. Her eyes gleamed with something more than defiance and then the winds came.

It burst from her palms in ribbons, wild, swirling like a tornado.

The guards stumbled back, startled by the strong gusts of winds that blew over them.

"She shouldn’t have that power," one of them whispered. "It belongs to the firstborn line..."

"She is the firstborn," said another. "She’s Arabella’s heir."

Captain Irina’s eyes narrowed.

Violet staggered backward into Theron’s arms.

"I didn’t know I could do that," she whispered.

"We’ll figure it out later," he said. "Run."

They turned but another figure stood in their path now.

Cloaked. Hooded. Still.

Theron raised his blade, shielding Violet behind him.

"I won’t let you take her."

The figure raised a hand. "I’m not here to take her."

She pulled down her hood.

Cynthia Liora Aurelius.

Cousin to King Casimir. Fireborn. Secret weapon of the old bloodline.

Her eyes locked with Violet’s. There was no warmth, only fierce calculation and a flicker of kinship.

"You just told the world you’re not your mother," she said. "Now come with me before Arabella sends something worse."

Violet blinked. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because Casimir will want to know the queen’s daughter just became a weapon she can’t control." Cynthia replied.

A pause.

Then Cynthia smiled with glee.

"Besides, I’m rather fond of rebels."

Cynthia led them into a narrow canyon veiled in glamour. The trees closed behind them like gates. Violet clung to Theron’s hands as her footsteps were unsteady.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the one place your mother’s shadow doesn’t reach," Cynthia said.

Violet turned to Theron, tears in her eyes, but he cupped her cheek.

"You’re the wind," he whispered. "And I’ll follow you wherever you go."