novelraw Chapter 83: Imminent
Chapter 83: Imminent
Caelith froze.
For a moment, she did not know what to say.
Rhaegar had already withdrawn his gaze, turning away as though the matter were settled.
"Take him to the imperial prison," he ordered coldly. "See that he is... properly received."
William was mercilessly dragged away, his voice cracking as he shouted, "Lady Caelith, save me—!"
The cries faded, swallowed by the night.
Silence returned to the courtyard.
Yvaine stood to one side, staring after Rhaegar’s departing figure, her eyes shining with something fever-bright.
"Sister," she whispered, leaning close, "did you see that? His presence... his bearing—it’s overwhelming! He is like the devil himself!"
Caelith did not respond.
"You know what that was?" Yvaine went on, almost breathless. "A warning—killing the chicken to frighten the monkeys! He throws William into the imperial prison, and from now on, who would dare cast their eyes upon you? It’s terrifying... but also—"
She let out a small laugh. "—so satisfying."
Caelith turned slowly. Their eyes met. Yvaine faltered.
"What... what is it?"
The answer came in a flash—
Crack.
The sound rang sharp and clear.
Yvaine’s head snapped to the side, her body staggering as the blow struck. Five red marks bloomed across her cheek.
She clutched her face, staring in stunned disbelief.
"You... you struck me?"
Caelith said nothing. Instead, she reached up and drew the dark iron hairpin from her hair.
In the moonlight, its edge gleamed cold—sharp as a blade.
Step by step, she advanced.
Yvaine scrambled backward, her leg catching on the threshold as she fell hard to the ground.
"Sister! Sister—calm yourself!" Her voice broke, trembling with fear. "I was wrong—I know I was wrong!"
Caelith crouched before her.
The tip of the hairpin pressed lightly—yet dangerously—against her throat.
Her voice was quiet.
"Yvaine," she said, "I took you in. Gave you shelter. Food. All because you bear the name Emberlyn."
Yvaine nodded frantically, tears brimming.
"But what happened today..." Caelith’s hand pressed the hairpin just slightly deeper, enough for the skin to dimple, a bead of blood forming. "You know exactly what you did."
Her gaze did not waver.
"This is the first—and the last—warning."
A pause.
"If there is a next time..."
Her voice dropped even lower.
"I will kill you—just as I killed that woman in the prison."
At the memory, Yvaine’s entire body shook violently. She collapsed against the ground, sobbing, scarcely daring to breathe too loudly.
"I was wrong... I truly was... I will never dare again..."
Caelith withdrew the hairpin. Then she rose, leaving her there.
She slid the hairpin back into her hair, her expression cold as she looked down at Yvaine, who still trembled on the ground.
"Get up," she said flatly. "Clean this place. Then prepare another meal."
Yvaine scrambled to her feet, shaking, and hurried to obey.
***
The next morning, Caelith stood in the courtyard, hanging freshly washed clothes beneath the early sun.
A knock came at the door.
It must be him, she thought.
Her steps quickened as she went to open it, but the one standing outside was not Rhaegar.
It was Isabella Tanmin.
Dressed simply, accompanied only by two attendants, she smiled brightly.
"What? Am I not welcome here?"
Caelith paused in surprise, then quickly stepped aside to let her in.
Isabella’s gaze moved slowly over the place—the cracked walls, the broken windows, the chipped water jar in the corner.
The smile on her face faded, little by little.
Her eyes reddened. "You live... in a place like this?"
Caelith gave a faint smile. "It is livable."
"Livable?" Isabella’s voice caught. "Look at these walls, these windows—this place... how can anyone live here?"
Caelith did not argue.
She simply led her to sit upon a stone bench and poured her a cup of tea.
The tea was warm—but coarse, cheap.
Isabella took it, drank a sip... and said nothing.
They sat in silence for a while.
At last, she set the cup down. "Rhaegar has been endlessly occupied these days," she said. "Yet he still sent word to me, asked that I come and see how you fare when I could."
Caelith’s fingers tightened slightly around her cup.
Sunlight spilled across the courtyard, warming them both.
Isabella still held her hand—warm, faintly trembling.
And suddenly, Caelith felt it. Something was wrong.
Isabella was saying too much.
And each time she mentioned Rhaegar... her gaze would shift, just slightly.
"Lady Isabella," Caelith said quietly, "is there something you wish to tell me?"
The woman froze.
After a moment, she spoke.
"My family... has arranged a marriage for me."
"That is good news," Caelith replied. "Your future husband is a lucky man. When the day comes, you must invite me to your wedding feast."
Isabella looked at her, stunned.
Still, she said nothing.
Caelith’s chest tightened, a crushing shudder threatening to break her whole.
Isabella bit her lip.
"Are you not curious," she asked softly, "whom I am to marry?"
Caelith did not answer.
For a moment, she wished she could just turn deaf.
Isabella spoke anyway––the answer was imminent. "...It is Rhaegar."
Everything stilled.
The cup slipped from Caelith’s hand.
It struck the ground with a sharp crack, shattering into pieces. Tea splashed across the floor—several drops landing on the back of her hand, hot enough to make her flinch.
She crouched down to gather the fragments.
A shard cut into her finger.
Blood welled up instantly—bright, vivid, almost blinding.
"Caelith!" Isabella cried, rushing forward to catch her hand. "You’re hurt!"
Caelith lowered her gaze, staring at the blood as though only just aware of it.
"It’s nothing," she said softly, a faint smile touching her lips. "How careless of me."
She set the broken pieces aside, then wiped the tea from her skin with her sleeve.
Isabella stood beside her, watching—her eyes trembling with unshed tears.
"Caelith... you may scold me," she said, her voice shaking. "I know you care for him. I know his heart belongs only to you. But I have no choice... my family decided this. The imperial decree will be issued in a few days."
Caelith lifted her head and looked at her, her gaze almost dead with emptiness.
"Why are you crying, Lady Isabella?" she said quietly. "His Grace deserves the honor. Now, everything is truly the way it’s supposed to be."