Mate 13 - Duty

Sage

After the ceremony, Elder Hedwig informed me that he would remain at the temple to assist in purifications, meaning I would return to the palace first. The carriage rocked gently as I stared out the window, watching the towering spires of the temple fade into the distance. The blessing ceremony had done little to ease the turmoil inside me. My mind was still plagued with questions, with whispers of the voice I had heard in the Holy Water.

Everything I had endured. Every rejection, every cruel word, every moment of loneliness—was it all because of something beyond my control? If so, who was responsible? And why?

The voice had told me to uncover the truth. But where was I supposed to begin?

Also, Elder Hedwig had urged me to be strong, to secure my place in the empire, but the weight of rejection clung to me like a second skin. Damien’s cold words still echoed in my mind, cutting through my thoughts like a blade. I clenched my fists on my lap, trying to suppress the ache in my chest.

“Stop the carriage,” I suddenly said, my voice firm. The footman hesitated but obeyed, pulling the reins.

“My lady?” one of the maids asked, her tone laced with thinly veiled disdain.

“I need to stop by the market,” I said, pushing the door open.

“The market?” Lea asked. “Surely, we can send someone to fetch whatever you need.”

“I’ll go myself.”

The maids exchanged glances. “Then we will accompany you,” one of them said, stepping forward.

“No.” My voice was sharper than before. “Only Lea will come with me.”

The others bristled at my decision, but Lea, the only one who had shown me kindness since my arrival, nodded silently and stepped forward. The others didn’t argue, though their irritation was clear as they stepped aside.

Lea and I walked through the bustling streets, and a strange nostalgia settled over me. The scent of freshly baked bread mixed with the crisp autumn air, the chatter of merchants calling out their wares, the laughter of children weaving through the crowd—it reminded me of my childhood.

I used to walk these kinds of streets with my mother.

She would hold my hand tightly, leading me through markets just like this one, pointing out trinkets and colorful fabrics. We never had much, but she always made sure to buy me a small treat.

“Mom, can we get another?” I asked her once when I was little, tugging on her sleeve as we stood before a street vendor selling skewers.

She smiled, brushing my hair from my face. “We can only afford one, my love. But that makes it taste even better, doesn’t it?”

I blinked back the memory as a street vendor’s voice pulled me back to the present. An elderly woman held out a tray of skewers, her wrinkled face warm with a smile.

“Would you like to try, my lady? Two for a fair price.”

I hesitated, my fingers brushing the coins in my hand. The thought struck me—now, I could afford as many as I wanted. But the hollow ache in my chest made me realize that without my mother beside me, it didn’t feel the same.

Still, I offered the woman a smile and nodded. “I’ll take two.”

As I handed her the coins, a loud voice called out nearby. “Come! Gather around! A performance in the plaza is about to begin!”

A small crowd rushed past us, heading toward the open space ahead. Curiosity tugged at me, and without thinking, I found myself following them.

Lea hesitated but stayed close, concern flickering in her eyes. “My lady, are you sure—?”

“I want to see,” I said softly, already moving toward the plaza.

The performance had already begun. Dancers in flowing silks moved like water, their movements graceful, effortless. Music swelled around them, filling the air with a hauntingly beautiful melody. The lead dancer twirled, her expression serene, as if she had been born for this moment.

And then, as I watched them, something in me cracked.

The way the music wove through the air, the way the dancers moved—it reminded me of my mother. She used to dance for me when I couldn’t sleep, her voice humming softly, her hands twirling in the dim candlelight of our small home.

I had been so young, but I still remembered the warmth of those moments, the way her laughter had felt like home.

Tears welled in my eyes. I tried to blink them away, but they fell anyway, streaking down my cheeks in hot trails. My chest tightened, my breath hitching as memories flooded me.

“Mom . . . .” The word slipped from my lips, barely a whisper.

Lea noticed. “My lady?”

I quickly wiped at my face, shaking my head. “It’s nothing.” But the trembling in my voice betrayed me.

Lea hesitated before stepping closer. “You miss someone important to you.”

I swallowed hard, nodding. “Every day.”

The music swelled, weaving through the air like an enchantment, filling the plaza with its hauntingly beautiful melody. I closed my eyes, allowing the sound to wash over me, soothing the ache in my chest, the one that had been growing ever since I stepped foot in the palace. For a brief moment, the weight of my reality faded, lost in the harmony of strings and the gentle hum of voices singing in a language I didn’t understand but felt deep in my bones.

Then, a sharp voice sliced through the reverie, shattering the moment.

“There you are.”

My heart stilled, my breath catching in my throat. The voice was unmistakable—sharp, commanding, filled with an icy edge that sent a chill down my spine.

Damien.

He stood at the edge of the crowd, his piercing blue eyes locked onto me with an unreadable expression. Even in the dim lantern light, his presence was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the warmth of the atmosphere around me.

I stiffened, forcing myself to stand tall as I turned to face him. “What are you doing here?”

His jaw tightened. “I should be asking you that.” His gaze flicked briefly to Lea who had been by my side the entire time, before settling back on me with a glare sharp enough to cut steel. “You left the carriage. Alone.”

I lifted my chin. “Not alone. Lea was with me.”

“That’s not the point.” His voice dropped, low and laced with irritation. “You shouldn’t be wandering around unguarded.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

His expression darkened. “Can you?” He stepped closer, the space between us dwindling to nothing. “Because from what I see, you’re too caught up in foolish sentiment to realize how dangerous it is out here.”

Anger flared in my chest, hot and uncontrollable. “Foolish sentiment?” I repeated, my voice trembling. “You mean having a heart? Missing the only family I ever had?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “I mean allowing weakness to control you.”

Something inside me snapped. “Why do you care? Besides, if kindness is weakness, then I’d rather be weak than be like you.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and charged. His eyes flickered, a brief moment of something I couldn’t quite place passing through them. But then, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, replaced once more by the cold detachment that had become his shield.

“You’ll return to the palace. Now.”

I clenched my fists. Every part of me wanted to resist, to defy him. But the reality of my situation loomed over me, unyielding. I had no power. Swallowing my pride, I nodded stiffly. “Fine.”

Damien turned on his heel, expecting me to follow without question. And I did. But as I walked, my steps were steady and deliberate.

The ride back was silent.

The rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels against the cobblestone road was the only sound between us. Lea sat beside me, offering a reassuring squeeze of my hand, but even her presence couldn’t dispel the tension that filled the space.

Damien sat across from me, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the window as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. The muscle in his jaw ticked, a telltale sign of restrained anger, but he said nothing.

Minutes stretched into eternity. The quiet was suffocating, pressing down on me, yet I refused to be the first to break it. If he wanted to stew in his frustration, let him.

Finally, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “What were you thinking?”

I glanced at him, feigning innocence. “I thought that was obvious. I wanted to hear the music.”

His gaze snapped to mine, eyes narrowing. “You risked your safety for a song?”

I held his stare, unflinching. “I risked nothing. I was in a public space, surrounded by people. No one even noticed me.”

“That’s not the point,” he ground out. “If something happened to you—”

“But nothing did.”

His hands curled into fists. “You don’t understand the danger—”

“No, Damien,” I interrupted, my voice steady. “You don’t understand.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the certainty in my tone.

For a moment, he said nothing. The intensity of his gaze bore into me, searching, unraveling.

Then, he sighed, running a hand through his brown hair, his frustration evident. “You’re impossible.”

I smirked. “So I’ve been told.”

A flicker of something—amusement?—crossed his face, but it disappeared just as quickly. He leaned back, arms crossed once more, shaking his head.

“You shouldn’t have to fight this hard,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.

I tilted my head, studying him. “Then stop making me.”

His eyes met mine again, and for the first time, I saw something beneath the ice—a crack, a glimpse of the man behind the mask. But before I could say anything, he straightened, his expression hardening once more.

“I don’t care what you do,” he said, his voice cold. “You are my responsibility, nothing more.” The words hit like a slap, sharp and unforgiving.

I swallowed hard, keeping my expression blank. “Then why do you care what I do?”

He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before turning away. “Because it’s my duty.”

After we arrived, he stepped out of the carriage, leaving me with the weight of his words.