Episode 98

The scent of pine and damp earth clung to the air, a familiar perfume that had always soothed Amalie’s restless soul. Now, in her late adolescence, the small cottage Vlad had built for her within the castle walls felt less like a sanctuary and more like a gilded cage. The rough-hewn stone, once a symbol of her safety, now seemed to press in, a constant reminder of her immobility. She traced the patterns of moss growing between the stones outside her window, her fingers rough and calloused from hours of embroidery, her only true solace.

Vlad visited her regularly, his imposing shadow falling across her small world. He brought her herbs for her teas, sometimes a book bound in worn leather, its pages filled with tales of valiant knights and ancient lore. He spoke little, his gruff voice a low rumble that never quite masked the underlying tenderness she had come to recognize. He would watch her, his piercing gaze sweeping over her, assessing her health, her comfort, his silence more eloquent than any speech. He never spoke of his feelings, but Amalie understood. This was not a king and his subject; it was a guardian and his charge, a protector and his most precious possession.

One crisp autumn afternoon, a chill that had nothing to do with the weather settled over Amalie. A group of visiting nobles, their laughter boisterous and their footsteps heavy, had passed too close to her hidden dwelling. Their voices, laced with curiosity, drifted towards her window. “What is this place?” one had sneered, his tone dismissive. “Some forgotten corner of the castle, perhaps?” Another, bolder, had begun to approach her door.