SONG VIBE: Set Me Free Pt.2 — Jimin

  ________

  SAPHIRA

  Cathedra Aeternum, Renatus

  She glanced up at her new husband, her request lingering between them. He gave no acknowledgment of her plea, no recognition of her words—only a cold expression as he looked at her father.

  Please, don't tell him my secret. She looked down at her lap. Don't let him see your panic.

  "Your Grace," Nocturne said, tipping his head, though not standing.

  "You are taking care of her, no?" Crassus purred. "I would hate to see my daughter unhappy, Lord Nocturne."

  As if he's ever cared. Saphira tensed, her fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet. She knew her father’s voice all too well—calm, measured, always carrying the weight of unspoken intentions that not even I can discern.

  Nocturne lifted his cup, sipping slowly, his expression unreadable as he looked Duke Crassus up and down. When he finally spoke, his voice was smooth, indifferent. “I can assure you, Your Grace, my vows have not—and will not—change. My wife’s wellbeing—” he looked critically at the Duke, almost as a challenge “—is my greatest concern.”

  Saphira flicked her gaze up, watching as her father gave a well-practised chuckle, the expression on his ageless face kept carefully pleasant.

  “Nobody cares more about a girl’s safety than her own father.” Crassus’ eyes lingered on her for a moment too long, and a chill crawled up her spine before he turned his attention back to Nocturne. “You ride at dawn, do you not?”

  "I do."

  “A noble cause. I pray that the Almighty will grant you strength in such a…” he paused, stewing over the word “…such a hopeless battle.”

  “I would not enter such a deal with you if it were hopeless. Your spawnlord will be slain, and when it is done, I will take my wife back to Firestone and enjoy the rewards of our contract.” Nocturne glanced at Saphira, his voice softening just slightly. “She has been most charming, so far.”

  “I am glad you have found her pleasing, Count,” Duke Crassus said, his lips curling into a thin, calculating smile. “Though that may change. But… if you are partial to good looks and a sweet temperament, you picked the wrong sister.” With a soft chuckle, he continued, his tone colder. “My eldest daughter is inclined to speak too much and think too little. She will require a heavy hand of discipline. A man of common upbringing may not understand the challenge of noble women.”

  Above: "My eldest daughter is inclined to speak too much and think too little." -- Duke Crassus

  Saphira could feel her pulse hammering in her ears, the blood rushing in her veins as she clenched her hands around the goblet. She could feel Nocturne’s eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. Not now. Please don’t make Father angry.

  “In the mountains, we do not need to discipline our women.” Nocturne’s gloved hand tightened—almost imperceptibly.

  “Discipline may be required to get this one to the marriage bed. At the very least, ensure that your union is properly sealed before you depart.”

  Saphira inhaled sharply, heat flooding her face. Celestine was right. Father really is trading me for Golgog. But will he let me leave Renatus once it is done?

  Nocturne, however, remained motionless, his gaze unwavering, his expression impassive.

  “A man in your position cannot be too careful—or forceful." Crassus’ eyes grew dark. “You must secure an heir, after all—a legacy to carry on. And should misfortune befall you while you’re on campaign…” He trailed off, then let out a thoughtful hum. “It would be a shame if there were any… doubts.”

  Saphira’s stomach twisted. Something isn’t right. She followed her father’s gaze to her bouquet resting on the table beside her drink. White lilies and mountain daisies—why does it feel so wrong?

  “I’ll see to it. The marriage will be sealed tonight.” Nocturne's gaze flicked back to Crassus, unreadable. “You have my word.”

  “Excellent." Her father exhaled, satisfied. He lifted Saphira’s goblet in a silent toast and took a sip. "Your chamber is prepared. Good hunting, Lord Nocturne. May your fate be different to the rest who have tried.”

  As her father’s footsteps faded into the distance, Saphira dared a glance at Nocturne.

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  His fingers rested on the pommel of his dagger. A storm brewed behind his eyes—cold, calculating, and burning with the fury of restrained violence.

  Saphira swallowed hard, gripping her goblet tighter. Please don’t leave me here.

  His voice came low and rough, vibrating through the charged silence. “If he weren’t your father, I’d have knocked his teeth in for speaking to you like that.”

  “You didn’t have to—”

  “I don’t care if it’s Edwin. You’re my wife.” He turned to her fully now, and the storm behind his umber eyes softened, not as a knight or a killer, but as a man who made a sacred vow. "Your secret is safe. I'll not be the cause of harm to you."

  He really meant it. Saphira’s breath caught. Nobody has ever stood up for me like that.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  Then, Nocturne rose in one smooth motion, lifted his goblet of wine high, and shouted for the hall to hear, “—a drink, to my bride!”

  The Ashen Blades sprang to their feet, declaring, “Hear, hear!”

  “And let us drink to our union!” Nocturne sipped, adding, “And to the death of Golgog!”

  The hall broke out into an exuberant celebration, crashing their goblets together and drinking until the bottoms of their goblets were dry. Saphira slipped her goblet under her veil and sipped politely.

  “Now—” Nocturne said, gulping down the last of his wine, “—I know you are all eager to see Golgog slain, so I will lay with my wife and be on my way.” He smiled without wrinkling the skin around his eyes. “Would you like to see your spawnlord?”

  The mage stood up and, with one big yank, pulled the sheet away from the mysterious object. Underneath waited a large sheet of silver, beaten and polished so it shone as a mirror. Augustus, with his blackened fingernails, cut into his finger and dropped his own blood onto the mirror.

  Above: Augustus is ready to use the mirror.

  “August, show them.”

  With a gasp, everyone in the room stood, flocking to the mirror, pushing and shoving to gain a better place, the heat of the room swelling as the crowds packed in together. Crassus sat up straighter, trying very hard not to look as though he was craning his neck to see.

  The polished surface of the mirror swirled and moved. Saphira could see a rocky outcrop, surrounded by burning trees, a village nearby, and then, a huge clawed foot rake through the earth, crushing the vegetation below. She let out a small yelp.

  Saphira felt her hands tingle as the magic pulled around her fingers. She turned to her husband and said, “Are you really going to kill—?” Her words faded on her tongue as she saw the seat of her husband empty.

  A heavy, gloved hand rested on her shoulder, and a gruff voice muttered, “Let’s retire to our chambers early.”

  Saphira looked upwards and saw Nocturne had again donned his cowl. “Why the hood? Do you think I’ll bite?”

  The image in the mirror faded.

  He grunted, and simply shouted to the hall, “To our chamber!”

  The crowd was again roused. The women separated, flocking over to Saphira, and the men surrounded Nocturne. The women cried fake tears, handing Saphira flowers and kissing her hands and cheeks as she slowly made her way towards the bridal suite. Saphira tried to see above the crowd and saw Nocturne being poked and prodded with any objects the men had on hand—forks, belts, even a stool. His leather armour seemed to only urge the men on in their hazing ritual as each blow was deflected, and he bore each shot with stoic dignity.

  In a surge, Saphira was carried ahead of Nocturne until she found her way into the suite alone. The door was slammed shut behind her.

  Quickly, Saphira pulled Celestine’s vial and dabbed a small amount of oil onto her fingertip. She reached down under her skirts and dabbed the oil between her thighs. She smelled an intoxicatingly rich, woody scent with sweet notes.

  Now, it won’t hurt, and I won’t be a disappointment to him now.

  She sat on the bed and crossed her ankles, feeling a peculiar warmth spread from between her legs and throughout her whole body. She heard heavy footsteps approach the door. Quickly, Saphira fell into a deep curtsy, keeping her head bowed. He's here. A wild excitement filled her—to, at last, be alone with a man! I'm finally free.

  The door swung open, and Saphira flinched, smelling the dreaded scent of myrrh and amber.

  “You’ve played your part well, my girl." Her father greeted her with a smile of satisfaction. "You’ll go back to your tower now.”

  “Father… what have you done?”

  “Drop the act, Saphira.” He paused, his fingers stroking the dragon’s claw on his cane. “I vowed that he would marry the daughter of his choosing, but it would only be the daughter he bedded who would be waiting for him upon his return.” He smiled without mirth. “I thought you understood—the daisies.”

  “The daisies—?” Tears welled up in Saphira’s eyes. “No! You can’t give him Daisy, he'll know it’s not me!”

  The Duke’s smile was devoid of warmth. “Behind the veil, a man can’t tell.” His voice softened. “Come, child. Do you really think I would allow that peasant to treat you as a plough horse? That’s what Daisy is for.”

  Saphira shook her head in disbelief. “But you promised him. He will slay Golgog—he has killed seven spawnlords already!”

  “It wouldn’t matter if he had killed seventy-seven.” The Duke’s voice grew darker. “A man would need an army to defeat a spawnlord of that power.” His hand gripped his cane, his knuckles turning white. “Even if that knight truly sought out Golgog, he would die, and I would not waste your purity for his amusement, his pride. No—”

  He took a step forward and grabbed Saphira’s trembling hand “—I will have you under guard tonight so that if your hand ever goes on a truthstone, you can swear that you were not the daughter he bedded.”

  Saphira wiped the tears brimming from her violet eyes. Celestine tried to warn me about this. Truthstones only detected what the person believed to be true, and her father had manipulated her into believing she was giving herself to a man for life. How could I be so stupid?

  “I will not give you over to that foreign monster. Your blood is too precious.” Crassus moved to exit, but before he did, he turned, saying, “Only I can keep you safe, Saphira. Remember that.”

  The door locked shut behind her.

  Down the hallway, she could hear the exuberant shouts of the crowds as they escorted Nocturne and his veiled bride into the matrimonial suite.

  Saphira knew what would happen next—the crowds would wait in the hallway, ears to the door, listening for the sounds of the man’s success from within the chamber. When it was all done, they would enter, inspect the sheets, and then parade the stained silks around the courtyard—a humiliating, archaic ritual.

  Disgust and anger filled her, quickly followed by sadness. Nothing has changed, and nothing ever will so long as father rules over my life.

  Numbly, she allowed herself to be escorted back to her tower.

  In the distance, she heard the sounds of the crowds cheering and egging Nocturne on, echoing down the hallway.