Chapter 5 — Sold for Gold and Safety
Elowen Ashmere learned the value of silence long before she learned how to read.
Silence meant fewer blows.
Silence meant fewer accusations.
Silence meant surviving another day in a house that had never once been hers.
She was polishing the silver tray in the east sitting room when the bell rang.
Not the servant's bell.
The family bell.
It echoed through the manor like a summons to judgment.
Her fingers froze.
Mistress Halwen, the housekeeper, paused in the doorway. For once, the older woman's sharp mouth did not twist with irritation. Instead, her expression held something closer to pity.
"Elowen," she said quietly, "Lord Ashmere requests your presence. Immediately."
Elowen swallowed.
Her hands were still damp from the polishing solution, the smell of lemon and metal clinging to her skin. She wiped them on her apron, smoothing the fabric out of habit, as if cleanliness could protect her from whatever waited beyond that door.
"Yes, Mistress," she said, bowing her head.
She always bowed.
As she walked the familiar corridor toward the family solar, every step felt heavier than the last. The manor was quiet, unnaturally so. Even the servants were scarce, as though the house itself had drawn in a breath and was waiting.
The solar doors stood open.
Inside sat Lord Ashmere, Lady Ashmere, and Maribel.
All three were smiling.
That alone was enough to make Elowen's stomach twist.
She stopped at the threshold and lowered herself into a deep curtsey, eyes fixed on the carpet.
"You summoned me, my lord?"
"Yes, yes, come in," Lord Ashmere said, waving a lazy hand. "Stand there. No need for theatrics."
Elowen obeyed, folding her hands in front of her, shoulders drawn inward. She did not look up.
Lady Ashmere sat rigidly beside her husband, hands folded atop her silk skirts. Her gaze was sharp and assessing, as though she were looking at livestock.
Maribel reclined in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, a smirk playing on her painted lips.
"Elowen," Maribel said sweetly, "you should be grateful. Truly."
Elowen said nothing.
Lord Ashmere leaned forward, fingers steepled. "We have received an offer."
Her heart stuttered.
An offer.
She had heard that word before usually in relation to alliances, trade routes, dowries. Never once had it involved her.
"An… offer, my lord?" she asked carefully.
"Yes," he said. "A most generous one. From Blackspire."
The name struck like a blade.
Blackspire.
Even Elowen, who was rarely allowed to leave the manor and had never attended court, knew that name. Everyone did.
The fortress at the edge of the kingdom. The land where the sun seemed to dim. The seat of the Void King.
The warlord.
The monster.
Her fingers curled into her palms.
Lady Ashmere finally spoke. "Lord Kael Draven of Blackspire has requested a bride."
Elowen's breath caught.
Maribel laughed softly. "Requested is a generous word, Mother. He demanded. With terms."
Lord Ashmere waved that away. "Regardless. He has offered gold. Military protection. A binding alliance."
Elowen's mind struggled to keep up. "A… bride?" she echoed faintly.
Lady Ashmere's gaze sharpened. "Do not insult us by pretending ignorance, girl."
Maribel leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "You are to be married, Elowen."
The words did not land all at once.
Married.
To him.
The room seemed to tilt.
"I " Elowen's voice faltered. "Forgive me, but surely… surely Lord Draven would wish for "
"A noblewoman?" Maribel finished mockingly. "Someone of worth?"
Her smile widened.
"That," Maribel said, "is precisely why he wants you."
Elowen's stomach churned. "I don't understand."
Lord Ashmere sighed, as though bored. "Blackspire does not require beauty or lineage. He requires compliance. A wife with no powerful family, no alliances of her own. A woman who will not interfere."
Lady Ashmere added coolly, "A woman who can be discarded if necessary."
The words struck deeper than any slap.
Elowen's lips parted, but no sound came out.
Maribel rose from her chair and circled her slowly, like a cat around a trapped bird.
"You should be honored," she said. "Your existence finally has value."
Elowen trembled.
"I I am only a maid," she whispered. "I know nothing of being a wife. I would not serve him well."
"That is not your concern," Lord Ashmere snapped. "Your concern is obedience."
Lady Ashmere stood. "You will leave in three days."
Three days.
Elowen's knees nearly gave out.
"To Blackspire," Lady Ashmere continued. "You will be wed upon arrival. The contract has already been signed."
The world went very, very quiet.
"You sold me," Elowen said.
It was not an accusation.
It was a realization.
Lord Ashmere scoffed. "Sold implies you had ownership to begin with."
Maribel laughed.
Elowen felt something crack inside her chest not loudly, not dramatically, but with a quiet finality.
"I see," she said.
She bowed.
Not shallow. Not hurried.
A deep, perfect bow.
"Then I will prepare myself," she said softly. "As is my duty."
She turned and left before they could see her hands shaking.
The servants' quarters were cold.
Elowen sat on the edge of her narrow bed, staring at the wall as the truth settled into her bones.
She was being sent to Blackspire.
To a man rumored to kill his enemies with a thought.
To a lord whose lands swallowed armies whole.
To a husband who had never once been described as merciful.
She hugged her knees to her chest.
Fear crept in slowly, like frost.
She thought of the stories the whispers of screams echoing through the void, of shadow beasts guarding the warlord's halls, of wives who vanished.
Her breath came shallow.
At least, a small voice whispered, it cannot be worse than here.
That thought startled her.
She pressed her forehead to her knees and laughed once, weakly.
Perhaps the monster would kill her.
Perhaps he would ignore her.
Perhaps he would be cruel.
But here, she was already nothing.
A knock sounded at her door.
She flinched.
"Elowen," Mistress Halwen said quietly. "May I come in?"
Elowen wiped her face quickly. "Yes."
The older woman entered, holding a folded bundle of fabric.
"I heard," she said softly.
Of course she had. News traveled fast when it involved gold.
Mistress Halwen placed the bundle on the bed. "These were my mother's. Not much, but clean. Warm."
Elowen stared at the clothes.
"Why?" she asked.
Mistress Halwen hesitated. "Because no one should go to their wedding dressed like a servant."
Elowen's throat burned.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The woman squeezed her shoulder once before leaving.
That night, Elowen lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Somewhere far beyond the manor walls, Blackspire waited.
And so did the warlord who had bought her.
She did not know yet that he had never intended to own her.
Only that everything she had been told about monsters was about to be tested.