Chapter 214: Airam’s Thoughts

Airam opened her eyes abruptly.

For a few seconds, she did not know where she was.

The garden had been so clear.

Then the carriage lurched.

The hard rattle of wheels against the road pulled her fully awake.

Horse hooves struck the ground in a rapid rhythm beyond the carriage walls. Leather harnesses creaked. Metal shifted outside as Valmorian soldiers rode beside the carriage. The vehicle moved fast enough that every uneven stretch of road shook through the wooden frame.

Airam stared at the dark ceiling above her.

It had only been a memory.

A memory from before.

Now she sat inside a Valmorian carriage.

The crest carved into the panel near the door made that impossible to forget. A black crown above a silver sword. The symbol of the Imperial House.

Her father’s House.

Her House.

Airam closed her eyes again.

This was reality.

She was being taken back to Valmoris.

The carriage would reach the nearby harbor before dawn. A ship waited there, Valdris had said. They would cross the sea under Imperial protection and sail east toward the Valmorian Empire.

Toward the palace.

Toward the place Airam had once believed was her home.

She had not expected to see it again.

She had spent years convincing herself that she never would.

Airam lowered her gaze to her hands.

They rested in her lap, folded tightly together. Her fingers had not stopped trembling since the moment she stepped away from Hermione and Esther.

She could still hear them.

Hermione screaming her name.

Esther crying until her voice broke.

Their hands pulling at her nightgown.

Airam pressed her fingers together harder.

She had expected them to cry.

She had known they would.

Still, she had not prepared herself for the sound.

The carriage hit another rut in the road.

Airam’s shoulder struck the side panel. She barely reacted. The pain felt distant compared to the weight in her chest.

Her mother had warned her.

Anna-Maria had held her once, long before the sisters came to Skargardia. Airam had been younger then, though old enough to understand that her mother’s voice had turned serious.

Anna-Maria had held her close.

"You will never return there," she had said.

Airam remembered the firmness in her mother’s arms.

"I will not take you back. I will not allow Sedhoran to reach you. Whatever happens, you and your sisters will remain away from him."

At the time, Airam had believed those words completely.

Her mother had been Anna-Maria.

The strongest witch of her age.

The Matriarch of an Original Coven.

A woman whose name could silence witches, nobles, and soldiers alike. Even after she lost much of her power, people feared her. They feared the things she had done. They feared the knowledge she carried. They feared what might happen if they pushed her too far.

Anna-Maria’s existence had protected them.

That was the truth.

Her power had faded, but her name remained.

No one wanted to risk provoking the mother of Airam, Hermione, and Esther. No one wanted to cross the witch who had once stood at the center of a powerful coven.

Even Sedhoran had respected her demand.

He had allowed Anna-Maria to leave Valmoris with the three sisters. He had stayed away. He had not sent soldiers after them. He had not dragged Airam, Hermione, or Esther back to the Imperial Palace.

For years, he had kept his word.

Airam had wondered why.

Perhaps he still cared for their mother.

Perhaps he had decided that forcing them to return would only make them hate him.

Perhaps Anna-Maria had threatened him with something so terrible that even the strongest man in the world had chosen caution.

Airam did not know.

She only knew that Sedhoran had remained distant while Anna-Maria lived.

Then Anna-Maria died.

And the protection around the sisters disappeared with her.

Her mother was gone.

No one remained who could stand before Sedhoran and tell him no.

No one from the covens would dare oppose the Empire openly. Libra had already shown that enemies remained hidden in the world, waiting for opportunities to reach the sisters. Other witches might want them. Foreign nobles might want them. Anyone who understood their bloodline could see them as valuable.

Daughters of Anna-Maria.

Daughters of Sedhoran Van Valmoria.

Witches with royal blood.

A prize to some.

A danger to others.

A weapon to anyone powerful enough to claim them.

Ulrich had given the sisters protection.

For two years, he had given them a home beneath the name of House Rubenhart. He had adopted them openly. He had not tried to hide the fact that three girls with witch blood lived under his roof. He had hired teachers. He had fed them, clothed them, trained them, and guarded them.

He had taken them into noble society.

He had allowed them to attend Camellia’s ceremony. He had given them the chance to stand in a ballroom among other noble children rather than remain hidden behind the Estate walls. He had let Hermione study magic. He had allowed Airam to train witchcraft, albeit with some restraint. He had given Esther space to laugh and enjoy without fear.

For a while, Airam had believed it might last.

Two years had passed after their adoption.

Two years without Sedhoran sending anything.

Two years without Valmorian soldiers arriving at the Estate.

Two years without the Emperor making any visible effort to reclaim his daughters.

Ulrich had not hidden the adoption. Surely Sedhoran knew. The Valmorian Empire had spies, merchants, diplomats, and military contacts throughout the world. News that Count Ulrich van Rubenhart had adopted the daughters of Anna-Maria would have reached the east eventually.

Yet nothing happened.

Airam had allowed herself to hope.

She had thought perhaps their father no longer cared.

Perhaps he had accepted their mother’s choice.

Perhaps he had decided that they were better left with Ulrich.

She had been foolish.

No.

She had wanted to be foolish.

She had wanted to believe that safety could last.

The carriage continued forward.

Airam leaned her head against the wooden wall.

Ulrich’s protection had mattered.

But he was still a Count.

Valdris had made sure to remind them of that.

Ulrich possessed land, knights, wealth, and a noble title. He had connections to Arcadia. He had strength of his own, more than anyone expected from a Count with a damaged mana core.

But the Valmorian Empire was larger than his territory.

Sedhoran was powerful.

Valdris had brought enough soldiers to destroy the Rubenhart company in a single night. More soldiers had waited outside the camp. The Empire could continue sending people until the Estate had no defenders left.

Airam understood that.

That was why she had stepped forward.

That was why she had told Valdris she would go.

She could not allow Hermione and Esther to be taken too.

She could not bring them to Valmoris.

Airam knew what waited there.

She remembered enough.

The beautiful palace.

The endless halls.

The expensive food.

The gardens.

The soft beds.

The books.

She remembered her father smiling at her and calling her his princess.

She remembered how much she had loved it.

And she remembered what happened afterwards.

No.

Airam would not let Hermione and Esther return there.

They were safer with Ulrich.

He was strict.

He was demanding.

He could be cold.

But he protected them.

He fed them.

He gave them a home.

He gave them education.

Most importantly, he gave her sisters moments of happiness.

Airam had seen Hermione smile in the ballroom.

A real smile and directed toward Ulrich.

She had seen Esther dance near the stream, laughing without fear beneath fireflies and moonlight.

That night they danced with each other; for a brief moment, it felt extremely nostalgic, just like the nights with their mother in that village. She almost felt her mother’s presence beside them, watching over them.

That was enough.

Airam had never wanted to leave them.

She had planned to stay beside them for as long as she could.

But she had also known, deep inside, that her presence might become dangerous.

After Anna-Maria’s death, she had begun thinking about leaving.

Not immediately.

She had wanted more time.

Time for Hermione and Esther to grow stronger. Time for them to become less dependent on her. Time for Hermione to learn enough magic to protect Esther if Airam was gone. Time for Esther to become older, braver, and able to stand without crying when the world became cruel.

Airam had wanted to find a believable reason to leave.

A reason that would not make them hate her.

A reason that would not make them beg her to stay.

She had wanted to disappear quietly, perhaps under the excuse of study, training, or an arrangement with Covens. She would have left them in Ulrich’s care. She would have made certain they had everything they needed.

Then she would have faced whatever came for her alone.

That had been her plan.

It had been a terrible plan.

She knew that now.

Hermione and Esther would have cried no matter how carefully she left.

They would have reached for her no matter what excuse she gave.

They would have felt abandoned.

And Airam would have broken anyway.

The carriage shook again.

Airam wiped at her eyes before tears could fall.

She did not want to cry.

She shouldn’t ever cry.

But remembering Esther’s face had already broken something within her.

Hermione had screamed at Ulrich.

They had believed Airam was truly leaving them.

They did not know what Airam knew.

They did not know that leaving had been the only way she could see to keep them safe.

Airam pressed one hand against her chest.

She wanted to go back.

She wanted to return to the camp, wake Hermione and Esther, and hold them until they stopped crying. She wanted to see Esther’s smile again. She wanted Hermione to complain about lessons and dance training. She wanted to sit beside the stream once more.

She wanted to remain their eldest sister.

But if staying beside them meant placing an entire Empire’s attention upon their heads, she could not do it.

If Sedhoran wanted her more than he wanted Hermione and Esther, then she would go.

She would let him take her.

She would keep the danger away from them as long as she could.

Airam closed her eyes again.

She pictured Hermione and Esther safe within the Rubenhart Estate.

She pictured Ulrich standing beside them with that same unreadable expression he always wore.

She pictured the ballroom.

The fireflies.

The stream.

Their laughter.

For now, that was enough.

"Princess Airam."

Airam raised her gaze.

Every trace of emotion disappeared from her face when she saw Valdris seated across from her.