Chapter 215: Airam’s Distrust

"Princess Airam."

Airam raised her gaze.

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

"We will arrive at the harbor soon," Valdris said. "From there, we will take a ship east. It will carry us toward your home."

"Valmoris is not my home," Airam replied.

Her voice was cold.

Valdris watched her for a moment.

"What else would you call home, Princess?" he asked. "A coven? A minor village? The household of a Count?"

Airam did not answer.

None of those places were truly home.

Not the coven.

Not the village where witches had once lived before blood and fire destroyed it.

Not the Rubenhart Estate, no matter how long she had stayed there.

Home had never been a palace, a title, a room, or a piece of land.

Home had always been her family.

Where Hermione and Esther were, that was home.

Nothing else mattered.

And Valmoris would never be home again.

There had been a time when she believed otherwise.

A foolish time.

A child’s time.

When Anna-Maria first brought the sisters to the Imperial Palace and told them that Sedhoran Van Valmoria was their father, Airam had been excited. She remembered holding Hermione’s hand as they crossed the palace halls. She remembered Esther being carried by an attendant because she had grown tired from walking.

The palace had seemed endless.

The walls were of carved stone. The ceilings rose high above them, painted with old battles, black crowns, and creatures that no longer existed. Servants bowed when they passed. Guards opened doors before the sisters reached them. The rooms had carpets softer than anything Airam had ever stepped on within the coven.

Then Sedhoran had looked at them.

He had smiled.

He had told them that they were his daughters.

He had called them princesses.

For a little while, Airam had believed she had finally received everything she had been missing.

A father.

A home.

Comfort.

Protection.

She had been given beautiful dresses, warm rooms, fine food, tutors, toys, servants who waited for their smallest request.

Airam had felt like a princess.

She had thought Sedhoran cared.

She had thought his promises meant something.

Then she learned better.

The comfort had been real.

The gowns, food, lessons, and royal rooms had been real.

But none of it had changed what the Emperor wanted from them.

He did not see three daughters who needed a father.

He saw Anna-Maria’s children.

He saw witches born with rare blood.

He saw possibilities, weapons, heirs, and power that could be shaped beneath the authority of the Imperial throne.

Her own father had betrayed her.

Her own blood had shown her that love could be wrapped in gold, shelter, servants, and gentle words while hiding something cold beneath it.

How could she trust anyone after that?

The answer had always been the same.

She trusted her mother.

She trusted Hermione.

She trusted Esther.

Everyone else had a reason.

Everyone else wanted something.

No amount of wealth, education, protection, or comfort could make Airam forget that lesson. A person might give them a palace and still mean to use them. A person might feed them, dress them, train them, and call them family while waiting for the moment their power became useful.

That was why Airam had distrusted Ulrich from the beginning no matter what he gave her.

Perhaps more than anyone else.

He had grown up in a kingdom that feared witches. He had hunted witches. He had been present when the village where the sisters lived was destroyed. Then he had adopted them.

How could she have believed that act was simple kindness?

Ulrich had known what they were.

He had known that they had witch blood. He had known their mother was Anna-Maria. He had known their magic carried a value that people would kill for.

Airam had been certain that he wanted something from them.

He wanted their trust.

He wanted their loyalty.

He wanted their future power.

The fact that Ulrich did not hide his interest made him more suspicious at first, not less. He gave them food, shelter, teachers, clothing, guards, and a noble name. He gave them resources most witches would never have access to.

Airam had expected him to demand something in return.

At the beginning, she had planned to take everything he offered.

She would use the shelter.

She would use the education.

She would use the books, lessons, weapons, and protection he provided.

She would stay with Hermione and Esther until they were old enough to defend themselves. Then they would leave. They would disappear somewhere no Emperor, Count, coven, or witch-hunter could reach them.

That had been her plan.

Ulrich’s Estate had only been meant to be a temporary refuge.

But time changed things.

Ulrich remained demanding. He remained strict. He remained difficult to read. He rarely spoke gently, and his protection often felt like a cage.

Still, he did not lie to them.

He did not ask them to become weapons.

He did not force them to use their magic for his benefit.

He did not throw them into political games without preparing them first. He trained them. He hired tutors.

After the ceremony in the capital and the ballroom, Airam began to understand him more clearly.

He cared.

Perhaps not in the warm, easy way Esther wanted.

Perhaps not in the way Airam had once wished a father might care.

But Ulrich cared in his own manner.

He made sure they were fed.

He made sure they learned.

He made sure they slept safely.

He stood between them and danger even when he had every reason to walk away.

That was why Airam had been able to leave Hermione and Esther with him.

It was cruel.

It was painful.

But she trusted him.

She trusted him more than she wanted to admit.

She wished she could have remained beside her sisters forever. She wanted to be the one who protected them. She wanted to take the place their mother had left behind. She wanted Esther to have someone to hide behind whenever she became frightened. She wanted Hermione to have someone who understood when her sharp words covered fear.

But Airam could not stay.

Not if Sedhoran’s attention would drag Hermione and Esther into the same darkness.

Esther worried her the most.

Hermione was strong. She would argue, struggle, and fight until she found a way to stand again. She would protect Esther. Airam knew that.

Esther was still young.

Too gentle.

Too easily frightened by blood, shouting, and death.

Airam hated leaving her.

Yet she had seen Esther laugh at the ballroom. She had seen her dance by the stream. She had seen the little girl smile at the Rubenhart Estate in ways Airam had not seen for years.

That was enough.

If leaving meant Esther could keep smiling, Airam would endure Valmoris.

Valdris watched her silence.

"The Emperor will be glad to see you again," he said. "I hope that, once you return, this misunderstanding can be resolved."

Misunderstanding.

She did not bother answering.

There was nothing to resolve.

Valdris’s gaze hardened.

"However," he said, "I find it difficult to understand how you can leave your precious younger sisters in the hands of a man renowned for hunting witches."

Airam looked directly at him.

"They are safer with Ulrich than they would ever be beside Sedhoran."

Valdris gave a quiet laugh.

"How can you believe that?" he asked. "How could a Count in Skargardia protect them better than their own father? You continue to misunderstand His Majesty’s intentions."

"He is the worst," Airam said.

Valdris’s expression cooled.

Airam did not stop.

"He is selfish. He thinks only of himself and his ambitions. He would throw his daughters into fire if doing so gave him more power."

"His Majesty cares for your well-being," Valdris said. "He treated you well during your time in the palace. You were given everything you needed."

"Things are not care."

"Your rooms, education, tutors, guards, and comfort were all provided by the Emperor."

"So we would be useful when he wanted us."

Valdris’s eyes narrowed.

"Princess Sinmara has never lacked anything under His Majesty’s care either."

"Sinmara is foolish; she is naive," Airam said, turning her face toward the carriage window. "One day she will understand his real face."

"Or perhaps she never would," Airam thought.

Sinmara had been raised as a princess since the day she was born.

She had grown up within the Imperial Palace. Sedhoran had always been her father, the Emperor, the strongest man in the world, and the center of the palace that had shaped every part of her childhood.

Perhaps she could not see him clearly.

Perhaps she did not want to.

Airam had not been raised that way.

She had spent her earliest years in a coven.

Her first memories were of dark stone halls, candles burning in old iron holders, witches murmuring in runic language, and Anna-Maria’s hand holding hers whenever the coven elders gathered. She had learned that the world feared witches long before she learned anything about the Imperial Palace.

Then Anna-Maria had taken Airam, Hermione, and Esther to Valmoris.

Airam had never known every detail of what happened between her mother and Sedhoran. Anna-Maria did not speak openly about him. Whenever one of the sisters asked too many questions, their mother’s face would become distant.

But Airam knew enough.

Her mother and father must have loved each other once.

They had three daughters after all.

That could not have happened without some kind of love.

Or at least, Airam wanted to believe it could not.

From the beginning, however, Anna-Maria had wanted to raise her daughters within the coven. She had kept them far from Valmoris. She had hidden Sedhoran’s identity from them for years.

Then Anna-Maria had brought them to him.

Airam had thought it was a gift.

She had thought she was being given a family.

Now she wondered if that journey had been the greatest mistake her mother ever made.

Perhaps Anna-Maria had hoped Sedhoran would change after seeing his daughters.

Perhaps she had believed that he would love them more than he loved power.

Perhaps she had wanted to give Airam, Hermione, and Esther something she had never been able to give them alone.

A father.

A palace.

A life without fear.

Instead, they had learned why Anna-Maria had hidden them for so long.

Valdris smiled at Airam’s cold silence.

"It will be fine," he said. "You will have time to understand His Majesty again. You will understand what he truly wishes for you."

Airam did not look at him.

Valdris leaned back against the carriage seat.

"And when you do," he continued, "you will ask for your sisters to join you."

Airam’s eyes moved toward him.

"You would not dare."

Valdris met her gaze.

"You certainly do not expect the Emperor to leave two of his daughters in the hands of a Count, Your Highness."

Airam’s fingers tightened in her lap.

"I wouldn’t let him."

Valdris’s smile thinned.

Obviously, he wanted all the sisters, but Airam’s cooperation was the most important, so he was very cooperative, even sparing Ulrich.

"I admire your determination, Princess. But you must understand the difference between a wish and reality. Count Rubenhart may have hidden you for two years. He may have given you his name, his protection, and his household. Yet he cannot deny the Emperor his own blood."

"He will not give them to you."

"He may not have a choice."

Airam turned toward the window.

She pulled the curtain aside slightly.

The night outside had begun to change.

Lights appeared ahead.

Hiddleston.

The town stood near the coast, built along a steep stretch of land overlooking the harbor. Even from the road, Airam could see the outlines of tall buildings, warehouses, and narrow streets lit by lanterns. The town remained awake despite the late hour. Smoke rose from chimneys. A few carriages moved through the main road. Guards stood near the gates, their lanterns casting yellow pools over the dirt.

Beyond the buildings, the harbor spread across the dark water.

Airam saw the ship.

It waited near the far end of the docks.

The Valmorian vessel was larger than any merchant ship in the harbor. Its hull was black. Its sails remained furled, but the Imperial crest was visible along the side: the black crown above the silver sword. Soldiers stood on the deck, their armor catching faint light from the lanterns mounted near the mast.

It was ready.

It had been waiting for her.

Airam’s heart skipped.

No.

She looked at the ship.

The sea beyond it was a dark, endless line.

Once she boarded, the distance between her and Hermione and Esther would become real. The water would carry her farther east. The Valmorian Empire would close around her again. Sedhoran would have her within his reach.

And eventually, would he really turn his eyes toward her sisters as well?

Airam closed the curtain.

No.

She would not let him touch them.

She had already sacrificed her freedom.

If she had to destroy herself to keep Hermione and Esther beyond his reach, she would do it as well.

Airam rested her hand over her chest.

The carriage entered Hiddleston.

The town gates opened before the Valmorian soldiers.