The Devil's Son and His Fated Bride
Chapter 180: Sweet memories.

Chapter 180: Sweet memories.

Back in the maiden’s quarters, Josa closed the door behind her and leaned against it, releasing a shaky breath. Gods... how handsome could a man be? Her heart still pounded like a war drum in her chest.

"What happened to you?" Lora asked, glancing up from her seat. She dabbed a salve on the dark bruise blooming around her eye and hissed in pain.

"Did someone bother you?"

No response.

Lora’s patience bubbled, "Hey, stop standing there like a statue. Come, read this, then burn it."

Lora nodded toward a wax-sealed letter lying on the small wooden table. Her voice was casual, but her eyes flicked warily toward the door. She resumed tending to her wound.

Josa approached without hesitation and picked up the envelope. It bore no crest, no symbol, no name, just blank red wax, smooth and cold.

"Who brought it?" she asked quietly.

Lora shrugged. "It was here when I came in."

Josa slipped a finger beneath the seal and unfolded the letter. Her face changed at once, color draining, the spark in her eyes dimming like a candle in the wind. Her hands trembled as she read, and her shoulders slowly began to shake.

Lora sensed the change instantly, something in the air turned into heaviness. She sprang up from her chair, eyes wide.

Josa’s knees buckled beneath her. A scream clawed its way from the pit of her stomach but caught behind the tight knot in her throat. The letter slipped from her numb fingers. Her voice was barely a whisper, cracked and broken.

"They’re dead... she killed them."

Her words were scattered fragments, more breath than sound.

Lora snatched up the letter, eyes scanning it rapidly. Horror settled over her face. Without hesitation, she threw it into the fire, the paper curling and blackening in the flames. She turned back to Josa, voice low but pressing, pulsing with both fear and steel.

"Listen to me, sister. You never saw that letter. Bury your grief, just for now. You stay strong until Princess Everin kills her. Do you understand? We cannot ruin everything because of this. Araben’s death list isn’t finished yet, and we are both on that list. Remember, we cannot die. We shouldn’t."

Tears spilled down Josa’s cheeks, hot and silent.

"She killed my little sister too?" Her voice splintered like shattered glass. "She was only fourteen..."

Lora pulled her close, wrapping trembling arms around her.

"I wanted to tell you," she whispered, voice breaking as she held the girl tight, "but I didn’t have the heart."

And there, in that small room heavy with grief and smoke, the two girls wept, one for what was lost, the other for what was yet to come.

~*~

Aunt Everin sat quietly in Gloria’s chamber, her hands folded in her lap as if she were cradling a thought too delicate to share. It was the first real moment she’d had alone with her newly discovered niece.

"Do you remember when I told you that you reminded me of someone?" she asked her voice kind, almost like a piece of beautiful music.

Gloria nodded eagerly. In this vast and stifling castle, where everything felt too polished and distant, her aunt was the one warm light, kind, genuine, and unafraid to speak from the heart.

"Yes, Your Highness. May I ask who? I know I’ve already asked, but I’m still curious."

Aunt Everin smiled and reached across to take Gloria’s hand, her grip gentle and lovely. "Your mother," she said. "When I look at you, I see her so clearly. She loved your father with all her soul. Did you know your grandparents are still alive? Your mother came from House Qowen. They’ll be arriving tomorrow. House Qowen governs the western reaches of Alvonia, the Hail Mountain range. That state is big."

Gloria’s eyes widened. The name struck a chord. She had studied these houses, and Reneira had drilled their histories and alliances into her mind. House Qowen was not just another noble line; it was the second most powerful family in Alvonia.

"I heard they control metal mines, and produce weapons and other goods. How does their relationship with House D’Orient stand?" Gloria asked, her curiosity piqued by the mention of House Qowen’s wealth and influence.

Aunt Everin’s expression darkened, her lips pressing together in a thin line. "Not good," she revealed with honesty, her voice tinged with a bitterness that seemed to reflect long-held tensions. "After your mother’s death, they hardly came here. There were times, though, when they’d visit Reneira. Back then, they thought she was your mother’s daughter."

Gloria bit the inside of her lower lip, the news stirring up more questions. "Will they join the war?"

Aunt Everin’s smile returned, a knowing glint in her eyes. "They will. Did you know that our best elite warriors come from House Qowen?"

Gloria shook her head. She’d always heard of their renowned reputation and bravery, but the idea that they were the best, no, she hadn’t known that.

"Your mother was a formidable warrior, too," Aunt Everin continued. "Later, ask your father how they met." She chuckled softly as if some fond memory had resurfaced. "Gods, it was a sight. If it weren’t for Anarya stepping between them, they would’ve killed each other because of a muddy pit."

Gloria smiled, her lips tugging into a small grin. "He told me about it when we talked in the study. Was my father a good warrior, too?" she asked, half-joking. She had never pictured him as the type, too round, too soft around the edges. She couldn’t even imagine him wielding a sword.

Aunt Everin’s gaze softened, her voice tinged with a bittersweet affection. "Ah, my dear, your father wasn’t always like this. He was strong, handsome, the very picture of masculinity. No one could match him in archery. But after his second marriage, things changed. He changed. He became... less alive, less himself." She paused, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her cup. "House Qowen doesn’t have a fondness for your father. They severed their ties with him, and I became the bridge whenever they needed to communicate."

Gloria’s heart ached for Lord Alekin. The image of him, so distant and withdrawn, seemed to conceal a well of loneliness beneath the surface. He masked his sorrow with a veil of ignorance, too proud to reveal his true feelings.

"Can I call you Aunt Eve?" Gloria asked softly, her voice tentative but sincere.

Aunt Everin’s face lit up at the question, her excitement undeniable. "Oh, my dear, of course you can! No need for formalities here. We’re family."

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