Blood Bond

The carriage jostled along the packed-earth road, each rut sending a faint tremor through the floorboards. It was a far cry from the silent glide of the hover carriages I was accustomed to; this felt solid, earthbound, pulled by the rhythmic clopping of hooves. Inside, the silence stretched, thick and heavy. Kael sat near the door, sentinel-still, his eyes constantly sweeping the passing landscape—fields giving way to woods—with a vigilance that mirrored the frantic pounding beneath my ribs. His hand never strayed far from his hip, where I knew a dagger rested. Across from me, Blaire maintained an impeccable, almost infuriating composure, gazing out the window, though the faint line of tension around her mouth suggested even she wasn't entirely at ease.

Was this another trap? None of the spy or thriller novels I'd read gave any hints, neither did any of those fairy tales. Trusting Blaire felt like leaning on a fence post made of ice: rigid, cold, likely to shatter under pressure. Yet, what choice did we have? Fleeing into the woods, hunted, while Kael might still be wounded and my own powers remained an unpredictable terror? Blaire's 'invitation', however coolly delivered, was the only path forward.

As our carriage approached the main gate—a simple wrought-iron affair flanked by stone pillars topped with weathered carvings of crescent moons—two guards in dark blue livery bearing the Moonshade crest straightened, their expressions shifting from boredom to surprise, then wary recognition as they saw Blaire. They exchanged glances before swinging the gates open without a word.

We rolled onto a gravel drive that crunched under the carriage wheels, curving towards the main entrance. A few servants hurried out, alerted by our arrival. They bowed, their faces carefully neutral, though quick, curious glances flitted towards Kael's rough attire and my own dirt-smudged, ill-fitting peasant dress and bonnet.

Blaire stepped out first, her movements crisp and efficient. "Prepare rooms for my guests," she instructed the stern-faced housekeeper who met us at the door. Her gaze swept over me, cool and appraising. "And see that Her Highness is attended to immediately. A bath is required." She didn't quite wrinkle her nose, but the implication was clear. I was sure I looked and smelled like something dragged out of a ditch.

I merely nodded, too weary for pride or protest. My borrowed wool dress felt unbearably scratchy against my skin, clinging with grime and sweat. The thought of clean, warm water was an almost painful siren call. Kael gave a stiff nod when Blaire assured him she would send for him once I was settled, his eyes never leaving the surrounding guards and staff until the housekeeper led me away down a quiet, wood-paneled corridor.

As the warm water enveloped me, a shudder ran through my frame—not entirely from cold or fear, but from a profound sense of relief that felt almost guilty. Cleanliness. Warmth. It was a primal comfort, something both my selves could appreciate after the horrors of the past day. Yet, the comfort was immediately tainted.

My hands paused, water sluicing over skin that felt suddenly alien. Looking down at my own body—the curve of a hip, the pale smoothness of my arm—felt like observing a stranger. Sharp, intrusive memories of a male's body—lankier, harder angles, different distributions of muscle and hair—overlaid my perception. Neither felt truly mine anymore. It wasn't just the awkwardness of nudity; it was a fundamental dissonance, the sensation of being a guest in my own skin, perpetually comparing and contrasting two realities that refused to fully merge or separate. How could I ever feel normal again, in either body?

As I ran my fingers through my hair, still tangled even when wet, I was hit by a sharp pang of loss. Meris. Her stern efficiency, her grounding presence, even her silent disapproval, I missed it terribly. Where was she now? Had she escaped Jarlen's men? And Anya—sweet, nervous Anya—what had happened to her back at the Keep? Were any of them safe? The worry gnawed, adding another layer to the crushing weight of fear for Astrid, Father, Mother, Theron.

My gaze drifted down to my chest, where the blood-soaked bandage had been. Beneath the water, the skin was flawless, pale, utterly unmarked. As if Trevor's blade had never pierced me. But I remembered the agony, the blood, the impossible knitting of flesh I'd felt happening within me. I remembered the hunger. A different kind of shiver traced its way down my spine, one born of cold dread and a terrifying, morbid curiosity. I tried the same exercise I did at the hospital bed, and reached out to blood flowing within my arm. The connection was instant, I felt my own blood essence flowing within me, vibrant, rich, branching out, and very much alive. Was it so much easier connecting in this world than earth because of magic? It felt real, like I could take hold of the flow of blood, and control it. Yet, I hesitated. What if I mess up?

There was the sensation of my connection to another presence out in the corridor: Kael. I sensed in amongst my blood, his blood, pulsing in his veins alongside. I hadn't taken him over yet, certainly not fully. But his blood called to me, to consume him, to take over. There was a richness to his blood essence that felt… savory.

I shuddered and pulled away, splashing water all over the rim of the tub. Get away! Get away! But it was me that I was trying to get away from.

Drying off felt less like returning to myself and more like stepping into another costume. The simple chemise provided was soft, a relief after the scratchy wool, but the body it covered still felt dissonant—everything was in the right places, but wasn't. Two maids, summoned by the housekeeper, entered silently while I stood wrapped in a towel. They were older than Anya, their faces impassive, their attire formal, but practical. They laid out a dress of deep blue velvet – finer than the peasant garb, certainly, but simpler than anything I'd worn.

One of them began working on my hair, her fingers surprisingly deft, untangling the wet strands with a comb. It felt odd, impersonal, lacking Meris's firm touch or Anya's airy chatter. I found myself submitting passively, a doll being dressed, my mind still reeling from facing that baser, instinctual side of me. Get away! A sharp reminder of what lay beneath. The maid finished quickly, pulling my hair back into a simple, functional braid – practical, presentable, erasing any hint of the dishevelment from the barn or the road. Dressed and reasonably composed on the outside, I felt like a fractured mirror held together with the last remnants of my will.

—

The housekeeper returned and led me through hallways that felt less grand than the Keep, but carried an air of solid, old nobility: polished dark wood, heavy woven tapestries depicting hunting scenes rather than epic battles, floors partially covered by thick, patterned rugs that muffled our footsteps. We stopped before a sturdy oak door. The housekeeper knocked softly, then opened it, announcing, "Her High Royal Highness, Princess Elara."

I stepped inside. It wasn't a formal audience chamber, but a study, comfortably cluttered. Bookshelves lined two walls, crammed with volumes bound in worn leather. Maps lay partially unrolled on a large, heavily carved desk littered with papers, inkwells, and discarded sealing wax. A fire crackled merrily in a stone hearth, before which sat two deep, plush armchairs upholstered in faded burgundy. The air smelled faintly of aged paper, woodsmoke, and spiced wine.

Seated in one of the armchairs, a book open but ignored on his lap, was the Earl of Moonshade. He was stout, bordering on plump, with thinning grey hair and a face that seemed designed for easy smiles, though his eyes, a pale, watery blue, held an unfocused, weary quality. He didn't look like Blaire at all on the first glance, but I suppose the face shape was similar.

He wore comfortable, if slightly rumpled, velvet indoor robes. Blaire stood near the fireplace, her posture rigid, her expression neutral. Kael was already present, standing stiffly near the door, his gaze alert, scanning the room.

The Earl heaved himself out of the chair with a slight grunt, offering a bow that was more of a polite nod. "Your Highness," he greeted, his voice pleasant, raspy. "Welcome to Moonshade. A humble refuge in these... trying times."

"Father," Blaire said curtly, cutting short any further pleasantries. "As I explained, Her Highness requires sanctuary. The situation on the road..." She trailed off, clearly having already given him the necessary details.

"Yes, yes, dreadful business," the Earl waved a pudgy hand dismissively, sinking back into his chair. He gestured towards the other armchair. "Please, sit, Your Highness. Terrible news from the Keep. Truly unbelievable. Regents declared, they say? Unprecedented. Never in recorded times." He sighed, shaking his head at one of his stuffed bookshelves. "One hardly knows what to think."

I remained standing. "Earl Firlay," I began, my voice steadier than I felt, "the situation is more than 'dreadful'. It was a coordinated coup, a malicious grab for power. It's… illegal. They have no right."

"Ah, yes, the rumors," he interrupted gently, picking up his book again, though he didn't open it. "Shocking, truly. But Moonshade..." He sighed again, a sound of profound weariness. "We are a small domain, Your Highness. Far from the capital, far from these high politics. Our people are simple farmers. For them, war means tales of the demonic crusades. Interfering... well, that would invite trouble we cannot handle." He looked up, offering a small, apologetic smile. "My duty is to my people, to keep them safe."

I felt my teeth grinding until there was a crunch. "You swore fealty to my Father! I was there on your swearing day!"

"And…? " He eyed me with an infuriating tilt of his head. "I heard no call to take up arms? It's said he's just stepping back. Who am I to disturb his rest?"

"It… can't be." Had they just struck that quickly? Like some sort of blitzkrieg. What had happened? Why wasn't the call for help sent out? There was a pit in my stomach when I thought about everyone in the castle: My family, Anya, and even old Lorne.

Firlay had lost interest. He was now by the tall windows, eyes staring out into the courtyard and fingers playing with the curtain rope. "Must say, though, these festivals are becoming a chore. Blaire had to go in my place today, all that noise and bother. One would think being an Earl involved more... quiet contemplation."

The casual complaint, the easy dismissal of the chaos engulfing my family and kingdom, the sheer laziness of his priorities—it ignited a cold fury within me, mingling with the growing despair. He wasn't just powerless; he was deliberately uninvolved, cocooned in his comfortable study while the world burned outside. Perhaps the call did go out, and he and all the other nobles—fat from idling all these years—ignored it. My fists clenched at my sides. Kael shifted beside me, his disapproval a palpable presence. Blaire simply stared into the fire, impassive. This man was never going to offer us help.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

—

Fire coiled in my stomach as the study door clicked shut behind me. His placid refusal, his comfortable apathy, had doused any hope that I could get help from the likes of him. If any of the lords had wanted to help my family, they would've already done so. No one was coming to save us. There was only me left, and I have no idea what I'm doing. First, I needed allies, information, something more than the Earl's platitudes. Blaire. She was pragmatic, yes, but she was also here, involved, however reluctantly. She must know more than she was letting on.

Kael followed me silently as I made my way back through the corridors, my steps quickening with renewed, desperate purpose. Where would she be? Not idling like her father. Training, perhaps? She'd always been diligent, dedicated. Her rune? Archer.

I found her in a small, walled courtyard behind the main house. Neatly arranged targets stood at one end. Blaire stood at the other, bow drawn, arrow nocked. Her posture was perfect, focused, the setting sun glinting off the yellow-gold Soul Seed crystal on her chest. She released the arrow. Thwack! It struck the dead center of the farthest target with unerring accuracy. She reached for another arrow without pause, her movements economical, practiced.

The sight of her skill, her dedication, contrasted sharply with my own feelings of helplessness, of being utterly unprepared. That familiar sting of inadequacy, the echo of Elara's pampered past and Leo's untrained state, pricked at me. I pushed it down.

"Blaire."

She turned, lowering her bow, her expression unsurprised. She was expecting me. Kael positioned himself a respectful distance away, near the courtyard entrance, watchful.

"Your Highness?"

"Cut the formalities, Blaire," I said, walking towards her, stopping a few paces away. "Your father. I know he doesn't care. Doesn't want to care even. But you know this isn't right. You've all sworn fealty to my family. And they are definitely in harm's way." I took a breath, meeting her gaze directly. "What do you really know? What's happening at the Keep?"

Blaire carefully unstrung her bow, leaning it against the wall. There was a pause as she looked me in the eyes. "They said it was quick. Several brigades, thousands strong, swarmed the Keep while preparations were underway for the return of the seeded." She shook her head, a flicker of exasperation, perhaps disdain, crossing her features as she spoke. "No one was manning the walls. The gates were open. Some of the Royals Guards fought back, but they were overrun."

I couldn't hold her gaze, flinching inwards, seeing once again the sight of our knights in their burnishing silver and proud Aethelgard blue, lying broken around the carriage, sprawled out in mangled heaps of metal and blood. Blaire continued regardless. "The King and Queen made appearances on the royal balcony. They looked unharmed. Otherwise, they have not ventured out of the castle."

"And everyone else… Astrid?" I croaked. I thought of Father pacing and growling with his large arms in the air, and Mother sitting, staring inward as she faced her vanity. Gods, please protect them.

"The servants are mostly back at work. That's all we know. I am sure a few loyalists have been imprisoned. But no one's talking. As for Astrid, she was seen but once, riding into the Keep with the Regents."

"She's forced to! I know it!" The denial clawed its way up. "They're invaders, usurpers!"

"So she was." She offered no further argument, and simply waited, her stance unchanged.

"Theron?" Another sliver of worry pierced through the sea of others.

"The rumors are he's escaped, with Grand Duke Armand. I know not where."

There's hope! The thought flared bright against the gloom. Theron's out there. I need to help him. I'm his ally.

"We need to act!" My voice grew stronger, fueled by this spark. "We need to gather the people. Out there, they know our names. I saw it in their eyes in the village! Aethelgard has been good to them. They will surely respond if we call to them."

"Please, Blaire," I grabbed for her arm, my eyes pleading, "we just need to reach out. I can write… pamphlets." Thoughts swirled – revolutionary broadsides, town criers, people rising up... it worked on Earth. "We can gather the villagers, the townspeople… the pilgrims."

SMACK!

The sound cracked through the courtyard air, sharp and ugly. Pain exploded across my left cheek, hot and stinging, leaving the distinct imprint of her hand. I stumbled back, gasping, vision blurring for a second. A sharp ring filled my ears.

Blaire snatched her hand back as if burned, her chest heaving, fury finally blazed in her eyes. "You really are an imbecile."

"In this age of diviners, scryers, and sages." Her voice was low, vibrating with contempt. "Do you think the Regents will just sit idly by? They will hear, and they will see. They'll root out your pathetic attempts at stirring dissent before you even attempt to sow the seeds."

"I…" My voice failed.

"And what if by some miracle your words did take hold? You expect farmers to lay down their plows and take up swords? For pilgrims to wield spears they don't have? Do you have any idea of the scales of power? One Champion level rune – just one! – could scythe through that entire village like ripe wheat! And we all know they have at least four."

Her jawline clenched. "Father may be a coward, but he's right about this. Follow you and we would be spilling Moonshade blood into the dirt for nothing. I will not waste their lives." She gave a short, sharp gesture of dismissal. "Go. He has graced you with sanctuary until dawn tomorrow. That is all Moonshade can offer. We already imperil ourselves just having you here."

I stumbled away from her, hand pressed against my inflamed cheek. The sharp sting was already fading, leaving behind a dull throb that was nothing compared to the crushing weight of her words. Imbecile. Pathetic. Useless. Each label struck home, echoing the whispers that had trailed me in the castle corridors. This was what they all had thought. Everyone was just too afraid to say it to my face. One step forward, ten steps back into the abyss.

Kael fell into step behind me as I turned blindly back towards the main house. I didn't look at him. I couldn't bear to see the pity or perhaps the confirmation of Blaire's assessment in his eyes. The hallways felt alien. The polished wood and woven tapestries twisted around me, mocking me, taunting me. The air was dead, empty of any hope.

We reached the door to the room assigned to me. Kael stopped, his hand hovering near his side where a sword wasn't. His face was grim, etched with weariness. Was he tired, too, of such a helpless, foolish princess?

"Your Highness," he began, his voice low, rough, "you should rest."

A numb nod was all I could manage before slipping inside. The heavy oak door closed behind me, and I leaned back against it, sliding down until I sat slumped on the floor.

Dinner came and went sometime later. A lone tray left outside the door, bearing only a bowl of thin, nondescript stew and some hard bread. I ate without tasting much, forcing it down. Need to keep something in. Who knew when the next meal might be? Kael couldn't have infinite coins.

What am I going to do now?

Night fell outside, casting long shadows from the skeletal furniture. I crawled under the coarse linen comforter and stared up at the dark wood beam ceiling. "What am I supposed to do, Theron?" I found myself asking the empty room. I had thought that somehow just by knowing things from Earth, I could change things here. But I was naive; how could lessons from a history unaltered by magic possibly apply here? All I did was to make things worse. "Some ally I am."

My hand gripped and twisted the threads of my sleeping gown. "Astrid, I am scared. This power, this Chosen… this other me… I am completely broken." I admitted the words to the darkness, tracing a finger over my chest, where the blade had been. I'm supposed to be dead.

I curled up tighter, pulling my knees towards my chest. Unmoored and adrift. So utterly lost. I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut, focusing with desperate intensity, hoping, praying, to wake up again in the cold confines of the inanimate metal beeps. I wasn't scared of the IV, of needles, of cancer, anymore. Mom would be there, so would Maya, and Naomi.

—

CLANG!

The sharp, unmistakable ring of steel striking steel jolted me from the edge of sleep. My eyes flew open, heart hammering against my ribs. Not the rhythmic beep of a monitor, but fighting. Right outside my door.

More sounds followed in quick succession – a guttural shout, a desperate cry cut short, the thud of something heavy hitting the corridor floor. A man barked out a rough order I couldn't quite make out. Then... silence. An abrupt, heavy silence that felt infinitely more terrifying than the brief struggle.

Kael?

I scrambled upright in the bed, terror washing over me. The comforter felt uselessly thin clutched in my fists. I strained my ears, listening to the suffocating silence beyond the oak door. Footsteps approached – heavy, deliberate, multiple pairs. Not Kael's measured tread.

There was no knock. The door handle turned, followed by the harsh scrape of the lock being disengaged. They have a key? The door swung inwards violently, slamming against the wall.

A giant of a man filled the doorway, his silhouette stark against the torchlight from the corridor. He wore scarred, dark iron plate armor that seemed to swallow the light, a massive, wickedly notched axe slung over one broad shoulder. His grizzled beard was braided with crude metal rings, and his small eyes swept the room with brutal assessment. Lord Borin Stonehand, from the ambush! The sight sent a wave of ice through my veins.

Behind him stood several more soldiers in similar rugged Ironfell gear. But flanking them, their faces pale and eyes averted under the harsh torchlight, were two guards wearing the dark blue livery of Moonshade. They held spears, loosely, their presence a sickening confirmation. The Earl... he sold us out.

Then Stonehand's men stepped aside slightly, dragging someone into the room. Kael. His arms were pinned behind him, his face bruised, a trickle of blood matting the hair above his temple where he must have struck the floor or wall. He wasn't struggling now, just breathing heavily, his eyes blazing with helpless fury as they locked onto Stonehand, then flickered towards me.

Stonehand ignored them all, his heavy boots thudding on the wooden floor as he strode further into the room. His gaze landed on me, huddled on the bed. He grunted, a sound of profound irritation.

"Figures," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "Found the little lost lamb hiding under the covers." He spat on the floor again, narrowly missing the rug. "Gods, the racket that wolf pup made back at the Keep." He seemed to address the room at large. "Wouldn't shut his mouth. 'Go find her, Stonehand! Make sure she's safe, Stonehand!' Sent me chasing halfway across the bloody province for this?" His dismissive gesture took me in. "Like I haven't got legions to command and borders to watch, instead of playing nursemaid because some Rodinar princeling is worried about his precious honor... or maybe… he's been hooked?"

He stopped beside the bed, looming over me, smelling faintly of sweat, steel, and alcohol. Fear robbed me of breath, pinning me against the headboard. He reached out – a rough, calloused hand, fingers thick as sausages. His touch was shockingly abrasive as he seized my chin, forcing my head up, making me meet his hard, pitiless gaze.

"Princess!" Kael roared, a strangled sound of fury and desperation. He surged against the guards holding him, the man with the sword pressing the point harder against his throat, drawing a fresh bead of blood. Kael ignored it, straining, his eyes locked on Stonehand's hand on my face.

Stonehand didn't even flinch. He scrutinized my face for a long moment, his expression unreadable beneath the irritation. Then, he grunted again, releasing me abruptly.

"Hmph. At least she's easy on the eyes."