Chapter 162
Chapter 162
The castle corridors stretched long and dim under the flickering torchlight, shadows twisting along the stone walls as Henriette moved swiftly, her skirts clinging to her legs with each hurried step. Her chest heaved, not from exhaustion but from the storm of determination raging inside her. She had to find King Roberto before he slipped beyond her reach, before her chance to claim her heart—or at least gain clarity—vanished forever.
She paused for a moment outside the reading room, her gaze drawn to the half-open door. Inside, the muffled sound of voices drifted toward her. She pressed herself against the shadows, holding her breath as King Arin’s voice reached her ears.
“Please, forgive me,” he said, voice low, thick with emotion. “I never meant to hurt you, my love. I only—”
Henriette’s throat tightened, tears stinging her eyes. She pressed a hand against her mouth, fighting the urge to cry out. Every word, every inflection, carried the weight of his devotion, his regret, his love—unmistakable and agonizing. Her own heart twisted painfully, and she forced herself to step back, swallowing hard. Time I treat my husband like a husband, she reminded herself, steeling her nerves.
Turning on her heel, she raced toward King Roberto’s chambers. Her footsteps echoed off the stone floors, the sound almost deafening in the quiet halls, each step a drumbeat of urgency and fear. When she reached his door, it was ajar. She pushed it open and found the room empty. Her stomach sank as panic surged like ice water through her veins.
She spun around, spotting the first guard she could find. “Where is King Roberto?” she demanded, her voice sharp with urgency, cutting through the calm of the night.
“He left, Your Majesty,” the guard replied, standing at attention, his voice steady, yet there was a hesitation, as if he sensed the storm brewing in her. He waited, expecting her to dismiss him or leave, giving her no guidance, no help.
Henriette’s heart pounded as she bolted from the chamber, racing down the corridors toward the front of the castle. Her skirts flared with every stride, her hands gripping the fabric to keep her balance. By the time she reached the gates, a cruel realization hit her: she was too late. The distant sound of hooves already faded into the horizon.
Desperation clawed at her chest, but she refused to surrender. She dashed to the stables, her eyes scanning the rows of saddled horses, only to falter mid-step. I don’t know how to ride a horse, she thought, the panic threatening to overwhelm her. But there was no time to hesitate. She straightened her back, her jaw set with determination, and turned to the nearest servant.
“Prepare a carriage. We leave immediately,” she ordered, her voice ringing with authority, cutting through her fear.
The servant’s face fell. “Sorry, Your Majesty, but all the wheels are being refurbished and won’t be ready for another week,” he said, his tone apologetic, unable to hide his concern at the impossible request.
Henriette’s chest rose and fell rapidly. She clenched her fists, courage flaring like wildfire. Her gaze swept over the horses, their sleek coats glimmering in the torchlight, the promise of speed and freedom calling to her. Her voice came out stronger, unwavering. “Then prepare a horse,” she demanded, every word brimming with bravery and defiance. The decision was made. She would not wait. She would chase her own destiny, even if the road was uncertain and fraught with danger.
Meanwhile, in his own chamber, King Arin lay awake, restless and tormented. The memory of Henriette hiding behind the reading room door, hearing him plead for Queen Henriette’s forgiveness, gnawed at him like fire on his chest. Every heartbeat a painful reminder of the choice he had delayed making. He could no longer ignore the truth of his own feelings, the love he had tried to bury beneath duty and loyalty.
He rose from his bed and paced the room, the shadows flickering against the walls like specters of regret. He could imagine Henriette racing through the castle, every step a testament to her courage, every decision made without him, yet also a reminder that his silence had cost him dearly. If only he had acted sooner, if only he had spoken, perhaps she would not have had to decide alone.
A sudden noise from the corridor caught his attention, and he moved to the door, peering into the dim hallways. But all he saw was the faint glimpse of movement — too quick to follow, too determined to stop. Henriette was gone, and with her went the chance to fix what he had broken.
The castle itself seemed to hold its breath as Henriette mounted the horse, gripping the reins with hands that trembled not from fear but from resolve. The animal whinnied softly, sensing the urgency in her commands, and surged forward, hooves clattering against the cobblestones as they sped into the night.
King Arin sank against the wall, head bowed, chest tight. He could only imagine her galloping through the gates, leaving the safety and predictability of the castle behind. And in that moment, he knew that everything — love, loyalty, fate — was now in motion, beyond the control of crown or kingdom.