Chapter 41 .....A Woman For Sacrifice

Chapter 41 .....A Woman For Sacrifice
💞 SERAPHINA 💞

My eyes followed the line of his neck down to his shoulders, down to the defined muscles of his torso… and there was not a single scar in sight. Smooth skin, bronzed by sun, shaped by hardship and survival. No trace of the injuries I had thought I'd seen from battles. He always speaks like he'd gone and conquered many wars. But his body is so smooth with no sign of scar in sight.

He's definitely one of those kings that send the commandant instead of showing up.

However, the worst was happening — my heartbeat picked up, thudding hard, remembering how warm he had been beside me last night, how his presence felt when we accidentally brushed against each other in sleep. The closeness between us that yesterday.

He said something.

I saw his lips move. His expression shifts. His eyes narrowed slightly like he expected an answer.

But I heard none of it.

All I could hear was the sound of my own pulse ringing in my ears. All I could think about was how close he’d been last night. How close he was now. How his body looked in the sunlight — strong, defined, unbothered, effortlessly steady.

“Seraphina.”

It didn’t register.

“Seraphina.” His tone was sharper this time.

Still nothing.

Finally he waved his hand quickly — snapping his fingers inches from my face.

I jerked back to reality so fast I almost choked on my own breath. Heat crashed over my cheeks, embarrassment spreading like fire as I scrambled for words that would not come. I tried to answer, tried to form something resembling an explanation, but everything I said tripped over itself on the way out.

Elias just stared, chest still rising and falling from his workout, an infuriating pull of amusement at the corner of his mouth. He opened his mouth — absolutely ready to say something that would make my embarrassment ten times worse—

And then—

BOOOOM. BOOOOM. BOOOOM.

The sudden pounding of drums ripped through the morning silence. Loud. Heavy. Urgent. The kind of drumming used by town criers when delivering news that cannot be ignored.

Elias’s head snapped toward the sound.

Mine followed a heartbeat later.

We looked at each other once — no words needed — and rushed for the door.

Elias didn’t bother grabbing a cloth.

He moved quickly, and I hurried behind him… and that was when my steps faltered.

His back—

The scars were there.

Not just one.

Not two.

Dozens.

Deep, jagged marks carved across his skin in long, cruel strokes. Some old, faded into pale lines. Others are darker, more recent. A story written entirely in pain across the back of a man who tried too hard to hide it.

My breath stilled.

All the air left my lungs at once.

I shook my head and hurried my step. Something urgent is happening and I feel it's going to make changes to everything. Either in a good way or bad way.

By the time I reached the common area of the house, the entire family was already awake and gathered. The air inside felt tense and still. No one had opened the door yet; the heavy wooden slab rested firmly in place, muting the outside world.

I slowed when I saw them — Garin, Liora, the elderly woman, the two children — all standing together, their expressions sober and unreadable. They turned in unison the moment Elias and I appeared, and I felt my stomach tighten.

Elias stood slightly ahead of me, bare-chested, faint lines of sweat still glistening on his skin. The family’s eyes brushed over him, then lingered on both of us with a look that was neither fear nor surprise… but recognition. As if they had been waiting.

Garin was the first to speak.

His voice was calm, deep, and steady.
“The traveler’s first obstacle has come.”

A cold ripple slid down my spine.

Traveler.

Obstacle.

Before I could ask anything, Garin stepped forward and gripped the door’s wooden bar. With a firm push, he swung it open.

A flood of bright morning light washed into the room, cutting across the floor and illuminating every face.

We followed Garin outside, the cool morning air brushing against my skin. Liora moved to the large gate — the same wooden gate that had struck Elias and me with déjà vu the night before — and pushed it open. The hinges groaned softly, and the village unveiled itself before us.

People were stepping out of their houses. Doors opened. Curtains moved. Families emerged, drawn by the same drumming that had jolted us out of our house. A low wave of voices spread across the village — confused, uneasy.

The children hurried out, gripping each other’s hands while peering up at the adults with anxious eyes. Elias remained at my side, his jaw set, the scars on his back disappearing from sight as he faced forward.

The drums continued —

BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.

Echoing through the village, bouncing off walls, rolling across the sand like a warning sent from the gods.

Then, suddenly, the drumming ceased.

A man stepped forward from between two houses. Bare-footed, carrying a large drum slung at his hip. His tunic was simple, his hair tied back, but the authority in his stance was unmistakable. He walked toward the village center, cleared his throat, and lifted his chin.

“Blessings upon this morning,” he called out. His voice rang loud and formal, trained to carry. “The great king sends this message to all households.”

The crowd went silent.

Even the wind seemed to pause at the man's tone.

The man struck the drum once — a single commanding thud — then continued:

“The great king has desired that all males and females begin living in separate houses.”

A stunned silence followed.

Then the shouting began.

“What kind of rule is that?!”

“How are families to survive?”

“Has the king lost his mind?”

“This is madness!”

Voices rose everywhere, men, women, even the elderly muttering prayers under their breath. The children clung to their parents, eyes wide with worry.

The drum-bearer struck the drum again, harder this time, as if to silence the chaos that had risen amongst the crowd.

He waited for the crowd to still.

Then his next words fell like stones:

“The great king is also seeking a Consort.”

Gasps spread through the villagers.

“And he seeks…” the man hesitated only for dramatic weight. “…a woman for sacrifice.”

The entire village erupted.

Women shrieked. Men cursed. Children tightened their grips on their parents. Some people backed away as if distance could protect them from the implications. The dread that rolled through the crowd was thick, heavy, suffocating.

The man hit the drum one final time — a sharp, decisive boom — then turned and left, his duty done. The villagers surged into clusters immediately, whispering, arguing, panicking quietly among themselves.

Beside me, Elias didn’t speak.

He didn’t move.

But I felt his tension simmering, rigid and sharp as a blade.