Betrayed by the Cliff

She was falling.

Wind tore at Evelyn's wedding gown, white silk billowing like broken wings as she plummeted toward jagged rocks below. Moonlight glinted off the bloodred stones rushing up to meet her. Above, framed against stars and night sky, stood the silhouette of her husband—her husband of mere hours—watching her fall with cold detachment.

His whispered words chased her down: "For Eastmarch."

Impact never came.

Instead, Evelyn jolted upright in her bed, a scream tearing from her throat. Sunlight streamed through gossamer curtains, bathing her chamber in warm gold. Rose petals scattered across silk sheets as she thrashed, gasping for breath that wouldn't come, her lungs burning as though she'd been drowning.

"My lady!" The door burst open as Maris Thorn, her handmaiden since childhood, rushed to her side. "What ails you?"

Evelyn's trembling fingers clutched at her throat. "I—I was falling. Rowan, he—" She stopped, confusion clouding her features as reality settled around her. The familiar scent of roses from her gardens, the morning chorus of birds outside her window, the smooth stone walls of Rosehaven Castle. "How am I here?"

Maris pressed a cool cloth to Evelyn's forehead. "Where else would you be, my lady? Your wedding isn't until sundown."

"My wedding?" Evelyn whispered, heart hammering against her ribs. "To Prince Rowan?"

"Of course." Maris's brow furrowed with concern. "The arrangements have been months in the making. All of Westfall celebrates the peace this union brings."

Evelyn clutched the sheets tighter. "But we were already wed. Last night, at Bloodstone Cliff—" The words died on her lips as Maris's expression shifted from concern to alarm.

"Bloodstone Cliff? My lady would never wed there. 'Tis a place of dark omens." Maris made a quick warding gesture with her fingers. "The ceremony is to be held in the Great Hall, with both kingdoms bearing witness."

A sharp knock interrupted them. Three guards entered, hands resting nervously on sword hilts.

"Forgive the intrusion, Lady Evelyn," said Captain Reed, his weathered face grave. "We heard a scream."

Evelyn swallowed, gathering her composure. "A nightmare, nothing more."

"Are you certain?" The captain's gaze swept the chamber. "These are... uncertain times."

"What do you mean by that?" Evelyn asked, something cold settling in her stomach.

Captain Reed hesitated. "Strange reports from the borderlands, my lady. Nothing for you to trouble yourself with on your wedding day."

"Tell me," she commanded, her voice finding its strength.

"Phantom lights seen near Eastmarch villages. Livestock gone missing. Whispers of..." He cleared his throat. "Forgive me. Superstitious nonsense, surely."

"Whispers of what?" Evelyn pressed.

"A dark spirit awakened," Maris whispered, earning a sharp look from Captain Reed.

"Leave us," Evelyn ordered the guards. When they had gone, she turned to Maris. "Help me dress. Quickly."

"But my lady, your morning tea—"

"There's no time." Evelyn swung her legs over the bed's edge, wincing as her bare feet touched cold stone. Strange—her body ached as though she truly had fallen. When she looked down, she gasped at the sight of fresh bruises blooming along her arms, marks her nightgown had concealed from the others.

With shaking hands, she traced a particularly dark bruise on her forearm shaped precisely like fingers that had gripped too tightly. Rowan's fingers.

"What's happening to me?" she whispered.

"My lady?" Maris approached with a day dress of pale blue.

Evelyn composed herself, covering the bruises. "Nothing. I need to speak with my father."

Lord West's study smelled of parchment and woodsmoke. The aging lord of Westfall sat hunched over a table covered in maps, his councilors hovering nearby like anxious birds.

"Father," Evelyn said, stepping inside without announcement. The men straightened, surprised by her intrusion.

Lord West's silver-streaked beard did little to hide his frown. "Daughter. You should be preparing for this evening's festivities."

"I need to speak with you. Alone."

The councilors exchanged glances before filing out at Lord West's nod.

"What troubles you so urgently on your wedding day?" he asked once the door closed.

Evelyn approached the table, seeing the maps were of the borderlands between Westfall and Eastmarch. "These reports from the villages—tell me about them."

Her father's eyes narrowed. "Who has been gossiping to you?"

"No one. I..." How could she explain? That she had lived this day already? That her betrothed had murdered her? "Something is wrong, Father. I feel it."

Lord West sighed, gesturing to a chair. "Sit, child."

She remained standing. "The truth, Father. Please."

"Very well." He tapped a weathered finger on the map. "Three villages here report strange occurrences since daybreak. Lights hovering over Bloodstone Cliff. The river running crimson for an hour at dawn. A chill wind that withers crops as it passes."

"And what do your advisors say of this?"

"Superstition, most likely. Peasant fears." He looked up at her, eyes searching. "Though Lord Mercer believes it may be the southern warlord testing our defenses with his foreign magics."

"Azrael," Evelyn breathed, the name sending a chill through her.

Her father frowned. "You know of him?"

"I've heard..." What had she heard? Her mind struggled to separate dream from reality. "Do you trust Prince Rowan?"

Lord West's expression hardened. "What manner of question is that? This marriage secures peace between our realms after generations of bloodshed."

"You didn't answer me."

"I trust the treaty we've negotiated." He stood, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Evelyn, what's gotten into you? You've been eager for this match since Prince Rowan's first visit."

Had she? Evelyn searched her memories. Yes—Rowan with his charming smile, his eloquent toasts, his gift of a silver rose brooch. She had been captivated. And yet she also remembered the cold in his eyes as he pushed her from that cliff.

"Father, the brooch Prince Rowan gave me—have you ever examined it closely?"

"The silver rose? It's a beautiful piece, befitting a princess."

Evelyn touched her throat where the brooch should have been pinned. "Where is it now?"

Lord West frowned. "With your wedding attire, I would imagine."

"I need to see it." She turned toward the door.

"Evelyn—"

"Please, Father. Something isn't right. I can feel it."

As she reached for the door handle, it flew open. A senior guardsman stood there, breathing heavily.

"My lord, forgive the interruption. There's been a messenger from Willowdale village."

"What news?" Lord West demanded.

The guard's face paled. "The village is... empty, my lord. Everyone gone. Houses abandoned mid-meal. The messenger found only silence and cold hearths."

Evelyn felt her blood turn to ice. "When did this happen?"

"Sometime in the night, my lady. The messenger was a trader who arrived at dawn."

"And the other border villages?" Lord West asked sharply.

"We've dispatched riders, but have heard nothing yet."

Lord West's face darkened. "I want the castle on alert. Double the guard at every gate."

"Should we postpone the wedding, my lord?" the guard asked.

"No," Lord West replied firmly. "That would signal weakness and panic. Whatever this is, we will not let it disrupt the peace."

Evelyn shook her head. "Father, if these events are connected to Eastmarch—"

"We have no evidence of that," he interrupted. "Your betrothed arrives with his retinue in mere hours. There is too much at stake to act on superstition."

Another guard appeared behind the first, his face ashen. "My lord—another messenger!"

"From where?" Lord West demanded.

"Redbrook, my lord. The settlement nearest Bloodstone Cliff."

"Speak, man!"

"My lady, the dark spirit has awakened."