LIROIDS

The Proposal & Betrayal Eyela’s POV.

Eyela’s POV.

The morning sun spread gold across our fields, the apple trees heavy with fruit, their branches sagging with abundance. I worked alongside Seyal, laughter spilling from us as easily as the apples tumbled to the ground. My hands ached, my dress was dusted with pollen and soil, but I had never felt lighter. All I could think about was my mother's promise.

“Do you think your father truly accepted our betrothal?” Seyal asked, tossing me a ripe apple. His brow furrowed, his voice carrying both hope and fear.

I caught it with a grin. “Yes. My mother spoke to him. He still fumes, of course, but he cannot undo what is law. You proposed first, Seyal. I accepted. By the gods, I am yours.”

Saying those words aloud made my chest flutter, as though wings unfurled inside me. Seyal’s smile deepened, and he leapt from the tree with the easy grace of a bird. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his chest.

“Then soon,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear, “before all of Cellon, I will claim you as mine.”

I closed my eyes, savouring the promise. I believed in it with all my heart. For the first time, I felt as though my future was my own.

But fate, crueller than any blade, had already marked me.

When I returned home that evening, joy still clinging to me like the scent of blossoms, I froze at the sight before me. Lord Glen’s carriage stood gleaming outside our house. Worse still, I saw my belongings, clothes, my grandmother’s woven blanket, and the trinkets I had cherished since childhood being carried into the carriage by strangers.

My stomach turned to ice. I dropped the basket of apples, the fruit spilling across the dirt. “What is happening?” My voice cracked as I ran inside.

The scene that greeted me was one from a nightmare. My parents sat across from Lord Glen in our small home. Father’s face was carved from stone, his jaw clenched, his eyes refusing to meet mine. Mother’s smile was thin, fragile, as though she were trying to convince herself of a truth she did not believe. Lord Glen lounged comfortably, his hand on the hilt of his jewelled sword, his eyes devouring me like a predator surveying its prize.

“What is happening?” I demanded again, my voice louder now.

Father finally spoke, but his words cut deeper than any weapon. “We are doing what is best for you.”

“What is best for me?” My throat burned, my hands shaking. “Or what is best for you?” I turned desperately to Mother. “You promised me, you said you would support me!”

Tears shimmered in her eyes, but her voice was poisoned with betrayal. “Lord Glen can give you a better life than Seyal ever could. He is powerful. He will protect you.”

“Protect me?” I could barely force the words past the lump in my throat. “From what? From love? From happiness? Does my joy mean nothing to you?”

“You are young,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “You don’t understand.”

“No,” I spat, rage igniting in me like fire in dry grass. “I understand too well. You would sell me for wealth. You would sell me for comfort.”

Father rose then, his shadow falling over me, his eyes cold. “This is the best we can give you, Eyela. You will accept it.”

“I will not!” My voice broke, but my defiance did not waver. “Over my dead body!”

The words had barely left my lips before Father’s hand cracked across my face. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and cruel. Pain bloomed across my cheek, but worse than the sting was the shattering of trust.

“Enough!” he roared. “You are my daughter, you will obey!”

I staggered back, my heart pounding, tears flooding my eyes. My own father, the man who had once lifted me onto his shoulders to see fireworks, had struck me. The wound was deeper than skin; it was a fracture of the soul.

Lord Glen stood then, smiling faintly, as though amused by the spectacle. “Shall I take her now?” he asked, his voice smooth and mocking.

“Yes,” Father said hoarsely.

“No!” I screamed. Panic surged through me, wild and desperate. I turned to run, but before I could reach the door, Glen’s guards seized me. Their hands were rough, their grip like iron, dragging me backward.

I kicked, I thrashed, I clawed at their arms, but they were stronger. “Seyal!” I cried, my voice piercing the air. “Seyal!”

But Seyal was far away, out of reach. Only the wind carried my cries, and it did not answer.

Lord Glen approached, his breath foul as he leaned close. “You will be mine, little dove,” he murmured. His words slithered into my ear like venom.

I spat in his face. “I would rather die.”

His smile darkened. “Then perhaps, in time, you shall.”

The guards dragged me through the doorway. I caught one last glimpse of my parents. Mother, with her face buried in her hands, Father staring into the fire, refusing to meet my gaze. Their silence was the deepest betrayal of all.

The carriage door slammed shut behind me, and the wheels jolted into motion. My childhood home disappeared behind us, swallowed by shadows. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, my tears streaking down to meet my reflection.

Everything I loved, Seyal, my freedom, even the trust I had in my own blood, had been ripped from me. My life had become a bargaining chip, and I was the coin tossed upon the table.

As the carriage rattled down the road toward Glen Manor, I realized something that hollowed me out: love had not shielded me. My joy had not saved me.

Perhaps nothing could.

But in the quiet of my heart, even through despair, I clung to Seyal’s promise. Soon, before all of Cellon, I will claim you as mine.

I repeated it to myself like a prayer, knowing I might never see him again, but refusing to let the memory go. If the gods were cruel, then so be it. If my parents were weak, then let them bear their shame.

I was Eyela, and I would not break. Not yet.