11. Sanctuary and The Leash

Father was pleased with me for yesterday's behaviour, because I kept quiet and played nice in front of Davian. No sharp tongue, no eye rolls. Just the perfect little daughter he likes to parade around.

But what he didn’t get was, if he wanted me to "behave," maybe he should’ve learned how to first. Like Davian did.

I scoffed under my breath. Lately, Davian become my measuring stick, the bare minimum for how I wanted to be spoken to. Heard. Understood. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t belittle. And yet… I still couldn’t decide if he was honesty wrapped in charm or deception dressed up in decency.

Shaking the thought off, I shut the door behind me, fingers brushing the lock until it clicked. Then I pulled a thick book out from under my gown.

The book wasn’t even mine. I stole it from Rylan’s desk while he was distracted talking to a court historian. Rylan loved history the way I did, feverishly. Which meant he had access to the real archives. Not the sanitized, virtue-drenched stories the ladies' tutors gave us.

Those lessons? Insulting.

What did they contain? Lady Visenne bore thirty sons to please her husband. One noblewoman threw herself onto a pyre for love. That was history, apparently. Not power plays. Not treaties. Not war.

They said women shouldn’t read too much political history, it might make us smarter than the men. Can’t have that. What’s the point of knowledge, anyway, if you’re just going to be handed off like cargo? Learn everything, only to hand your mind to the next man with a ring?

I flopped onto the bed, head sinking into the pillow, opened the book and it looked innocent. But it wasn’t.

It was heavier than it seemed, not by weight, but by what it carried inside.

Damarith. The largest kingdom, stretched across burning sands, its capital carved from red stone and white bone. A kingdom of trade, trickery, and teeth. They sold spices, minerals, silks that shimmered like mirages, but always needed what they couldn’t grow: grain, timber, coldwater fish. Valkathra had all of that. Damarith had none.

So they smiled. Negotiated. And cheated.

Their treaties were like their markets, shiny on top, rotten beneath. They offered alliances, stirred conflict in shadows. Sold you salt while draining your wells. Smiled while bleeding you dry. Cunning, the book called it. I called it cowardly.

"She’s inside?"

I stiffened. That was a familiar voice. Is he here?

A maid replied, "Yes, Your Grace."

My breath stilled. Davian.

I snapped the book shut, parchment hissing, slid it behind a pile of silks. Ran my fingers through my hair once, twice. Sat straighter. Hands in my lap. Eyes composed. I didn’t even know why.

He stepped in. Tall, coat catching the morning light. Eyes warm.

"You’re always hiding in here," he said.

"It's my room." I replied.

He smiled. "Would you come on a horse ride with me?"

"…With you?"

He nodded.

A separate horse ride? That wasn’t allowed. Ladies rode with men, behind them. Not on their own. Not in public.

He caught the hesitation. "You won’t be in danger. I’ll ride beside you."

"That’s not the point," I said quietly. "If someone sees—"

"Let them," he said. "You’re my fiancée."

That word still felt foreign. I looked down at my hands. Fiancé. I didn't understand but it still sounded like a leash. A leash which allowed me to walk to some distance.

"…Alright," I whispered.

And I hated the flicker of excitement in my chest.

The stables were quieter than the palace halls. Just hooves shifting, soft huffs of breath, leather creaking. I ran my hand down a mare’s neck, rougher than Roxy’s, but warm. Familiar.

I missed my children.

Davian stood beside a chestnut stallion who kept chewing his collar. He looked calm, but his brows were tight. Something was bothering him.

"You’ve been quiet," I said.

"I was thinking," A pause. "About the Eryndors."

I turned toward him.

"They’re in the sanctuary now," he continued, "but… it’s not working. The priests don’t trust them. They’re blocking healers from patients unless they follow purification rituals."

I raised a brow. "Rituals?"

He nodded. "Blood cleansing. Temple scriptures. Marked robes. It’s humiliating. And if they refuse, they’re accused of impurity or forbidden magic. One was banned after healing a noble child. The High Sanctifier claims their methods ‘lack divine guidance.’"

I almost laughed. Divine guidance. Right.

He went on, "I tried speaking to the council, but the temple insists it’s to keep the sanctuary ‘holy.’ They’re only letting the witches stay as a gesture, not to empower them."

"And the Eryndors?"

"They’re angry. But holding back. They don’t want to help people, not fight."

I stroked the mare behind her ear. The problem was messy. Political. But not unsolvable.

"They didn’t come to be rescued," I said. "We needed them. We invited them, not out of kindness, but desperation. And now we act like they owe us."

He was quiet, so I kept going. "The Eryndors were healing before the first temples even stood. They don’t need Rune. If the temples are so fragile they can’t withstand stronger magic, maybe they should crumble."

He blinked. "You think the temple should bend?"

"I think it should adapt," I said. "This isn’t mercy. It’s survival. We want their power on our terms. That’s not sanctuary. That’s slavery with incense."

The mare nuzzled me. I reached up to scratch her jaw.

"If the Eryndors leave, we lose the future we begged for. The High Sanctifier needs reminding: this is about partnership. Maybe it’s time the temple stopped preaching about divine favor and started earning it."

Davian was silent, then gave a short breath of a laugh.

"You know," he said, "you should’ve been born a man. You would’ve ruled."

As a man.

Why couldn’t I do it as A woman?

I wanted to rule as me. Not as a man. Not as someone’s wife. Not as someone’s daughter.

Davian leaned against the stable wall, arms crossed. Listening.

I brushed the mare’s flank.

"They won’t let go of power unless they feel it slipping," I said. "So let them think it already has."

Davian tilted his head. "Go on."

"Shift the narrative. Quietly. Let people see what the Eryndors can do, outside the temple’s control. Healing camps in rural areas, away from priest interference. Let commoners talk. Compare. Choose. Once they do, the temple can't spin the story anymore."

I turned to him. "Then you push. Not for tolerance, for partnership. Respect."

He whistled. "You think like a general."

I shrugged. "No. Like a woman who’s had to fight wars without armies, inside walls."

He looked at me, admiring, amused. "What about the nobles? Some hate witches near their homes."

"Then let them suffer longer." I didn’t flinch. "They’ll beg for magic when their mistresses die of infected wounds."

He laughed. A real one. I looked away for a moment. He was handsome when he wasn’t so composed.

"But you’ll need a bridge," I added. "Someone in the temple who respects the witches."

"Hard to find," he said. "The High Sanctifier controls most of them."

"Then find the outcast," I said. "There’s always one. Quiet, doubting, overlooked. Find them. Let them speak."

Davian stared like I’d conjured a sword from air.

"That’s… bold."

I smirked. "Bold’s just what men call it when they’re surprised a woman has the better idea."

He bowed, playful. "Then consider me surprised. And grateful."

He....bowed. I turned before he could see my cheeks flush. Cessalie, what are you doing?

"You sure you don’t want to come to court someday?" he asked.

"Not as a guest," I said. "And never as someone’s shadow."

He nodded, like he understood.

Maybe he did.

Davian offered his hand, helping me mount the mare. She was tall, silver-grey, gentle eyed. She reminded me of Vonyr a little. I almost smiled.

"You’re doing well," he said, adjusting the reins in my grip. "Keep your back straight, heels down. And if she starts moving fast, don’t pull. Just lean with her."

"I’m not a child," I muttered, but my hands obeyed him anyway.

He mounted his own horse in a single, practiced motion. Of course he was graceful at it. "I know. But you’ve never ridden like this before, have you?"

"No."

"Then let me teach you."

We nudged the horses forward, heading out to the wide open ground behind the estate. The breeze smelled like sunlight and stable hay, and for a second, everything else felt distant.

Then Davian spoke again. "There is one person I’ve been thinking about. Someone who could play the bridge."

I glanced at him. "Who?"

"High Lunarch Tiberius."

"Sounds important. Who is he?"

He looked over at me, like he was surprised I didn’t already know. "The Queen’s younger brother."

I blinked. "The queen?"

"Mhm."

My fingers twitched around the reins. "So he’s… nobility nobility."

"He is," Davian nodded, looking ahead. "But he doesn’t act like most of them. He’s powerful, but not in the same way the others are. He’s never seen witches as threats. He has same beliefs as you, that their magic existed before ours, maybe even gave us magic. That we’re the ones who encroached."

"Then why hasn’t he done anything?"

"He’s not exactly popular with the temple," Davian said, angling his horse closer to mine as we picked up a slow trot. "He and the High Sanctifier are constantly at odds. Tiberius questions too much, and he’s open about it. They’ve tried to discredit him more than once."

"So he’s already seen as the black sheep," I said, squinting ahead. "Which means he has nothing to lose."

"Exactly."

I shifted slightly in the saddle as the mare picked up speed. I didn’t panic. Just leaned forward like Davian said, letting the rhythm carry me.

"Then use him," I said. "Bring him into this, not as an advisor, but as a public face. Let him speak about the Eryndors. Let him say all the things no one else can. The people already know his name. If he says witches aren’t dangerous, that their cooperation is survival, they’ll listen."

"And if the temple retaliates?"

I looked at him flatly. "Let them. If they try to silence him, it’ll prove everything he says. Let the crown decide if it wants to side with the old ways or the future."

Davian grinned. "You really are dangerous."

I smirked. "You’re just slow."

He laughed, kicking his horse into a light canter. "Come on then, dangerous girl. Show me if you can keep up."

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