Page 10 of A Heart Disguised 1

With our goodbyes said and our belongings packed, I stood at the threshold of the cottage, my legs feeling weak beneath the layers of silk and lace. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to summon the courage to step outside. Meredith, Russet, and Bernard followed, their faces etched with worry and sorrow.

As I finally stepped out, I felt as though I was walking to my own execution, each step bringing me closer to a future I could scarcely comprehend. The weight of my fate pressed down upon me, heavier than any gown or crown could ever be.

I stepped into the front courtyard, a flutter of nerves dancing in my stomach like a flock of sparrows in a gale. Meredith, Bernard, and Russet flanked me, their presence both a comfort and a reminder of the grim parade we were about to join.

Lord Aldercrest stood there, an impassive overseer ensuring I hadn’t fled at the last moment. His eyes swept the scene with the cold calculation of a man who had just brokered a lucrative deal, heedless of the fact that the commodity was his own flesh and blood. No sign of Lady Aldercrest—no surprise there. She wouldn’t deign to bid farewell to her husband’s inconvenient bastard. Rosalind and Lily were absent too, sequestered within the manor’s walls as if their mere presence might tempt thesedemons to spirit them away. According to Lady Aldercrest’s twisted reasoning—or perhaps her thinly veiled contempt—they were far too precious to risk in the company of such otherworldly beings, unlike their expendable half brother.

Before us, Lunaria’s forces stood arrayed like a living, breathing nightmare come to life. The human soldiers of Lunaria cut an imposing figure, their sleek black armor gleaming in the early morning light, each plate and curve a chilling embodiment of their realm’s martial prowess. They stood with the unwavering discipline of seasoned warriors, their eyes fixed ahead with a resolve that spoke of battles fought and horrors witnessed. The scars and dents in their armor told tales of service and sacrifice, worn with a grim pride that chilled me to my core.

But it was the demon soldiers who drew my gaze, their otherworldly presence an undeniable harbinger of the power that awaited me in Lunaria. They were a motley crew of nightmares brought to life, their forms as varied as the tales of terror whispered about their kind.

As I approached, I couldn’t help but marvel at their presence—their disciplined stillness that suggested coiled serpents ready to strike. It was awe-inspiring and terrifying all at once, and I felt my pulse quicken as I took in the sheer magnitude of their presence.

A hulking demon knight stepped forward, his muscled form encased in armor that seemed to have been forged from the shadows themselves. His skin was a deep, burnished bronze, almost appearing to be made of living metal. His eyes glowed like molten gold, piercing through the morning fog with an intensity that made my breath hitch.

Lord Aldercrest introduced me with an air of finality that chilled my blood. “Lady Robin Aldercrest,” he declared, his voice devoid of warmth. “The duke’s bride.”

The demon knight bowed—a gesture both elegant and unnerving—and I swallowed hard against the lump forming in my throat.

“I am Sir Calibor,” he rumbled, his voice like gravel rolling down a mountainside. “I shall ensure your safe passage to Lunaria.”

When he reached for my hand, I recoiled out of instinct, my eyes wide with alarm. His gaze held mine for a moment—piercing yet not unkind—and he seemed to understand my trepidation.

“Please,” Sir Calibor said with an unsettling gentleness as he gestured toward the carriage without touching me again.

The carriage was an opulent affair, its interior lined with velvet and adorned with silver filigree—a gilded cage fit for a lady, or perhaps a sacrificial lamb. With a heart threatening to pound its way out of my chest and legs that felt as unsteady as a newborn fawn’s, I let myself be ushered inside. Meredith and Bernard joined me, their presence a small comfort against the tide of uncertainty that threatened to swallow me whole. Russet leaped in beside me, his warm, solid body a reassuring presence at my side.

As the carriage lurched into motion, I pressed my face against the window glass, straining for one last glimpse of my sisters. But they were nowhere to be seen—only Lord Aldercrest’s retreating back as he vanished into the manor without a backward glance. The sight of him abandoning me so easily, as if I were nothing more than a pawn in his political game, sent a wave of hurt and anger through me.

Meredith’s hand found mine, her grip firm and reassuring. “At least it’s a five-day journey,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of hope and fear.

I nodded silently, unable to summon words or wit—a feather caught in the storm winds of fate. As the manor faded into thedistance, I was left to wonder what trials lay ahead on the road to Lunaria, and whether I possessed the courage to face them. The weight of my family’s abandonment pressed heavily upon me, a constant reminder of how alone I truly was in this new, terrifying chapter of my life.

The days blurred together in a relentless march toward my uncertain fate. The journey from Aldercrest to Lunaria stretched before me like an endless road, each mile of countryside passing my carriage window a stark reminder of the growing distance between me and the only home I’d ever known.

Within the confines of my gilded prison on wheels, I kept to myself, cloaked in silks and satins that seemed to mock my predicament with their soft caresses against my skin. I despised the dresses, how they constricted my movements like vines binding me to a fate I’d never chosen. But it was either the gowns or the unthinkable exposure of my secret, so I bore their embrace with gritted teeth.

When we made camp, I ventured out for walks to stretch legs grown stiff from too much sitting. Always careful, I kept my distance from the soldiers—both human and demon. Sir Calibor was a constant shadow, his assurances of safety both comforting and chilling.

“You are in good hands, Lady Robin,” he’d say with a grave nod. “Nothing will befall the duke’s bride on my watch.” Each time he uttered those words, cold dread settled in my stomach at the thought of the Duke of Lunaria.

The journey was punctuated by moments of absurd difficulty. Answering nature’s call became an exercise in stealth and acrobatics, as I attempted to maneuver the skirts anddelicate slippers in the woods without alerting my ever-present guards. More than once, I caught Sir Calibor’s knowing gaze as I emerged from the trees, my face flushed with exertion and embarrassment.

Bathing was another ordeal entirely. Meredith would create diversions, engaging the soldiers in conversation while I slipped away to a nearby stream. Even then, I felt eyes upon me, as if the very trees were reporting back to my demonic escorts. The constant surveillance grated on my nerves, making me feel like a prized falcon, forever tethered and observed.

One late afternoon, as our party halted to make camp, I seized a rare opportunity for solitude. With Russet at my heels, I slipped away to a nearby river, the sound of rushing water masking our departure.

The setting sun painted the sky in hues of gold and pink, casting shadows across the riverbank. I glanced around nervously, ensuring I was truly alone before beginning to undress. My fingers trembled as I unfastened the intricate clasps of my gown, letting the heavy fabric pool at my feet. A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I stepped out of the confining garment.

“At least today I was spared that wretched corset,” I murmured to Russet, who cocked his head in response. “I swear my waist is becoming as narrow as a reed. Soon I’ll snap in two at the slightest breeze!”

Standing in nothing but my undergarments, I shivered as the cool breeze caressed my skin. I unbound my hair, letting it flow down my back. The pale strands seemed to glow in the fading light, reaching past my waist in silken waves.

I ran my fingers through my tresses, a mixture of defiance and melancholy washing over me. In Aethoria, it was customary for men to keep their hair short or, at most, shoulder-length. But I had let mine grow well past my waist, a silent rebellion against both convention and my father’s wishes.

Father barely acknowledged my existence, let alone my mother’s memory. But I had seen her portrait, hidden away in a corner of the cottage. Her moonlight-colored hair cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall, so like my own.

So I grew it out, despite the merciless torments from Henry and Gavin and the disapproving looks from others. It was my way of keeping her memory alive, of reminding Father of what he chose to forget.

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