Page 72 of Stolen
Chapter16
Jules
North Village—TheMarket
I know it’s market day.
But more importantly, according to Shade, it’sAsk Day.
“Tell me what today is again,” I say, trying not to react to the stares and whispers.
“Yes, of course. Ask Day is a time of year, usually held every quarter, when our people present Lord Alaric with their grievances, needs, and requests for his judgment,” she says matter-of-factly.
“What kind of problems?” I ask, brushing my fingers over bolts of lace and soft, silken linen at a vendor’s table.
A sweet-looking older woman smiles at me, and her daughters giggle when I compliment the pale blue embroidery.
“Anything, Lady Jules. Disputes between neighbors. Land boundaries. A cartwheel needing replacement. Even matchmaking requests.”
“Wait,” I stop walking and smile so hard it hurts. “Alaric is a matchmaker?”
Shade tilts her head, confused. “Not exactly. But it is the dream of many villagers to have their Lord bless their unions. Especially during Ask Day. Do they not do that on Earth?”
“Not unless you count dating apps,” I laugh. “Some cultures still use matchmakers, but not really anymore. Back home, people want to meet someone who just gets them. Someone to fall in love with.”
“Strange,” she murmurs, brows knitting.
I snort. “You’re telling me. But it’s supposed to be about connection. Not sex or dowries or parental approval.”
She doesn’t reply immediately, and the silence stretches just long enough to make me glance over. Shade’s expression is unreadable. Thoughtful.
“So, people ask him for matchmaking?” I press.
“Yes. Especially now. Since you arrived.”
“How do you mean?” I ask her.
“There’s been talk,” Shade says quietly.
I glance over at her. The wind teases her red braid over one shoulder, and she doesn’t meet my eyes at first.
“What kind of talk?” I ask.
She finally looks at me then, and there’s something unreadable in her expression.
A weight.
A warning.
Her eyes, normally the color of polished ash, seem to darken with whatever truth she’s holding back.
“About the prophecy,” she says.
I stop walking. “What prophecy?”
Shade sighs, as if she regrets bringing it up at all—but the words spill anyway, like they’ve been waiting to be said.
“In Nightfall, the realm is ruled by the great Lords. Each commands a dominion carved out by old power and older bloodlines. Lord Alaric rules the Eyrie and all the wild lands west of the Thorn Mountains. His brethren—LordsKael, Thorne, and Dagan—govern their own territories. Together, they kept the realm in balance. Until,” she pauses.
