Twice Was She Forsaken

Just as Theron's hands reached to tear her clothes, Vionna shoved him back with all her strength and bolted from the tent.

"Viona Vale! What are you doing out here? How's Lord Theron?"

His personal guards stood around the command tent, eyes sharp with concern.

Vionna clutched her torn clothes close. Luckily, the northern winter had her wrapped in thick layers.

"He's not doing well. Regular treatment won't work. Fetch Commander Morwynne—now."

Several soldiers barked back.

"If it's that serious, why'd you leave? Calling someone else now just wastes time."

"If something happens to Lord Theron, can a lowly physician like you take the blame?"

She didn't flinch.

Someone had already gone for Marzella. She arrived moments later, dismounting in one fluid motion, dressed in riding leathers.

She stopped in front of Vionna, eyes narrowed.

"Viona Vale, what game is this? You clawed your way into Theron's tent to marry into power. Now, with the chance in your lap, you call for me instead?"

The wind bit hard. Snow pressed down like that final day.

Vionna could barely breathe.

Fists clenched, she met Marzella's gaze. "If you don't go in now, he won't survive."

A low groan rose from within the tent.

Marzella's expression shifted. With a crack of her whip, she shoved Vionna aside and stormed through the flap.

Moments later, fabric tore.

Then came the sounds—raw, unmistakable.

Even the guards turned red.

A man's low growl. A woman's sharp gasp. Furniture crashing.

And then—pleasure. Loud, unashamed. Each cry landed like shards of ice against Vionna's chest.

"Lord Theron's got stamina, I'll give him that."

"Good thing it was Commander Morwynne. If it'd been Viona, she wouldn't survive the night. Be dead before morning. So much for chasing rank."

The guards' vulgar talk choked the breath from her lungs.

Drained and hollow, Vionna drifted from the tent.

Only once she stepped into the warmth of her own shelter did the tears fall—hot, unstoppable.

First came the quiet sobs. Then the wails—raw, broken, as if she were coughing up two lifetimes of shame.

That night, the lights in Theron's tent never dimmed.

And she never slept.

***

By dawn, Vionna had washed and dressed. She left the physicians' quarters under the guise of gathering herbs and rode straight to the city's largest apothecary.

The moment the shopkeeper saw her, her eyes welled with tears. "Your Highness... what happened to you?"

Vionna didn't need a mirror. Her eyes were swollen from crying. Her clothes, torn by Marzella's whip, had been clumsily stitched back together.

There wasn't a trace of a princess left.

But the woman before her wasn't just any shopkeeper—she was Elsha Grey, the Shadowguard her father had secretly assigned to protect her since childhood.

Elsha had raised her. Of course she saw the wreckage.

But Vionna had no words left to explain.

She collapsed into Elsha's arms, voice barely a whisper.

"Elsha... send word to my father. I want to go home."