Twice Was She Forsaken

"Good, good. You've finally come to your senses."

Elsha's voice trembled as she looked at the girl she'd protected her whole life—now worn thin by grief.

"His Majesty said it from the start—Theron Thornefell was never right for you. If you hadn't clung to that hope, none of this would've happened.

"But thank the stars you saw it in time. Once you're back in Crownspire, His Majesty will choose a proper husband. With him behind you, no one will dare lay a finger on you again."

Tears welled in Vionna's already swollen eyes.

Her father had warned her, long ago.

She hadn't listened. She'd knelt at the palace gates, begging to be sent to Stormrest—only to waste a lifetime.

She died without ever seeing him again.

Vionna clenched her fists and forced a smile. "I was foolish then. I won't let my father worry like that again."

She wouldn't cling to Theron anymore.

She didn't even dare.

***

After leaving the apothecary, Vionna returned to camp by carriage.

Her name was still on the army's rolls. She couldn't just vanish and follow Elsha back to Crownspire. If she meant to leave Stormrest, she had to settle things first—tend the wounded, tie up her duties.

And one border report needed to reach her father.

Elsha was the only one she trusted. So Vionna wrote the letter and placed it in her hands for immediate delivery.

All she had to do now was wait.

Wait for someone who loved her... to bring her home.

The thought alone eased the weight in her chest. For the first time in days, she let herself smile.

But as she lifted the flap of her tent, she walked straight into someone.

Theron.

Clad only in an undershirt, his bare torso showed a fresh wound—and scattered above it, a tangle of marks.

Vionna didn't need to ask what they were.

She'd lived through too many nights with him not to know.

Her smile vanished. She turned away. "Why are you in my tent?"

Theron narrowed his eyes, lingering on the redness around hers before letting out a cold snort.

"You're my physician. I'm injured. Isn't it natural I come for treatment?"

Vionna frowned.

He wasn't wrong—tending his wounds was part of her role.

But before, he'd always summoned her to the command tent.

Theron coming to her? That was rare.

Vionna said nothing. She opened her kit and got to work.

The gash on his side was ugly—deep, jagged, torn wider after last night's exertion. Blood had soaked through the bandages. She peeled them back and found a mess of red and ruin.

Once, a sight like that would've rattled her.

Now, she didn't even blink.

As Vionna scattered healing powder over the wound, Theron broke the silence.

"You've heard, I'm sure. It's done. I'll marry Marzella. Since you're still stationed here, I expect no more foolishness."

She didn't look up. "Understood, Uncle Theron."

He stiffened.

She hadn't called him that in years.

Back in Crownspire, she'd trail after him with wide eyes and that silly, soft voice—'Uncle Theron' this, 'Uncle Theron' that. Later, when her heart turned, she tried every name but that one.

Until now.

Theron frowned, ready to speak—but the tent flap lifted, slicing through the silence.

"Theron, I've already moved my things. Did you tell Miss Vale?"

He snapped out of it, brushing past Vionna as he rose to meet Marzella.

"I told you to rest. Someone else could've done that."

His voice softened—for Marzella.

Then his gaze cut back to Vionna, still on one knee from the shove. The warmth vanished.

"This tent's closest to mine. Marzella will stay here now. Pack your things. You're moving to the physicians' quarters."

Marzella nestled into him, murmuring like they were alone. "Theron, that's a bit much, isn't it? She's been here nearly three years... Maybe I should just stay in my old tent?"

She turned to go, but he looped an arm around her waist.

"You'll be my bride soon. You can stay wherever you please. If we were already wed, I'd move you into my tent itself."

Then he looked at Vionna—stone-cold.

"As for Miss Vale... she'd do well to remember her place."

And that was it.

He hadn't come for treatment. He'd come to remind her—she no longer had a place here.

He wanted her gone. He wanted Marzella close.

Vionna swallowed the bitter taste rising in her throat. Brushed off her robes. Rose.

"I'll pack now."

She'd leave this tent. Leave Stormrest.

And soon—she'd return to Crownspire—to her father.

She wouldn't come back.