Chapter 4: The Confession

They reached Ashford by nightfall.

Brynn had never seen anything like it. The compound was massive, easily three times the size of Greymire. Stone walls, watchtowers, wolves patrolling every entrance. It looked impenetrable.

Safe.

The word felt foreign.

Torrhen helped her down from the horse. Her legs barely held her weight.

"Easy," he said, steadying her. "Cerys is waiting."

"Who's Cerys?"

"Our healer. She'll take care of your back."

Brynn nodded, too exhausted to argue.

He led her through the compound. Wolves stopped and stared. She kept her eyes down, old habits kicking in. Don't make eye contact. Don't draw attention. Don't exist.

"Brynn."

She looked up. Torrhen was watching her.

"You don't have to do that here."

"Do what?"

"Hide. You're not a servant anymore."

She wanted to believe him. Wanted to feel the truth of those words. But ten years of conditioning didn't disappear in a few hours.

They entered a large building. The healing rooms, she assumed. The air smelled like herbs and clean linen. So different from Greymire's stench of blood and fear.

A woman appeared. Older, maybe fifty, with silver streaked through her dark hair. Sharp eyes that missed nothing.

"You must be Brynn," she said. "I'm Cerys. Let's get you fixed up."

She led Brynn to a table. "Lie face down. This is going to hurt."

"I'm used to pain."

"That doesn't make this easier."

Cerys lifted Brynn's shirt and went silent. Brynn knew what she was seeing. Twenty fresh lash marks crisscrossing older scars. Years of abuse mapped across her back like a history written in skin.

"Who did this?" Cerys asked quietly.

"Garran. He's dead now."

"Good."

Cerys began cleaning the wounds. Brynn bit down on her lip, tasting copper. The pain was sharp, relentless. But she'd survived worse.

Across the room, Torrhen stood with his back against the wall. She could feel him watching her, could feel his tension through the bond. Every time Cerys touched a wound, his jaw tightened.

He felt it too. All of it.

"You should leave," Brynn said.

"No."

"You don't need to be here."

"Yes, I do."

She didn't understand why. Didn't understand any of this. He'd risked a war to save her, had killed for her, had brought her home. And now he stood there suffering her pain like it was his own.

Because it was.

The bond. That invisible thread tying them together whether they wanted it or not.

Cerys worked in silence, cleaning and stitching with practiced efficiency. Finally, she stepped back. "Done. You'll need to rest. No heavy lifting, no training, nothing that'll tear these open again."

"How long?"

"Two weeks minimum."

"I can't stay in bed for two weeks."

"You can and you will. Doctor's orders."

Brynn started to protest, but Torrhen cut her off. "She's right. You need to heal."

"I've healed from worse while working."

"That was then. This is now."

She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him she didn't need coddling. But exhaustion was pulling at her, dragging her down. She hadn't slept properly in days. Hadn't felt safe enough to sleep.

"Come on," Torrhen said. "I'll show you where you'll be staying."

He led her out of the healing rooms, through more corridors, up a flight of stairs. The compound was enormous. She'd get lost trying to navigate it alone.

They stopped at a door. He opened it.

Inside was a room. Not a cell. Not a corner of a shared space. A real room with a bed, a window, a dresser. Clean sheets. Soft pillows.

Brynn stood in the doorway, staring.

"This is yours," Torrhen said.

"Mine?"

"Yes."

"Just mine? I don't share it?"

He looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes. "No. You don't share it. This is your space. Your room. No one comes in without your permission."

She walked inside slowly, like the floor might give way. Touched the bed. The sheets were soft, softer than anything she'd felt in years.

"There are clothes in the dresser," Torrhen continued. "If they don't fit, let Isla know. She's my sister. She'll get you whatever you need."

Brynn turned to face him. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"All of it. The room. The clothes. The healer. You don't know me."

"I know enough."

"That's not an answer."

He was quiet for a moment, then stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Please."

"I don't know what I'm doing. I've never had a mate. Never wanted one. And now I have this bond with someone I just met, and I'm trying to figure out how to handle it without making things worse."

"You think bringing me here made things worse?"

"I think taking you from Greymire was the right call. But I don't know what comes next. I don't know if you want to be here. I don't know if the bond is something you'll resent. I'm just trying not to screw this up."

His honesty caught her off guard. She'd expected arrogance, maybe possessiveness. Not vulnerability.

"I don't resent the bond," she said quietly.

"You don't?"

"No. It saved me. If you hadn't felt my pain, you wouldn't have come. I'd still be in Greymire."

"You would've found another way out."

"No. I wouldn't have. I'd given up. Stopped believing escape was possible. And then you showed up."

She sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly too tired to stand. "I don't know what happens next either. I don't know how to be anything other than a servant. I don't know how to live without fear. But I want to try."

Torrhen moved closer, sitting beside her but not touching. "Then we'll figure it out together."

"Why would you want to?"

"Because you're my mate. And that means something to me, even if I don't fully understand it yet."

She looked at him. Really looked at him. Dark eyes that held weight, scars on his knuckles from years of fighting, a face that could be brutal or gentle depending on the moment. He was dangerous. She knew that. But he wasn't cruel.

And maybe that was enough.

"Torrhen."

"Yes?"

"I need to tell you something."

"All right."

She took a breath. This part was harder. "I've known about the bond for three days."

He went still. "What?"

"Since you came to Greymire the first time. When I saw you at the gates. I felt it. The pull. The connection. I didn't know what it was at first, but I tested it."

"How?"

"I hurt myself on purpose. Small things. A cut here. A bruise there. And I waited to see if anything happened. If anyone reacted."

His face was unreadable. "And?"

"And nothing happened. So I thought I was imagining it. Until the whipping. That night, I felt something different. Anger. Not mine. Someone else's. And I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That whoever was connected to me was coming."

Torrhen stood and walked to the window, his back to her. She couldn't read his expression, couldn't tell if he was angry or hurt or something else entirely.

"You tested the bond," he said finally.

"Yes."

"You hurt yourself to see if I'd react."

"Yes."

"And you didn't think to tell me when I showed up?"

"I didn't know if you'd believe me. I didn't know if you even wanted the bond."

He turned to face her. "I felt every single thing you did. Every cut. Every bruise. And you're telling me it was deliberate?"

"Some of it. Not all of it. Most of the pain was real. From Greymire. But yes, I tested it."

"Why?"

"Because I needed to know if I was losing my mind. Because I needed to understand what was happening to me. Because I've spent ten years powerless and this was the first time I had information someone else didn't."

He stared at her, and she braced herself for anger, for accusations. But when he spoke, his voice was calm. "I understand."

She blinked. "You do?"

"Yes. You were trying to survive. Trying to make sense of something impossible. I can't be angry about that."

"You're not upset?"

"I'm upset that you felt you had to hurt yourself to get answers. But I'm not angry at you for doing it."

Relief flooded through her. She'd expected rejection, maybe even punishment. Not understanding.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"For what?"

"For not being like him. Like Rodrick."

Torrhen crossed the room and knelt in front of her so they were eye level. "I'm never going to be like him. I'm never going to hurt you. And I'm never going to make you feel like you have to hurt yourself to be heard. Do you understand?"

She nodded, throat tight.

"Good." He stood. "You should rest. It's been a long day."

"Where will you be?"

"My quarters are down the hall. If you need anything, just ask anyone. They'll find me."

"Okay."

He walked to the door, then stopped. "Brynn."

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're here."

"So am I."

He left, closing the door softly behind him.

Brynn sat there for a long moment, staring at the closed door. Then she lay back on the bed, sinking into the soft mattress. She should've been terrified. Should've been planning her next move. Should've been guarding herself.

But she was too tired.

Too broken.

Too hopeful.

She closed her eyes. And for the first time in ten years, she fell asleep without fear.

Without pain.

Without waiting for the next blow.

Just sleep.

Deep and dreamless and safe.

Outside the door, Torrhen stood in the hallway, feeling the bond settle as Brynn drifted off. The pain that had been his constant companion for days finally eased. Not gone, but manageable.

She was safe. She was here. She was his.

And he'd do whatever it took to make sure she stayed that way.

Even if it meant war. Even if it meant sacrifice. Even if it meant facing down every demon she carried and every enemy who came for her.

She was worth it.

He just hoped she'd believe that someday too.