Woven In The Arms Of The Enemy

The northern wind carried a brightness Eden wasn’t used to.

She clutched the fabric bundle tighter as she followed her mentor, Garrick, past the arches that marked the beginning of the royal district. The polished stone under her feet, the manicured hedges lining the walk—it all felt foreign. Untouchable. The air even smelled cleaner here.

She rarely came this far north. Her world existed on the edge of the merchant quarter, where she apprenticed at the tailor shop. The air inside always carried a warm blend of cinnamon, chalk dust, and dye—the scent of her little world. She spent her days stitching hems and pressing seams, her nights in the cramped room above the shop, drifting to sleep beneath the steady hum of the street below.

It was a quiet life.

Safe.

And yet, here she was—carrying the most important gown she’d ever helped create into the heart of the kingdom.

She cast a glance at Garrick, whose expression was unreadable as they climbed the castle steps. He was calm, but something about the way his broad frame cutting a solid path through the polished streets. Garrick was much older now than the version of him that first took her in. With gray streaking his tousled hair and a tired weight in his steps, he looked out of place among the gilded arches and manicured hedges. His apron pockets were cluttered with pins and chalk like a soldier’s arsenal, and though his hands bore the marks of years behind a needle, there was a quiet strength beneath it all. Eden held her chin a little higher walking beside him. He wasn’t just her mentor—he was her proof that survival could be steady, that kindness didn’t have to be soft. His eyes, sharp and restless, scanned every shadow they passed. Half-vigilant, half-mad, but always one step ahead.

As they climbed the steps to the castle, the doors opened before they could knock. A steward led them wordlessly through halls lined with velvet and gold. Eden tried not to gawk. Her steps felt too loud, her breathing too fast.

They stopped at a grand set of rose-inlaid doors.

The steward knocked once, then pushed them open.

Perfumed air spilled out, thick and floral and cloyingly sweet.

Inside, Seraphine sat draped in a pearl-colored silk robe, lounging like she belonged on a throne rather than a chaise. Her silver-blonde hair cascaded in polished waves, nearly blending into the icy tone of her skin. She didn’t look real—she looked carved from winter itself.

And her eyes—icy blue and glinting like frost—landed briefly on Eden.

It was only a glance, but it sent a chill down Eden’s spine.

Seraphine turned her attention to her reflection instead. “I need to look perfect,” she said.

She didn’t acknowledge Eden. Not a word. Not a flicker of recognition that another woman was even breathing in the room.

Garrick bowed stiffly. “We’ve brought the gown.”

Eden moved quickly, undoing the fastenings of the bundle and unveiling the gown.

Gasps rippled through the chamber.

The soft cream silk caught the light like liquid gold, and the hand-stitched golden floral embroidery sparkled subtly across the bodice and down the hem. A delicate, elegant masterpiece. Eden’s finest work.

Seraphine stood, the robe slipping from her shoulders. Her entourage moved in swiftly, lifting the gown and dressing her like a queen preparing for coronation.

Eden couldn’t help but stare—Seraphine was, undeniably, the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. A living painting. But there was something beneath that beauty. Something cold. Something dark.

Seraphine studied herself in the mirror and smiled, a soft, calculated curve of the lips. “Garrick,” she murmured. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

One of the noblewomen nearby stepped forward, head tilted. “There should be more floral detail. Today, she must shine the brightest.”

Seraphine didn’t respond. She only stared at her reflection for a moment longer, then flicked her hand toward Garrick in a silent command.

“Of course,” Garrick said, already preparing a needle. “Eden, come. We’ll reinforce the waistline.”

Eden nodded and stepped forward, hands steady even as her heart fluttered.

Then came the sound of the door opening again—heavy footsteps, boots striking marble.

Everything shifted.

Cassian had arrived.