Shadows of Yesterday
I pulled him behind me, kneeling on the cobblestones to plead for mercy.
The carriage curtain remained perfectly still. From within, a young, cold voice sneered.
Youre begging for him? Who are you to him?
I lowered my head, my voice barely a whisper. I am his mother.
A sudden, deathly silence fell inside the carriage, then erupted into a laugh that was sharp with rage.
You dont even recognize your own flesh and blood, yet youre so eager to play mother to some bastard
The words were a blur. I could only press my forehead deeper against the cold ground. My lord, you must understand. I have only one son in this life. His name is Leo.
As the words left my lips, the carriage door was thrown open with a crash.
The nobleman leaped out. He stormed over to me, his voice thick and nasal with emotion.
Then look at me! he demanded.
Look at me and tell me who I am!
I raised my head and met the blazing, red-rimmed eyes of Damian.
And I suddenly remembered. This was also the fifth year since I had been cast aside by him and his father.
1
The winter wind tugged at the frayed, washed-pale hem of my tunic. I pressed my forehead back to the biting cold of the ground.
Greetings, Young Lord. I wish you well.
The childish innocence on Damians face hardened into a scowl.
Do you have to call me that? You know my name!
I wouldnt dare, my lord.
I held my prostrate position, my world reduced to the intricate, dark patterns on his expensive boots.
Five years ago, it had been boots just like these, standing on the high steps of the manor.
He had been clutching the princesss skirt, watching with cold eyes as the guards dragged me away.
The voice above me was silent for a beat, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh. Wouldnt dare? So if I have him beaten to death right here, youll still just say you wouldnt dare?
My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging so deep they drew blood, but I remained silent.
Damians voice was laced with a furious, grinding anger. Fine. Just fine! Ill give you a chance. Why dont you ask him yourself what he did to offend me.
Without looking up, my voice came out flat, devoid of any emotion. My son is simple-minded, my lord. Whatever happened, it was surely his fault. The Young Lord is never wrong.
I spoke the groveling words as if by instinct. My past had taught me that for a commoner to survive in the presence of nobility, bowing your head was the only way.
But Leo didnt understand that. He peeked out from behind me, his small voice full of defiance.
It wasnt me! He tried to take the handkerchief Mama gave me!
He was talking about a simple white cotton square, with a small rabbit embroidered in the bottom corner, its eyes a startling green.
For a moment, I was lost in a memory from years ago, a cherubic little boy nestled in my arms.
He had pointed to the handkerchief, his voice milky sweet. Mama, why are the bunnys eyes green?
Id kissed his forehead.
Because the little rabbit only has eyes for his favorite thing in the world, the green meadows.
Just like Mama only has eyes for my Damian.
At Leos words, Damians voice shot up, raw with the anger of a secret being exposed.
I wasnt taking it! I just I thought it was
He stopped short, his hand instinctively flying to his sleeve, as if to hide something.
The street fell into an eerie quiet.
After a long moment, that burning gaze returned to me.
You want to beg for his life? Fine. Give me fifty prostrations, and Ill forgive him.
Leos cry was sharp with fear. Mama, no!
The sound seemed to trigger something in Damian. You shut up! he roared. You dont get to speak!
I didnt hesitate. I bent forward and brought my forehead down against the stone.
One. Two. Three.
Again and again, my head met the icy ground. I lost count. Warm blood began to trickle down from my brow.
Suddenly, Damians voice exploded in a furious shout.
You youre just like Mother said! Worthless, pathetic, and ungrateful!
Take your bastard and get out of my sight!
A wave of relief washed over me. I bowed my head one last time. Thank you for your mercy, Young Lord.
The old injury in my knee screamed in protest as I struggled to my feet, pulling Leo up with me.
But as my eyes met a figure standing at the corner of the street, my entire body went rigid.
He was dressed in fine silks, his features a mature, hardened version of Damians.
It was his father. The master of the Northridge Marquisate.
And once, long ago my husband.
2
The year I found Alistair, he was not yet the renowned Marquis of Northridge.
He was just a man, half-dead in the snow, his body a canvas of blood and filth. The shackles on his wrists had worn his skin down to the bone.
I dragged him back to the apothecary, but the old healer just shook his head, saying he was a lost cause.
Then its a desperate measure, Id said. But I have to try.
I cut away his ruined clothes and cleaned his wounds over and over with strong spirits.
He was unconscious for three days. When he finally woke, his first words were, Why save me?
I told him the truth. You were too handsome to die. It would have been a waste.
He stared, then let out a low chuckle that shook his body and made his wounds bleed anew.
After that, he stayed, following me like a shadow.
Six months later, during the Festival of Lights, he took me into town to see the lanterns. The streets were a river of people, and he gently took my hand.
Elara, he said, his voice low and earnest. I have nothing to my name but this heart. Will you have it?
Beneath a sky filled with a thousand floating lights, my own heart was lost.
A year after we married, we had a son. We named him Damian.
When Damian was two, the Northridge Marquisate was cleared of treason and its titles restored.
It wasn't until the royal envoys found our small village that I learned the man who shared my bed was the famous Marquis.
Alistair had to return to the Capital immediately. Before he left, he held my hands, his words a solemn vow.
Elara, wait for me. Once I have settled things, I will return for you and Damian. I will bring you to my home as my true and honored wife.
He bit his own thumb and drew the first letter of his family name in blood on my palm.
Let this be my promise.
News traveled slowly to our remote village.
With Damian, I waited. Day after day.
The next I heard of him was six months later.
A traveling merchant brought tales from the Capital. The Marquis of Northridge had not only reclaimed his title but had also married the Emperors most beloved princess.
The villagers who once envied my luck now whispered that I was a fool, an abandoned woman who couldnt hold on to her man.
But then, just days later, the Marquiss men arrived.
From inside the magnificent carriage, Damian looked up at me with his wide, innocent eyes. Mama, where are we going?
I tweaked his nose, my heart soaring with happiness.
The rumors were wrong, my sweet. Were going to find Papa. Were going to live a wonderful life.
But the wonderful life at the manor was nothing like I had imagined.
There was no grand welcome, no bridal veil. I wasnt even allowed through the main gates. A small, plain sedan chair carried me silently through a rear entrance.
And my Damian Alistair took him from my arms himself and delivered him to the princesss residence.
I knelt on the cold stone courtyard, begging him to give me back my son, my head hitting the ground again and again. I told him I would pretend none of it had ever happened, that I would take our son and disappear forever, never setting foot in the Capital again.
But Alistair only looked down at me, his gaze as cold and distant as a star.
Elara, do not forget your station. If it werent for the fact that you once saved my life, you would not even have the privilege of kneeling here.
With that one sentence, I understood my place.
And I understood the man he had become.
He confined me to a small, isolated courtyard with orders never to leave. I couldnt see my son, and my son couldnt see me.
I heard he cried day and night, screaming for me until his little voice was raw.
There was a small, forgotten dog door at the base of the courtyard wall.
One day, a tiny, dirt-streaked figure crawled through it.
Mama!
He threw himself into my arms, his sobs tearing through my heart.
In that moment, holding him, I thought I would cry until I had no tears left.
After that, the small hole in the wall became our secret. He would sneak over every day, and I would find ways to make him his favorite childhood treats.
Until the day I offered him a piece of carefully dried apricot.
He instinctively turned his head away.
Mother says, he said, that things like that are dirty. I cant eat them.
My hand, holding the sweet, withered fruit, froze in midair.
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