The Golden Thread of Fate
Part 1
The vision tore through my mind like a jagged blade.
I gasped, my hands clutching the cold stone of the corridor wall for support.
Though my physical eyes saw nothing but darkness, the premonition painted the inside of my skull in stark, horrifying crimson.
I saw him falling.
The crimson blood stained the stone floor beneath him.
The bright spark of life drained rapidly from his unyielding gaze.
Brian was going to die.
My throat constricted until I could barely draw a breath.
I pushed away from the wall, relying on the mental map of the fortress I had memorized over the past arduous months.
Every step felt like wading through thick mud.
My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I had to reach him before the council meeting began.
I burst through the heavy oak doors of his private study.
The heat of the roaring fireplace washed over my face.
“Brian!” I shouted, the name tearing raw from my throat.
I heard the sudden scrape of his heavy wooden chair pushing back against the flagstones.
His heavy footsteps crossed the room in an instant.
“Megan?” his voice was thick with immediate concern.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Cancel the meeting,” I gasped, doubling over to catch my breath.
His strong hands gripped my shoulders, steadying my trembling frame.
“Something is wrong,” I managed to say, forcing the words through my panic.
“I saw it.”
“I had a vision.”
“You were attacked.”
His knuckles turned stark white as his heavy grip tightened slightly over my shoulder.
“When?” he demanded, his tone dropping into the authoritative register of a ruler.
“Where?” he pressed.
“I am not sure,” I admitted, frustration bringing hot tears to my unseeing eyes.
“Soon.”
“Cancel the meeting.”
“Stay here where I know you are safe.”
“Send word that the council meeting is postponed,” he ordered the guard stationed by the door.
“Dispatch search teams throughout the castle.”
The heavy door thudded shut as the guard hurried off to execute the command.
Brian’s hand slid down my arm, his fingers finding my elbow.
His touch was a warm anchor that slowed my frantic breathing.
“Come with me,” he said quietly.
“We will wait in my chambers until we know what we are dealing with.”
I paced the length of his sitting room, my soft leather shoes making no sound against the thick carpets.
My hands remained tightly clasped behind my back.
The desperate gesture was necessary to hide how violently my fingers trembled.
“Craig is with the healers,” Brian said from somewhere near the window.
“He is as safe as we can make him.”
I nodded sharply, but I did not stop my relentless pacing.
The heavy silence of the room pressed down on my shoulders.
“This is my fault,” I said finally.
The words tasted bitter on my tongue.
“I should have killed her when I had the chance.”
I heard the rustle of his heavy velvet tunic as he shifted his weight.
“Megan,” he started, his tone gentle.
“Do not,” I cut him off, my voice sharp like cracked glass.
“Brenda swore she would make us pay.”
“I let her live.”
“And now this.”
My voice broke on the final word.
Brian’s footsteps approached me slowly.
I felt the heat of his proximity before his hand reached out to brush against mine.
I pulled away before he could make contact.
A vicious, ugly knot twisted in my chest.
I knew I had hurt him, even without seeing his face.
“Do not,” I repeated, my tone quieter but no less cutting.
“Do not try to comfort me about being weak.”
“You are not weak,” Brian interrupted.
For the first time since I had met him, a hard edge of frustration colored his voice.
“And second-guessing decisions you made for sound reasons will not change anything.”
“Sound reasons?” I laughed, a harsh, hollow sound.
“You mean your reasons.”
“Megan,” Brian warned, the sharp line of his jaw locking tight.
“Stop punishing yourself.”
“Stop punishing me for trying to help you make a choice you could live with.”
“I am not punishing you,” I shot back, turning to face the direction of his voice.
“I am being realistic.”
“Brenda is going to kill you.”
“The vision showed me exactly that.”
“And it is going to be entirely my fault.”
“Because I listened to you instead of trusting my own instincts.”
“Your instincts,” Brian repeated slowly.
Something heavy in his voice made me freeze in my tracks.
“My instincts told me you were my mate,” he continued softly.
“That you needed time and space and endless patience.”
“That if I just waited, if I just gave you what you needed, eventually you would…”
He stopped speaking.
I heard him release a long, ragged breath.
“I would what?” I pushed, my heart beating a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
“That I would let you claim me?”
“When I made it completely clear it is not what I want?”
“Is it not?” Brian challenged, stepping closer.
“You have been pushing me away for days.”
“I have watched you shut down.”
“I have watched you build walls so high I cannot reach you anymore.”
He turned away from me.
I heard the familiar clinking of crystal against glass.
He was pouring wine from the decanter on the side table.
The rich scent of spiced dark grapes filled the space between us.
I stood frozen in the center of the room.
I listened to the liquid slosh gently into his goblet.
I opened my mouth to respond to his accusation.
And then, the memory of the vision flashed behind my eyes with blinding clarity.
The crimson blood.
The falling glass.
The unyielding gaze.
“Do not!” I screamed, lunging forward with my hand outstretched.
