Cleora turned to Jolthar, her expression still serene, but behind her eyes, a storm raged.
A flicker of something raw and unguarded surfaced, and for the first time, she spoke without her usual composed demeanour.
"Ever since then, my father never spoke to me the same way again," she began, her voice steady, yet laced with an old wound that had never quite healed.
"He thought I was impure. He didn't even look at me. All he could think about was that damned box, that precious item he had sent me to retrieve. When I returned, he didn't see his daughter—he saw a failed transaction, a tarnished name."
Jolthar remained silent, watching her closely. He had seen many people break, had seen their masks crumble under the weight of their own suffering, but Cleora stood tall, even as she recounted her past. There was something chilling in the way she spoke, as though she had buried her pain so deeply that she had long since stopped feeling it.
"Being present in his house made him feel ashamed; I was locked in my room."
"He wanted to be rid of me," she continued. "To marry me off, to trade me like another commodity, as he did with his shipments of silk and spice. And he did."
Her lips curled in something between a bitter smile and a grimace. "I was given away to a man I had never met, a powerful lord who saw me as nothing more than a breeding sack. I couldn't conceive at first, and for that, he despised me. Those mental scars haven't healed yet. He wanted to bed me, and I was told to give him a heir.
He was rough. He was cruel. His hands left marks that never faded, no matter how much time passed. I learned not to cry, not to scream. It made him enjoy it more."
She took a breath, exhaling slowly as if she were releasing the ghosts of her past into the cold air around them.
"At last, I became pregnant with Roblan," she said, a shift in her tone as she spoke of her son. "But after his birth, my husband had no more use for me. He wanted to dispose of me like one does with an empty bottle of wine.
That's when something inside me snapped. I realized that if I wanted to live, I could no longer be the girl who let others decide her fate. I would live, but not for anyone else.
Not for my father, not for my husband. For myself." Get full chapters from novel✶fire.net
Jolthar watched her carefully, noting the slight tremble in her fingers as she curled them into fists. It was the only sign of vulnerability she allowed herself.
"I come to hate all the humans; every one in my life and not part of my life, directly and indirectly, played a part in me becoming ," she admitted, her voice colder now, sharp like a blade honed over years of suffering.
"I hated their greed, their selfishness, their thirst for control. I vowed that I would never be powerless again. I would use them as they had used me. So I did."
She turned to him fully now, her piercing gaze meeting his without hesitation.
The sound of crickets resounded in the background as the evening wind passed silently.
"I know you've heard things about me. Stories whispered in court, rumours passed between cowards who fear strong women. And I won't deny any of it. I did everything I had to do. I manipulated, I seduced, I deceived, and I conquered—because that was the only way to survive. And I will not apologize for it."
Jolthar remained silent, his expression unreadable. He had met many people who wielded power, who sought dominance, but Cleora was different. She had carved out her own path in a world that had sought to break her, and she had done it unapologetically.
He wasn't sure whether to respect her or pity her. Perhaps both.
"If someone dares to threaten what I have built, what I have fought for, I will not stand by and watch. I will strike first. I will burn them to the ground before they have a chance to do the same to me." Her voice was steady, resolute. There was no hesitation in her words.
Jolthar narrowed his eyes. "And you expect me to believe all of this? That you're just a woman trying to survive?"
Cleora gave a small, almost knowing smile. "Believe me or don't; it's your choice. This is the first time I've spoken about myself . The first time I've told the truth without embellishment or omission.
And for some reason, I didn't want to lie to you. You seem different from the rest of them. I can see it in your eyes—the pain, the anger. A rightful anger."
Jolthar felt something in him shift. Perhaps it was the recognition of shared wounds, scars etched deep beneath the surface. Or perhaps it was something else, something he wasn't ready to name.
He exhaled, and for the first time in a long while, he found himself believing someone.
Jolthar stood before Cleora, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
The breeze carried the scent of damp earth and smouldering embers from the town that was still rebuilding itself.
"So," Jolthar began, his voice calm yet laced with suspicion, "all this marriage drama was just a scheme to use me? To make me your shield?"
Cleora met his gaze, unflinching. There was no hesitation in her reply, only honesty. "No," she said. "I genuinely want to be your woman, Jolthar. But... I can't say there isn't truth in what you just said either."
She sighed, a weight pressing upon her chest. "I can tell you're not like the rest of the men I've dealt with. Even though you're young, you carry wisdom far beyond your years. And most importantly—you know exactly what you're doing. Not many do. Not many have a vision beyond their immediate desires or needs. But you... you see something greater."
Jolthar studied her face carefully, searching for any signs of deceit. She had always been known as a woman who wielded her influence like a blade—shrewd, cunning, and undeniably captivating. But now, as she spoke, there was an openness in her demeanour that was almost disarming.
Cleora continued, her voice softer but firm. "And there's another reason. My daughter—she never speaks to men. Not even beyond necessity. The only man she's ever spoken to freely is her brother. But with you... she was different. She was eager and enthusiastic, as if she had finally found someone who truly understood something she could not put into words. She spoke of you as a man with a grand vision, someone who isn't bound by the limitations of this land. She was happy." Cleora smiled faintly.
"And that is not something I can ignore."
Jolthar chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "So you dedicate yourself to me because of your daughter's enthusiasm?" Jolthar was surprised that Nora had said that about him. She only spits rude comments at him whenever she sees him.
Cleora met his eyes, stepping closer.
"No," she whispered. "I dedicate myself to you because I see the fire in your eyes—the same fire that burned within me when I decided to take my fate into my own hands. It is rightful anger. It is purpose. And more than that... it is power."
Jolthar exhaled slowly, staring into the horizon. The stars above shimmered like distant promises, unreachable yet guiding. "Yes, I am not like the rest of them," he finally said, his voice steady. "And after listening to you, I will tell you this—I have ambitions far beyond anything you've known. I have things I must do. People I must kill. But while I carve my path, I will turn this land into a haven, a place that will rival even the greatest empires. It will be stronger than them all."
He turned to her, his dark eyes gleaming with something raw, something unyielding. "This place will be my home. And my foothold in this world."
"And I will tell you this: I don't completely believe what you said. Your words resonate with a certain truth, yet they also raise questions and doubts that linger in my mind. It must have been incredibly difficult to survive among these greed-mongering humans, those who pursue wealth and power at the expense of their own integrity. I can only imagine the struggles you faced while trying to navigate their selfish desires and manipulative ways.
However, I can't simply proclaim my sympathy for your situation or shower you with flowery rhetoric. Words alone can often feel hollow, especially when trust has yet to be established. To just say I empathize with you would be disingenuous. Instead, I find it essential to approach this with caution and a discerning mind.
For now, I will choose to observe and learn about you from your actions and choices. I want to understand who you truly are beneath the surface. What values drive your decisions? How do you interact with others in this environment that's so rife with avarice? I am intrigued, and it is only through this scrutiny that I can begin to form a clearer picture of the woman standing before me, stripped of both assumptions and pretence.
And know this: I will not hesitate to cut you down if you think of harming me in any way possible."
A gust of wind swept between them as if the world itself had acknowledged his proclamation. Cleora watched him silently, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smile.
She walked to him and pressed her body against him, saying, "Don't worry, dear Jolthar. I will make sure you believe me; after all, I am a persistent woman who always gets what I want. You have nothing to fear from me."
Jolthar felt a shiver run down his spine, unsure if he should be comforted or terrified by her words.