Dragon Touched

A HUSBAND TAKEN

Bonded Husband: Aleric Tanim — Status: Removed by hostile forceLocation: UNKNOWNRecovery Required: IMMEDIATEPenalty for Failure: Permanent LossPenalty for Delay: Diplomatic Catastrophe

Quest Instigator:Aleric Tanim (involuntary)

Catrin was out of bed before the message even finished resolving, her body reacting faster than her thoughts. The blue System window still hovered above her pillow, casting cold light across the room.

[CRITICAL QUEST — A HUSBAND TAKEN]

Her pulse slammed once—twice—then dropped into the steady, predatory rhythm drilled into every daughter of House Arwen.

She bared her teeth at the glowing text.

“How dare they…” she hissed.

She wasn’t even sure she wanted the man yet. Aleric Tanim was a storm she hadn’t decided to weather. But someone—some foreign bitch—had dared to lay a hand on what was hers by decree?

No.

No, that would not stand.

Her hand closed around the hilt of the sword leaning by her bedside, fingers curling so tightly the leather creaked. The weapon felt reassuringly familiar, grounding her even as panic tore through her chest.

She didn’t bother fully dressing—snatched a tunic, boots half-laced, cloak thrown over one shoulder. Her braid came undone as she moved, dark strands sticking to her neck. She didn’t care.

She was already in motion.

She slammed her chamber door open hard enough that one of the hinges squealed. Two night-servants jumped, nearly dropping their lanterns.

“Lady Catrin—?! It’s the middle of—”

“Wake my mother,” Catrin snapped. “NOW. We have a palace breach.”

Their eyes widened. No woman of Arwen said those words lightly.

As she barreled down the corridor, the faint tremor of alarms echoed through the estate—bells deep and resonant, the kind only rung when war or disaster touched the capital. Doors opened. Sisters and aunts emerged bleary-eyed. Servants scurried to their stations.

House Arwen was waking.

And waking angry.

Good, she thought savagely. Let them know our rage.

She didn’t have time to wait for the Matron. She sprinted for the stables, cloak snapping behind her. The stable-master blinked at her disheveled appearance.

“L–Lady Catrin? Shall I rouse your escort—”

“No time.” She seized the reins of the nearest saddled mare. “Aleric has been taken. I ride for the Crown Palace.”

The woman paled, stepped aside. “Go with the House’s fury, my lady.”

She mounted and kicked hard.

The mare launched forward.

The city raced past her, cobblestones ringing beneath hooves. The cold night air clawed at her cheeks; fog curled around street corners. Lanterns guttered in the wind as she tore through narrow roads and cut across merchant squares.

The System notification still burned behind her eyes.

Removed by hostile force. Penalty for failure: Permanent loss.

Hold on, she begged silently, leaning forward to coax more speed. Hold on just a little longer, you stubborn man. Hold on.

The Crown Palace loomed into view—lanterns blazing, guards shouting orders, the night watch thick upon the walls. A ripple of fear passed through her.

The royal wards should never fail.

Not unless…

No. She refused that thought.

She thundered through the gate arch before anyone could stop her.

“Lady Arwen?” the guard captain called, startled. “What—by the Saints—?”

“No time!” she snapped, leaping from the horse before it even stopped moving. “There’s been an attack. The System issued a quest—Aleric is gone.”

The woman’s face drained of color.

Catrin didn’t stay to explain. She sprinted up the palace steps, taking them three at a time, boots slapping stone.

By the time she reached the east residential wing, another figure was stumbling toward her—Elowen Pryce, barefoot, hair unpinned and wild, silk night-robe soaked from dew and torn at one hem.

“Tell me—tell me it isn’t true,” Elowen gasped, clutching the railing.

Catrin’s expression told her everything.

Elowen made a strangled sound.

Footsteps echoed behind them—Rhyosyn Vaughn appeared next, breathless, clutching her bookbag like a shield. One braid hung loose over her shoulder.

Her voice trembled. “Ladies…please tell me this is a mistake. The System—”

Catrin didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

The three stood together—noble-born, trained to mistrust one another, political rivals spanning three powerful Houses—

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—but in that hallway, hearts pounding in unison, they were nothing but three women bound to the same man.

Catrin pushed open Aleric’s cracked chamber door.

It hung crooked, splintered along the frame where a force spell had struck.

Inside—

Carnage.

Inside the door way were the guards bodies. Blood pooled across the stone floor, already darkening at the edges. A chair lay shattered. A table overturned. A blade—one of Aleric’s own—was buried to the hilt in the wall. Scorch marks from combat spells marred the plaster. Three bodies lay twisted on the ground, armored women in unfamiliar colors, necks snapped or throats crushed.

Aleric’s tunic was torn and trampled. A single shard of ward-crystal pulsed weakly in the corner.

And near the bed, half-hidden beneath a fallen tapestry—

—an insignia of Eisenwald, ripped from someone's armor.

Elowen covered her mouth, choking on a sob. Rhyosyn gripped the doorframe until her knuckles went white.

Catrin stepped deeper into the room, sword still in hand, voice barely above a whisper:

“He killed them. Three of them. Alone. Saints…he fought like a demon.” SHe then pointed at other stains. "Look others were wounded. Bending down she nodded "At least two…"

The System chimed again, cold and merciless.

[QUEST UPDATE — CRITICAL PATH]

Objective Added:Recover Aleric Tanim before he crosses the realm border. *Hostile party is in motion. *Time sensitivity increased.

The three women stared at each other—terrified, furious, trembling—

—and united.

The decision formed between them without speech, as natural as breath.

Rhyosyn stepped forward first.

“A blade remembers where it last tasted life,” she murmured. Her fingers brushed one of the fallen enemy knives—a lean, wicked thing of unfamiliar make. She lifted it carefully, cradling it in her palm as though it were a wounded bird.

Her voice dropped to a whisper of spellcraft.

“Revelare viam… ostende quem occidisti…”

The metal warmed, then glowed faintly. A pulse rippled through the chamber like a heartbeat.

The blade rose slowly from Rhyosyn’s hand, spinning once in the air, and then—

pointed.

A straight line. Absolute. Unerring.

Catrin’s breath caught—not in fear, but in fury sharpened to a blade’s edge.

Her eyes gleamed with a cold, eager fire.

“That direction,” Rhyosyn said, voice trembling with strain as she kept the spell active. “They’re moving quickly. And… southward. South–southwest.” Her brow furrowed. “That means they didn’t take a ship. They’re fleeing overland.”

Catrin’s lips curled into something far too predatory to be called a smile.

“Good,” she said softly.

Elowen swallowed, gathering her torn dignity and shattered composure into something resolute. “Why is that good?”

Catrin looked at her—at both of them.

“Because,” she said, lifting her sword, “if they had taken him to the docks, we would already be too late.”

She stepped past the corpses, eyes blazing.

“On land,” she growled, “they bleed more easily.”

Elowen flinched slightly at the violence in her tone—but didn’t disagree.

Rhyosyn lowered the blade-spell, shaking from the magical effort, but held her chin high.

“They can’t have more than an hour lead,” she said. “Less, if Aleric slowed them down first.”

“We will catch them,” Elowen breathed, more a vow than a statement.

Catrin strode toward the door, cloak snapping behind her like the wings of a hunting hawk.

“Come,” she said, voice low and lethal.

“We will carve their hearts out.”