The Reluctant Lady of Tarse: Chapter 2

 The Unseen Hand

Milara Aderic had always known that her life was not her own. From the moment of her birth, she had been a tool in her father’s hands, a pawn to be used for whatever purpose suited his ambitions. The legitimacy of her birth mattered little to Womclar Aderic, the powerful and calculating head of the Aderic family. To him, she was simply a means to an end—an asset, a bargaining chip. And today, that truth was about to take on a new, more painful form.

It all began in the private chambers of the Aderic estate, a room that had witnessed more than its share of deals, betrayals, and schemes. Milara sat before her father’s massive oak desk, the same desk where countless letters had been signed, treaties forged, and alliances secured. She had always been a silent observer to her father’s machinations, but today, she was to be at the center of them.

Her father, Womclar, stood by the window, his sharp eyes watching the distant horizon. He was a man who had spent years cultivating power, and he knew exactly what to do with it. He had no love for Milara—at least, none that she had ever been able to recognize—but he had never been cruel, either. To him, she was merely a tool to secure his position and future. She was not his daughter, but a means to further his family's legacy.

"Milara," he began, his voice low and steady, as though speaking to someone he barely knew, "there is an opportunity for us—one that you must seize, whether you want to or not."

Milara kept her eyes on the ground, her fingers twisting together in her lap. She had learned long ago that protesting in her father’s presence was futile. Any emotional outburst, any form of resistance, would only be met with cold indifference. So, she waited for him to continue.

Womclar’s eyes flicked back to her, his face as impassive as ever. "You will marry Lucan von Tarse."

The words hung in the air like an icy wind. Milara’s breath caught in her throat. Lucan von Tarse. The name had become synonymous with death and danger in the kingdom. Lucan was a mercenary—an orphan who had lost everything in the war. He had been raised as little more than a weapon, wielded by the royal family as their 'hunting dog,' sent to fight wars that no one cared about. He was expendable. Disposable.

"Lucan von Tarse?" Milara’s voice barely rose above a whisper. "You can’t be serious. He’s a... mercenary. A man destined for the front lines. No noblewoman would marry him, and you expect me to—"

Her father raised a hand, silencing her before she could continue. "This is not about love or status, Milara. It is about survival."

Milara’s heart sank as she felt the weight of his words. There was no escape. Not for her.

"Lucan von Tarse is a man of war, yes," Womclar continued, his tone growing colder. "But he is also a man of great value, especially now. His position in the royal army has made him indispensable. And, more importantly, he is expendable. He will be sent to the front lines. If he survives, his reputation will rise, and so will ours by association. If he dies, well... you will be a widow. And I will be free to make my next move."

Milara’s blood ran cold. "A widow? You want me to marry him... and wait for him to die?"

"Precisely." Her father’s voice was as flat as ever. "This is the nature of things, Milara. You were born for this very purpose. You have no other value to me. But through this marriage, you will secure our family's future and remove yourself from the game. Once he is dead, you can claim your inheritance and leave the Aderic name behind."

Milara’s mind was spinning. She had known her father was ruthless, but this was different. This was no longer just about her—this was about a calculated move in a larger game of politics, a way to secure his power and further his own ambitions at her expense. Marrying Lucan was the price she would have to pay.

"But..." Milara tried to gather her thoughts, her voice shaking. "What of the emperor? Why would he allow this? Why would he—"

"Ah, the emperor," Womclar interrupted, a glimmer of something dark passing through his eyes. "The emperor has his own reasons for this. We are not the only ones in need of a solution. The kingdom is on the verge of collapse, Milara. The war has drained the coffers, the people are restless, and the royal family is desperate. By marrying Lucan, you will be cementing an alliance between our family and the royal house. It’s a simple transaction."

Milara recoiled. An alliance? With the very family that had sent Lucan to die? "You mean to say... the emperor has agreed to this marriage?"

"Of course," Womclar said with an almost imperceptible smile. "The emperor knows what is at stake. If Lucan dies in battle, he will become a hero, his name remembered for generations. The royal family needs men like him—men who are willing to die for the crown, and when he does, the emperor will be able to claim that it was the Aderic family who stood by him in his darkest hour."

Milara couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It felt like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from. Her father, the emperor, and the royal family were all playing their parts, weaving a web that she had no choice but to enter.

"You see," Womclar said, stepping toward her, his gaze unwavering. "It’s simple. You will marry Lucan. You will act as his wife until he leaves for the front. And when he is gone, you will be free to make your own future. The Aderic family will rise, and so will you."

Milara’s world tilted, but she had no words to protest. Her father had already made his decision. And in this world, decisions like these were made for her, not by her.

---

The wedding came sooner than Milara expected. She had hoped for a delay, some reprieve, but her father was swift and merciless. Within days, the plans were set in motion. The royal family had given their blessing, the emperor had sent a representative, and the ceremony was arranged. There was no room for negotiation, no time for escape. She was being swept into a marriage that was less about love and more about survival—hers and her father’s.

The chapel where the ceremony took place was modest. There were no flowers, no grand celebrations. Only a few witnesses—her father, the emperor’s envoy, and Lucan himself. The air was thick with the weight of her father's expectations, with the silent judgment of those who watched.

Lucan’s gaze as he stood across from her was intense, his steel-gray eyes piercing through the veil she wore. She had expected him to be as unremarkable as the rest of the mercenaries her father had employed over the years. But Lucan was different. There was an undeniable presence about him—a quiet power that seemed to emanate from his every movement. He wasn’t just a man of war; he was a man who had survived it, and that made him dangerous.

Milara barely heard the vows exchanged between them, her mind too clouded with dread. When the ceremony was over, Lucan turned to her, his face unreadable.

“Shall we go?” he asked, his voice low.

Milara nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of her fate. She had married a man she barely knew, a man whose future was uncertain at best. And yet, in the eyes of the world, she was now bound to him.

Bound by politics. Bound by her father’s ambition. Bound by forces beyond her control.

As they walked out of the chapel, her father’s eyes met hers, and for a brief moment, Milara saw something close to satisfaction in his gaze. He had won. And she had lost.