The Six of Cups

The royal court's ceremonial buzz lingered as Clara followed her parents through a side passage, the weight of stares and whispers dogging her heels. She kept her hands hidden behind her back, thumb fidgeting with the ring until the skin beneath felt raw. The guards at the next door saluted and stepped aside, and King Noah ushered his family into a small council chamber still bright with morning sun.

It was a room built for confidential politics—a round table of inlaid stone, heavy velvet curtains, shelves crowded with books and ancient artifacts. The air here was always a little cooler, the hush more profound, as if the walls themselves conspired to eavesdrop.

Noah was the first to break the silence, dropping into his chair with a heaviness that caused the legs to creak. "We need to discuss this now," he said, the words clipped, no room for pleasantries.

Clara dropped into the nearest seat and pressed her forehead to the cold surface of the table. "I don't even know how it happened," she muttered. Her voice sounded small in the wide room. "One minute I'm poking around the nest, the next I'm—" She lifted her hand, the ring catching a lance of sunlight, its green stone suddenly garish.

Queen Zia glided in, every motion controlled, every line of her posture elegant even at rest. She fixed Clara with a look that could have been concern or annoyance; sometimes, it was hard to tell. "You say you found it in a bird's nest?"

Clara nodded, then stopped. "Yes. The crows collect shiny things. I didn't know it was—" She gestured vaguely, unable to finish.

Noah leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished surface of the table. His eyes were sharp. "Did you try to take it off before today?" he inquired, his voice steady yet probing.

Clara paused, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve, then shrugged her shoulders in resignation. "I tried soap, hoping it would slip off. And ice to shrink my finger. Jewel even suggested lard, but nothing seemed to work. It just… stays, like it's part of me." Clara sighed and slacked her shoulders again in defeat.

Zia steepled her fingers thoughtfully, a contemplative look crossing her features. "It's only been a week?" she asked, her gaze steady on Clara.

"Yes," Clara replied softly, a hint of tension in her voice as she bit the inside of her cheek. Noah grunted with mild frustration. 

"Then there's no permanent harm done. Yet," The King remarked, his tone carrying a subtle warning.

A flare of annoyance twisted within Clara, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Except for the part where everyone in court thinks I'm secretly engaged to the Wolf of the North," she retorted, her words echoing through the room, more forceful and resonant than she had intended.

Zia's lips curved slightly, a subtle hint of amusement at the corner. "Some girls would be thrilled, Clara," she observed, her voice laced with gentle teasing.

Clara scrunched her nose, a gesture more petulant than regal. "Some girls would rather not lose a finger, Mother," she countered her tone a blend of defiance and exasperation.

That drew a dry, mirthless snort from Noah. He shifted in his chair, eyes flicking to the ring and away again. "Let's not be dramatic. There are solutions." He ticked them off, one by one, as if reading from a grim syllabus. "Option one: you marry Zarek Starforge. Option two: we remove the ring by more… invasive means." He listed the options, though there were not many.

Clara stared at him. "I am not going with an option that involves blades or marriage." She huffed and crossed her arms.

"It is enchanted to bond to the bone," Zia said, voice smooth as cream. "I've read about these rings before. Your only hope is to convince it you belong to someone else more strongly." She gestured, graceful as always. "But I doubt Zarek's father intended to make it easy."

Clara pressed her palms to her eyes, willing herself not to scream. "So it's marry the Duke, or—" She made a sawing motion with her left hand.

"We won't force your hand. But you need to understand what's at stake, Clara." Noah's voice was gentler than she expected.

Clara let her arms fall, glancing at her mother for support.

Zia did not blink. "It's not such a terrible fate, child. The Starforges are powerful, clever, and the north's loyalty would be assured for generations." She tilted her head, regarding Clara as if she were a recalcitrant puzzle. "I didn't know your father until the day we married. Love grows where duty is sown." The Queen explained gently. It was just the way things worked. Love wasn't free.

Noah's jaw flexed at this, but he said nothing.

Clara let her head drop back, staring at the ornate ceiling. "I'm not ready to get married. I barely survived breakfast without tripping over my own feet." She whined dramatically. She wasn't ready to take the throne or do much growing up.

"Most of us are never ready," Zia replied. The softness was almost imperceptible, but it was there, buried beneath the steel.

Noah finally stood, pacing behind the table. His hair caught the sunlight, more iron than flame now. "There are other considerations," he said, his gaze drifting to the window. "If you wed Zarek, the other noble houses will see it as favoritism. They might join against us out of spite. You'd be an excellent queen, but you'd rule over a fractured court." He pointed out with concern.

Clara curled in on herself, sinking lower in her chair. "What if I just… wait? Maybe it will fall off. Or maybe I'll wake up, and it'll have vanished like a bad dream." She suggested dryly.

Zia gave her a look, part affection, part exasperation. "If only magic worked that way, dear. If you want another match, you must first break the tie. And as your father says, that would mean a rather public sacrifice." She commented in a firmer tone.

"Who would marry a girl missing her finger?" Clara asked, only half joking.

Noah stopped pacing and folded his arms, his voice returning to its usual granite. "Any man who valued you for yourself. But in truth, most would see it as a curse or a weakness. The other option is… less unpleasant if you can stomach it." He responded to Clara and then pinched the bridge of his brow.

Clara let the silence grow. She heard the shuffle of feet in the corridor; she assumed someone besides the guards had been eavesdropping on them.

The door opened a heartbeat later as if summoned by her thoughts. Celia entered first, her face tense and pale, twin to Clara in every feature save the expression. Atlas followed shoulders squared and lips curled in a smirk that was all too familiar.

"Is it true?" Celia asked, sliding into the seat beside Clara and taking her hand. She examined the ring with wide, worried eyes. "Are you really…?"

Clara groaned. "Engaged to a man I've spoken three words to? Apparently."

Atlas leaned on the back of a chair, his grin growing. "Congratulations, sister. Always knew you'd beat me to a political entanglement." His voice dripped with amusement, but his eyes held a sharpness that could cut stone.

Clara yanked her hand away from Celia and glared at Atlas. "Don't you have a spell to miscast or something?" She shot back at Atlas with venom.

"Only if it'd help you, Clara." Atlas's tone soured for just an instant. "Maybe next time, don't put on strange jewelry you find in the mud." He scorned and then pointed at her.

"Enough," Noah barked. The room fell silent, the force of command snapping everyone to attention.

Queen Zia, ever the diplomat, reached across and placed a hand on Clara's. "No one here is happy about this. Least of all, your father." She said to Clara, her voice lowering to a more gentle tone.

Clara studied the pattern in the marble, jaw clenched. "Why does everything always end in marriage or war?" Her voice lowered, and her brows knitted together tightly.

"Because," Zia said, "that is the way of the world." She replied, then sighed softly. There was no sugarcoating it.

Atlas rolled his eyes, but a glimmer of concern flickered across his face. "There are worse men than Zarek. At least he won't bore you." Atlas pointed out. Even he knew Zarek was strong and not to be messed with.

"I don't want excitement. I want… options," Clara said, softer now.

Celia squeezed Clara's hand, murmuring, "We'll figure something out. We always do." She assured Clara with a gentle smile.

The King regarded his children in turn, the lines around his mouth deepening. "No decisions today. We'll delay Zarek's departure until I can meet with him privately. And you," he fixed Clara with a weary gaze, "will refrain from collecting any more cursed artifacts for the next week." It was meant as a joke, or at least half of one. Clara almost smiled. Almost.

Queen Zia rose, gathering her shawl around her shoulders. "For now, you'll attend to your lessons and let the court stew in their own rumors. We will not be rushed." She spoke as she prepared to leave.

Celia and Atlas lingered, each stealing another look at the ring as if hoping it might reveal some secret solution. Noah opened the door, signaling that the council was done, at least for today.

Clara hung back, watching the sunlight glint off the cursed circle of silver and green. She flexed her fingers—just to make sure she still could.

Maybe tomorrow would bring a better option. Perhaps it wouldn't. But for now, at least, she had not yet lost her hand, her future, or herself.