Chapter 13: The Promise Fifteen Years Ago
Going back to Asteria and Faye.
Faye pulled back slightly, her hands still cupping Asteria’s face, her thumbs gently wiping the tears that continued to fall.
The older woman’s eyes were glistening now, her own emotions threatening to spill over, but she held herself together for Asteria’s sake.
She leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Asteria’s forehead—a gesture so tender, so maternal, that it made Asteria’s breath catch in her throat.
"Child." Faye’s voice was barely above a whisper, thick with concern and love and something that sounded almost like grief.
"Tell me what they did to you. If they didn’t do something, you wouldn’t be scared and shaking like this."
Faye was now more worried than Asteria had ever seen her. The usual calm, composed matriarch of the Eisenthurn family looked fragile for the first time—not weak, but vulnerable, her heart cracked open by the sight of this broken girl in her arms.
Asteria’s lower lip trembled violently. Her hands, still clutching Faye’s sleeves, shook like leaves in a storm.
"Mama~~~" The word came out stretched and broken, a cry more than a name. "I... I... I can’t tell you." She shook her head, her eyes squeezing shut as if she could block out the memories by refusing to see them.
"I don’t wanna tell you."
"Sweetheart." Faye’s voice was warm and patient, unwavering in its gentleness. She tucked a strand of Asteria’s hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering against the curve of her cheek.
"It’s okay. It’s me." She paused, her eyes searching Asteria’s face.
"Remember the first time we met? The moment I saw you, I knew I already wanted you to be my daughter."
She sighed softly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the tears in her eyes. "Or daughter-in-law. Either way, you were going to be mine."
Asteria blinked, confusion cutting through her tears.
"And that’s why," Faye continued, her voice growing stronger, more certain, "I made you a promise that when Keres turned twenty-three, I would have you both get married. Even though she didn’t want it. Even though she fought me on it. Even though everyone said I was being foolish."
Asteria shook her head slowly, disbelief etched into every line of her face. "I-I thought. I thought that was just a joke." Her voice was small, fragile, like a child confessing a secret.
"A way of yours to say thank you. People say things when they’re emotional. They make promises they don’t mean. I thought... I thought you were just being grateful."
Faye’s expression hardened—not with anger at Asteria, but with the unwavering resolve of a woman who had never broken a promise in her life.
Her eyes were steady, her voice low and firm. "I am Faye Eisenthurn." The words landed like stones dropped into still water, each one sending ripples through the air. "How could I joke about something like that?"
Asteria’s eyes widened.
For fifteen years, the promise had lived somewhere in the back of her mind—a hazy memory, a nice thing that a nice woman had said during a stressful moment.
She had never allowed herself to believe it was real. Hope was dangerous. Hope was a trap that led to disappointment and pain and hope was the thing that made the beatings hurt worse, because every time she hoped things would get better, they didn’t.
So she had buried the memory, dismissed it, told herself that Faye had just been emotional and grateful and didn’t really mean it.
But now, sitting in the Eisenthurn mansion with Faye’s hands wrapped around her own, the warmth of the older woman’s skin seeping into her cold fingers, the truth sank fully into her mind.
The memory rushed back like a flood, sweeping away years of denial and disbelief.
~~~•••~~~
FLASHBACK – Fifteen Years Ago
The resort had been beautiful that day—all white buildings and blooming flowers and the sparkling blue of the private beach stretching out to the horizon.
Powerful families had gathered from across the country, their children running wild through the manicured grounds while their parents drank champagne and made deals behind closed doors.
Little Asteria had been there because her family had no choice. The Auclairs needed to be seen, needed to maintain appearances, and leaving a chair empty at the family table would have raised questions they didn’t want to answer.
So they had brought her along—the daughter they hated, the child they wished had never been born—and then they had ignored her completely.
She had spent most of the day wandering alone, as she always did. She was used to it by then. Used to the way other teenager or other people avoided her, as if they could sense the taint of the Auclair family’s displeasure clinging to her skin.
Used to the way adults looked through her, past her, as if she were made of glass. She had found a spot under a large oak tree and sat there for hours, watching the clouds drift across the sky, finding comfort in their silent and unhurried movement.
That was when she had seen the men.
They were dressed in black, moving with purpose, their faces tight with barely contained panic. They stopped every adult they passed, showing them a photograph, asking questions in urgent, hushed voices. Asteria had watched them from a distance, curious but not concerned.
It wasn’t until one of them approached her that she realized something was wrong.
The man had knelt down to her level, his eyes red-rimmed, his voice cracking. "Little girl, have you seen this child?" He had shown her the photograph—a small girl with long dark hair and a bright smile, so full of life that even the grainy image seemed to glow.
Asteria had studied the photograph carefully, her young mind working quickly. She had seen that girl earlier, playing with a group of other children near the edge of the forest.
They had been laughing, chasing each other through the trees, their voices carrying on the wind.
"Yes, sir." Asteria had pointed toward the forest. "She went in there with some other kids. They were playing hide and seek, I think."
She had hesitated, her brow furrowing. "But I noticed that some of the kids came out a while ago. She wasn’t with them."
The man’s face had gone pale. He had thanked her roughly and run toward the forest, shouting for the others to follow.
Asteria had sat there for a moment, thinking. The forest was dangerous—everyone had been warned about the wolves that lived there, about the steep drops and hidden caves. If that little girl was still in there, her life would be in danger, and it was already starting to get dark...
She had stood up. She had brushed the grass from her dress. And she had walked into the forest.
***
She found Keres an hour later, on the floor and weak, her face streaked with tears, her small body shaking with cold and fear. The sun had dipped below the treeline, casting long shadows through the trees, and the first howl of a wolf had echoed somewhere in the distance.
"Hey." Asteria had knelt down beside the younger girl, keeping her voice soft and calm, the way she wished someone would speak to her when she was scared. "It’s okay. I’m here to help you."
Asteria carry Keres and ran through the dark forest.
When they finally emerged from the forest, the resort was in chaos. Lights blazed from every window. Voices called out in the night. And standing at the edge of the trees, her face pale with terror, was a woman who looked like she hadn’t breathed in hours.
"Keres!" The woman had run toward them, collapsing to her knees, pulling her daughter into her arms. "Oh, thank God! Thank God!"
That woman was Faye.
***
"Thank you so much for saving my Keres!" Faye had been crying that time—tears streaming down her face, her mascara smudged, her carefully constructed composure shattered into a thousand pieces.
"It’s a blessing! You’re a blessing!"
Asteria—only nineteen years old, thin and skinny and already carrying the weight of a family that hated her—had shifted uncomfortably.
She wasn’t used to gratitude. She wasn’t used to being touched gently or looked at warmly. Every instinct told her to pull away, to apologize, to make herself smaller.
"It’s... It’s nothing, ma’am and sir." Asteria had kept her eyes down, her voice polite but distant, the way she had been taught.
Faye had shaken her head firmly, her hands gripping Asteria’s small shoulders. "Please tell us how we can repay your kindness. Anything. Name it."
"N-No!" Asteria’s head had snapped up, her eyes wide with alarm. "No need, ma’am and sir." She couldn’t accept anything. Her father would ask questions. Her mother would sneer. The family would find a way to use it against her, to twist it into something ugly.
But Faye was insistent. "At least just something? A small token? Please, I need to do something. I need to thank you."
Asteria had smiled—that polite, hollow smile she had learned to wear like armor—and shook her head. "I’m happy that your child is safe."
Those words had broken something in Faye. She had pulled Asteria into another hug without warning, her arms wrapping around the girl’s thin shoulders, her tears soaking into Asteria’s hair.
Asteria had stiffened immediately—her entire body going rigid, her breath catching in her throat—and then she had pulled away, stepping back, putting distance between them.
Faye had noticed. Of course she had noticed. But she didn’t comment. She simply smiled through her tears and asked, "May I have your name?"
"Oh." Asteria had tucked her hands behind her back, standing straight like a soldier awaiting inspection. "My name is Asteria Csilla Auclair, ma’am."
Beside Faye, Alfonso had gone very still. His sharp eyes had studied Asteria with new interest, weighing her, measuring her, trying to determine if this was coincidence or strategy.
"We’re the Eisenthurns," he had said, his voice low and careful, watching for her reaction.
The moment Asteria heard their name, she froze.
Everyone knew the Eisenthurns. Everyone knew not to cross them, not to owe them, not to get tangled in their web. Asteria’s father had spoken of them with a mixture of fear and envy, his voice dropping to a whisper whenever he mentioned their name.
Asteria had looked away quickly, her heart hammering in her chest. "Uhm. I... I have to go."
"Please, no." Alfonso’s voice had been calm, but there was something beneath it—something watchful, assessing. "We would like to know you more, Asteria."
She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, heavy as a physical touch. Like a man dissecting a person to find out if she had her own personal interest in the Eisenthurn power.
Asteria had kept her composure, her training kicking in—stay calm, stay quiet, don’t show weakness.
"I would really like to talk to you both," she had said carefully, "but I also have to go. My family will be looking for me."
Alfonso had nodded slowly, accepting her answer but not quite believing it. Then he had asked, "Question. How did you find out Keres was missing?"
"I was wandering in the resort alone, sir." Asteria’s voice was steady, her eyes meeting his without flinching. "Some of your men approached me. They showed me a picture of your child and asked if I had seen her. I told them I saw her that day playing with some other kids around her age, and I told them they went inside the forest to play."
Faye and Alfonso had listened, their eyes never leaving her face. Everything she said matched the story they had pieced together from their men.
"But I noticed," Asteria had continued, "that some kids came out except for her. So I immediately went into the forest to look for her. I was worried for her safety because it was getting dark. And clearly, they warned us not to wander in the forest because there are wolves there."
Faye had smiled and nodded, her face still soaked with tears. "Thank you so much for helping. Even though you didn’t entirely know our child’s identity, you still helped her."
She had taken Asteria’s hands again, holding them tightly, and looked directly into her eyes. There was something in Faye’s gaze then—something fierce and determined, something that had nothing to do with the tears that are still wet on her cheeks.
"I promise you," Faye had said, her voice steady and solemn, "once Keres grows up, I will make sure that you both get married. It’s a promise—as my deeper gratitude for you."
Little Asteria had thought it was desperation. Or adrenaline. Or the wild, irrational words of a frightened mother who would say anything in the heat of the moment. People made promises they didn’t mean when they were scared. People said things they regretted later. She hadn’t taken it seriously. Not really. Not deep down where it mattered.
So she had nodded, offered Faye a small, reassuring smile, and said—
"Okay, okay, Mrs. Eisenthurn, haha. Don’t worry about it too much, okay?"
She had agreed without knowing the depth of that agreement. Without understanding that Faye Eisenthurn did not make empty promises. Without realizing that her casual nod had sealed a fate she couldn’t even imagine.
END OF FLASHBACK
~~~•••~~~
"I... I never thought it was real." Asteria’s voice was barely a whisper, her eyes distant, still lost in the memory. The tears had slowed now, but her cheeks were still wet, her eyes still red.
"At least, I never dared hope it was real." She looked up at Faye, her gaze searching, desperate for understanding. "Why would you promise your precious daughter to me, Mama? I’m nobody. I’m nothing. My own family doesn’t even want me. Why would you?"
A few more tears cascaded down her face, sliding over her swollen cheeks and dripping onto her borrowed dress. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. She didn’t have the strength.
Faye’s expression softened into something almost pained—the ache of a mother who had watched a child suffer from afar, unable to reach her, unable to protect her, unable to do anything except wait and hope and pray that the child would survive long enough to be saved.
"Because I see you, Asteria." Faye’s voice was thick with regret, with love, with the weight of fifteen years of watching from a distance. "I see the girl you were and the woman you’ve become. You’re pure. Not naive—pure. There’s a difference." She paused, her thumb brushing away a fresh tear.
"And forgive me if it took me so long. I couldn’t protect you. I tried, Asteria." Her voice cracked. "Every time I tried to look for you, your family kept saying you were busy."
She closed her eyes for a moment, pain flickering across her face. "I should have tried harder. I should have pushed. I should have demanded to see you. But I didn’t want to make things worse for you. I didn’t want them to take it out on you because I was asking questions." She opened her eyes, and they were bright with unshed tears. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Asteria."
Asteria frowned, her brow furrowing with the effort of forming her next words. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, her fingers curling into fists in her lap.
"Mama... Can I... Ask you a favor?"
Faye jolted upright, her whole body snapping to attention like a soldier receiving orders. The grief on her face was replaced by fierce determination, her eyes sharp and focused.
"Yes! Of course! What is it?!" Her eagerness was almost comical—the powerful matriarch of the Eisenthurn empire, ready to jump at the request of a trembling, tear-stained girl who had been nothing but a punching bag her entire life.
Asteria hesitated, her fingers twisting together in her lap. She looked down at her hands—bruised, scarred, trembling—and then back up at Faye’s face. At the kindness there. At the love.
"Can you please not tell Keres what happened?" Her voice dropped to barely a whisper, fragile as spun glass. "I don’t want her to find out."
Faye’s brow furrowed. "Why is that, dear?" Her voice was gentle, curious, not accusatory. She wasn’t demanding an explanation. She was asking because she wanted to understand.
Asteria’s lower lip trembled again. She looked away, her gaze falling on the window, on the morning light streaming through the glass, on the world outside that kept turning, indifferent to her pain.
"Just please?" Her voice was smaller now, more desperate. "I don’t want Keres to find out. Please, Mama. Promise me."
She didn’t explain. She couldn’t. How could she put into words the shame that crawled beneath her skin every time she thought about Keres knowing—about Keres looking at her with pity, with disgust, with the same cold indifference that her own family had shown her?
She didn’t know what she wanted. But it wasn’t that.
Faye studied her for a long moment—the bruises on her face, the tremble in her hands, the fear that lurked behind her eyes even now, even here, even in a place where she was supposed to be safe.
She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell Asteria that Keres deserved to know. She wanted to call her daughter right now, this instant, and tell her everything.
But Asteria was looking at her with such fragile hope, such desperate need, that Faye couldn’t bring herself to refuse.
She hesitated. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her hands tightened around Asteria’s. She thought about the promise she had made fifteen years ago, and the promise she was making now, and the weight of both of them pressing down on her heart.
Then she sighed—a long, slow exhale. Her expression softened into something resigned, something sad.
"Okay." Faye’s voice was soft, gentle, accepting. "I promise. I won’t tell her."
Asteria let out a shaky breath, some of the tension draining from her shoulders. She leaned forward and rested her head against Faye’s shoulder, her body still trembling but no longer fighting.
She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of Faye’s perfume—something floral and warm, nothing like the cold, sterile smell of the Auclair mansion.
Faye wrapped her arms around her again, holding her close, and pressed another kiss to the top of her head.
"Thank you, Mama," Asteria whispered against Faye’s shoulder. Her voice was muffled, but Faye heard her.
"Anything for you, my child," Faye whispered back. "Anything at all."
They stayed like that for a long time—mother and daughter in everything but blood—while the morning light grew brighter outside the windows and the world continued to turn, unaware of the small moment happening in the sitting room of the Eisenthurn mansion.
