The palace was quiet, the morning sun catching the polished stone and gilded edges of the hallways. Simon's steps echoed sharply as he walked to the council room, Thessaly following silently. Only Philip and a handful of trusted attendants knew their destination.
"The scouts haven't returned," Simon said, his voice cold and precise, eyes scanning the maps laid out before him. "Every detail accounted for. I want contingencies for every patrol. Every movement must be calculated."
Philip nodded, a flicker of unease in his eyes. "Yes, my lord. We've… accounted for all possibilities."
Simon's lips pressed into a thin line. "Then prepare the horses, organize the guards. We leave at first light."
Thessaly inclined her head, her eyes sharp. "The forest will not welcome us. She watches, Simon. Even now, her influence seeps through—subtle, twisting, unpredictable."
He did not flinch. "Then we go prepared. We will not falter."
---
By dawn, the carriage had rumbled through the gates, its wheels muffled against the gravel. The morning air was crisp, but heavy with tension. Trees loomed along the edges of the road, casting long, dark shadows even as sunlight pierced through.
Thessaly's eyes narrowed as the carriage moved deeper into the western lands. "Her presence is strong here," she murmured. "She manipulates perception, bends nature, and tests resolve. The scouts did not fail by chance—they were guided into hesitation."
Simon's gaze remained steady on the path ahead. "Then we act only on what we control. Every step, every decision, deliberate."
A faint rustle in the undergrowth made Thessaly's lips press together. "She is curious. Or she wants to unsettle us. Either way, she waits for the exact moment she can strike advantageously."
The carriage slowed as the first trees of the western border appeared—dense, dark, and silent. Snow-dusted ground and frostbitten leaves hinted at the scouts' recent passage, though the forest swallowed most signs. Shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally, and the air felt thick, almost alive.
Simon stepped from the carriage first, surveying the clearing. "We begin with observation. Wards and patrols go up immediately. Nothing left to chance."
Thessaly knelt, fingertips brushing the frost, sensing the invisible currents of power that twisted through the forest. "She is here. Testing. Watching. And she knows we are here. Every hesitation will feed her advantage."
Simon's jaw tightened. "Then we will not hesitate. We prepare. We calculate. We wait. And when she strikes, we will be ready."
The carriage was unloaded, supplies and wards prepared, and the air grew heavier with anticipation. Around them, the western border seemed to hold its breath, the faintest movement hinting at the unseen presence that lurked among the shadows.
Thessaly's eyes met Simon's, steady, unwavering. "This is only the beginning," she said softly. "And she will not wait long."
Simon's hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "Nor will I."
The forest remained silent, but both of them knew it was watching.
------
The morning sun spilled over the rooftops of Morvet, glinting off the cobblestones as Anna adjusted the ribbons on her sleeves. She smoothed the pale blue silk of her dress nervously, glancing toward the street where the carriage was due.
Lora had already skipped ahead, chatting with the driver who had arrived to escort Anna to Varen's estate. Anna's heart fluttered—this was the first time she would be visiting him alone.
When the carriage stopped, the door opened, and a servant extended a gloved hand. "Mistress Anna, if you please."
She took it carefully, stepping inside. The wheels rattled over the cobblestones as the carriage pulled away, and Anna's thoughts raced. What if I say something foolish?
The carriage slowed as it approached Varen's home. He was there to greet her personally, standing tall with that calm, confident smile that made her stomach twist pleasantly.
"Anna," he said softly, bowing his head slightly. "I hope your journey was comfortable."
Anna's cheeks flushed, and she nodded. "Yes… thank you. The roads were fine."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "I trust Lora has been good company?"
"She has… very good," Anna replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. Better than I thought she'd be.
Varen's eyes softened as he studied her. "I'm glad. And… I've been looking forward to seeing you. Alone, without the bustle of the shop."
Anna's breath caught. "I… I was looking forward to it too," she admitted. Her voice was quiet but steady, the smallest trace of shyness lingering.
They walked through the gardens, the air fragrant with early blossoms. Anna found herself laughing at something Varen said—a light jest about Lora insisting on guiding the carriage driver herself. Each step made her heart feel lighter, the tension in her chest easing.
"You have a way of making everything seem… easier," she said, her gaze meeting his for a brief, charged moment.
Varen's lips curved into a gentle smile. "And you have a way of making every worry feel smaller," he replied softly, letting the words linger between them.
For the first time, Anna felt the shyness slip away, replaced by a quiet warmth and a growing sense of closeness. She realized that Varen was not only a duke and a leader but someone who could make her feel safe, seen, and understood—all at once.
The carriage ride back was quiet, comfortable, filled with small glances and unspoken promises. By the time they returned to the shop, Anna felt a gentle certainty settle in her chest: she wanted this closeness to grow, and she would no longer hide from it.
----------
The forest at the western border was unlike any place Simon had ever traversed. Frost clung to every branch, the air sharp and biting against exposed skin, yet it was not the cold that made him wary. It was the silence. A silence so complete it pressed against the ears, making every small sound—the crack of a twig, the distant flutter of a bird—feel like an intrusion.
He led the way, boots crunching lightly on the frost-bitten earth, Thessaly beside him, her eyes scanning every shadow, every movement.
"She is close," Thessaly murmured, her voice low, almost swallowed by the stillness. "The scouts didn't simply disappear. She bends perception. Twists thought. Their minds faltered before their bodies did."
Simon's hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, eyes sharp. "Then we move deliberately. Every step measured. Nothing left to chance."
They followed the faint traces the scouts had left—broken twigs, the subtle drag of boots across frost, disturbances so slight only a trained eye could detect. But the forest itself seemed to resist their scrutiny. Shadows shifted unnaturally; the sunlight glinted oddly off surfaces that should have been dull.
A sudden rustle drew their attention. Simon froze, muscles taut, while Thessaly knelt, fingertips brushing the frost. "See here," she said, pointing to a small impression in the ground. "Hesitation. Fear. And here… silence. The last trace of the scouts."
Simon crouched beside her, studying the faint trail. "No signs of struggle?"
"None visible," Thessaly said. "She does not strike with brute force. She manipulates the mind first. The scouts faltered, confused, and that hesitation was enough."
A thin flicker of movement passed between two trees—a shadow that seemed almost human, almost light itself. Thessaly's eyes narrowed.
"She knows we are here," she said. "Watching, testing. Every step we take, she notes."
Simon's jaw tightened. "Then we continue carefully. Observation, wards, patrols. Intelligence. That is how we control what can be controlled."
They moved deeper into the forest. The trees grew taller, denser, the shadows thicker, curling unnaturally as though they had a mind of their own. Every rustle, every whisper of wind felt deliberate, a subtle hint of the witch's presence.
Thessaly paused, closing her eyes briefly. "Her influence… it's spreading through the forest. Not just here, but subtly—twisting perception, bending the senses. A single misstep, a single hesitation, and…" Her voice trailed off, the warning heavy in the air.
Simon's gaze swept the frozen forest. "Then we prepare. Wards along the paths, discreet patrols, traps that can detect the unseen. We are not here to be pawns in her game. She will not claim another advantage."
He signaled to the guards he had brought along. "Spread out, observe every movement. Nothing is too small. No shadow too faint. Report immediately."
The soldiers moved with disciplined precision, laying minor wards and markers, eyes sharp for any abnormal movement. Thessaly guided Simon quietly, pointing out the subtle changes—the way a shadow bent slightly wrong, the frost shifted unnaturally, or leaves seemed to fall in patterns that were impossible in nature.
Hours passed in tense silence, broken only by the crunch of boots on frost and the occasional whispered report from a guard. Thessaly occasionally knelt, touching the earth, her fingers tracing invisible threads, murmuring softly as she read the forest like a living map.
By late afternoon, the first signs of the scouts' final movements were clear—a trail leading to a small clearing where the frost had been disturbed in unnatural patterns. Simon knelt, examining the site with deliberate calm.
"They were here," he said softly, almost to himself. "And then… vanished."
"They did not vanish," Thessaly corrected. "They were forced to falter, broken into confusion. The witch did not need to strike physically. The mind bends first. That is her weapon."
Simon's eyes narrowed. "Then we do not react impulsively. Every measure, every counter, deliberate. When she strikes, she will find us ready."
A faint crack of wood behind them made both turn sharply. No one was there. Only the wind—or perhaps not. Thessaly's gaze lingered on the shadows.
"She is watching," she said. "And she knows we are here. But so long as we remain disciplined, she will find nothing to exploit. Yet…" Her voice lowered. "Even vigilance is not enough. She is subtle, patient, and clever. We cannot underestimate her."
Simon straightened, the forest before him a maze of frost and shadow. "Then we wait. We prepare. And when the moment comes, we strike with precision. Nothing else matters."
The forest seemed to breathe around them, alive with anticipation, the faintest hints of movement hinting at the unseen presence of the witch. Simon's hand rested on his sword, cold and unyielding. Thessaly stood beside him, calm, calculating, and ready.
The war of shadows had begun.