Isolde did not sleep.
The fire in her hearth had long since burned to embers, but her mind was a blaze she could not quench. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it again—the black veins writhing across the prince's flesh, the hiss of shadow as it recoiled beneath her light, and the look in his eyes when her secret spilled forth.
She had broken her vow. The one she swore to her mother on her deathbed: never reveal the gift. Magic was not a blessing in Aeloria. It was a mark. A sentence. Healers were tolerated so long as they dealt in herbs and tonics, not light and fire. For magic was said to come from the Shadow King himself. And though hers felt nothing like shadow, the law made no distinction.
A soft knock at the door startled her from thought. She froze, hand hovering over the satchel she had packed in haste—her escape plan should soldiers come.
"Isolde?" A low voice, careful, strained.
Her breath caught. The prince.
She hurried to the door and opened it just enough to glimpse him. Cloak drawn, hood shadowing his features, yet unmistakable. His pale eyes gleamed even in darkness.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
A faint, tired smile tugged at his lips. "That makes two of us."
For a heartbeat, neither spoke. Then he stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind him. The cottage suddenly felt smaller, the air thick with the weight of secrets.
"I owe you my life," Kael said, his voice steady but laced with something heavier—gratitude, and perhaps unease. "If word spreads of what you did…" He paused, studying her with the sharpness of a warrior. "They will not call it healing."
"I know." Isolde turned away, gripping the edge of the table as though it might anchor her. "That is why you must forget what you saw. Tell no one. Pretend I am nothing more than a village healer with roots and herbs."
Silence stretched between them. Finally, he spoke. "I cannot forget. And I cannot leave you to face this alone."
She spun toward him, eyes blazing. "You are the king's son! If they discover you protect me, it will ruin you."
His expression hardened, yet his gaze did not waver. "If the shadows rise again, your gift may be the only thing that stands against them. My ruin is a small price compared to the kingdom's."
Her heart hammered. He spoke as though fate itself had already bound them together. But fate was cruel, and she wanted no part of its chains.
"Leave, Your Highness," she said, voice trembling. "Take your noble words and your heavy destiny back to your palace. I want none of it."
Kael stepped closer, the firelight catching the faint scar along his jaw. His voice dropped, softer now, almost a plea. "You may not want it, Isolde. But destiny does not ask what we want."
She looked away, her chest tightening with a fear she could not name. Outside, the moon slipped behind clouds, and the night grew darker.
In that darkness, unseen beyond the cottage walls, a shadow moved. Watching. Listening. Waiting.