Elysium blinked awake, her body a dull ache of travel-worn muscles. She stretched her arms overhead and stood, shaking the forest floor from her gown. Her heart gave a sudden, sharp tug against her ribs; Alastor was gone. His horse, too. Panic flared, hot and sudden. She didn't think; she simply ran.
She tore through the undergrowth, breath hitching in her throat. A thick, surfaced root caught her boot, sending her sprawling face-first into the dirt. She let out a strangled yelp, clutching the back of her head as the world spun. Then, a shadow fell over her.
Alastor stood above her, his expression unreadable. He extended a hand. She took it, trembling, and began plucking twigs from her hair as he pulled her upright.
"I thought you left," she breathed, trying to steady her heart.
"So your first instinct was to sprint blindly into the woods?" He shot her a look of sharp disapproval.
Elysium shrank back, folding her arms. The relief of seeing him was quickly being replaced by a stinging embarrassment. She brushed past him toward the dying embers of their camp. Alastor smothered the fire and swung his satchel over his saddle. They mounted in silence, the only sound the rhythmic crunch of hooves as they descended the hill toward the village of Solmere.
The path narrowed into a tunnel of arching trees, the light filtering through the leaves in sickly greens. It was a natural choke point. Alastor's posture shifted; his hand moved to the hilt of his sword, eyes tracing every shadow. He raised a hand, signaling a dead stop.
Vail's ears pinned back. A low huff escaped the horse's muzzle just as a twig snapped—too loud to be an animal. Before Alastor could draw his steel, a dozen hooded figures swarmed from the brush, surrounding them.
One man stepped forward, his rusted blade leveled at Elysium's throat. She slid from her horse, hands raised, her palms slick with sweat.
"Don't hurt us, please," she pleaded.
The bandit laughed a dry, hacking sound. "Give us your coin, girl, and we might let you walk away."
Elysium looked back, expecting Alastor to be mid-lunge. Instead, she found him leaning casually against a tree, watching the scene with the detached interest of a man watching a play.
"We have nothing," Elysium tried again, her voice cracking.
The blade inched closer, pricking the skin of her neck. Alastor finally spoke, his voice bored. "Do you want to handle this with hope and diplomacy, Princess? Or may I finally have my fun?"
"This is not a game!" Elysium hissed.
He offered a lazy, dangerous smile. "Everything is a game. The question is who knows the rules."
Elysium groaned, dropping her arms in exasperation. "Knock yourself out, then."
She barely had time to blink. Alastor moved like a shadow caught in a gale. There was the sickening crack of bone, the wet thud of bodies hitting the dirt. In seconds, the clearing was silent again. Elysium stared at the corpses, a cold shiver crawling down her spine. Every day, she grew more wary of the man she had chosen as a protector.
"You enjoyed that," she said, her voice flat.
"Immensely." He wiped a stray drop of blood from his cheek and remounted.
They left the carnage behind, entering the valley of Solmere. The village was hauntingly beautiful, white-blossomed trees glowed with a faint, ethereal light, casting a soft luminescence over the pale stone houses. Golden lanterns swayed between buildings, fighting back the encroaching dusk.
Their welcome, however, was less than glowing. A ring of spears met them at the square. The guards parted for an older woman with iron-grey braids and ivory eyes: Mariel Voss. Her face softened into a radiant smile when she saw Elysium.
"We are honored, Princess," Mariel said, reaching out to take Elysium's hands.
But when Mariel's gaze shifted to Alastor, the warmth vanished. Her lip curled in a sneer. "I see the Dark Prince has followed you here."
"He is with me," Elysium said quickly, stepping into his line of sight. "We only need a place to rest. It has been a long journey."
Mariel gestured to a knight in glistening iron plate; Alaric Thane. He looked at Elysium with pity, then turned his gaze toward Alastor. "We would be honored to host you, Elysium. But the dark must always bend to the light."
Elysium tilted her head. "I don't follow—"
"Absolutely not," Alastor snapped.
"Kneel to the light, or leave," Alaric commanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
The air grew heavy. The villagers gathered, their whispers like the hissing of snakes. They looked at Alastor as if he were a rabid animal. Elysium looked at him, too. He looked exhausted with dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and his jaw was set so tight it looked ready to shatter.
"They'll kill you," someone in the crowd mouthed.
Alastor's eyes burned with a fierce, quiet rage. He looked at the spears, then at Elysium's bruised and scratched skin. He bit the inside of his cheek, the silence stretching until it became unbearable.
Slowly, agonizingly, Alastor lowered himself. His knee hit the stone with a dull thud. Even kneeling, he didn't look conquered. He kept his eyes locked on Elysium, his voice a low vibration.
"Do not mistake this for surrender."
The crowd erupted in cheers. It was a performance of humiliation, and they drank it in. When Alastor rose, he didn't look at anyone. He let his messy hair fall over his eyes, shielding whatever expression he wore.
The inn was a blur of cedar-scented air and jasmine. At the desk, a stout man shook his head at Elysium's request. "One room left, Your Highness. One bed."
Alastor's mood shifted instantly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Works for me."
Elysium elbowed him in the ribs. "You're sure?"
"My apologies, Princess. We are quite full."
In the room, Elysium collapsed onto the bed, her soul feeling as bruised as her body. Alastor wordlessly took a blanket and spread it on the floor, turning his back to her. Guilt gnawed at her as she watched him.
"Alastor, get up," she murmured. "We both need sleep. Just... come here."
He turned his head slowly, that familiar, mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "The bed's lonely without me, isn't it?"
"Just shut up and sleep," she grumbled, rolling to the very edge of the mattress to give him space.
Morning came too soon. Elysium was already pulling on her boots when the first rays of sun hit the floor. Alastor groaned from the pillows.
"Must you?" his voice was thick with sleep.
"The sooner we leave, the sooner we're home," she said, tying her hood.
"I'd prefer to leave this god-forsaken place regardless of where we're going," he muttered, tossing the covers aside.
At the village border, Mariel met them once more. She ignored Alastor entirely, holding Elysium's hands with a maternal fondness. "Fortune follow you, Princess."
Elysium nodded, though her mind was already on the road ahead. They rode out of Solmere as the villagers waved; a picture-perfect scene that felt entirely hollow. Beside her, Alastor rode in silence, his eyes fixed on the horizon, the memory of the stone floor still etched in the line of his shoulders.