The Stolen Heir’s Bond

Elaria's breath was ragged as she slid off the horse, her boots sinking into the frozen mud. The river had stolen what little warmth she had left, leaving her shaking.

Kael was already moving, untying his cloak and draping it over her shoulders. "Don't argue," he said before she could protest.

She glared at him anyway but didn't push the cloak off. It was warm, and warmth meant survival.

The horses panted, their breath curling into the cold air. They'd pushed them hard. Too hard. They wouldn't last much longer without rest.

Kael ran a hand through his damp hair, scanning the dark woods. "We can't stay here."

Elaria forced herself to stand straighter, ignoring the exhaustion clawing at her ribs. "They won't risk crossing the river until daylight."

"Unless they have no choice." Kael crouched, fingers brushing the muddy bank. The fog had bought them time, but the water wasn't deep enough to wash away every trace of their escape. A skilled tracker would still find them.

He looked up at her. "You said the next village was half a day's ride?"

"If we cut through the valley, yes."

Kael exhaled, considering. "We ride until the horses can't. Then we walk."

Elaria clenched her fists. "And if they find us first?"

Kael smiled, but there was no humor in it. He touched the hilt of his dagger. "Then we make sure they regret it."

Elaria almost laughed. He spoke with the confidence of a prince who had never truly been hunted. But she had. She knew how this game ended if they lost.

She turned away, tightening the cloak around herself. "We need to move."

They rode in silence, the night pressing in around them. The forest felt watchful, every gust of wind carrying whispers through the trees.

Something was wrong.

Elaria didn't realize how tense she was until Kael spoke.

"You're listening for something."

She hesitated. "It's… too quiet."

Kael frowned. "We're in the middle of nowhere."

"Exactly."

No owls. No insects. No rustling leaves. The forest wasn't silent. It was waiting.

Then—a splash.

Kael's horse screamed as an arrow struck its flank. It reared, nearly throwing him, blood darkening its coat.

Elaria's pulse snapped. They had found them.

She wheeled her horse around just as dark figures emerged from the trees.

Not bounty hunters.

Something worse.

One of them stepped forward, silver armor gleaming under the moonlight. His hood was lined with fur, his sword wickedly sharp.

His eyes—cold and cruel—locked onto Elaria.

"The witch," he murmured. "At last."

Elaria's breath caught.

Not mercenaries. Knights.

And not just any knights.

Varos's knights.

They had come for the prince.

But they weren't planning to let her go either.

Kael was already off his horse, sword raised. "Go," he hissed. "Now."

Elaria didn't move. They were surrounded.

Running wasn't an option anymore.

She clenched her fists, magic crackling at her fingertips. If they wanted her, they'd have to bleed for it.