The rain falls steadily, soaking the stone beneath my boots as I inhale deeply, letting the damp air fill my lungs. Shadows shift across the courtyard below, distorted by the rain’s steady rhythm. My eyes lock on the narrow staircase window set into the wall a few feet away. Its wet frame reflects the dim light, like a beacon for escape.
The climb will help, I tell myself. The effort, the exertion—it’s what I need to quiet my thoughts. My heart pounds as I grip the railing, swing my legs over, and feel the cold stone beneath my fingers. Inch by inch, I move carefully, my body straining against the rain-slicked surface as I make my way toward the window.
I pause for a moment. Below me, the courtyard stretches out like a void, wet stone glinting faintly under the pale light filtering through the clouds. The drop is steep—lethal, even. A laugh bubbles unbidden from my throat. Out of all the assassination attempts on my life, how poetic would it be if this, a fall of my own accord, were the end of me?
The poets would revel in the irony, spinning tales of a tragic heroine who reached too far and fell too hard. The thought almost amuses me as I press my palms against the stone, pulling myself up and clinging to the slick surface. I calculate each step as the sting of the rain against my cheeks keeps me present, focused.
My fingers tremble as I grip the ledge of the next foothold, the stone rough against my skin even through the thin leather of my gloves. The muscles in my arms burn with the effort, but it’s a welcome distraction. The climb demands all of me, leaving no spacefor the doubts and fears that have consumed me since I woke from that haunting dream.
Suddenly, my boots slip, and for a terrifying moment, my body jolts downward. My heart slams against my ribs as I claw at the wall, fingers finding purchase at the last second. A gasp tears from my throat, but I don’t let go. Not yet. Not until I’ve reached the window. The irony of falling now, after all this, is too bitter even for me to bear.
The narrow window finally looms ahead. My arms shake as I haul myself upward, my boots scraping against the wall in search of a foothold. Inch by inch, I pull myself closer until my fingers curl over the ledge. The cold bites at my hands as I grip it, pausing to catch my breath. The rain drips steadily from the edge of my cloak, the sound muffled against the thunder of my pulse in my ears.
With one last burst of effort, I heave myself toward the opening. My shoulders scrape against the edges of the frame as I slide through, landing awkwardly on the stone floor inside. The impact jars my knees, and I let out a breathless laugh, both triumphant and vacant. I made it. The staircase yawns before me, spiraling downward into shadowed depths. The cold, damp air clings to my skin as I lean against the wall, steadying both my breath and my heartbeat.
I glance back at the window, the rain continuing its relentless assault outside. The courtyard below seems impossibly far now, as though I’ve climbed more than just a few stories. My fingers flex instinctively, the ache in my arms a dull reminder of how close I had come to falling. I press my hand flat against the stone to let the chill ground me.
The storm inside me hasn’t quieted—it’s only changed form, a restless energy coursing through my veins. I press forward, the pull of the unknown stronger than the call of safety. Each step down the staircase feels like shedding another layer of the castle’s suffocating grip. The air grows colder, damper, as I descend into the depths. When I push open the door at the base, the rain greets me again, its rhythm steady, soft, and soothing despite the chill.
The open air is a relief, though the world before me is no lessoppressive. The cloudy sky casts a pale gloom across the castle grounds, the light muted and gray. Mud clings to my boots as I walk aimlessly, replacing familiar stone corridors of the castle with the sprawling emptiness of the grounds. My body aches, the climb taking its toll, but the need to burn energy keeps me moving.
The forest of Revina looms ahead, its darkness unbroken by daylight. My father’s warnings echo faintly in my mind—stories of the shadows that consume and creatures that hunt. I should turn back, but I can’t. My restlessness is an outlet, and the quiet, eerie pull of the forest offers it.
The rain is softer beneath the trees, the sound muted by the canopy of leaves overhead. The towering trunks rise like ancient guardians, their branches skeletal and clawing at the gray sky above. The scent of damp earth mingles with something pungent, like decaying leaves. My boots sink slightly into the ground as I step deeper, the forest’s silence enveloping me.
A shadow moves at the edge of my vision, and my hand flies instinctively to the dagger at my side, pulling it from its sheath. My pulse quickens as I scan the trees, the steady drip of rain the only sound. Then, it steps forward—a black stallion, its coat gleaming like polished onyx even in the shadows. Its eyes meet mine, unblinking, reflecting the faint light of the rainy afternoon.
I lower my dagger slightly, though my grip remains firm. The stallion’s presence is commanding, but there’s a calmness about it, an inexplicable familiarity. I take a step closer, my boots squelching against the soft ground. The stallion mirrors my movement, its hooves soundless against the damp earth. When it lowers its head, I hesitate, but only temporarily. My gloved fingers brush against its muzzle, and the contact sends a pulse through me—a spark of recognition.
The stallion presses its forehead to mine, its breath warm against my skin. My free hand rises to cradle its face, and for a second, the tumult inside me stills. With my other, I quietly sheath the blade at my hip, the soft click of steel meeting leather barely audible over the sound of the wind. Another memory stirs within me, distant andfragmented. A comforting presence, the sound of hooves against the earth, and the faintest laugh of a child—my laugh. The fragments slip away before I can grasp them, but the feeling remains.
“I know you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the rain.
The stallion responds with a soft nicker, leaning closer as though it understands. Briefly, my restlessness fades, replaced by a quiet connection that feels both fragile and eternal.
The distinct crack of something breaking pulls my gaze downward, where apples scatter at my feet. A soft laugh escapes me as I glance up to find the branches heavy with fruit, swaying gently despite the steady drizzle.
"An apple tree..." I murmur, a smile tugging at my lips.
I reach out for the stallion again, my fingers brushing his sleek nose. But a sudden chill crawls over my spine, the air growing tense. I can sense the presence of something—or someone. The hairs on my neck stand on end as I scan the depths of the forest.
I step back from the stallion, my hand grazing his neck as I move away, giving him space to run if a threat approaches. I make my way deeper into the woods, each step calculated, though my senses are on edge. The wet earth muffles my footfalls, and the silence presses in, suffocating, as the rain falls softly around me. The stillness seems almost unnatural, like the forest is holding its breath. My pulse quickens, but I continue walking, trying to stay calm. Still, the sense of being followed lingers, a constant presence in the shadows, just beyond my reach.
The quiet feels like the moment before a storm. I know I'm not alone. Something—or someone—is keeping pace, hidden within the trees. The game has begun, but I don’t know yet who’s playing, or what their goal is.
I pull my dagger from its sheath again, the cold steel heavy in my hand. A thrill runs through my fingertips as I twirl it, the blade’s edge catching the faint light. Every muscle tenses as I focus on the shadow that lingers just beyond my reach.
In a fluid, almost instinctual movement, I spin on my heel, throwing the dagger with deadly force. The blade cuts through theair, a whisper of motion, its trajectory true—but it doesn’t find its mark. Instead, it buries itself with a resounding thud into the trunk of a nearby tree.
Before I can even process the misfire, a sudden pressure grips my waist. Strong arms coil around me, pulling me backward into a firm embrace. My back presses against my captor’s chest, and the warmth that surrounds me feels inescapable.
“Hello, Princess,” a man’s voice purrs in my ear, low and amused, sending a ripple of excitement through me.
It’s a voice I know too well, one that should offer comfort, yet hearing it now, in the rain-drenched quiet of the woods, it makes me tremble. The recognition strikes deep, but so does the unease—the twist in my gut that tells me this is no longer a simple game. The rules have changed. I am no longer the one in control.
I pull my hood back, turning in his grasp to face him. His own hood slips away, revealing chiseled features and dark hair that gleams faintly in the dappled light. His green eyes lock onto mine, the intensity of his gaze making my pulse quicken as if he could see through me.
I take a slow step back, barely making a sound on the damp forest floor.
