"Meanwhile, I’ve been in this forest, thinking you were dead, and she’s been parading around with you at her side."
"I've been at war, keeping you safe."
"Whose idea was it to go to the borderlands?"
Phillip opened his mouth and then closed it. But not before looking in the direction of the castle.
"You’ve spent years with her, blind to everything she’s been doing. How can you stand there and take her side?"
"I'm not taking her side," Phillip said, his voice rising now, matching her anger.
"You were supposed to be mine. Instead, you ended up hers."
Phillip reached out for her. Mal didn’t give him the chance to catch her. She couldn’t. Her heart was too full, too raw with everything she’d held inside for the past three years. She felt like she was unraveling, and she needed to get away—needed space to breathe before the weight of her emotions consumed her entirely. She turned on her heel. And she ran.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Phillip cursed softly under his breath as he watched Mal disappear into the forest. Her horns gleamed in the fading light like crescent moons. A knot of frustration twisted in his chest, but beneath it burned relief, joy, and a fierce, aching gratitude.
She was alive. Mal, with her fire, her fury, her sharp edges and untamed heart, was alive.
His heart was a bouncing bean inside his chest. The vital organ was light and full for the first time in years. His blood rushed hot through his veins, his mind clear, his senses alive. It felt like spring after a long, frozen winter.
He was done standing still. Done waiting. She was here. They were here. And nothing—not curses, not misunderstandings—would keep him from her now.
Phillip sprinted after Mal. He wove through the forest as though it were an old friend. The trees, familiar and towering, whispered their encouragement as he passed, their branches swaying with approval, recognizing him as someone who belonged here. Vines unfurled, and the underbrush parted, creating a path as the flora urged him forward.
His hands pumped at his sides. His skin burned with a desire that was equal parts longing and urgency. The leaves above him rustled on the breeze, rooting him on to close the distance.
He reached her cabin, tucked snugly between two ancient oaks. Its ivy-covered walls were as wild and stubborn as the woman who lived inside. Phillip didn’t bother knocking. He never had before. Not even when her Guardian mother was alive.
Morwyn would simply smile and cock her head toward the back door. Phillip would race from the front door to the back, springing out to find his friend, his beloved, his soul mate.
He shoved the front door open and stepped inside. Immediately, he missed the old Guardian's presence. For a brief time, Morwyn had been like a mother to him. Tending to his wounds when he fell from a tree. Offering council as he began to take on his duties as Prince Regent. Giving advice as she saw the young man falling desperately in love with her obstinate daughter.
The obstinate scent of Mal hit him first—a heady blend of oak sap, wood smoke, and wildflowers. It wrapped around him like a long-lost embrace, stirring memories of stolen moments beneath the stars, whispered promises made in the quiet dark. His chest tightened painfully at the familiarity of it.
Phillip's gaze swept the room. It was the same space he remembered, but changed. There were more plants now, growing along the walls and creeping across the floor like sentries. The hearth glowed with embers, casting soft golden light that flickered over the rough-hewn furniture. It was cozy, but there was a lingering sadness in the air, a weight that hadn’t been there before when he'd visited as a child and young man.
Mal stood in the center of the room, her back straight, her jaw tight, her green eyes flashing with fury. She looked like a storm given form—wild, beautiful, dangerous. Her magicthrummed in the air around her, alive and restless, like the wood of the cabin was feeding off her emotions.
Phillip couldn’t help it. He grinned. Gods, she was beautiful.
“You really didn’t waste any time, did you? Running after me like a fool."
Phillip stepped closer, undeterred by the fire in her voice. If anything, it delighted him. Mal in a fury was a sight to behold—fierce, untamed, irresistible. "Wouldn’t be the first time."
She crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You're different. You used to believe in the forest. In its magic. In the idea that humans and fae could live side by side. Now your people are killing the land we both swore to protect."
Phillip’s grin faded. “I didn’t know. I was off fighting, trying to keep the kingdom safe. I thought everyone here was... safe.”
"You left," she accused.
"Because I thought you were dead. Now I’m back. It will stop. I will stop it.”
“Will you stop the wedding too?” Mal’s gaze didn’t soften. If anything, her green eyes burned brighter. “I saw the ring, Phillip. Your mother's engagement ring. Aurora’s still wearing it.”
“I didn't give her that ring. My mother did when Rory was a child. There has only ever been one woman in my heart.”
