She was right. The last thing he wanted was for that particular part of the forest to see any disquiet. But another part of him wanted to see to the shouting. It felt… important.
“Trust me. I'll take care of the rest.”
Aurora's voice was soothing, like a lullaby. The unease in Phillip’s chest loosened. The tension in his shoulders dissipated under her calm gaze. She always knew what needed to be done. She always had a plan.
“I’ll see to it,” he said.
Aurora’s smile deepened as he rose from his seat at the table. Phillip felt himself sink into the comfort of her assurance. She would handle things. She always did.
As he left the chamber, the ache in his fingertip flared again, sharp as a needle. He ignored it. The sacred tree was near the boundary. If he could just get there in time, he could protect it.
Mounting his horse, Phillip adjusted his grip on the reins. His leather gloves creaked faintly against the worn straps. He nudged his steed, and it cantered out of the stables and onto the cobbled streets.
Once a bustling hub of activity with open gates and merchants hawking their wares, the castle grounds now felt... constrained. The gates that had stood wide during his childhood were shut tight. The thick bars were a symbol of security but also a grim reminder of isolation. The walls loomed higher than he remembered, freshly reinforced, casting long shadows over the cobbled streets. Guards patrolled the perimeter with mechanical precision, their armor clinking as they moved.
The people milling about the courtyard seemed weary. Children played near the fountain, their laughter subdued, while mothers watched with furrowed brows. Farmers unloaded sacks of grain under the watchful eyes of overseers, their movements brisk, almost anxious. The levy system was impressive, true, and the walls impenetrable, but they had turned the castle into a fortress rather than a home.
Was this what the war had brought? Peace bound so tightly by fear that it strangled joy?
The thought left him once the gates were opened and the wide expanse of the forest was on the horizon. The forest had always been his escape back then—open, wild, and free. With a flick of his wrist and a gentle squeeze of his thighs, he spurred his horse into a gallop. The wind whipped against his face as he rode toward the forest. His cape billowed behind him. When he got to the edge of the forest, he saw it was too late.
The growl of engines was gone, leaving only the murmur of restless men clustered near their now-stalled machines. Phillip dismounted from his steed and tethered it to one of the trees that had fallen. The men straightened as they saw him approach.
"What happened here?"
A broad-shouldered soldier with dirt smeared across his face stepped forward, wiping his hands on his trousers. "A fairy stopped us, Your Highness."
The man sounded like he had a mouthful of marbles. The ache in Phillip's scarred fingertip deepened. "A fairy?"
"Yeah," another man chimed in, though his voice carried the same strange distortion. "She came outta nowhere—stopped the machines dead with flowers and sticks."
The scar was hot beneath Phillip's glove. Something stirred in the back of his mind, a memory just out of reach. Something sharp, like a needle. But it slipped away before he could grasp the full picture.
"Listen to me carefully," Phillip said. "You are not to cross this boundary again. This part of the forest is off-limits."
The men shifted uncomfortably. One of them, braver than the others, muttered, "But Princess Aurora gave us the orders."
That was clearly a lie. Phillip would have this man's job for it. His tongue, too, if he spread more falsehoods about Rory. Or perhaps it hadn't been Aurora at all. He could see Lord Queros giving the order in Aurora's name.
"I am your prince. Soon I will be king. My word will stand above all others. Do you understand?"
The men exchanged uneasy glances but nodded. "Yes, Your Highness."
Phillip gave them a curt nod and turned toward the forest. The tension in his chest eased somewhat as he led his horse over the fallen trees and raised roots. When he approached the sacred tree ring, the air grew thick with memories that clung to the place like mist. The bark of Eredan's stump shimmered faintly, old magic woven into its ancient fibers. Phillip's boots crunched softly on the fallen leaves as he stepped closer, tracing his gloved fingers along the letters carved into the wood. The scar on his fingertip burned hotter, and for a moment, he swore he could feel her—Mal.
“Welcome back, Your Highness.”
Doran emerged from the shadows, his staff tapping lightly against the ground with each step. His bark-like skin gleamed in the dim light filtering through the trees. A small, knowing smile curved his lips.
Phillip rose to embrace the old dryad. "It has been a long time, hasn’t it?"
"Too long." Doran's old eyes sparkled with something that made Phillip’s chest tighten—a sense of belonging, of familiarity, as if the forest itself welcomed him back after his absence.
Phillip ran a hand through his hair, suddenly weary. "I'm sorry about how far they got before I interfered."
"Many things are happening in the forest. Things that were set in motion long before you or I arrived on this mossy rock."
Phillip wanted to talk to the dryad about Mal. He ached for a memory of his love that Doran might have tucked away. A story from one of the few days that they were apart after their first introduction. Anything. But her name wouldn't leave his lips.
