The ruined stones of the fortress still hold secrets.
We camp in what’s left of the upper courtyard, raised above the forest floor and half-swallowed by time. Crumbled columns jut out of moss-slicked corners like the broken ribs of something lost to history. Ivy coils through what used to be trellises, now tangled in heaps of stone and ashwood rot. The walls are jagged and partial, overrun with vines and luminous fungi that bloom only under moonlight. It’s as if the forest came to reclaim this place and never left, consuming stone and memory alike, digesting history into nourishment for its endless hunger.
Somewhere in the ruins, an old staircase leads nowhere. A throne room, maybe, a watchtower once. Now it’s just bones, skeletal remains of whatever glory once stood here, a silent testament to time’s relentless march.
Wind slips through the cracks like it’s searching for a way in, carrying whispers of things long forgotten, and the fire we’ve built in the courtyard does little to chase off the bite of Kasamere’s night air. I pace the perimeter, boots crunchingsoftly over broken brick and dew-slick moss. Every sense is wired, every nerve coiled. Out here, it’s not the court I fear.
It’s everything else. The shadows that move when they shouldn’t. The eyes I feel watching from the tree line. The knowledge that we are not as alone as we should be.
We didn’t have time for goodbyes. Just enough for Esme’s handmaid to shove bundles of travel clothes into satchels, fingers trembling with urgency. Enough time to clean the blood from her skin, to wash away the evidence of the queen’s betrayal. Enough time to let her eat something that wasn’t fear, though I doubt she tasted anything at all.
Before I could disappear into the shadows where I belong, my father stopped me abruptly, his arm clasping my upper arm tight enough to bruise even fae skin, a reminder of his power. He cornered me in the East Wing corridor, his grip a silent threat on my arm. “Know where your loyalties lie, Locke. Don’t forget who holds your leash. You and Rue both.” His eyes were cold, calculating, the way they always are when he’s thinking three moves ahead on a board only he can see.
I stared him dead in the eye, refusing to flinch. “I know exactly where they lie. With her. Better yet, I obey the one who gave me the order. The king. Remember him, Father? Or do you have delusions of grandeur?” The words were a blade, precise and aimed at his pride.
His mouth twisted, all sharp teeth and political venom. “You,” he stopped himself, his calm mask back in place, but the sneer aimed at me remained, a crack in his perfect composure. “Don’t get attached.”
I yanked my arm free, feeling the bruise already forming beneath my sleeve. “Too late.” I smiled and turned, leaving him behind with the echo of his scowl scraping the back of my skull like fingernails on stone.
Then we left under the cover of night, slipping through passages even the palace guards don’t know exist.
We’ve avoided the main roads since. I’ve taken them deep into the western edge of Kasamere, weaving around traps both natural and manmade. Secret paths that shimmer in and out of existence, marshlands that swallow the unwary whole, groves where the trees themselves will strangle intruders. There are places in this forest even the queen’s spies won’t follow. That doesn’t mean no one will try.
“Do you think we’re safe out here?” Sam’s voice carries low over the fire, thick with worry and the weight of unfamiliar territory. His eyes constantly scan the darkness beyond our camp, a predator in unfamiliar hunting grounds.
Rue snorts, lounging against his pack with the casual grace that infuriates those who don’t know him. “Oh Wolfie, we’re safer here than we ever were at the castle. No one’s foolish enough to come this deep. Except us, of course.” he pauses and in dramatic Rue fashion, flicks his wrist dismissively. “And Locke. Locke practically pisses Kasamere moss at this point. He knows every inch of this place. Every root and stone and murderous vine.”
Sam growls something under his breath, making Rue cackle with delight as I keep walking with their soft murmurs following behind me like persistent shadows.
I’d rather be frostbitten than listen to them dance around their mutual disdain. Rue loves to poke. Sam loves to sulk. It’s all so warm and companionable. Say what you want about Rue, but my brother from another mother is likeable. He can charm the pants off a drake spitting fire if given the chance. Has done so, in fact, during a particularly memorable incident in the southern territories.
I step over a cracked archway, moss curling around the old stones like claws gripping a precious treasure. The forest givethand the forest reclaims, the continuous cycle of life I muse as I admire the ancient language carved on the stone before me. Old fae script, worn by weather but still legible, a warning, perhaps, or a blessing. Something about blood and sacrifice. Always is, in these forgotten places.
A twig snaps behind me, hesitant steps that have me pivoting, hand already on the hilt of my dagger, muscles tensed for violence, but it’s not a threat.
It’s her, the woman plaguing my dreams and my waking moments, haunting me with possibilities I have no right to imagine.
Esme stands a few paces behind me, arms folded tight over her chest like armor. She’s wearing snug dark trousers and a white shirt that clings to her curves, boots laced up to her knees. Her hair’s pulled back into a high tail, revealing the elegant curve of her neck, the delicate line of her jaw. Moonlight drapes her like silk, catching in her hair until it seems to glow with its own inner light, and gods help me, I am enraptured by her. Helpless before her, in ways I can never admit.
“What are you doing out here?” My voice comes out sharper than intended, brittle with the effort of maintaining distance.
She raises a brow, unflinching before my coldness. “You’re on patrol. I figured I’d join.” As if it’s that simple. As if she doesn’t understand what her mere presence does to my resolve.
I snort. “You should be with your mate, warm by the fire. Let him protect you.” The words taste like ash, but I force them out anyway.
Her arms tighten, the muscles moving underneath her forearm, a tension that speaks of her frustration. “We’re in this together. If you’re doing your duty, I want to do mine.” Her chin lifts slightly, a challenge in the set of her jaw.
I round on her, letting irritation mask the deeper emotions churning beneath. “We should all remember our stations.”
Her eyes flash, her arms drop but one immediately goes to her hip in defense, a warrior’s stance that she probably doesn’t even realize she’s adopted. “Stations?”
“You’re a princess now,” I bite, the words sharp as my dagger. “I’m just the warrior sent to keep you alive. So, maybe stay in your royal lane.” I’m cruel with intent, pushing her away with words when what I want is to pull her close.
Her jaw tightens, a muscle working beneath the smooth skin. “My lane? Are you serious?” she scoffs, clearly offended by my words. “So, no more ‘Starlight’? Just ‘Princess’ now?” she steps forward, clearly pissed at me.
God, I love her fire. Can’t she see it or feel it? It’s utterly delicious. A demure woman she is not. She burns too bright, too fierce, making it impossible to look away even when the sight of her scorches me.
I nod, forcing my expression to remain impassive. “Exactly.”
