As they prepared to leave, Briar’s mind kept circling back to what Thaine had said. The whole court saw him leave to find her. They'd seen their lord abandon everything for a human he'd cast out just days before.
And that abandonment had consequences. Real ones. The kind that could cost him everything.
Because of her.
No, not just her, both of them. Shehadfreed Malus, however unwittingly, and even if Eliam had overreacted with the hunt she wasn’t innocent of wrongdoing. It was layerupon layer of choices and consequences, tangled too tightly to separate into simple blame.
They moved into the forest, Frederick secure in his bowl in her arms. Eliam took the lead, with Thaine at the rear and Karse moving between.
The forest paths should have welcomed their lord home with eager obedience. Instead, they opened grudgingly, like doors with rusted hinges.
"Something's wrong," she said quietly.
"The forest is... confused," Eliam admitted, though saying it aloud seemed to pain him. His hand pressed against an ancient oak, and for a moment nothing happened. Then, slowly, the path revealed itself, but narrower than it should be.
Briar frowned.Thiswas what his rescue had cost. Not just political capital or his court's respect, but his very connection to the forest itself. The land that should have recognized him as its lord was now questioning him.
Behind them, Karse snorted. "Your kingdom doesn't recognize you, Forest Lord?"
"Shut up," Thaine said curtly.
Eliam said nothing.
Instead they moved forward, and Briar watched Eliam struggle with every step. The paths forgot them the moment they passed. Twice, he had to force openings that should have appeared naturally, his jaw tight with frustration.
Each struggle felt like a knife in her chest.
She could stay angry at him. Part of her still was—the hunt had been real, the terror had been real, and his regret didn't erase what she'd endured. But watching him fight for control of his own domain, the anger felt... insufficient. Not wrong, just incomplete.
The path ahead grew more difficult, forcing them to slow. Briar's exhaustion dragged at her with each step, but she pushed forward. Behind her, she heard Karse's breathing grow labored—he was still weak despite the healing.
"We rest," Eliam said without warning. "Five minutes."
"My lord, we should—" Thaine started.
"Five minutes."
They'd reached a small clearing where fallen logs provided natural seating. Briar sank onto one gratefully, setting Frederick's bowl beside her. The sprite made a sleepy sound, clearly as exhausted as she felt.
Eliam moved to the clearing's edge, his back to them, keeping watch, but she saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand kept moving to his side where Malachar's wound had been and her magic had healed him.
"I'll scout ahead," Thaine said, disappearing into the shadows.
Karse stretched out on the ground with a groan. "Wake me when it's time to burn things."
Briar closed her eyes, just for a moment. The weight of everything pressed down on her—exhaustion, guilt, lingering hurt, and something else she couldn't quite name. When she opened them again, purple flowers surrounded her feet.
They hadn't been there before. Small clusters of delicate blooms, the exact shade of twilight, growing from bare earth that should have been too cold for anything to thrive.
She looked up.
Eliam still stood with his back to her, apparently watching the forest. But the line of his shoulders had changed—less rigid, as if waiting.
The forest barely obeyed him. The trees argued about whether to let him pass. His own kingdom was fracturing beneath his feet. But he could still make flowers grow for her.
And suddenly, watching him stand there pretending he hadn't just created something beautiful in the middle of their crisis, something clicked into place.
This wasn't about who was right or wrong. This wasn't about deserving forgiveness or earning redemption. This was about two people who'd both made terrible choices, who'd both hurt each other, who were both standing in the wreckage trying to figure out what came next.
