“So don’t fear, you have time yet for your little intervention.”
I searched his face, looking for mockery, especially given his tone, and strangely found none.
“Have faith, little queen,”he added, surprising me when he came up beside my horse, and the words startled me more than anything else he had said.
“I’m not a queen yet and don’t know whether I ever will be,” I reminded him, and he scoffed in a laugh.
“Then you underestimate yourself and your appeal, for had you not offered me an opportunity of the bargain you made, I might have been tempted to make you my queen instead.”
I gasped, his playful wink doing nothing to cool my cheeks. My mouth dropped, but before I could even think of a comeback to that, he cantered ahead of me, taking his place at the front once more.
We rode on in silence after that.
I found myself settling into the saddle more easily than I ever had before. The motion of the horse felt familiar, almost comforting, and I realized with a faint, incredulous huff that somewhere along the way, I had become competent at this. Not fearless, I wouldn’t go that far just yet, but capable at the very least. The thought brought with it a strange mix of pride andsorrow for the version of me who would have trembled at this only weeks ago.
Night fell properly as the forest thinned, the road widening into a stretch of broken stone half reclaimed by grass and roots. Ahead, pale shapes rose from the darkness, columns fractured and toppled, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of weather and neglect.
Ruins.
Theron slowed, then raised a hand.
“We stop here for the night.”
I opened my mouth to argue, the words already forming, but one look at him stopped me cold. His expression brooked no challenge, and any resistance from me wouldn’t be bravery, it would be foolishness.
The soldiers moved instantly, splitting off in practiced efficiency, tents erected with quiet precision as fires were lit and a perimeter set. It was clear this was not the first time they had made camp among the bones of the past.
Aster first helped me down from the horse before leading me over to where a campfire had already been lit. He then sat beside me as food was distributed, the warmth of the hot meat a welcome contrast to the chill creeping in from the dark. We ate in silence, exhaustion weighing heavily on my limbs now that the adrenaline had faded. I barely registered when a guard approached to guide me to my tent, too tired to question it, too aware that I would gain nothing by refusing either.
Inside, the space was modest but clean, blankets laid out neatly atop a bedroll. I sat for a long moment, staring at the canvas walls, confident that sleep would never come, that my mind was too full of worry.
I was wrong.
When I woke, it was not to light or movement, but to my name being called in a whisper.
I latched onto it instantly, my mind sensing the familiar sound. Not of my name, but the way in which it was said.
“Alexandra.”
My breath caught painfully in my chest as I bolted upright, heart hammering as the sound echoed again, closer this time.
I knew that voice.
My lips parted, the name tearing free before reason could stop it…
“Atlas.”
My name.
Not shouted desperately for help. No, it was spoken tenderly, intimately and shaped with a familiarity that cut straight through sleep and lodged deep in my chest.
“Alexandra.”
My eyes snapped open as my breath hitched sharply in my throat, heart slamming so violently it felt like it might crack my ribs from the inside. For a moment, I lay utterly still, staring up at the low canvas ceiling of the tent as it slowly came into focus.
I told myself that I was dreaming.
I had to be.
