When she finally found her voice, it was laced with a boldness she barely recognized.
“Then perhaps stopbarricadingevery damned exit.”
A cruel light danced in his eyes. “You wouldn’t last a day without those barricades.”
It would be a smart move to retreat, to show some semblance of fear. But the weight of the evening had rendered her numb to anything but the searing anger that ignited when he opened his stupid mouth.
Elara took a dangerous step closer, raising her chin. “Is that what you tell yourself at night? That you and your lord are protecting me from the dangers of this world?” She bared her teeth. “Youare the danger. A beast who preys on his own. Tell me, how many lives have you destroyed in the name of duty?”
A gust of wind whipped her dark hair across her face, but her eyes never left his.
There was a slight shift in his posture—a minute tilt of his head, as if he was zeroing in on every syllable she uttered. It was a scrutiny she hadn't anticipated; a predatory attention that made her pulse quicken.
He let out a low, mocking laugh. “You seem rather fixated on my morals, Hallowed. Should I be flattered?” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “If you’re looking for guilt, you’re asking the wrong man. I’ve lost track of the bloodI’ve spilled, and I sleepjustfine.” His eyes roved over her, and Elara suddenly became hyper-aware of her disheveled state. Bloodstains from the rite marked her chemise, and a rip along her stomach exposed a patch of flesh. It must have torn when one of his comrades had thrown her into the banquet. She quickly raised her hands to cover herself, but he caught her wrist, stopping her.
His other hand hovered just above the jagged tear at her side, and a gentle warmth radiated from his palm, washing over the small cut she hadn’t even realized was there, and knitting the flesh together.
Elara gasped as the air swirled with ether, unlike any she'd ever encountered. His carried the scent of wood smoke mixed with the sweet sharpness of tree sap. It was fire, she realized with a quickening heart, but not the type that burned and blistered. This fire mended, healed—how was such a thing even possible?
Under his near touch, she felt frozen, immobilized even though his hands never actually met her skin. He shifted his focus to the gash on her forehead, and inexplicably, she allowed it. She couldn't fathom why. This one stung, drawing a wince from her, but the pain gradually subsided, replaced by a tender warmth she hadn’t known fire could possess.
The Hunter's gaze dropped to the fluttering pulse at her throat. “You speak as if you know the weight of command. Every soul I've claimed was a sacrifice that needed making, so spare me your righteous anger. It’s as misplaced as your accusations.” His dark eyes lifted to meet hers again, a wicked glint sparking in their depths. “If you truly think me such a monster, you should be more careful—you wouldn't want to make yourself too tempting a target.”
The darkness in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. He would indeed relish in the hunt.
Bastard.
She wanted to hurt him, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain he'd inflicted on others. The boy who had once saved her, who had stood against his brother’s cruelty, was no more. Osin had seen to that, had stripped him of that humanity.
But curse it all to the damn Void—provoking him was the fastest way to get herself killed. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like her ribs were bruising. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching his gaze.
Maybe hewouldkill her if she pushed him, if she punctured his ego deep enough. Maybe he'd even do it here, in the dirt, lay her down next to her own sick—finish what his brother had started all those years ago. And maybe she wouldn't even care. It would spare her from this life, from this endless torment, and it would ruin the Lord Sovereign in the process. Have him do what she was too much of a coward to do herself.
She opened her mouth, not even sure what she was going to say, when a shout of her name pierced the air. And like magnets repelled by an unseen force, Elara and the Hunter shot apart.
The ground began to shudder under the pounding of hooves and Verdaran guards surged from the tree line. At their forefront was Dario, the captain of the guard, his body rigid, every muscle coiled. His gaze flickered sharply between her and the masked hunter as he dismounted with a grace that belied the stiffness of his posture. The dust his boots kicked up had barely settled before he was by her side, his honey-brown eyes searching hers.
“By the gods, El.” His voice wavered between anger and frantic worry. The familiar grit of his calloused hands slid down her arms, affirming in their quiet way that she was indeed there, present and real. He drew her close, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, the comforting scent of juniper and worn leather surrounding her.
He drew back slightly, and stray strands of his sun-kissed hair tumbled forward in a disheveled crown. “What happened?”he whispered, his voice so comforting and soft it nearly undid her. Tears threatened to spill, the burning sensation hard to suppress. The horrors of the evening felt impossible to put into words. The events still bore a dreamlike quality. Speaking them aloud would shatter that illusion, binding her to a reality she wasn't prepared to face.
“Tonight was revealing, in more ways than one,” the Hunter drawled, his gaze briefly catching on the tear in her dress. “The Lord Sovereign was far from pleased.”
Elara's brows pinched together in a scowl—but the Hunter's focus had already moved past her, drawn to the guards who were now dismounting briskly. Moonlight danced on their armor, casting a soft, silvery-blue glow that made the metal shimmer subtly in the night. Crafted from layers of supple leather and reinforced with interwoven ringlets of burnished bronze, the armor allowed for the fluid movement needed for the agile and intricate combat styles the Verdaran guard were renowned for. On the chest plate of each soldier was the sigil of the Druid Sect. It was an ancient symbol composed of three interlocked spirals, representing life, death, and rebirth. The spirals moved in harmony, embodying the eternal rhythm of life that the Druids held sacred.
The guard lined up solidly behind Dario, their gazes lingering on the Hunter with a silent reverence in the slight tilt of their heads.
As the Hunter's voice, cold and devoid of any feeling, recounted Fenlin's death, a fresh wave of acid surged up Elara's throat, fueling a savage desire to rake her nails across his face. To leave scars as jagged as her own.
“Osin sure knows how to keep things interesting, doesn't he?” Lorien quipped, drawing laughter from the others.
Lorien, always quick with a jest and a smirk to match, was one of those guards Elara found insufferably arrogant. With ahaughty demeanor and a flexible moral compass, he was the sort she would rather not cross paths with. His voice grated against Elara's raw nerves, her nails unconsciously digging crescent moons into her flesh.
Beside her, Dario stiffened protectively ever so slightly. “We should get you back.” His voice was steady, though his eyes, locked onto the Hunter's, betrayed a challenge.
The Hunter’s gaze flicked to Elara, his eyes looking empty,dead. The fire she had stoked in him earlier was gone. He inclined his head. “For the realm and the ruler,” he declared.
The guards responded in practiced unison, their deep voices echoing through the clearing. “By Osin's command!”
