Auburn hair caught the light as a slender figure slipped between the trees. Finn’s breath stalled in his throat. Princess Gwenna?
He’d seen the official portrait hanging in Solavere Palace—a bright-eyed royal girl with that same distinctive shade of hair. Could it truly be her?
Finn was off and moving before his brain fully caught up.
“Princess Gwenna!” he shouted to be heard over the racket, breaking into a run. “Wait! I’m here to help!”
Branches clawed at him as he pushed forward, but she was already slipping away, vanishing between trees like a ghost in the mist.
Finn skidded to a halt near a gnarled oak, torn between chasing blindly or returning to Ghost. Was that really her?
He glanced back, gauging the risk of leaving Ghost alone. She stood exactly where he left her, unbothered. Her dark gaze tracked him with mild patience, like she was waiting for him to be done with whatever nonsense he was about to run into.
“Stay here, girl,” Finn called.
Ghost flicked an ear. Possibly acknowledgment. Possibly boredom. Either way, she wasn’t moving.
Finn turned back toward the tangled undergrowth ahead. Too thick for a horse, but not for someone on foot. He didn’t waste time hesitating. Finn plunged forward, brambles raking across his armor, branches snapping in his wake. He ducked under a low limb, boots slipping slightly in the damp earth as he pushed harder.
The trees thinned.
Ahead, a stone watchtower loomed, draped in ivy. A weed-choked courtyard stretched before him—an abandoned military outpost, just as he’d been told.
This was it.
His gaze swept the area, searching for any sign of movement—a flash of auburn hair, a flicker of gold.
“Princess Gwenna!” he called, wincing at the roughness in his throat. “It’s safe now. I’m here to rescue you!”
Silence answered him. The wind stirred the ivy across the walls, and in the distance he could just make out the faint noise of birds returning to the forest canopy.
Then, from within the tower, a voice crackled with outrage: “Piss off, you armored twat!”
For a beat, his brain simply refused to process the words. Princesses were supposed to beg for rescue, not curse out their would-be saviors.
That’s…not what I expected. He had pictured so many things on this ride. A trapped princess, lonely and afraid. A woman desperate for help. Maybe even a tearful reunion with civilization after ten years of solitude.
This?
This was not in the script.
Finn exhaled slowly, resetting his expectations in real time. Straightening, he called back, keeping his voice even despite the whiplash in tone. “Your Highness,” he said, “I understand you’ve endured something terrible here. I promise, I mean you no harm.”
A pause. Finn tilted his head, waiting for a response. None came.
He cleared his throat. “King Darius sent me to rescue you.”
For a moment, all was still again.
Then, the same defiant voice, brimming with frustration. “I said piss off! I don’t need rescuing, and I’m certainly not going anywhere with you!”
Finn blinked. Well, that was emphatic.
He gritted his teeth, confusion tangling with irritation. This was not how rescues were supposed to go. What was going on?
Was she brainwashed? Doubtful. She sounded far too coherent for that. Possessed? Also unlikely. Unless possession made you really, really annoyed.
Which left the most plausible option—this is what a decade of captivity does to a person. Especially a princess who once lived in a gilded palace and now, apparently, lived in a ruin full of trap-rigged cookware. But Finn had seen no sign of Gwenna’s potential captors, or of the dragon, so this was his best opportunity to free the princess.
