Callan muttered, “Lovely. A king reduced to sleeping in the bushes like a fugitive.”
“Well, you are traveling with the two most wanted criminals in your lands,” Rydian pointed out.
“Don’t remind me,” Callan snapped.
I didn’t bother stepping between them. They’d bickered at least ten times since leaving Grey Oak. I knew them well enough by now to recognize Rydian’s patience was paper-thin, and Callan’s sarcasm was a defense mechanism. The exhaustion didn’t help.
As dawn approached, Rydian directed us off the narrow hunting path and deeper into the brush where we’d have more cover. We skirted fallen logs slick with dew. The trees grew older here—massive trunks wide enough to hide a dozen fae behind. Strange fungi glowed faintly near their roots. The forest had always been beautiful, but tonight it watched us like an old creature taking stock of trespassers.
Eventually, Callan stumbled and caught himself on a tree.
“That’s it,” Rydian muttered. “We stop before His Majesty breaks a nail.”
“I hate you,” Callan said.
Rydian didn’t even look back. “Excellent. I recommend the silent treatment.”
I blew out a tired breath, noting the sky beginning to lighten. “We need shelter. Something hidden. Somewhere no one will look.”
Rydian pointed east. “There used to be an old hunting cabin two miles that way. Half rotten. Probably crawling with spiders. Perfect for a groom on the run from his bride.”
“She’s not my bride,” Callan muttered, and I noted the way his jaw tightened.
I caught his eye, but he only turned away, ducking his head as he went.
We trudged toward the direction Rydian indicated. My legs ached. My ribs ached. My magic—it didn’t ache so much as simmer uncomfortably under my skin, like it hadn’t settled since the throne room. It had wanted me to unleash it so badly, and I’d held it back. Now, it had built into something like a pressure. Then there was the life force Heliconia had drained from me. It had left me empty. Tired to the bone.
But something else tugged at me too.
Rydian.
Every time he came close, I felt his presence like a magnet. And when he moved away, his absence was a loss.
After another hour of weaving between boulders and thick brush, we saw it: a small cabin half swallowed by overgrowth, with broken shutters and a roof patched with moss.
It was barely standing.
“Home sweet home,” Rydian murmured.
Callan looked personally offended by it.
Inside, it smelled like damp wood and old leaves. But it was shelter. And no one sane would look for royalty here.
“Callan, take the cot,” I said. “Rydian?—”
“I’ll take first watch.”
Callan dropped onto the cot with a theatrical groan. Rydian nodded and stepped back outside, shadows curling protectively around him like a cloak.
Leaving Callan and me alone.
He sat slumped over, elbows on knees, staring at the floor.
I debated going to look for Rydian but decided against leaving Callan unsupervised.
“So,” he said eventually. “We survived after all.”
“Barely.”
