Movement from the edge of the battlefield caught my attention. A group of men in royal armor approached cautiously, led by an older man wearing a crown that had seen better days, thanks to the much of the old forest. Beside him walked a younger version of himself, more handsome but with the same authoritative bearing.
Alain and his father. The king of Durand.
I tensed instinctively, my newly reformed muscles bunching for a fight that reason told me wouldn’t come. These weren’t enemies, not anymore, but the protective instinct ran deep. Especially with Isabeau standing so close, her small hand still resting on my arm as if afraid I might disappear.
Our father stepped forward to meet them, our mother at his side. Despite their ragged appearance, they carried themselves with the dignity that had always defined them. Royalty wasn’t just about crowns and thrones. It was bone-deep bravery, bred into us from birth. Even naked and disoriented, my brothers and I knew to straighten our spines, to lift our chins, to present the united front that had been drilled into us since childhood.
“Henri?” Alain’s father stopped a few paces away, disbelief etched into every line of his aging face. “It cannot be.”
“Geraint,” our father replied, his voice steady despite the emotion I could see him fighting to control. “Old friend. It has been... some time.”
“They knew each other?” Isabeau whispered, looking up at me with confusion.
I nodded, pieces falling into place that I’d never had the context to understand before. “Durand and the Enchanted Realm were allies once. Trade partners. Friends.”
“I thought you dead,” Geraint said, taking another step closer, his eyes scanning our father’s face as if searching for proof of deception. “Your entire kingdom—vanished from our minds.”
“The curse,” our father said simply. “It didn’t just transform my sons and trap our people. It erased us from memory. From history itself.”
Geraint’s face paled as understanding dawned. “All these years... the Forbidden Forest. The tales of monsters. The areas no hunter dared enter. It was you. All of you, hidden behind a veil of dark magic.”
“Not hidden,” our mother corrected gently. “Imprisoned. Enslaved to a god’s whim and a witch’s bargain.”
I watched as the two kings regarded each other across decades of enforced separation. Geraint had aged, his hair gray, his face lined with the worries and responsibilities of rule. Our father looked exactly as he had the day the curse struck. Not a day older despite the years. The same was true for all of them who had been caught in that hell dimension. We beasts had experienced every excruciating minute of our imprisonment and aged until we all hit thirty, but time had left our bodies untouched after that.
Geraint stepped forward and clasped our father’s arm in the traditional greeting of warrior-kings. “My friend. My ally. Welcome back to the world.”
Our father returned the gesture, his grip firm despite the emotion I could see working in his throat. “It seems we have much to discuss. Many years to account for.”
“Indeed,” Geraint agreed, his eyes moving from our father to take in my brothers and me. Recognition flickered across his face as he connected us to the beasts that had been described to him. “Your sons... they were the creatures my men hunted.”
“We were,” Marcel confirmed, stepping forward as the eldest, always the first to speak in matters of state. “Though not by choice.”
Geraint turned to his own son. “And you knew? You helped free them?”
Alain met his father’s gaze steadily. “I didn’t know who they were to our kingdom. I only did what was right.”
I couldn’t hate him in that moment, much as part of me still wanted to. He stood his ground before his father, his king, without flinching. Without apology. Something we had in common, it seemed.
“The curse is broken,” Isabeau said, her voice stronger than I expected given all she’d been through. “But not everything is restored.”
She was right. Looking around at our gathered subjects, I realized someone was missing. Someone vital. The realization hit Marcel at the same moment, his face darkening with renewed grief.
“Estelle,” he said, the name falling like a stone between us. “Our sister isn’t here.”
I scanned the crowd more carefully, hoping we were wrong. Everyone who had been trapped in the hell dimension was here. The entire population of our castle, down to the lowest scullery maid. Everyone except our little sister.
“She wasn’t with us,” our mother worried. “We thought she was with you.”
Laurent confirmed her concern, his expression grim. “Not cursed with us.”
Our mother made a small, wounded sound, quickly stifled behind a queen’s composure. Our father’s face hardened, the joy of reunion giving way to fresh concern. “Where is she?” he demanded, though none of us had an answer.
“Could she have escaped the curse somehow?” Isabeau asked, looking between us with a frown. “Been somewhere else when it struck?”
“No,” I said, the memory surfacing with painful clarity. “She was with us in the throne room when the witch cast her spell. She should have been trapped with us.”
“Unless she wasn’t sent to the same place,” Marcel said slowly, a terrible suspicion forming in his eyes. “Unless she was kept separate. For a reason.”
