Jaefel crouched by a stream, letting the water run over his hands. "Love isn’t blind," he said without looking back. "It’s defiant. That’s different."
Lucius gave a small huff of agreent, though he still hadn’t cracked a smile.
Sarah and Emma shared a blanket and a flask, their heads bent close together. Sarah was humming quietly under her breath, a lullaby they rembered from childhood. It sounded fragile.
The silence stretched again after that. A heavy hush filled the forest, one they didn’t dare shatter with stories—not this ti.
Too much was unknown. Too much was at stake. The road ahead wound into danger, and they all felt it.
But sohow, in the middle of it all—Salviana’s laughter, Alaric’s whispered teases, their stolen kisses under starlight—cut through the dark like a stubborn fla.
Jean glanced at them again, annoyed, admiring. Maybe even a little jealous.
They were fucking happy.
And that, in a way, was the bravest thing anyone could be.
Lucius wrapped his arms around Jeanie’s shoulder and dragged her to a corner.
They continued their journey when they could.
The fog thickened as they neared the edges of Wyfhaven, spilling like slow-moving ghosts between the trees. It was Salviana who noticed the first sign.
"The moss here is black," she murmured, reaching out to touch a tree trunk veined with creeping darkness. "It wasn’t like this when we left Wyfhaven."
Lucius halted his horse, scanning the forest with Jean behind him. "We’re close."
"To what?" Samion asked, ever on edge. Alaric’s hand hadn’t left the hilt of his blade since morning.
Alaric didn’t answer right away. His eyes, pale and unreadable, stared through the trees ahead. "Wyfmoor," he said at last. "We’ve reached the Village of Shadows."
A shiver passed through the group.
Alaric smirked.
Wyfmoor. The na alone clung to the air like mildew.
Thick, ancient woods gave way to narrow, winding paths laced with roots that threatened to trip the unwary. The deeper they went, the colder it beca—unnaturally so.
Even the horses huffed uneasily, nostrils flaring at sothing unseen. The sll of damp earth mixed with faint traces of ash and old herbs.
Salviana leaned toward Alaric, whispering, "Why here?"
He t her gaze briefly, but his answer was a whisper to himself more than her. "Because it’s where the truth rots beneath the soil."
Wyfmoor appeared slowly, not like most villages with gates or banners, but as shadows erging from mist. Weathered hos with rotting wood stood crookedly like old n hunched over in pain.
The windows were dark, so boarded shut, others cracked. Smoke coiled from only a few chimneys.
No one welcod them. No curious faces peered through curtains.
"I don’t like this," Emma whispered, pulling her cloak tighter.
"Then don’t talk," Jaefel muttered, eyes scanning rooftops for danger. Even he was nervous, and that said a lot.
Alaric halted his horse at the village’s edge.
"They won’t welco us with flowers," he said. "But they won’t harm us either. Not unless we give them reason to."
"You sure?" Jaefel asked, voice dry. "Because this place slls like secrets and unburied things."
"It is," Alaric said. "Wyfmoor was cursed long before any of us were born. But it’s also protected. A sanctuary for those who fall through the cracks of kingdoms."
"You an like you?" Lucius asked, raising a brow.
Alaric didn’t answer he rely rolled his eyes.
As they moved through the narrow street, Salviana found herself reaching for his gloved hand. "You’ve been here before."
"Yes."
"Why didn’t you tell ?"
"Because it never ca up" Alaric shrugged.
She squeezed his fingers. "I want to see all of you, Alaric. Even the haunted corners."
A rare flicker of emotion passed through his eyes. "Then stay close. This place doesn’t just feed on flesh—it feeds on doubts."
They stopped at the edge of Wyfshade Inn, a moss-covered building with flickering lanterns and a hanging sign swaying in the wind. The door creaked open on its own.
"Of course it does," Sarah muttered. "Charming."
"I’ll get rooms," Lucius said, already stepping inside.
But Alaric held up a hand. "Not yet. We’re not staying here."
Manni cleared his throat. "Then where, your highness?"
Alaric looked toward the woods again, toward the shadows thickening in the distance.
"We’re going to the moor mansion," he said.
Every head turned to him.
"You an Prince Embrez’s mansion?" Emma asked. "The mad one?"
Alaric’s jaw tightened. "He’s not mad. He’s betrayed. Like . And I need him to understand that the war isn’t over."
"You think he’ll help us, your grace?" Samion asked.
"I think... he wants a reason to burn sothing down."
"And you’ll give him," Salviana shivered.
"Don’t worry my fiery one, I am here with you,"
"Thank you my fire prince," she giggled before covering her mouth quickly.
Sarah reddened on their behalf, they’re so sweef.
As dusk turned to night, they moved into the Wyfwood, the forest surrounding the mansion in the village like a hungry beast.
The trees here groaned like they were breathing. The wind didn’t blow—it whispered. Words no one wanted to understand.
"Keep your eyes ahead," Jean warned. "If sothing moves, don’t blink."
They pushed forward, torches held high, the group tighter now, no laughter or flirtation. Only the rustle of leaves and the quiet pull of destiny.
Alaric rode at the front with his wife in his arms, his eyes scanning the growing darkness.
In his mind, he rembered the last ti he saw Embrez Velthorne. The older brother, estranged and full of rage.
The only person who had once fought for him, before his father the king turned them both into monsters.
Now, that brother lived in shadow, buried in hatred.
But Alaric needed him.
Because if Embrez could still recognize him...
Then perhaps he wasn’t as lost as he feared.
They were headed into the Fox’s mouth.
And Alaric was leading them in without a whisper of doubt.
Even if every step forward ant walking into the heart of old pain and unforgivable fire.
He needed to take his wife back ho and with a plan.
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