The road south stretched like a scar across the land, cracked cobblestones half-buried under years of neglect and the occasional stubborn weed. Dusk painted the sky in bruised purples and fading golds, the same colors that now seemed to linger in the faint glow of the restored tablet strapped to Alix Teardom's back. She walked beside Donstram Donovan, close enough that their arms brushed with every other step. The bond thrummed between them, steady and warm, no longer a chain but a shared pulse.
Neither spoke much. There was no need. The silence was comfortable in a way neither had known before. Every so often one would glance at the other, and the bond would carry the unspoken: *You're still here. We're still breathing.*
The forest that flanked the road grew thicker as the light died. Trees leaned in like conspirators, branches laced overhead to form a tunnel of shadow. Mist rose from the ground in slow coils. Somewhere distant, a wolf howled once, then fell silent.
Donstram slowed, hand drifting to the hilt of his sword. "You feel that?"
Alix nodded. The air had thickened, carrying the faint metallic tang of oiled steel and sweat. "Scouts. Six. Maybe seven. They're waiting."
He gave a low grunt of acknowledgment. "Then we don't wait for them."
They moved off the road together, slipping into the underbrush without breaking stride. Alix's shadows flowed ahead like dark water, tasting the air. Donstram followed her lead, steps silent despite the heavy boots. The bond sharpened their senses: she felt the subtle shift of his weight as he prepared to strike, and he felt the quiet coil of her power gathering like a storm.
The ambush came exactly where Alix had sensed it.
Seven royal scouts stepped from the trees onto the road, crossbows raised. Their captain, a lean man with a scar across his nose, barked an order. "Take them alive if possible. The king wants the witch breathing."
Donstram moved first.
He exploded from the shadows like a thrown blade, sword arcing in a silver crescent. The first scout barely had time to flinch before the edge bit through leather and bone. The man dropped without a sound.
Alix followed a heartbeat later. Shadows erupted from the ground in whipping tendrils, slamming into two scouts and yanking their crossbows skyward. Bolts fired wild, disappearing into the canopy. She twisted her hands, and black vines burst from the earth, coiling around legs and throats. One scout screamed as thorns pierced flesh.
The captain recovered quickly. He drew a longsword and charged Donstram, blade flashing in the dying light. Steel met steel in a shower of sparks. Donstram parried, twisted, drove an elbow into the man's ribs. The captain staggered but came back swinging.
Alix felt the impact through the bond, a dull thud in her own side. She hissed, then lashed out with a shadow whip that caught the captain across the face. He reeled, blood streaming from a split cheek.
Donstram finished him with a thrust to the chest. The man collapsed, sword clattering to the stones.
The remaining scouts broke. Two fled into the trees. Three tried to fight. Alix and Donstram met them as one.
She summoned a wall of shadow that blinded the closest, while Donstram stepped through and cut him down. He spun, parrying a desperate swing from another, then drove his shoulder into the man's chest, sending him sprawling. Alix finished him with a vine that crushed his windpipe.
The last scout turned to run. Donstram threw his dagger. It took the man in the back of the knee. He fell screaming. Alix walked forward, shadows curling around her like smoke. She knelt beside him, violet eyes glowing faintly.
"Where is the main force?" she asked quietly.
The scout spat blood. "Three days south. Five hundred strong. The king wants your heads on pikes."
Donstram stepped up behind her. "He'll have to catch us first."
Alix rose. The shadows tightened once. The scout's scream cut off abruptly.
Silence returned, broken only by the drip of blood on stone.
Donstram wiped his blade clean. "We should move. They won't be the last."
Alix nodded. She looked down at her hands. They trembled slightly. Not from fear. From the sheer force of what they had just done together. The bond had made it effortless. Terrifyingly so.
They dragged the bodies off the road, leaving them for the wolves. Then they continued south, walking in the deepening dark.
Hours later they found a small hollow beneath an overhang of rock. Enough shelter from the wind, enough cover from eyes. Donstram gathered dry wood while Alix wove a subtle ward of shadow around the perimeter. When the small fire crackled to life, they sat close, shoulders touching.
The flames painted their faces in shifting orange. Donstram stared into the fire for a long time before speaking.
"I thought breaking the curse would make everything... quieter. Inside." He touched his chest. "It's not. It's louder now."
Alix leaned her head against his shoulder. "Because now we have something to lose."
He turned to look at her. The firelight caught the storm in his gray eyes. "I was ready to die for years. Alone. Empty. Now the thought of leaving you behind..." His voice cracked. "It terrifies me more than any blade."
She reached up, cupped his scarred cheek. "Then don't leave me behind."
He leaned into her touch. "I won't."
The kiss that followed was slow, aching. No rush. No battle heat. Just the quiet certainty of two people who had walked through fire and chosen to keep walking together. His arms came around her, pulling her close. She melted into him, hands sliding beneath his shirt to trace the hard planes of his back.
When they parted, foreheads resting together, Alix whispered, "We're going to win this."
Donstram gave a small, rough laugh. "We have to. I refuse to die before I get to see you in a proper dress instead of blood and mud."
She smiled against his lips. "Careful, Prince. You're starting to sound domestic."
He kissed her again, deeper this time. "Good."
The fire burned low. They stayed wrapped in each other, the bond humming softly between them like a shared heartbeat.
Unique insight drifted through Alix as sleep finally claimed her: Freedom tasted like fear when the world still wanted you chained. But fear was bearable when you carried it with someone who refused to let you face it alone.
Far to the north, the king's banners snapped in the wind. Five hundred men marched south.
The war had truly begun.
.