The carriage continued its steady path through the darkening road, lantern light swaying gently with each turn of the wheels.
Maya stirred slightly in her sleep.
Her brows knit together, her grip tightening just a little on Darcien's arm as her breathing hitched. A faint sound escaped her lips—half a word, half a breath.
"Don't… run…"
Darcien's eyes flicked down to her face.
She shifted again, restless now, her head pressing more firmly against his shoulder as if seeking grounding. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve, knuckles pale.
A dream.
He remained still, though his unease deepened. Even in sleep, she carried tension—like someone who had learned to flee before learning to stand.
She murmured again, softer this time. "I didn't see him…"
The words made no sense. Darcien frowned slightly but did not interrupt. He had no intention of waking her. Whatever haunted her sleep was not something she would explain willingly—and pressing her would only make her retreat further.
After a moment, her breathing evened out.
The tightness in her hand eased, though she did not release him. Her arm remained looped around his, her head still resting against his shoulder as if it belonged there.
Darcien stared ahead, jaw tight.
A human princess should have been trembling after what had happened earlier. Even trained warriors faltered after their first kill. He had seen seasoned fighters go silent, go pale, lose themselves to shock.
Yet she had screamed once… and then gone still. Too still. Her fear had come later, quietly, folding inward rather than spilling out.
Now she slept.
It unsettled him.
"She should be afraid," he thought. "She should be breaking."
But she wasn't.
The carriage slowed slightly as the terrain shifted, the road narrowing. Darcien's senses sharpened instinctively, his attention shifting outward even as he remained physically unmoving.
The forest pressed closer on either side now, shadows thick between the trees.
Still, he did not move her.
He did not push her arm away.
He did not shift his shoulder.
He simply endured the closeness, watching the road ahead, listening to her steady breathing, and wondering how someone so clearly human could carry herself like a creature shaped by survival rather than shelter.
As the carriage rolled deeper into the night, Darcien realized something he did not like at all.
Princess Elowen was not as fragile as he had believed.
And whatever had shaped her… it had not come from this world.