Not for herself.
Never for herself.
Any fear for her own life had died long ago, buried on some battlefield she could no longer remember.
But for Leonia...
For the golden-haired woman who had always stood at her side.
Who had always answered her call.
Who had always been there.
An unshakable rock in a sea of uncertainty.
The silence of someone who always answered...
rarely carried good news.
Elizabeth tightened her grip on her sword until her fingers creaked against the blood-slick hilt.
Her silver-gold eyes, reflecting the sickly crimson sky overhead, grew hard.
Something changed in her expression.
A mask of determination so absolute it seemed carved from stone itself.
If Leonia still breathed...
she would find her.
If she had fallen...
she would carry her.
And if anyone had dared take her away...
If any one of those rogues.
Any one of those traitors.
Any one of those sons of Solari had laid a hand upon her knight...
Then the entire forest would learn there were fates far worse than dying at the hands of the Heir of the Moon.
Elizabeth moved.
Not toward the griffin.
Not toward the battle ahead.
But toward the place where she had last seen Leonia.
Toward the silence.
Toward the emptiness.
Toward the only thing that truly terrified her.
The possibility that...
by the time she arrived...
she would already be too late.