Chapter 127

Chapter 127: Chapter 127

The floorboards creaked again. Closer this time.

Corvin moved with the silent precision of someone who had spent years in laboratories where one wrong move could mean an explosion. He pressed his back against the wall beside the door, his dagger gripped tight in his hand. Across the room, Nyra had already rolled off the bed and crouched behind the overturned table, her own blade gleaming in the moonlight.

"How many?" she whispered.

"At least four. Maybe more in the corridor." His whiskey-dark eyes met hers. "Varek’s men. They must have tracked us from Millbrook."

"I should have known. I should have been more careful."

"This isn’t your fault. Focus." He held up three fingers, then two, then one.

The door burst inward.

The first soldier through was met with Corvin’s dagger across his throat. He crumpled without a sound. The second soldier lunged at Nyra, his sword arcing toward her head. She ducked under the strike and drove her own blade into his side, twisting as Soren had taught her months ago.

Two more soldiers pushed through the doorway. Behind them, in the corridor, Nyra could hear more footsteps. More shouting. The innkeeper screaming.

"We can’t stay here," Corvin said, pulling his dagger from the fallen soldier. "Window. Now."

Nyra didn’t argue. She grabbed her pack and ran for the window, throwing it open. They were on the second floor, but the drop to the ground below was manageable a thatched roof sloped away from the window, providing a precarious but possible escape route.

Corvin was right behind her. "Go. I’ll hold them off."

"I’m not leaving you—"

"Go! I’ll be right behind you. Trust me."

She hesitated for one agonizing moment. Then she swung her legs over the windowsill and dropped onto the thatched roof, scrambling down its slope toward the ground.

Corvin turned to face the remaining soldiers. There were three of them now, plus more in the corridor. He was outnumbered. Outmatched. But he was also Corvin Eldritch, the Serpent, and he had been preparing for moments like this his entire life.

He pulled a small vial from his belt a smoke bomb he had brewed weeks ago and hurled it at the floor. The room filled with thick, choking smoke. The soldiers coughed and stumbled, their eyes streaming.

By the time the smoke cleared, Corvin was gone.

He caught up with Nyra at the edge of the village, where the forest began. They ran together through the darkness, the shouts of Varek’s soldiers fading behind them. They didn’t stop until the village was far behind them and the only sounds were their own ragged breathing and the whisper of wind through the trees.

"They’ll keep hunting us," Nyra said, her chest heaving. "Every village we enter. Every person we talk to. They’ll never stop."

"Then we stop giving them targets." Corvin leaned against a tree, catching his breath. "We avoid villages. We move only at night. We become ghosts."

"I’m tired of being a ghost. I’m tired of running."

"I know." He pushed off the tree and faced her. "But we’re not just running anymore. We’re moving toward something. The resistance. Darian. The evidence we need. Every step we take brings us closer to clearing your name."

"And how many more attacks like this before we get there?"

"As many as it takes." His voice was steady. "I told you before. I’m not going anywhere."

Nyra looked at him the sharp features, the steady eyes, the blood on his tunic that wasn’t his own. He had killed for her tonight. He had risked his life for her again and again and again.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Don’t—"

"I know. You don’t want me to thank you. But I’m doing it anyway." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Now let’s move. Before more soldiers arrive."

They turned and disappeared into the darkness of the forest, two shadows fleeing through the night.

Miles away, in a different part of the same vast wilderness, Soren was hunting.

The forest was dark and alive with scent and sound. Every rustle of leaves was a potential prey. Every whisper of wind carried the smell of something living. His golden eyes pierced the darkness, tracking the movement of a deer through the underbrush.

He moved with the predatory grace of the Lycan he was silent, patient, utterly focused. The deer didn’t see him until it was too late. He brought it down with a single leap, his claws tearing through its throat, his fangs sinking deep into its flesh.

The blood was hot and rich and exactly what his body needed. He drank deeply, feeding the hunger that had been gnawing at him since he woke. His wolf—Kael—surged with satisfaction, finally getting the sustenance they had been denied for weeks.

Better, Kael said, his voice stronger now. Much better.

Where are we? Soren asked, pulling back from the deer’s carcass. His mouth was stained red. His hands were covered in blood.

The forest near the palace. I don’t know exactly where. We ran for a long time.

How did we get here? How did we wake up?

I don’t know. The last thing I remember is the darkness. The void. And then... pain. Light. And we were back.

Soren pressed his hand to his head. The headache was still there, a dull ache behind his eyes. And there was something else. A sense of loss. A hollow space in his chest where something important should have been.

Do you feel that? he asked Kael. The emptiness?

Yes. I don’t know what it is.

I think... I think I’m forgetting something. Someone. But every time I try to remember, the pain gets worse.

Then don’t force it. Let it come back on its own.

What if it doesn’t come back? What if I’ve lost something I can never recover?

Kael was silent for a moment. Then we learn to live without it. We’ve survived worse.

Have we?

We survived the poison. We survived the void. We’ll survive this too.

Soren looked down at the dead deer. At his bloodstained hands. At the forest around him, dark and endless and full of unknowns.

"I need to go back," he said aloud. "To the palace. My mother. My father. Freya. They need to know I’m alive."

And after that?

"I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore."

He rose to his feet and began walking. The forest stretched before him, vast and unknowable.

The palace was in chaos.

The two maids had been escorted to the King’s meeting chamber, where they now stood trembling before the monarch and his wife. The maid who had been attacked still had the small wounds on her neck two tiny punctures where Soren’s fangs had grazed her skin.

"You saw Prince Soren?" the Queen demanded, her voice shaking. "Where? When?"

"Your Majesty, it was in the garden," the second maid said, her voice steadier than her companion’s. "We were talking, and then he—he appeared. He looked... wild. His eyes were glowing gold. He had fangs and claws, like a wolf, but he was still in human form."

"He attacked me," the first maid whispered, finally finding her voice. "He said my neck looked enticing. He was going to bite me. But then he... he stopped. He licked my neck and pushed me away. And then he ran into the forest."

The King and Queen exchanged a glance. The healer’s words echoed in their minds: If and when the prince wakes up, he will be in a desperate hunger. It’s best to allow him to hunt and stay clear of him.

"He’s alive," Seraphina breathed, tears streaming down her face. "He’s really alive."

"But he’s not himself." The King’s voice was grim. "He’s feral. Hungry. Dangerous." He turned to the guards. "Organize a search party. Track him into the forest. But do not approach him. Do not engage him. Just find him and report back. Understood?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The guards departed. The maids were dismissed with orders to speak of this to no one. The King and Queen were left alone in the chamber.

"He woke up," Seraphina said, her voice breaking. "He woke up, and the first thing he did was run away."

"He’ll come back. He’s our son. He’ll find his way home."

"But what if he doesn’t? What if the poison changed him? What if he never remembers who he is?"

The King had no answer. He just held his wife as she wept, and prayed to the Moon Goddess that his son would return.

The morning sun rose over the eastern territories, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose.

Nyra and Corvin had walked through the night, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and Varek’s soldiers. By dawn, they had reached the outskirts of the territory where the old mill was located—the resistance meeting place Darian had told them about.

"We should rest," Corvin said. "Just for a few hours. We’re both exhausted."

Nyra wanted to argue, but her body wouldn’t let her. She nodded and sank down against the trunk of a large oak tree. Corvin sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched.

"Do you think the others are alright?" Nyra asked quietly. "Finn and Marek and Jasper? Ragnar?"

"They’re fine. They’re resourceful. And they have Roderic with them now."

"I miss them. I miss all of them. I even miss Finn’s terrible jokes."

Corvin almost smiled. "His jokes were truly terrible."

"The worst. And he was so proud of them." Nyra’s voice caught. "I should have told them. About who I really was. They deserved to know. Instead, they found out in front of the entire realm, with everyone calling me a murderer."

"They don’t blame you for that. None of them do."

"How do you know?"

"Because I’ve seen them. I’ve talked to them. Finn has been insufferable with worry. Marek has been quieter than usual, which I didn’t think was possible. Jasper has been investigating on his own, trying to find evidence to clear your name. And Ragnar—" Corvin paused. "Ragnar blames himself for not stopping the arrow. He’s grieving Soren, but he’s also grieving for you. They all are."

Nyra closed her eyes. "When this is over—if we survive—I’m going to apologize to every single one of them. And then I’m going to hug them until they beg me to stop."

"That’s a good plan."

"It’s a terrible plan. But it’s all I have."

Corvin reached over and took her hand. "It’s enough. You’re enough. Never doubt that."

They sat together in the quiet morning light, two fugitives hiding from the world, and for a moment—just a moment—the weight on their shoulders felt a little lighter.

Lord Varek received the report of the failed attack with cold fury.

"Incompetence," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "Absolute incompetence. Twelve soldiers at the hut. Six at the inn. And she slipped through your fingers both times."

The guard captain knelt before him, his head bowed. "My lord, the princess was not alone. The Eldritch boy was with her. He used smoke bombs and other alchemical tricks to cover their escape."

"I don’t care what tricks he used. I want her captured. I want her brought to me in chains. And I want it done before she reaches the resistance."

"We have trackers following her now, my lord. She’s heading east, toward the old mill. We know where she’s going."

Varek’s eyes glittered. "The mill. The resistance meeting place." A cold smile spread across his face. "Then we don’t need to capture her on the road. We can let her lead us straight to the heart of the rebellion. And when she arrives—" He laughed softly. "When she arrives, we’ll be waiting."

"My lord?"

"Send word to the garrison at Eastwatch. Tell them to prepare for an assault on the old mill. I want soldiers surrounding that building before the princess even sets foot inside. She thinks she’s going to rally the resistance. Instead, she’s walking straight into a trap."

The guard captain nodded and rose to his feet. "It will be done, my lord."

"See that it is." Varek turned back to the map, his smile widening. "This time, dear niece, there will be no escape."