Alastor came to a quick halt in the middle of the forest. His horse's ears perked, twitching. Elysium froze, reaching for her quiver. When she peeked around Alastor, she saw a band of armed men ahead, their faces masked. They were still far enough away that they had some time to strategize, but the men had already seen the two. Elysium tried to rationalize in her head.
"We can reason with them," she said quietly.
Alastor, without looking at her, said, "You say that about everyone."
"Because it's true," she shot back.
Alastor glanced at her finally. Calm. Assessing. "It's adorable you think that." He grinned widely.
Elysium straightened in the saddle. "Stop calling my decisions adorable."
He shrugged lightly. "What term would you prefer? Delusional? Recklessly optimistic?" He delivered it almost as a compliment.
She leaned closer, voice low. "You mistake kindness for weakness."
Alastor matched her tone, answering just as softly. "You mistake cruelty for inevitability."
Their argument lingered until they heard a snap from the trees beside them. Elysium shot backward, squinting her eyes. Out of the trees walked three white horses with hooded guards mounted on them, swords drawn. Elysium let out a sigh of relief.
"The traveling guards," she whispered to Alastor.
"They're not particularly fond of me," Alastor replied quietly.
"Figures." Elysium rolled her eyes and dismounted Vail's successor.
Each man and woman was swathed in heavy, layered tunics of unbleached linen and reinforced silk, a stark white that seemed designed to blend into the blinding squalls of the North. Over their heads, deep cowled hoods cast their faces into total shadow, rendering them faceless extensions of the law. Their armor was a masterwork of burnished plate, etched with scrolling gold filigree that caught the meager light. It was not merely for show; the pauldrons were thick enough to turn a claymore, and the vambraces were scarred from years of practical defense. At their hips and in their steady hands sat broadswords with hilts of dark, weathered iron, their crossguards intricate and heavy. A flowing white cape draped from their shoulders, weighted to stay still even against the biting winds of the ravines.
The first to approach them was Captain Brannon Hale. He was broad-shouldered, in his late 30s, with a scar down his jaw. The armor sat heavy on his broad shoulders, the gold trim dulled by the salt and grit of the road. His hood was pulled back just enough to reveal the jagged scar along his jaw, a permanent reminder of a practicality bought with blood. He stood with his hand resting on his pommel, his eyes never leaving Alastor, weighing the dark magic of the prince against the cold steel at his side.
The second to trot over was Tomas Vale. Even in the uniform of a grim traveler, Tomas managed an air of effortless grace. Tomas was in his twenties and was incredibly handsome. His dirty blonde hair messily fell over his face when he pulled off his hood, framing his crystal blue eyes. His cloak was pinned with a slightly more flamboyant touch, and he kept his hood lowered to let his easy smile work its magic. He leaned against his blade with a casual strength, his gaze lingering on Elysium with a warmth that felt out of place.
The final traveling guard to enter was Maeve Rook. Her gear was the most worn, the white fabric grayed at the hem from leagues of travel. She was an older woman and was quietly drawn back behind her two other guards. She kept her hood high and her silence absolute. Maeve watched the way Elysium flinched at Alastor's voice and the way Alastor's hand twitched toward his sword whenever Tomas stepped too close. She wore her armor like a second skin, a quiet shadow who saw the storm brewing long before the first flake of snow fell.
Alastor dipped his head down, facing away from the guards. Brannon hopped off from his horse, approaching Elysium. He bowed to her, placing his hand over his chest.
"I'm glad we found you, Princess," he said.
"Likewise, Captain," she replied happily.
"Princess," the Captain's voice suddenly grew quiet. "You should know something."
Elysium cocked her head. "What?"
Brannon let out a long sigh, and his eyes softened. "Lupus has enslaved all of Alaria," he continued. "Your kingdom is struggling."
Elysium held her breath, shaking her head. She knew they were running out of time. "I'm running out of time," she said shakily.
"You will succeed, Princess," Tomas spoke up, a warm smile crossing his face.
None of the guards acknowledged Alastor, but he was used to it.
"Our camp is a few miles from here," Maeve said. "You can stay with us for the night."
The group of five traveled on a path through the forest. When the armed men saw the guards, they quickly scattered away, scrambling to hide. The guards provided an extra layer of protection for Alastor and Elysium. Smoke traveled into the sky above the trees, signaling that they were close to the camp. Elysium let out a sigh of relief when they finally reached the tents. Exhausted, she tied her horse to a nearby pole and sat down on one of the logs that circled the fire. While Elysium unpacked her satchel, Tomas handed her a mug of water. Elysium gratefully accepted it, the cool water falling down her throat. He leaned against his tent, looking at her.
"You don't look like you belong on the road," he said.
Elysium cocked her eyebrow, tilting her head. "And what does someone who belongs look like?" she asked.
"Less…" he smiled. "Luminous."
Elysium felt her cheeks glow red, and she looked away for a moment, Alastor catching her eye behind her. He stood beside a vacant tent, rolling his eyes.
Elysium and Maeve rode off to gather some firewood. With planks of wood filled in their arms, the two struggled to mount their horses, setting the wood in their laps.
"Are you afraid?" Maeve asked, turning her head towards Elysium.
"Very," she replied, half laughing.
When they reached the camp again, Brannon grabbed the firewood from Maeve and Elysium's hands. Tomas happily walked from the firepit to Elysium, ready to help her off the horse. Just when he reached his hand out to her, Alastor suddenly appeared right next to Elysium.
"She doesn't need assistance," he said flatly.
Elysium shot him a look.
Tomas raised his hands apologetically. "I didn't mean offense," he said.
Alastor's smile had no warmth. "I'm sure you rarely do," he shot back.
Night fell, and the fire crackled in front of the group. They all sat along the circled logs, metal clinking from the flask being passed around. The guards began to talk.
"The first man I killed was only sixteen; I thought he was older," Brannon said solemnly.
"I told myself I'd never kill for coin. Just protection. That line blurred fast," Tomas chimed in.
The fire shifted when someone glanced at Alastor. He was unreadable.
"What's the worst thing you've ever done?" Brannon asked the pair.
The silence stretched for a long period of time.
"I let someone suffer because I believed it would teach them something." Elysium spoke first.
Surprised, the guards all glanced at her. She swallowed. "I told myself it was mercy. It wasn't," she said, her voice melancholic.
Alastor's eyes flickered to her. He was confused; he had never known that. Elysium wouldn't look at him.
"And you?" Tomas asked, a brow raised.
There was a long pause. Alastor neither shifted nor smiled. "The worst thing I've ever done?" He studied the fire, his eyes zoning out. "I knew exactly what would happen. And I did it anyway."
The group fell silent, and Maeve watched Alastor closely. Tomas shifted slightly away from him. Yet, Elysium didn't move, only tightening her hands in her lap. After the fire slowly died out, the guards retired to their tents, leaving Elysium and Alastor together. Neither of the two said a word to each other; they quietly dragged themselves to the pair of empty tents. Alastor's eyes glanced to Elysium's tent, where he saw Tomas slowly crouch near the mouth, blanket in hand. He handed it off to her, and they shared a few words Alastor couldn't make out before Tomas disappeared again into his tent.
Meanwhile, Elysium tossed and turned, unable to rest. Her mind was still thinking about Alaria and what the Captain had told her. She finally resorted to crawling out of the tent for some air. When she sat on the log, she felt someone sit beside her. Alastor stared up at the sky.
"You could have lied," Elysium said.
"So could you," Alastor answered.
Elysium looked at him. "You didn't have to make it sound so easy."
He finally looked at her fully. "It wasn't easy." There was a beat. "It was necessary."
Alastor silently walked alone towards the darkness, eager to spend some time alone. Once he was out of sight, Tomas approached her from his tent.
"You don't seem afraid of him," Tomas said quietly.
"I'm not," she replied flatly.
"Should you be?"
She glanced toward where Alastor stood in the shadows. "Everyone should be afraid of something."
Alastor heard that, unsure if she meant him. He ran his hands through his thick, dark hair, pacing around the grass. He could hear Elysium's laughs followed by Tomas's voice echo from behind him. It irritated him, and he tried to walk as far away from the noise as he could. He stared down at his calloused hands and bruised legs. He remembered what he had said to her a few days ago and how much it hurt her. He felt a tinge of guilt when he thought about it. Alastor bit his cheek, insistent that he shouldn't go back to the camp.
He waited until the sun rose to finally retreat to the tents. When Elysium rose from her tent, she yawned, stretching her arms out beside her head. Tomas was already beside her when she sat down on the log, a cup of hot water in hand for her.
"Sleep well?" he asked brightly, sitting alongside her.
"Sort of," she replied, sipping on the mug.
Alastor stayed near the corner of his tent, arms folded across his chest. The sun had barely risen, and Alastor had already packed his things and tied them to his horse's saddle. Elysium cocked a brow at him when she saw.
"In a hurry?" she asked.
"I'd say saving my kingdom is a priority, yes," he shot back.
Elysium tied her boots, happy that they had made it past the harsh winter weather. In fact, they were headed near the opposite. The next city they would travel through was one of the most dangerous ones yet. Dathir was a city that sat deep in the blistering desert and was blindingly bright during the day. The politically controlled city was dangerous and constantly flooded with crime.
When Alastor hopped onto his horse, he set his hand down for Elysium, helping to hoist her up, and then his eyes glared over to Tomas as he approached. Tomas gazed up at Elysium and gently grabbed her hand. He pressed his lips on the top of her hand, then stepped away, his eyes then flickering to Alastor. The two exchanged glances, and Alastor looked him up and down, his face riddled with judgment. He snapped the reins quickly and sped off.