The first thing Isla realized about traveling was that it was nothing like the novels, and most certainly nothing like the grandly romanticized idea she had in her head. The second thing she realized was that she hated horses.
Clara, to her credit, was doing her best to maintain some semblance of cheer, but her complaints were frequent enough to remind Isla that she wasn't alone in her misery. The saddle was hard, her thighs were sore, and the road was unforgivingly bumpy. Every half-hour or so, Clara would mutter something about "civilized transportation" and pointedly glare at her horse, which seemed to take great pleasure in veering off the path whenever it spotted a patch of grass or a particularly interesting shrub.
"Did you know," Clara said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "that horses are supposed to be intelligent creatures? Because I'm starting to think I got the defective one."
"Mine isn't any better," Isla muttered, shifting uncomfortably in her saddle. "She keeps acting like she wants to throw me off."
"Maybe she does," Clara said, shooting Isla a teasing grin. "Can't blame her, really. You're probably heavier than you look."
"Thank you, Clara," Isla said dryly. "Your support means the world to me."
They had been traveling for hours, and the novelty of the journey had worn off within the first thirty minutes. The road stretched endlessly before them, flanked by dense forests that seemed to close in the farther they went. The air was cool and crisp, but the faint smell of damp earth clung to everything, and Isla was beginning to regret not packing an extra cloak.
"What I wouldn't give for a hot bath right now," Clara said, breaking the silence. "Or a warm bed. Or literally anything that isn't this stupid horse."
"I thought you wanted adventure," Isla said, raising an eyebrow.
"I wanted *controlled* adventure," Clara corrected. "The kind with witty banter, handsome heroes, and maybe a daring rescue or two. Not... this." She gestured vaguely at the muddy road and the overcast sky. "This is just depressing."
Isla couldn't help but laugh, though the sound was tinged with exhaustion. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, this isn't exactly what I signed up for either."
Clara tilted her head, giving Isla a curious look. "You never did tell me why you're so determined to get to the capital. Is this about Adrian?"
"Partly," Isla admitted. "But it's also about the letters. And... something else."
Clara raised an eyebrow. "Something else?"
Isla hesitated, her fingers tightening around the reins. She had told Clara bits and pieces about the letters and the growing sense of unease that had been gnawing at her ever since she arrived at Blackthorn Manor. But she hadn't told her everything—least of all the fact that she wasn't supposed to be here at all.
In the novel Isla had read before transmigrating, this part of the story had been a turning point—one of those pivotal moments where the threads of fate began to weave together. She remembered reading about the journey to the capital, though in the original story, it had been the heroine, not Isla, making the trip. And while the details were hazy, Isla was fairly certain that this stretch of the journey had involved something far more glamorous than complaining about sore thighs and muddy boots.
"Do you think any of this would make a good story?" Clara asked suddenly, interrupting Isla's thoughts.
Isla blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"All of this," Clara said, gesturing at the road ahead. "Two women setting out on a dangerous journey, facing the odds together. It's practically begging to be turned into an epic tale."
"An epic tale of what?" Isla asked, raising an eyebrow. "Blisters and bad weather?"
Clara laughed. "Alright, maybe not *epic.* But it's still something, isn't it? A story worth telling."
Isla didn't respond right away. Instead, she glanced at the forest, her mind drifting back to the novel. In the original story, the heroine had been rescued on this very road by one of the key characters—an enigmatic knight who had played a crucial role in the unfolding plot. Isla had always liked that character, though she couldn't remember her name. She did, however, remember the way the knight had saved the heroine from a group of bandits, cutting through them with a grace and precision that had left a lasting impression.
The memory made Isla uneasy. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was veering too close to the story's original path, and that thought both comforted and terrified her. If she was following the same steps as the heroine, did that mean she was moving closer to the truth? Or was she simply hurtling toward the same fate?
"Earth to Eva," Clara said, snapping her fingers in front of Isla's face. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you go all quiet and broody," Clara said. "It's very mysterious, but also kind of annoying."
Isla rolled her eyes. "I'm just thinking."
"About what?"
"About how much better this would be if we had a carriage," Isla said, deflecting.
Clara groaned. "Don't remind me. I still can't believe we're doing this on horseback."
"Would you rather walk?" Isla asked, smirking.
"Don't tempt me," Clara said, narrowing her eyes. "At least if I were walking, I wouldn't have to deal with this stubborn beast."
As if on cue, Clara's horse whinnied loudly and came to an abrupt stop, nearly throwing her off balance. Clara let out a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush, and Isla had to bite back a laugh.
"Maybe she doesn't like your attitude," Isla said, grinning.
"Maybe I don't like hers," Clara shot back, glaring at the horse. "This is why I prefer carriages. Or boats. Or literally anything that isn't alive."
Despite the discomfort and the bickering, Isla couldn't help but feel a flicker of gratitude for Clara's presence. The journey would have been unbearable without her, and though she would never admit it aloud, Isla was glad to have someone by her side.
---
It wasn't until late afternoon that the trouble began.
The road had grown narrower and more uneven, forcing them to slow their pace. The trees pressed closer, their gnarled branches casting long shadows across the path. The air was colder here, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and refused to leave. And then there was the silence—a heavy, oppressive silence that made Isla's skin prickle.
"I don't like this," Clara said, her voice low. "It feels... wrong."
Isla nodded, her hand instinctively drifting toward the dagger Thomas had given her. She didn't say anything, but the unease in her chest was growing stronger with every passing moment.
It happened so quickly that Isla barely had time to react. One moment, the road was empty; the next, a group of armed men emerged from the trees, blocking their path. There were six of them, each one armed with swords or daggers, their faces obscured by scarves.
"Well, well," one of them said, his voice rough and mocking. "What do we have here? A couple of lost little birds?"
Clara groaned. "Not this again."
"Stay calm," Isla said, her voice steady. "Let me handle this."
The man who had spoken stepped forward, his grin widening. "Hand over your valuables, and we might let you go. Refuse, and... well, let's just say you won't like the alternative."
Isla's grip on the reins tightened, her mind racing. She didn't have much in the way of valuables, but she doubted that would deter them. And even if she handed over her belongings, there was no guarantee they would let her and Clara go unharmed.
Before she could respond, the sound of galloping hooves filled the air. The bandits turned, their expressions shifting from smug to alarmed as a group of riders burst onto the scene. There were five of them, each clad in dark armor and armed with swords that gleamed in the fading light.
The leader of the riders was a woman, her piercing blue eyes locked onto the bandits with a cold intensity. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid, and she carried herself with an air of authority that left no room for doubt.
"Stand down," she commanded, her voice ringing out like a blade.
The bandits hesitated, clearly outmatched. Their leader snarled, "You'll regret this!"
"Run," the blue-eyed woman said, her tone deadly. "While you still can."
The bandits didn't need to be told twice. They fled into the forest, their footsteps fading into the distance.
The woman turned to Isla and Clara, her expression softening slightly. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," Isla said, though her voice wavered. "Thank you."
The woman nodded, her gaze lingering on Isla for a moment longer than necessary. "You shouldn't be traveling alone. The roads aren't safe."
"We're heading to the capital," Isla said. "We don't have much choice."
The woman studied her for a moment, then said, "Stay on the main road. It's better patrolled."
With that, she and her companions rode off, disappearing into the trees as quickly as they had appeared.
As the silence returned, Isla felt a shiver run down her spine. She had seen that woman before—not in person, but in the pages of the novel. She was one of the key characters, a knight whose loyalty to the crown was both her greatest strength and her ultimate downfall.
And for the first time, Isla began to wonder if her presence in this world was more than just an accident.