The forest grew quieter as Alaric carried Lysandra down the winding road, the faint sounds of the earlier chaos fading into the distance. The rhythmic crunch of his boots against the dirt was steady, almost soothing, but Lysandra's mind raced with irritation, exhaustion, and an unspoken thread of gratitude she refused to acknowledge.
"How much farther?" she asked after a few minutes of silence, her voice tinged with frustration.
"Not far," Alaric replied, his tone calm but focused. "The convoy set up camp a few miles ahead. We'll reach them before nightfall."
Lysandra shifted slightly in his arms, her good hand clutching at his shoulder for balance. "What happened after the battle?" she asked, her voice low but steady, her sharp eyes searching his face. "How many did we lose?"
Alaric's expression darkened, a flicker of sorrow crossing his features. "The ambush hit us hard," he admitted quietly. "We lost five royal knights and two Shadow Blades. They never saw it coming."
Lysandra's chest tightened at the news, her breath catching for a moment before she forced herself to focus. "Kellan? Donall?" Her voice was sharp, almost demanding. "Are they alive?"
"They're alive," Alaric said quickly, his tone firm as if to reassure her. "Both of them made it through, though Donall's got a nasty cut on his leg. Kellan hasn't stopped complaining about the ambush since it happened."
A faint, humorless smile tugged at Lysandra's lips. "Sounds like Kellan," she muttered, though the relief in her voice was clear. Her friends were alive—that was something.
Alaric's steps didn't falter as he continued walking, but his tone softened. "The convoy's shaken, though. The knights weren't expecting an attack that organized, and the Shadow Blades… well, you know them. They're not happy about being caught off guard."
"Of course they're not," Lysandra replied, her tone bitter. "We're trained to anticipate ambushes like this. Whoever planned it knew what they were doing."
Alaric nodded, his jaw tightening. "That's what worries me. This wasn't random. They knew where we'd be, what our formation was like—and who their targets were."
Lysandra let out a sharp breath, her mind racing. "Targets," she echoed. "You think it was about you or me?"
"It has to be," Alaric said, glancing down at her. "They weren't interested in the convoy itself, just us."
Lysandra was silent, her gaze fixed ahead as her thoughts churned. She hated the truth in his words. This wasn't a random attack—it was calculated, and she and Alaric were at the center of it. Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing, unwilling to voice the storm of emotions brewing inside her.
The silence between them stretched, broken only by the steady crunch of Alaric's boots against the dirt road. Finally, he glanced down at her again, his voice softer as he asked, "How did you escape?"
Lysandra hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly on his shoulder. "I didn't escape on my own," she admitted, her tone guarded. "Someone… helped me."
"Someone?" Alaric repeated, his brow furrowing. "Who?"
"I don't know," she said, frustration creeping into her voice. "They were cloaked in red, part of another group. They ambushed the ones who had taken me, freed me, and told me to run."
Alaric's frown deepened, his grip on her shifting slightly as he adjusted his hold. "And they just let you go? No demands? No explanation?"
"They said one thing," she replied, her voice dropping lower. "'Keep faith with Eldren.' Then they disappeared."
His steps slowed for a moment as he processed her words. She could feel the tension radiating off him as he resumed his steady pace. "First the ambush, and now this mysterious group."
"But whoever they were, they didn't seem interested in hurting me. That's more than I can say for the others." Lysandra muttered, her gaze flicking to the darkened trees around them.
"That doesn't make them trustworthy," Alaric pointed out, his voice firm. "They freed you, yes—but that phrase? 'Faith with Eldren'?"
She didn't respond immediately, her mind replaying the encounter in vivid detail. The cloaked figure, the fireballs, the cryptic words—it all felt too deliberate, too calculated.
"They wanted me to survive," she said finally. "For whatever reason."
Alaric's gaze sharpened as he looked down at her. "And that doesn't worry you?"
"It does," Lysandra admitted, her voice laced with exhaustion and frustration.
The mist began to thin as the forest opened slightly ahead, revealing the flickering glow of campfires. The convoy's camp came into view—knights and mercenaries moving between tents and wagons, their figures blurred by the rising smoke and low light of the setting sun.
Lysandra tensed as she caught sight of the camp, her pride stirring despite her battered state. She turned her head toward Alaric, her voice sharper than she intended. "Put me down."
Alaric's brow furrowed as he glanced down at her. "You can barely stand. I'm not risking you collapsing halfway there."
She scowled, her good hand gripping his tunic for emphasis. "I can make it. I'm not going into camp like this—carried around like some injured damsel. Put. Me. Down."
"Lysandra—" he began, his tone exasperated.
"Alaric," she snapped, her sharp eyes locking onto his. "I can handle walking into camp on my own two feet. Put me down."
He sighed heavily, muttering something under his breath about her stubbornness, but he slowed his steps and carefully lowered her to the ground. Lysandra hissed softly as her boots touched the dirt, her legs trembling slightly from the effort of holding herself up.
"Happy now?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of irritation and amusement as he steadied her with one hand.
"Ecstatic," she said dryly, brushing his hand away and standing as tall as she could manage. "Let's go."
Alaric watched her for a moment, his gaze lingering as if he was ready to catch her if she faltered. But she squared her shoulders—despite the pain—and began walking toward the camp with as much composure as she could muster.
He fell into step beside her, his expression unreadable. "You know, no one in that camp cares how you show up. They'll just be relieved you're alive."
Lysandra shot him a sidelong glance, her tone biting but not unkind. "You care about appearances. Why shouldn't I?"
Alaric chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Fair enough."
As they approached the camp, the chatter of voices grew louder, and a few heads began to turn. Lysandra could feel their eyes on her—some filled with surprise, others with relief. She ignored them all, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, her pride propelling her forward despite the pain coursing through her body.
Roderic emerged from the cluster of Shadow Blades gathered near one of the central campfires. His tall, imposing figure cut through the crowd with ease, his sharp gaze locking onto Lysandra the moment he saw her.
"Lysandra," he said, his voice carrying a mix of relief and reprimand as he closed the distance between them. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, though not in anger—it was his habitual stance, a sign of readiness. "You're alive."
Lysandra straightened as much as her battered body would allow, refusing to let her exhaustion show. "Last I checked, yeah," she replied, her tone dry. "Though it wasn't for lack of trying on their part."
Roderic's eyes flicked to her injured shoulder, his expression darkening. "You're hurt," he said, though it was more an observation than a question. His gaze shifted to Alaric, who had stopped just a step behind her. "And you let her walk in here like that?"
"I tried carrying her," Alaric said with a faint smirk, his hands raised slightly in defense. "She wasn't having it."
Roderic's lips pressed into a thin line, his attention snapping back to Lysandra. "You're as stubborn as ever," he muttered, though there was a faint glimmer of respect in his tone. "Come on, sit by the fire."
As she sat down on a makeshift stool, the warmth of the fire washed over her, soothing in a way she hadn't realized she needed. The camp's healer appeared moments later, muttering under his breath as he began examining her shoulder with a sharp, practiced efficiency.
Roderic crouched beside her, his tone low but commanding. "Start talking. What happened out there? Who were they after?"
"I don't know who they are. But they knew about my bloodline."
Roderic leaned back slightly, his expression dark. "Your bloodline," he repeated, the weight of the words heavy between them.
Lysandra met his gaze, unflinching. "It's connected to Eldren. The ones who helped me escape. They said, 'Keep faith with Eldren.'"
Roderic's jaw tightened, his hand flexing over the hilt of his sword. "That's not a coincidence," he muttered. "Whatever this is, it's bigger than an ambush. We'll need to move carefully."
"Carefully," Lysandra repeated with a faint, humorless smile. "That's not really our style, is it?"
Roderic crossed his arms, his sharp eyes locking onto hers with a flicker of dry amusement. "Traveling with royalty isn't usually our style either," he said, nodding in Alaric's direction. "But here we are. The sooner we get to the capital of Valtoria, the safer we'll all be."
Lysandra raised an eyebrow, her smirk fading into a more serious expression. "Safer? You think this stops when we get to Aureldane? Whoever's behind this isn't going to give up just because we've crossed a city gate."
"I didn't say it stops," Roderic replied evenly, his tone clipped. "But at least we'll have resources and reinforcements. Out here, we're sitting targets. You know that as well as I do."
Her jaw tightened, but she couldn't argue with his logic. The open road and dense forests were perfect for ambushes, and the attackers had already proven their ability to strike with precision.
" Aureldane still days away," she said, glancing at the others moving about the camp. "A lot can happen before then."
"Which is why we'll keep moving at first light," Roderic said, his tone firm. "I've already doubled the patrols and set a watch rotation for the night. But you need to focus on healing, Lysandra. We're going to need you sharp when we reach Aureldane."
Lysandra snorted softly, though the humor didn't reach her eyes. "I'm always sharp, Roderic. Wounded or not."
"That's what worries me," he muttered, his lips twitching into a faint smirk before his expression turned serious again. "Rest. That's an order."
With that, Roderic turned and strode away, his commanding presence cutting through the camp as he began giving instructions to the others.
Lysandra leaned back slightly, her good hand brushing her injured shoulder as she exhaled sharply. "This just keeps getting better."
Alaric, who had been quiet during the exchange, leaned slightly closer, his gaze steady. "What's bothering you?" he asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
Lysandra sighed, her gaze dropping to the fire as she decided not to share the swirling thoughts weighing on her mind. "I'm tired," she said finally, her voice quieter than usual. "And hungry."
Alaric's brow furrowed slightly, but before he could respond, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Well, isn't that a rare admission," Kellan said with a wide grin as he strode up to the fire, Donall trailing just behind him. Kellan was balancing a plate of food in one hand and a flask in the other, his usual playful energy intact despite the weariness that clung to everyone else in the camp. "I think that's the closest thing to a complaint I've ever heard from you."
"Careful, Kellan," Donall muttered, his tone gruff but not unkind as he dropped onto a nearby log with a wince, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. "You'll push her into outright sarcasm next."
Lysandra managed a faint smirk despite her exhaustion, leaning back slightly and folding her arms. "You two are lucky I'm too tired to care."
"Lucky? Always," Kellan said cheerfully, handing her the plate he'd been carrying. It was piled high with bread, cheese, and dried meats, not exactly a feast but enough to keep her going. "Here. Figured you'd be starving after your little adventure."
Lysandra took the plate without a word, though the faintest glimmer of gratitude crossed her features. She picked at the food, her appetite dulled by exhaustion but refusing to waste the effort Kellan had gone to.
"You look like hell," Donall remarked bluntly, his sharp eyes scanning her bandaged shoulder. "Guess that means you're still alive."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Lysandra muttered, tearing off a piece of bread. "I'll make sure to return the favor next time you're the one crawling back from an ambush."
Donall's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "I'll hold you to that."
Kellan flopped down next to her, grinning like nothing had happened. "You missed all the fun," he said, leaning back and stretching his legs out as if he were the most relaxed person in the camp.
"Fun?" Lysandra replied, arching an eyebrow. "Being taken by ambushers while you lot were doing gods-know-what counts as fun now?"
"Oh, it wasn't the ambush that was fun," Kellan said, waving her off dismissively. "It was what happened after they took you."
Lysandra narrowed her eyes, sensing a story she wasn't sure she wanted to hear. "Go on."
"Well," Kellan began, his grin widening, "the ambushers hightailed it out of there the moment they realized they'd failed to kill our princely friend here. Left their dead behind like cowards, too. But the real show started when Alaric realized you were gone."
Lysandra glanced at Alaric, who was suddenly very interested in adjusting the strap of his sword belt, his expression carefully neutral. She turned back to Kellan. "What kind of show?"
"Oh, he was a sight to behold," Kellan said, his voice rich with teasing. "Storming around, barking orders at anyone who'd listen. Roderic tried to calm him down, but no—our dear prince had his heart set on going after you himself. That's when it got really interesting."
"Kellan," Alaric interjected, his voice low but tinged with warning. "Don't."
Kellan ignored him completely, his grin downright mischievous now. "He demanded armor. Not the shiny stuff the knights wear, but proper leather—like ours. Said he wouldn't let anyone stop him from going after you. The knights, of course, protested. Roderic, too. They were all, 'Your Highness, it's too dangerous,' and 'You must think of your safety.'" Kellan mimicked their voices with exaggerated indignation, earning a soft snort from Lysandra.
"Did he?" she asked, her gaze flicking to Alaric, whose cheeks were now faintly tinged with color.
"Oh, he did," Kellan confirmed, his grin growing. "When they wouldn't give him what he wanted, he raided one of the supply wagons himself. Found some half-decent leathers and put them on right there in the middle of camp. Didn't even bother waiting for permission."
"Because I didn't need permission," Alaric said sharply, his voice calm but with a defensive edge as he finally met Lysandra's amused gaze. "I wasn't about to sit around and wait while you were out there, alone and in danger."
Kellan snickered. "Of course, he forgot that leather armor doesn't come pre-broken in, so he was walking around stiff as a board. Looked like a freshly polished statue. Donall took pity and lent him his old ones."
"Enough," Alaric said firmly, though there was no hiding the faint embarrassment in his tone.
Lysandra smirked, leaning back slightly. Kellan let out a laugh, clapping Alaric on the shoulder. "Don't take it too hard, Your Highness. It's a good look for you."
Alaric sighed, shaking his head as if regretting every decision that had brought him to this moment. Lysandra, for her part, couldn't help the faint smile tugging at her lips. Despite the teasing, the story only confirmed something she wasn't quite ready to admit out loud: Alaric truly had her back, even when it wasn't convenient or safe.