The hum of activity filled the air, but Lysandra felt oddly detached from it all, her mind consumed with doubt.
She stood near the edge of the camp, her fingers brushing absentmindedly over the hilt of one of her daggers. The familiar weight of her weapons usually brought her a sense of focus, but today it only deepened her unease. Roderic's orders played over and over in her mind—stay close to the prince, watch for anything suspicious, act as if nothing's changed.
Her instincts, the very ones that had kept her alive through ambushes and betrayals, now felt unreliable. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking a thin line.
*Why did they return my things? Why leave a note warning about the King? The questions twisted in her mind like a tangled knot, and she couldn't untangle them fast enough. Worse, she couldn't decide what to think about Alaric.
She glanced toward him, standing a few paces away as he adjusted his horse's reins. He was dressed once again in the leathers he had stubbornly donned after the ambush, his posture confident yet relaxed. He smiled faintly as he spoke with a knight, his easy charm and natural authority on full display.
Lysandra's stomach churned. The idea of getting closer to him, of lowering her own defenses, set her teeth on edge. Alaric was a puzzle she wasn't sure she wanted to solve. He was Volatira's prince—loyal to his father, the very man someone thought untrustworthy enough to warn her about. Could he be trusted? Could she separate his identity as the King's son from who he was as a person?
And yet, she couldn't deny his actions. He had risked his life to find her after the ambush, ignored his knights' protests, and fought alongside her with unwavering determination. Alaric wasn't just some sheltered nobleman playing hero—he'd proven he was willing to bleed for what he believed in. That thought unsettled her even more.
"Lysandra," Kellan's voice interrupted her thoughts as he walked past, giving her a sideways glance. "You look like you're trying to figure out how to kill someone without making a mess."
She snorted softly, though her expression remained guarded. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous habit," he teased, nudging her shoulder lightly before moving on.
She sighed and turned her attention back to Alaric, who had mounted his horse and was now scanning the camp as if ensuring everyone was ready. I need to get closer to him, she thought, her jaw tightening. Not because I want to, but because I have to.
Her instincts, usually so sharp, felt murky and unreliable when it came to Alaric. Was he a threat, or an ally she could rely on? Could she trust him to protect the Shadow Blades if the King's intentions proved treacherous? And could she trust herself not to let her growing awareness of him—his loyalty, his courage, and his disarming sincerity—cloud her judgment?
She tightened the strap of her satchel, steeling herself as she approached her horse. She would follow Roderic's orders and keep an eye on the prince, but she wouldn't let her guard down.
As the convoy began to move, Lysandra rode near the front, her sharp eyes scanning the road ahead while her mind churned with doubts and unanswered questions.
The convoy pressed onward, the road stretching long and unyielding beneath the hooves of the horses and the rumble of wagon wheels. The forest began to thin as the day wore on, the dense canopy giving way to patches of open sky. The hum of travel filled the air—low conversations, the clinking of armor, the occasional call of a scout returning with news of the road ahead.
Lysandra kept to herself for most of the morning, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. But as the sun climbed higher and the heat pressed down, she nudged her horse closer to Alaric's. Roderic's words rang in her ears: stay close to the prince, watch for anything suspicious. It wasn't a role she particularly enjoyed, but she knew it was necessary.
Alaric noticed her approach almost immediately, glancing her way with a faint smile. "Decided to join me?" he asked, his tone light and teasing.
"Keeping an eye on things," she replied curtly, her gaze fixed on the road ahead. "Don't read too much into it."
He chuckled softly, adjusting his grip on the reins. "I wouldn't dare. Though I appreciate the company."
They rode in silence for a few moments, the rhythmic clop of hooves filling the space between them. Then, Alaric broke the quiet, his voice carrying a note of genuine concern. "How's your shoulder?"
Lysandra glanced at him briefly, surprised by the question. "Fine," she said shortly, but when his gaze lingered, she sighed and added, "It's better. The bandages help."
"I'm glad to hear that," he said sincerely. "Most people wouldn't have gotten back on their feet so quickly."
"I'm not most people," she replied dryly, though there was no bite in her tone. She adjusted her posture slightly, careful not to put too much strain on her injured side. "And I don't have the luxury of staying down for long."
Alaric's expression softened, his eyes searching hers for a moment before he spoke again. "You don't always have to carry everything on your own, you know. There are people here who'd help, if you let them."
She frowned, her grip tightening on the reins. "Is that what you think this is? Me refusing help?"
"I think you've been through enough to make you wary of relying on anyone," he said gently. "And I don't blame you for it. But this convoy, these people—they're not the enemy."
Lysandra's jaw tightened, her gaze flicking back to the road. "The enemy isn't always obvious," she muttered. "And trust is a dangerous thing to give away."
Alaric studied her for a moment, his expression thoughtful but unreadable. "Fair enough," he said finally. "But for what it's worth, you've earned mine."
Her eyes snapped to his, and for a brief moment, her guard faltered. The sincerity in Alaric's gaze was disarming, his words stirring something she wasn't prepared to confront. The weight of his trust, so freely given, pressed against the walls she'd built around herself. Her fingers loosened slightly on the reins, her defenses dipping just enough for vulnerability to creep in.
But it was fleeting.
She caught herself almost immediately, her jaw tightening as she straightened in the saddle. The softness in her eyes hardened, her expression snapping back into its usual guarded mask.
The silence stretched again, but this time it was heavier, charged with the tension of what hadn't been said. Lysandra fixed her gaze on the road ahead, forcing her thoughts back into focus, away from the prince and his unsettling ability to make her second-guess herself.
"Keep your eyes open," she said, her tone sharper than she intended. "We're not out of danger yet."
Alaric didn't press further, though his thoughtful gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the horizon. The walls were back in place, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he'd caught a glimpse of what lay behind them. And that unsettled her more than any ambush ever could.
The sun dipped lower on the horizon as the convoy pressed forward, casting long shadows across the road. The soft hues of gold and crimson painted the sky, signaling the approach of evening. Lysandra adjusted her grip on the reins, her sharp eyes scanning the surrounding terrain for any signs of danger. The sight of the distant town ahead offered some relief, though she didn't let her guard down completely.
The rhythmic clopping of hooves filled the air until a quiet voice beside her broke through the sound. She barely caught the words, soft and almost inaudible, coming from Alaric.
"What did you just say?" she asked, turning her head toward him. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she studied his expression.
Alaric's face turned a faint shade of pink, his embarrassment clear as he straightened in the saddle. "I, uh…" He cleared his throat, glancing at the horizon before mumbling, "I said… the sunset. It's pretty."
Lysandra blinked at him, her expression puzzled. "Okay…" she said slowly, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and disbelief.
Alaric rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered by his slip. "It just caught my eye, that's all," he muttered, trying to brush it off.
Shaking her head slightly, Lysandra decided not to press him further. Instead, she gestured toward his outfit with a pointed look. "Speaking of catching eyes, you might want to think about changing back into your armor before we reach the town. You looking like a mercenary while carrying royal credentials is bound to raise suspicion."
Alaric gave her a wry smile, his earlier embarrassment fading. "But I'm so much more comfortable in this," he said, gesturing to the leather armor he still wore. "I'm starting to understand why you Shadow Blades are so fond of it."
"Comfortable, maybe," Lysandra replied, the corners of her lips twitching in a faint smirk. "But you're not exactly blending in with the rest of us."
He chuckled, a playful gleam in his eyes. "Blending in? I thought the whole point of being royalty was standing out."
Lysandra snorted softly, shaking her head. "If you want to stand out in a town full of suspicious people, be my guest. Just don't say I didn't warn you."
Alaric grinned, leaning slightly in his saddle as he looked at her. "Is that your way of saying you care, Lysandra?"
"Hardly," she shot back, though there was a spark of humor in her voice. "I just don't want to deal with the mess if you get yourself in trouble."
They both laughed, the tension between them easing for a moment as the convoy continued its journey. The town loomed closer with every step, the day fading into twilight.
As the convoy approached the gates of the town, the guards at the entrance barely spared them a glance, their eyes drifting lazily over the royal sigils displayed on the knights' banners. Alaric rode slightly ahead, his presence commanding but not ostentatious, while Roderic flanked him to ensure their passage remained smooth. Lysandra kept her position nearby, her sharp gaze scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble, but the guards waved them through without so much as a question.
The town stretched out before them, larger and livelier than the last. Cobblestone streets wound through clusters of tall, timber-framed buildings, their windows glowing with the light of lanterns and fires. The hum of activity filled the air—merchants calling out from their stalls, children darting between carts, and the faint, enticing aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from a bakery. Inns and taverns lined the main thoroughfare, their signs swinging gently in the evening breeze. Even brothels displayed their gaudy signs, promising pleasures to those who could afford them.
Lysandra's eyes flicked from one establishment to another, taking in the sheer size of the town. "Well," she muttered under her breath, "at least we won't have to pitch tents tonight."
Roderic pulled his horse alongside hers, his expression neutral but his tone brisk. "There's enough room here for everyone to get proper accommodations. We'll spread out between the inns closest to the square. Less risk if we're not all concentrated in one place."
"Smart," Lysandra said, nodding. "The Shadow Blades can take the east side, and the knights can stick to the western inns. Fewer overlaps that way."
Roderic nodded approvingly, then turned to Alaric. "Your Highness, you'll stay at the main inn near the square. It's the most secure, and we'll post guards outside."
"Of course," Alaric replied, his tone even. He glanced at Lysandra, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I assume you'll be sticking close?"
"Don't flatter yourself," she shot back, her voice laced with dry humor. "I'm just following orders."
Alaric chuckled softly but didn't push further. The convoy slowly dispersed as groups of knights and mercenaries began moving toward their designated inns. The Shadow Blades gravitated toward a quieter corner of the town, their movements quick and efficient as they disappeared into the shadows.
Lysandra followed Alaric toward the main inn, a sprawling, well-maintained building with a carved wooden sign that read The Golden Stag. Its windows glowed warmly, and the sounds of laughter and conversation drifted from inside. The innkeeper, a stout man with a friendly demeanor, greeted them at the door and quickly ushered them inside, promising the best rooms for the prince and his company.
The interior was bustling but clean, with polished wooden floors and sturdy furniture that spoke of prosperity. Alaric was led to a private room on the upper floor, Lysandra turned and headed toward the inn she'd been assigned. The Shadow Blades, as usual, had chosen a place less grand than where the prince and his knights stayed, preferring something quieter and more discreet.
She slipped out into the cool evening air, her boots scuffing softly against the cobblestones as she made her way down the street. The hum of the town was still alive, Lysandra pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, her sharp eyes scanning her surroundings out of habit more than concern.
The inn she approached, The Hound's Rest, was modest but well-kept. Its sign hung crookedly over the door, depicting a scruffy dog lounging on a patch of grass. The windows glowed faintly, and the low murmur of voices inside suggested it was far less crowded than the bustling Golden Stag.
Pushing open the door, Lysandra stepped inside and was immediately greeted by the scent of warm bread and spiced ale. The common room was smaller, cozier, with only a few patrons scattered at tables near the hearth. A stocky woman with graying hair stood behind the counter, polishing a mug. She glanced up at Lysandra and gave her a quick nod.
"Shadow Blade?" the innkeeper asked gruffly.
Lysandra returned the nod. "That obvious?"
"Your lot has a certain look," the woman replied, her tone neutral. "Your room's upstairs, third door on the left. Paid for already. If you need anything, let me know."
"Thanks," Lysandra muttered, turning toward the stairs. She climbed them slowly, her injured shoulder protesting the movement despite the bandages and healing rune she'd used earlier. By the time she reached the third door, she was more than ready to collapse.
The room was small but clean, with a single bed pushed against the far wall, a wooden chair near the window, and a washbasin in the corner. Her satchel and belongings felt heavier as she set them down by the chair, her muscles aching from the day's ride.
She shrugged off her cloak and dropped onto the bed, her mind still buzzing with the events of the day. The note in her satchel, Roderic's orders to stay close to Alaric only added to her unease.
Her gaze drifted to the small window, where the last traces of sunlight painted the sky in deep hues of red and orange. As Lysandra finished using the washbasin, the cool water dripping from her hands and face, she let out a small sigh. The fresh, clean feeling was a luxury she hadn't realized she needed. For the first time in days, the grime of travel was gone, and though her shoulder still throbbed faintly, she felt a fraction more human. She reached for the small towel left on the chair beside the basin, drying her face and hands.
A sudden knock on the door broke through the quiet. Her muscles tensed instinctively, and her hand moved to the dagger she had set on the edge of the basin. The knock wasn't frantic, but it wasn't casual either—firm and deliberate. Someone who expected to be let in.
"Who is it?" Lysandra called, her voice sharp, her fingers curling around the hilt of her blade.
"It's Alaric," came the familiar voice, slightly muffled through the wood. "I wanted to check on you."
Lysandra frowned, her grip loosening slightly as she set the dagger down. Taking a step toward the door, she hesitated for a moment before unlocking it and pulling it open just enough to see him. Alaric stood there, still in his leather armor, his hair slightly disheveled from the day's ride. His expression was calm, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.
"You should be in your room," Lysandra said, her tone blunt but not unkind. "You'll draw attention wandering around like this."
"I could say the same about you," he replied, one corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. "May I come in?"
Lysandra hesitated, glancing down the hallway to ensure no one was lingering nearby. Satisfied they were alone, she opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Fine. But make it quick."
Alaric stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the small room as she shut the door behind him. His eyes lingered briefly on her bandaged shoulder before meeting hers. "I wanted to see how you were holding up," he said, his voice quiet.
"I'm fine," she replied curtly, crossing her arms. "I've been through worse."
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "You always say that, but you don't have to pretend with me, you know."
Lysandra stiffened slightly, her gaze narrowing. "I'm not pretending."
"Right," Alaric said, though his tone carried a note of skepticism. He leaned against the wall, his arms folding across his chest.
Lysandra didn't respond immediately, her jaw tightening. She hated how easily he saw through her defenses, how his words poked at the cracks she worked so hard to keep sealed. "Why are you really here, Alaric?" she asked finally, her tone sharper now.
Alaric hesitated for a moment, his gaze steady but unreadable as he studied her. Then, to her surprise, his lips quirked into a faint, almost sheepish smile. "Actually," he began, his voice softer than she expected, "I wanted to ask if you'd join me at the night festival they're holding in town."
She blinked, caught completely off guard. Of all the things he could have said, that hadn't even been on her list of possibilities. "The night festival?" she repeated slowly, as though she hadn't heard him right.
"Yes," he said, the faint smile lingering as he rubbed the back of his neck, a rare flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "I overheard some of the inn staff talking about it. Apparently, it's a big deal here. Music, food, lights… I thought it might be a good way to take a breather."
"You want me to go to a festival," she said flatly, her tone heavy with disbelief.
Alaric nodded, his expression softening. "Yes. Unless, of course, you've already got other plans—like sharpening your daggers."
She snorted, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips despite herself. "You're joking."
"I'm not," he replied, his voice steady but warm. "I think you could use a distraction. We both could."
She hesitated, her mind immediately racing with reasons to say no. The festival would be crowded, noisy, full of people she didn't know. And yet… a small part of her, the part she hated to acknowledge, couldn't entirely dismiss the idea.
But there was still the matter of him. Alaric was unpredictable in a way that unnerved her—not because he was reckless, but because he was sincere.
"You're serious about this," she said finally, her tone still tinged with disbelief.
"Completely," he replied, his gaze unwavering. "What do you say?"
Lysandra exhaled slowly, her fingers tapping against her arm as she weighed the decision. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, she straightened and met his gaze. "Fine," she said, though her voice carried a faint note of exasperation. "But if this turns out to be some kind of elaborate joke, you're going to regret it."
Alaric's smile widened, his confidence returning. "Noted," he said lightly. "I'll wait for you downstairs when you're ready."
She watched as he stepped out into the hallway, his steps lighter than when he'd arrived. Shaking her head, she shut the door behind him, locking it firmly before leaning back against it. A festival, she thought, half in disbelief and half in resignation.
With another sigh, she moved to the small pile of belongings near her bed. If she was going to do this, she'd at least make sure she was prepared—for anything.