The morning air cool and crisp as Lysandra tightened the straps on her horse's saddle, her fingers moving deftly despite the tension lingering in her chest. The convoy was a flurry of activity around her—knights and Shadow Blades alike loading supplies, checking weapons, and preparing to depart for Volatira's capital once again.
The soft neigh of her horse brought her focus back, and she gave the mare a reassuring pat on the neck. "Almost ready, girl," she murmured, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind.
Roderic was speaking with one of the Shadow Blades at the front of the line, while Kendall and Donall were busy helping secure the wagons. The royal knights were clustered together, keeping mostly to themselves.
Lysandra checked her saddlebags one last time, her hands moving with practiced precision as she ensured her weapons were secure and her provisions packed for the journey. The weight of responsibility sat heavy on her shoulders, but she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.
"Can we talk?"
She froze for a brief moment before straightening, her expression hardening as she turned to face Alaric. He stood a few paces away, his posture casual but his eyes serious, as if he'd been waiting for the right moment to approach "No," she said curtly, turning back to her saddlebags and tightening the straps with deliberate force. "There nothing to talk about."
Alaric didn't move, his gaze steady on her.
She huffed in irritation, refusing to meet his eyes. "You should focus on your own responsibilities, not whatever you think this is."
He countered, his tone calm but insistent. "Whether scared to admit it or not, last night—"
"Scared? You think I'm scared?" Her words were sharp, cutting. "I've faced assassins, and mercenaries twice my size."
"I'm not talking about fear of battle, Lysandra," he said, his voice steady despite the fire in her eyes. "I'm talking about the fear of letting someone in."
She stepped back, her heart pounding. His words hit too close to home, like an arrow finding its mark. "You don't know what you're talking about," she snapped, her voice cracking slightly. "And even if... It doesn't matter. You're still the prince of Valtoria, and I'm still—"
"The bastard daughter of Eldren's prince," he finished for her, his tone softening. "I know who you are, Lysandra. And I don't care."
Lysandra stared at him for a moment, her breath catching, but she quickly turned away, pushing down the storm of emotions his words stirred. Without hesitation, she mounted her horse, the leather reins biting into her palms as she gripped them tightly.
Alaric lingered, watching her, his expression unreadable. Finally, with a slow exhale, he turned and strode back toward the group. Lysandra remained still for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt the weight of his gaze on her, even as she forced herself to stare straight ahead, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a second glance.
"Lysandra," his voice was a quiet murmur she barely heard, carried by the wind. But she didn't respond, her resolve hardening as she nudged her horse forward to take her place in the line.
Roderic, standing beside Alaric, raised his hand at the prince's silent nod. His commanding voice rang out over the camp, cutting through the hum of preparation. "Alright, move out! Keep the formation tight. We've got a long road ahead, and no room for delays."
The caravan began to move, the rhythmic clatter of hooves and wheels filling the air. Lysandra tightened her cloak around her shoulders, ignoring the ache in her chest as she joined the others.
The caravan wound its way down the long, uneven road, the dense canopy of the forest overhead dappling the travelers with patches of golden sunlight. The clatter of hooves against packed dirt and the steady creak of wagon wheels created a rhythmic backdrop, punctuated occasionally by the chirping of birds or the rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Lysandra rode near the middle of the formation, her horse's steady gait a welcome anchor amidst her swirling thoughts. The forest stretched endlessly in every direction, the towering trees casting long shadows that grew deeper as the day wore on. The air was cool and fresh, but it carried a faint undercurrent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a reminder of how remote they truly were.
The convoy rode in tight formation, their hands never straying far from their weapons. Roderic's sharp voice occasionally broke through the quiet, barking orders to keep the line moving and the wagons from lagging behind. Tension rippled through the group, an unspoken acknowledgment of the dangers lurking in the wilderness—bandits, wild animals, or worse.
As the hours stretched on, they passed through patches of dense undergrowth where the sunlight struggled to break through, plunging them into a dim, eerie twilight. The forest seemed alive, with unseen creatures scuttling just out of sight and the distant calls of animals echoing through the trees. The sounds only heightened Lysandra's unease, though she kept her expression neutral, her eyes scanning the treeline for any sign of movement.
At midday, the caravan came to a brief halt in a small clearing where a narrow stream wound its way through the forest floor. They took the opportunity to refill their water skins and let the horses drink. Lysandra dismounted, her legs stiff from hours in the saddle, and stretched briefly before kneeling by the stream. The cool water on her hands and face was refreshing, but she didn't linger long. She could still feel Alaric's presence somewhere behind her, though she didn't glance his way.
When they set off again, the forest seemed to close in tighter around them. The trees stood taller and closer together, their twisted roots snaking across the ground like skeletal hands.Lysandra tugged her cloak tighter around her shoulders, her eyes constantly scanning ahead. The ache in her chest from earlier had dulled, replaced by a low, simmering tension.
By late afternoon, the sunlight began to wane, casting long shadows that danced across the road. The forest was eerily quiet, replaced by an oppressive stillness. The guards' hands rested more firmly on the hilts of their swords, their gazes darting to every darkened corner of the woods. Even the horses seemed restless, their ears flicking back and forth as if sensing something unseen.
Lysandra pressed her heels into her horse's sides, urging it to keep pace as the caravan pushed forward. She glanced over her shoulder once, briefly, catching a glimpse of Alaric riding near the rear of the formation. He was speaking quietly to Roderic, his face calm but alert. Her gaze lingered for only a moment before she turned back around, her jaw tightening.
The road ahead stretched endlessly, swallowed by the encroaching forest. There was no telling what the night would bring, but Lysandra braced herself, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting the forest in hues of amber and deepening shadows, Roderic raised a hand, signaling the caravan to halt. Prince Alaric rode forward, his sharp eyes scanning the area ahead. They had reached a small clearing nestled by the curve of a gentle river, the soft rush of water breaking the eerie stillness that had followed them throughout the day.
"This will do," Alaric said firmly, dismounting his horse. "We'll make camp here for the night. Roderic, ensure the perimeter is secure."
"Yes, Your Highness," Roderic replied, immediately barking orders to the guards. "Circle the wagons. Keep watch in shifts. Archers, set up along the treeline."
The clearing was just large enough for the wagons to form a loose ring, with the horses tethered near the riverbank to drink and rest.Knights and mercenaries moved with practiced efficiency, unloading supplies and building small, controlled fires for warmth and cooking. The scent of damp earth mingled with the sharp tang of burning wood as the camp began to take shape.
Lysandra dismounted without a word, patting her horse's neck briefly before leading it to join the others at the river. Her muscles ached from the long day's ride, and the cold evening air bit through her cloak. She kept her distance from the main group, choosing a quieter spot near the edge of the clearing to roll out her bedroll and check her weapons.
As she worked, she glanced toward the river. Alaric stood there, his silhouette stark against the golden light reflecting off the water. He was speaking quietly with Roderic, his posture confident but relaxed. His presence felt like a weight pressing against her thoughts, and she quickly looked away, focusing instead on the sharp edge of her dagger.
Knights and mercenaries patrolled the edges of the camp, their torches casting flickering light against the trees. The soft murmur of conversation and the occasional laughter from the camp blended with the sounds of nature—the chirping of crickets, the rustling of leaves, and the babble of the river.
Lysandra sat on her bedroll, sharpening her blade with slow, deliberate movements. She could feel Alaric's gaze on her from across the way, though she refused to meet it. He hadn't approached her since their brief exchange earlier that morning, and she wasn't sure if that was a relief or a frustration.
As the last traces of sunlight disappeared and the forest plunged into darkness, Roderic approached her, his boots crunching softly against the grass. "We've set up a watch rotation," he informed her, his tone gruff but respectful. "You'll take second shift, just after midnight."
She nodded curtly. "Understood."
He hesitated for a moment, then added, "Prince Alaric asked me to remind you to eat something before your watch. He says you have a habit of forgetting."
A flicker of irritation crossing her face. "I don't need him keeping tabs on me," she muttered.
Roderic shrugged, clearly uninterested in the brewing tension between the two. "Just be ready when it's your turn."
As he walked away, Lysandra sighed, setting her dagger aside and pulling her cloak tighter around her. The fires crackled softly, their warm glow a fragile barrier against the vast, looming darkness of the forest. She reached into her pack for a piece of dried meat and a hunk of bread, chewing slowly as she let her eyes drift toward the river.
Alaric was still there, leaning against a tree now, his arms crossed as he stared into the distance. She couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking, though she pushed the thought away as quickly as it came.
As the camp quieted and the night stretched on, Lysandra lay back on her bedroll, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her dagger. The soft lull of the river and the distant hum of the forest filled her ears.
The warmth of the fire and the steady rhythm of the river's flow had lulled her into an uneasy sleep. She jolted awake as a hand lightly shook her shoulder, her fingers instinctively curling around the hilt of her dagger.
"It's your turn for watch," came the low, familiar voice of another Shadow Blade—a fellow operative, a man named Kael. His dark cloak blended seamlessly with the shadows of the camp, his face partially obscured in the flickering firelight.
She blinked a few times, her senses sharpening as she forced herself to sit up. "What time is it?" she muttered, her voice hoarse with sleep.
"Just past midnight," Kael replied, stepping back and crossing his arms as he waited for her to rise. "You've got the next few hours. Nothing unusual so far, but the forest feels... Off."
Lysandra frowned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she stood and adjusted her cloak. "Off?" she asked, fastening her belt and checking the placement of her weapons.
Kael shrugged, his gaze scanning the darkened treeline. "Could be nothing. Or it could be something." He nodded toward the shadows beyond the campfires. "Just a feeling."
She nodded grimly, already feeling the familiar edge of adrenaline creeping into her veins. "I'll keep an eye on it," she said, securing her boots and brushing past him.
Kael gave her a brief nod before disappearing back toward his bedroll, melting into the darkness as only a Shadow Blade could. Lysandra made her way to the edge of the clearing, her steps silent on the soft ground. The cool night air nipped at her cheeks, and the forest loomed ahead, a wall of impenetrable blackness.
She settled into her position near one of the wagons, her back against the rough wood as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Her dagger rested lightly in her hand, her other hand near the hilt of her sword. The sounds of the camp behind her faded into the background as she focused on the forest—listening, watching.
The minutes stretched into an hour, the silence of the woods broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a night bird. Her fellow guards on watch passed by occasionally, exchanging quick nods but few words. The off feeling Kael had mentioned was palpable, like the forest itself was holding its breath.
Lysandra's sharp eyes caught movement at the treeline—a flicker of something that vanished as quickly as it appeared. Her grip on her dagger tightened, and she straightened, scanning the area carefully. The shadows played tricks on even the sharpest of minds, but she trusted her instincts.
"Lysandra," a voice called softly from behind her. She turned to see one of the knights approaching, his bow slung over his shoulder. "Anything?"
"Not yet," she replied, her tone clipped. "But stay alert. I thought I -"