Layla didn't sleep the entire night.
She stared at the ceiling, heart clenched, overwhelmed by an unpleasant feeling she couldn't quite name.
Had she been too harsh?
Why had she said those words?
Comparing Oris to Xadran… It was absurd. He was nothing like him.
She turned onto her side, burying her face in the pillow.
But sleep never came.
Then, just before dawn, the door opened.
Oris entered.
— "You're leaving. Now."
His voice was as sharp as a blade.
Layla sat up abruptly.
— "Why such urgency? A little mercy, at least..."
He didn't answer.
And honestly, did she still have the right to ask questions?
She didn't insist.
She rose, gathered her things in silence, and followed him.
At this hour, the palace seemed frozen in an eerie stillness.
Only their footsteps echoed through the long corridors.
Oris walked ahead, his back straight, his stride controlled.
His silence was terrible.
Layla didn't know what to think anymore.
Should she apologize? Say something?
But his face remained unreadable.
Finally, they reached the palace entrance.
A carriage awaited.
Simple. Practical.
Nothing like the golden coaches of the nobility.
She climbed in, accompanied by a servant.
Oris, meanwhile, approached a black horse and mounted it effortlessly.
She watched him from the corner of her eye.
Which was more motionless the animal or its rider?
Something inside her twisted painfully.
So this was it?
Was she really going to leave without another word?
The carriage jolted forward.
The journey began under the pale glow of the rising dawn.
The night was still dark, pierced only by the pale glow of the stars.
Layla, lost in thought, stared at the horizon through the window of the carriage.
But slowly, a deep frustration began to rise within her.
Why did she have to leave like this, like a criminal in exile?
Why had he dragged her here, only to cast her out without explanation?
Suddenly, she couldn't take it anymore.
— Stop the carriage!
Her voice cut through the night like a blade.
The horses halted abruptly.
Layla jumped down, her chest burning with anger.
Behind her, Oris remained on his horse, impassive.
He watched her in silence, an unreadable glint in his eyes.
She took a few steps forward, heart pounding.
— I'm going insane! she shouted. Why did I come here? And why should I leave like this?
Silence.
Then a faint smirk touched the prince's lips.
— You… he murmured, amused.
A surge of rage went through her.
Was that all he had to say?
He turned his horse's reins.
— We're moving on.
Layla clenched her fists.
— No.
He stopped.
— I won't follow anyone anymore. I'll go home on my own.
Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing on the hard ground.
Slow at first, then faster, as if trying to escape the weight pressing down on her.
Behind her, Oris was still smiling, amused.
But suddenly, his expression changed.
A shiver of alert ran down his spine.
His eyes swept the darkness.
Someone was watching them.
His gaze hardened.
He loosed an arrow.
Layla realized too late.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
The impact should have been fatal.
But at the last moment, Oris's arrow deflected the enemy's shot.
Layla jolted, staggering back, a hand over her heart.
Then a second whistle.
A dull sound.
Someone fell from a tree.
A body crashed to the ground.
Silence returned instantly.
Layla lifted her gaze to Oris.
His bow was still raised, the string trembling.
The night was deep, broken only by the occasional whispers of the wind.
Oris finally arrived at his destination, stopping in front of a secluded house far from the palace, far from its intrigues.
It was neither a castle nor a prison. A place outside of time.
Layla, weakened, was still bleeding.
But it wasn't just her shoulder that hurt.
Her mind was exhausted. Her heart, shaken.
How was she supposed to recover from this?
Without a word, Oris dismounted and lifted her into his arms.
His hold was firm, yet not harsh.
And despite herself, Layla felt… safe.
She didn't protest.
He carried her inside and gently laid her on a soft bed.
A sigh escaped her lips.
Finally, some comfort.
Oris knelt beside her, his dark gaze unreadable, yet tinged with something close to concern.
— "Don't move."
His voice was softer than usual.
With precise, practiced movements, he began dressing her wound, tying the bandages with a skill that surprised her.
Layla watched him in silence.
His hands moved with confidence, fluid and controlled like he had done this countless times before.
When he finished, he stood and left the room without a word.
She watched him disappear into the shadows.
Why was he so quiet?
Was he worried?
Did he… fear for her?
Layla sighed, sinking into the pillows.
She was so tired…
But the moment she closed her eyes, thoughts stormed through her mind.
How could I have been so harsh with him?
The words she had thrown at him earlier echoed back, and guilt settled heavily in her chest.
And yet… she knew, with unshakable certainty, that he would return.
Since when do I trust him this much?
A bitter laugh escaped her, quickly followed by a wince of pain.
She shut her eyes, struggling against the pull of sleep.
But again, the moment she closed her eyes, thoughts stormed through her mind.
In the forest. The attack. The assassin's arrow aimed at her heart.
She should have died.
The shot had been perfect silent, precise, merciless.
But Oris had reacted first.
His own arrow had cut through the air, striking the assassin's projectile mid-flight, altering its course.
The assassin's aim, once deadly, had been turned into a glancing hit.
And before she could even register what had happened, a second arrow left Oris's bow.
It soared through the darkness with unerring accuracy.
A dull thud.
A body collapsing from the trees.
Silence.
Layla shivered.
No ordinary archer could do that.
This wasn't just skill.
This was something else.
Before exhaustion could fully claim her, the door opened again.
Oris stepped inside, a satchel slung over his shoulder.
Without a word, he sat by her bedside, pulling out herbs, ointments, and clean bandages.
Layla's eyes widened.
— "You… You know medicine?" she murmured, stunned.
Oris didn't even glance at her.
— "Stop asking questions. Just rest."
His voice was calm, almost gentle.
With practiced care, he began tending to her wound again, applying a salve that immediately soothed the pain.
Layla stared at him, fascinated.
The precision of his touch, the certainty in his movements…
— "Who are you, really?" she whispered. "Are you… an alchemist?"
Oris paused.
Then, a faint, enigmatic smile touched his lips.
He lifted his gaze, locking eyes with her.
— "You believe in those old legends?"
His tone was both teasing and unreadable.
A shiver ran down Layla's spine.
She wanted to answer, but sleep was already pulling her under.
And just before the darkness took her, one final thought echoed in her mind:
Who is Oris, really?
Oris sat outside, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips, though it held no joy. His fingers brushed the bandage on his arm a wound so small, yet it gnawed at him. Even he, the unbreakable, had been scratched in his last battle. A wound that should have meant nothing. And yet…
His gaze lifted to the darkening sky. The prophecy. It had followed him his entire life, shaping him, caging him. And now, it mocked him.
Doubt coiled in his chest like a serpent. What if the priests had been right all along? What if their interpretation the one he had fought so hard to reject was the truth he had refused to see?
But none of it mattered anymore. He was already trapped. Because this woman whether fate had chosen her or not now meant too much to him. More than he could afford.
His jaw tightened. Faith was cruel. It did not guide with gentle hands; it shattered, burned, tore a man apart before offering any healing.
And he… he was still breaking.
But his mother... His mother had trusted him beyond reason, beyond fear. That was all the certainty he needed.
"I'm going to break the oracle," he murmured, voice low but firm.
If fate thought it could cage him, it was wrong. If the prophecy had dictated his path, it would soon be nothing but dust.
Oris had never been one to kneel. And he wasn't about to start now.