The road to Virelden stretched on like an unbroken ribbon, flanked by whispering woods that leaned in close as though listening to every creak of the carriage wheels. Dust hung thick in the late summer air, coating the velvet cushions and the lace at Lady Elizabeth Caelwyn's wrists.
She sat rigid in her seat, one gloved hand braced against the carriage window, her gaze fixed on the shifting blur of trees. She wore the colors of her house—midnight blue and silver—but her thoughts were tangled in shades far murkier.
She had not chosen this journey.
The proposal had come from Virelden's king—an offer of peace, sealed with the binding knot of marriage. For House Caelwyn, it was an honor. For Elizabeth, it was a sentence. She was the offering meant to keep the swords sheathed, the daughter traded like a rare jewel between distant realms.
The sun was sinking when the world cracked open.
A shriek—inhuman, ragged—ripped through the canopy, startling the birds into a frenzied storm of wings. The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once, echoing in her bones. Before she could cry out, something struck the carriage with enough force to throw it sideways. Horses screamed. Wood splintered. Her body slammed hard against the opposite wall as the floor pitched beneath her.
The guards shouted—words lost to chaos—and then there was silence.
No birds. No rustle of wind. Only the faint crackle of fire licking at the overturned carriage, and from the shadows between the trees… a low, wet growl.
Elizabeth clawed her way out of the wreckage, her gown torn and muddied, her palms scraped raw. Her lungs burned, each breath shallow and quick. She could feel it breathing nearby—the thing that had shattered her escort in seconds. She did not wait to see it.
She ran.
Branches clawed at her skin, snagged her hair. Mud clung to her slippers, sucking her down with every frantic step. The forest seemed endless, a twisting labyrinth of roots and shadows. Somewhere behind her, the sound of pursuit followed—slow, deliberate, unhurried. Like it knew she could never truly escape.
Her heart was a wild drum in her chest.
"P-please... please, just leave me alone!"
The plea was barely a whisper, choked with terror. She tripped over a root and hit the ground hard, the damp earth pressing cold against her palms. Her knees throbbed where they struck stone. Still, she scrambled to her feet, panic propelling her forward even when every muscle screamed in protest.
But the woods stretched on, unending, and she was hopelessly lost.
Far behind her, the creature followed.
He didn't want this. Gods, he didn't want to kill anyone. But the curse demanded it—forced his throat into those inhuman cries, forced his body into unnatural violence. He tried to slow his pace, to hold himself back, but the magic coiled through his blood like chains.
And yet… something in her had stopped him.
The sound of rustling leaves faded. Elizabeth froze mid-step, ears straining in the sudden, awful stillness. Was it gone? She turned her head slowly, breath caught in her throat. No glowing eyes, no monstrous shape. Only shadows.
Her legs gave out, and she slid down the rough bark of a tree, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. She was alive. That should have been enough. But one thought rooted itself in her mind, stubborn and cold:
Why had it spared her?
He was already miles away, breath ragged, his massive frame weaving through the trees until the mouth of the cave loomed before him. Inside, the darkness welcomed him like an old friend. For five years, this had been his prison. For five years, the curse had kept him hunted and alone.
Tonight, arrows jutted from his back, each movement sending fresh flares of pain down his spine. He collapsed onto the bed of leaves and twigs he had scraped together over the years, curling in on himself to keep the agony at bay.
Elizabeth should have gone toward Virelden. That was the sensible choice. But her steps carried her deeper into the forest, driven by a reckless curiosity she could not name. The creature had spared her, and she needed to know why.
The cave's entrance was a gaping wound in the rock, the air that seeped from it cool and damp. Every instinct screamed for her to turn back. Then—she heard it. A sound from within. Not a growl, not a snarl, but a pained, almost human whimper.
She stepped inside.
The air reeked of damp earth and something metallic—blood. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and then she saw him.
Not a mindless beast. A man—or the shadow of one—his huge frame trembling, arrows embedded deep in his back.
"You..." The word caught in her throat. "You're the one who spared me."
She should have run. Instead, she took a step forward.
"You're hurt."
His eyes flew open, panic flaring as he scrambled upright, pressing himself against the cave wall. The movement drove the arrows deeper, wringing a guttural sound from him. Words were beyond him now, his voice stolen by the curse, leaving only low growls in their place.
Elizabeth flinched, but she didn't run.
"Wait—please. I'm not going to hurt you."
Her gaze darted to the arrows again. They were deep, the wounds ugly and dark. She tore a strip from the hem of her dress, holding it out like a truce flag.
"If the curse starts to take you—if you feel it coming—growl at me, and I'll stop. I swear it."
For a long moment, he didn't move. She saw the battle in his eyes, the way his shoulders locked with indecision. Finally, slowly, he knelt, lowering his massive frame until his arms folded against the ground.
It was trust. Fragile, trembling, but trust all the same.